Page 18 of The Killer Cupcake
His flaccid penis was between them as she pushed back with all the strength she could summon, causing him to flip over to his back. Relief flooded her from the release. Carmelo snored—not gently as Kathy remembered from their earlier days together, but with a deep, rumbling rhythm like distant thunder following lightning. She smiled softly, reaching out to touch his face. Their lovemaking had been intense, decadent, leaving her body humming pleasantly from the passion and aching from some of his savagery. Yet Debbie’s words from Christmas echoed clearly in her mind, a warning about how quickly passion could lead to pregnancy.
What would happen to them then?
Kathy leaned forward, gently kissed his cheek, and slipped quietly from the bed. She found a simple, modest blue houserobe suitable enough for a quick trip down the hallway. Stepping into the silent corridor, the floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet as she made her way to the bathroom. Once inside, she took her time washing away the sticky traces of their intimacy, feeling refreshed and ready to return to him.
She opened the bathroom door—and gasped.
Aunt Janey stood there smiling knowingly.
"I heard you two," Janey teased lightly.
"What?" Kathy stammered, mortified.
Janey chuckled. "Relax, I wasn't listening long. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. After all that hollering you were doing!”
Kathy frowned, concern flickering in her eyes. Janey took her hand and gently pulled her along. "Willa's back, and she's excited to see you."
"Wait, Janey—why were you at our door in the first place?" Kathy asked as she struggled to keep pace while descending the stairs.
"My house," Janey replied breezily. "Besides, my husband worries about Carmelo. Thinks he might bring trouble."
"Why? He doesn't even know Carmine,” Kathy protested softly.
"Because he's a Ricci, sweetheart. Everyone knows what that name means in New York. Why do you think they brought him down here to fight the Klan in the first place?" Janey explained, guiding her toward the brightly lit parlor. “Since he tried to be with you, they claim he’s a Negro lover. Understands the savages. It’s all slick and sick. Sometimes you can be so naive. Wake up, Kathy. If you're going to love a mobster, there are rules."
"He's not?—"
"Don't back-talk me!" Janey snapped sharply.
Kathy fell silent. They paused before the parlor doors. Her aunt's sweet demeanor faded, replaced by a hard glint in her eyes. "This isn't that fairytale you spin about Romeo and Juliet in an attic. This is the mob. This is the South. This is real life. You've already tasted the apple from the forbidden tree. Now it's all about consequences. You hear me? If you want that man-boy, you're going to see him for what he truly is... and what heisn't. And you're going to do that now. I ain’t risking my Carmine’s life again. So grow the fuck up. Or get the hell out of New Orleans!”
The truth hit like a physical blow.
Carmelo had felt different since their reunion. The way he talked, the way he looked at her, the way they made love. All the while, she could feel the changes in him, but couldn’t name them. She lowered her gaze. Things would never be the same as they were before. Too much had happened. She would have to change, too.
"I'm sorry, okay?" Janey touched Kathy’s cheek gently, her voice softening. "I forget sometimes why Brenda gave you the soft life up there in Harlem instead of the one she and I endured. Sometimes it's good to be a dreamer, Kathy. Dreams are what make it bearable to be a black woman in this world. You chose a hard path. You done lied to Big Mama and your folks by coming here.You ain’t innocent.You know what we Elliot girls are. Stop pretending you different. If you want Carmelo, dreams won't be enough anymore. Understand?"
"Did you go to Harlem? Did you kill DeMarco the consigliere, Auntie?" Kathy asked quietly.
Janey lowered her hand. "We can talk about that later. First, see Willa. See what being married to the mob can do for you and that girl you care about.”
Janey turned on her heel and walked away.
When Kathy stepped into the parlor, she stopped abruptly at the sight before her. Willa stood gracefully from the velvetsettee, transformed so completely that she bore only the faintest resemblance to the timid sharecropper's daughter who had arrived in the Tremé. Her rich, dark skin glowed from the pampering, polished to a magnificent ebony sheen through care and proper nourishment. Her hair, previously hidden beneath worn scarves, now framed her face in sophisticated waves that caught the afternoon light like spun black silk.
Willa wore a spring dress of soft lavender, made of satin, that complemented her complexion beautifully. The expert tailoring celebrated her natural bosom and slender waist, with the skirt redefining her feminine lower curves. Delicate pearl earrings caught the gentle sunlight filtering through the lace curtains, while cream-colored leather pumps gave her an air of refined confidence. Subtle makeup enhanced rather than masked her features, bringing out the intelligent warmth in her dark eyes and the generous curve of her smile.
This wasn't a changed Willa—this was Willa revealed, an empress finally given the center stage she'd always deserved.
“Oh my, Willa,” Kathy breathed in wonder.
Willa smiled. “Look at me, Kathy. Just look at me!”
“I ain't never seen anyone more beautiful,” Kathy whispered. “Ever.”
Willa burst into tears, overwhelmed with joy. Kathy rushed forward, and they hugged tightly, bouncing and squealing happily.
“Your aunt is an angel, Kathy! This place is unreal. I went to a salon just for us Black women, where they sat us in chairs and pampered us. They served tiny sandwiches with no crust, and tea in fancy cups like at Ms. Lottie's house. They bathed me, rubbed oils into my skin until I smelled like flowers.” She released Kathy and walked to her reflection in the window, astonished. “I’m beautiful. Truly beautiful.”
