The Other Rocky Horror Picture Show

Actually, Passion Jones was standing in the huge walk-in closet, flicking a dispassionate wrist across row after row of trendy (and exceedingly expensive) outfits, contemplating the suitability of each for her first date with Rocky Sutherland, the very young, very hot cable TV repairman whom she had met at work earlier that day. Her burnished bronze braids hung down past her waist. Cradled at an ear was a space age-looking portable phone into which Passion would occasionally issue disinterested little grunts to her party on the other end. Passion rolled her eyes. Her friend Gail’s arbitrary ramblings were working her last nerve. Why were they even friends? Really, the girl could be a pain in the ass sometimes, especially now that she had finally got engaged to Roan Garrison, her high school boyfriend. The same Roan who’d screwed Passion on his front lawn just over a year ago. It seemed Gail was always griping about some minor irritation with Roan. God, she’d landed the big diamond. What more did she want? Honestly, did Gail really believe that the details of the inadequacies of their sex life were what she lived to hear about? As far as Passion could remember, Roan was just fine in bed. She’d actually screamed out his name the moment they’d both come and that was something she never did with just any man. And it hadn’t been the liquor talking, either. The problem was obviously with Gail, though of course she’d never, ever say that to her face.Passion wasn’t supposed to know what Roan was like in bed. Sleeping with her best friend’s man was taboo, wasn’t it? Certainly while they were still involved with each other. Gail would never forgive her if she found out. It had been a random act of poor judgment on her part and would never be repeated. It was a secret she would take with her to the grave. It was a mistake, for which she was truly sorry and which, she and Roan had since agreed, would never be spoken of or, more importantly, happen again. Right now, Passion had other things to worry about though. For one, this was her first date with Rocky. How did convention dictate she act on a first date? She hadn’t been on one in a while and she was feeling a little rusty. Had the rules changed? Was sex expected? She hadn’t had any in a long while. Playing coy would definitely be hypocritical, wouldn’t it? Especially with a man who looked like Rocky. But then, wouldn’t she seem over-eager and desperate if she gave up the punany tonight? Recently, she’d overheard two guys saying that if a girl played the hard-to-get sh–t, they were out. What constituted hard to get, though? Holding out a night? Two? Three? Personally, she’d always felt after the third date was appropriate. But that was really in theory; for all her proper boyfriends she’d always given it up on the first date. Sometimes even before.Suddenly she was blinded by insight. Maybe her relationships were based purely on sex and that was the reason they tended to go off the rails so quickly. Passion was loath to make it a purely physical thing between her and Rocky, much as her raging hormones yearned to disprove that theory. She had awakened that morning with the realisation that she was lonely and lacking intimate male companionship and that she was absolutely miserable. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t engage in casual sex any more. She was tired of meaningless relationships going nowhere. She wished she could confide in Gail. She longed to tell her about Rocky, but Gail was such a snob, Passion knew she would only just criticise his lowly repairman job. Passion loved her friends but they were deep down just your average, garden-variety, uptown snobs. Honestly, Passion herself had a bit of the snob in her, too. The difference with her, though, was that she was open to new experiences. If Gail found out that Rocky fixed cable for a living, Passion wouldn’t hear the end of it. She’d positively hated Passion’s boyfriend, weed-smoking Ron, who’d been an unemployed loser, merely tolerating him simply because he’d been the son of a prominent Jamaican family, two well-placed neurosurgeons, one of whom now practised at the prestigious Johns Hopkins. No way would she be willing to accommodate Rocky, though, who didn’t seem to have any claim to fame. Almost definitely, there would be no trust fund somewhere waiting for him.“… So I just told Roan to eff-off. I mean,” Gail was complaining in an animated little-girl voice now. “If he can’t be secure in his manhood to see a therapist with me, then what’s the point, right, Pash? I mean we’re going to get married in a few months and if he can’t get it up now, how can he hope to f–k me when we actually live together? Am I right?”Passion rolled her eyes heavenward and answered, with as much enthusiasm as she could fake, “Absolutely, sweetie.” What she wanted to tell her, instead, was: “He could always come and check me.”Her eyes alighted on an outfit, wedged inconspicuously between two of her more popular party pieces. It was a white cotton halter dress with a daring neckline that plummeted almost to just above her navel. She hadn’t worn it before. She held it up and examined closely. She would have to discard the underwear but it was the ideal outfit to create the impression she wanted: sexy with just a slight hint of slutty. Very Marilyn Monroe meets Jennifer Lopez. The salesgirl at Bloomie’s had promised that the statement it would make was sensuous but not out of reach. It was a bit much for an ordinary date, but she reminded herself she was 34 and competing with all those stupid younger girls who were stalking about preying on good men.She yanked it off the hanger and hurried over to the dresser, holding it against her form as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She imagined Rocky salivating and his eyes popping out of his head when he saw her. She’d noticed his obscene erection at lunch and knew that he was already powerfully attracted to her. This dress was bound to totally make him lose his mind. “Pash? Passion? Why do I get the feeling you’re not listening to me?” Gail’s voice on the other end of the line was plaintive. “Huh… Um… yeah. It’s just that I’m getting ready to go out and I was trying to pick out something nice.” “You’re going out?”“Yes, I’m going out, Gail. Is that a problem?” Passion let out an exaggerated sigh. Gail was acting as if she needed her permission. For as long as they’d known each other, since they were eight-year old neighbours in Cherry Gardens, it had been somehow become Gail’s prerogative, her designated role in life, to boss Passion around.“No, of course not. You’re your own big woman. It’s just… no, uh-uh…don’t tell me you’re going out with that idiot, Ron?” Passion could just picture the look of complete scorn on Gail’s face. “NO! Oh, my God, Gail, please!” “Passion! This better not be some freaky booty call sh-t with that loser!” Gail was practically screaming her displeasure.“Gail, I told you no. God, no. I’m over that loser. Now, just chill the f–k out!” Passion rolled her eyes and sighed. “I met a guy today… and we’re going out.” “A newPassion had stripped down and was examining her naked contours in the dresser mirror. Her breasts were firm-ish, although she could see the downhill track of gravity about to set in. Another year or so and she’d have to have sex in complete darkness; she was squeamish about breast implants. Her belly was slightly convex, just acceptably so. She whirled around, looked over her shoulder, then winked and smiled coyly at her reflection. Now, that was a backside! Jennifer Lopez would have to ask her how it was done!“So who is this new guy? Anybody we know? When do we get to meet him?”“You don’t. Gail, I just met him today. We’re going on a date. That’s all.”“Right,” Gail said dryly. “It’s not like you’re getting married… so where is he taking you?”“Uh, to the movies… dinner. Anyway, sweetie, I’m running late. Gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow….”“Forget tomorrow. Call me tonight when you get in.”“Really? Roan won’t be there?”“No, I hardly think so. He’s sulking because of the shrink suggestion.”“OK. Later, then.”“Promise? I want to hear every sordid detail, right?”Passion sighed. “OK, Gail. Goodnight!”“And, Passion?”““No kitty-cat, OK?”“Piss off!”Passion retracted the phone’s antenna and tossed it on the bed. She pulled the dress over her head and smoothed it over her hips, surveying the effect. She frowned. That last thing Gail said disturbed her.It was basically true, though, wasn’t it? She and Delano, her last boyfriend, had gone to bed together on the first date. And before that, she’d gone to bed with Ron only a couple hours after she’d met him. Most of the men she’d known her entire adult life, she’d rushed into physical relationships with before really knowing them properly. She sat at the dressing table and stared at her reflection. Hadn’t she only a few minutes ago sworn off that sort of life? What did she hope to accomplish by going out with Rocky, anyway? Was it primarily a sex thing?Passion began applying her make-up. She rolled up her lipstick, stroked her lips and pursed. Her libido had landed her in a pile of trouble in the past. She thought about Roan. She was going to turn over a new leaf. This was the new and improved Passion Jones who would be taken seriously, dammit. The sex-kitten image was out. She was looking for love, commitment, a husband, for God’s sake. If Gail could get engaged, so would she.She ducked back into the closet. She returned after a few minutes, holding a more demure outfit. Struggling out of the tight white dress, she left it in a heap on the carpet.~ Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Rocky Sutherland was speeding in his little ’78 Toyota Corolla with the dented door across the Portmore Causeway. He was supremely uncomfortable on account of the fact that he was late for his date with Passion Jones, a woman he’d guessed wouldn’t stand for his bullsh-t. In addition, there was the erection he’d had for what seemed to him to be the whole frigging day. Passion Jones was a walking, breathing, real-life wet dream. From the instant he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known that he was going to have her. She was just the type he liked. She practically dripped sex appeal, even though she was older than he. Still, she was well preserved; just standing next to her, he’d felt both his body and the room temperature go up. He had arrived at Writers’ Blocks bookshop late that morning. It was his first job for the day but rain had been pouring down and like everybody in Jamaica did when the day started off rainy, he’d slept in late. He knew she was pissed-off about his company not sending anyone to fix her cable for a week and when he saw her, she looked like she was about to take it out on him. But when he shook her hand, her little pink tongue had darted out to moisten her bottom lip, and he’d realised that the attraction had been mutual. He’d felt an instant stirring at the front of his Hanes. Jesus. The woman was sexy like hell. Her blouse had been open down to her chest and he could just see, without being too obvious, her shapely breasts spilling over the tops of her lacy brassiere. Victoria’s Secret, he guessed. Then his gaze had slipped downwards. Sh_t. The woman’s ass! Just thinking about how good she would be in bed had made his knees almost buckle. Every rational thought had left his body as he’d busied himself with sorting out the problem with her cable. He had been consumed with only one thought: how he could get her into bed. She was obviously older than him. Maybe 34, 35. Independent. Uptown. Bourgie. She owned the bookshop. Didn’t seem married; wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d known girls like her before at high school. They always turned up their noses at him because he was a struggling youth from the ghetto, when all the time they were really lusting after his body in their hearts. It didn’t matter that he was smart. All they saw was his bad address. But a few years ago he’d started to seriously work out and had discovered the power of his own body to gain admission into any club. And now Rocky Sutherland was reasonably sure of one thing in his short 24 years of life: his body was his passport. He’d used it to get as far as he could. He could not afford to go back to school. The only way to make something of himself was by using his God-given assets. He had the goods and he could deliver. Still, Passion Jones had the advantage of being able to get any man — any rich man — she wanted. He could tell that his body alone wouldn’t be the currency required to win her over. She owned a bookstore, for God’s sake. Clearly, he had to come up with a different play with her. Her dyke assistant Annie, for some strange reason, seemed to approve of him going out with her boss and was anxious to encourage him. She gave him the inside info on Passion and even offered helpful hints on the best way to score a date with her. Apparently Passion was impressed with big spenders. So at lunchtime, he’d spent close to a whole week’s salary to impress her by ordering lunch and sending it to her office. It had been worth it. She’d been touched by the gesture, as he’d hoped, and he’d landed a date for later that evening.Problem was, he was now broke.It had been hell to get away from Carla, his current girlfriend with whom he was shacked up. She’d had it in mind that they would be going out to the movies too. It had taken a bit of manoeuvring but he’d eventually convinced her that he’d had a roast to do for some overtime money. Carla loved overtime money. Before he left he’d rooted around in her underwear drawer where she kept her entire savings, $34,750, in an envelope. He’d removed 20-grand (he wasn’t stealing it; he planned on replacing it as soon as he could), hoping that the evening wouldn’t cost him more, and now, armed with a pocketful of condoms, he was on his way to see Passion. As he wove through the traffic, he began to sweat. He tried visualizing what sexy outfit Passion would be wearing. Really, anything would look good on her. The woman had the most amazing body. He got so excited thinking about her, he literally started to feel pain. He grabbed his penis and groaned. He was ready for anything the night would bring. ~Passion sat impatiently in her new Rav4, scoping out the theatre’s car park. She hated to be kept waiting. It was a Friday night, so hordes of people were out to the movies. She would die if she were to be subjected to public humiliation at a place like this. The Carib was just not a place where people like her hung out at on a Friday night. The night was warm and filled with the noise of the long, articulated buses that stopped at the terminus outside the Carib car park. Passion was sweating through the black Jil Sander dress she was wearing. She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. 7:50 pm. Where the hell was he? They had planned to meet at 7:30. She was beginning to get seriously pissed. No man was going to keep her waiting for 20 minutes and get away with it. Not when there were so many men out there who would gladly donate a testicle to be out with her. Who the hell did Rocky Sutherland think he was?She was about to jam her keys back into the ignition when the headlights of an approaching vehicle rattling into the car park almost blinded her. The car swung into the vacant space next to her and screeched to a halt. Passion recognised the sh-t-eating smile before taking in the piece of junk the car was. She couldn’t bring herself to return the grin. She glared at his pile of scrap metal. God, the car was falling apart. There was practically none of the original colour left on the car. Thank God, nobody she knew was here. Passion expelled air noisily from her nostrils. As far as she was concerned, the date was already over.

2005

On the night after her 34th birthday, Passion Jones stood in her bedroom. She was dressed only in a creamy lace bra and matching panties and a pair of 3” hot pink mules the old movie screen sirens used to wear, the open-toed ones with the dandelion puffs attached to the tops of them.

Actually, Passion Jones was standing in the huge walk-in closet, flicking a dispassionate wrist across row after row of trendy (and exceedingly expensive) outfits, contemplating the suitability of each for her first date with Rocky Sutherland, the very young, very hot cable TV repairman whom she had met at work earlier that day. Her burnished bronze braids hung down past her waist. Cradled at an ear was a space age-looking portable phone into which Passion would occasionally issue disinterested little grunts to her party on the other end.

Passion rolled her eyes. Her friend Gail’s arbitrary ramblings were working her last nerve. Why were they even friends? Really, the girl could be a pain in the ass sometimes, especially now that she had finally got engaged to Roan Garrison, her high school boyfriend. The same Roan who’d screwed Passion on his front lawn just over a year ago. It seemed Gail was always griping about some minor irritation with Roan. God, she’d landed the big diamond. What more did she want? Honestly, did Gail really believe that the details of the inadequacies of their sex life were what she lived to hear about? As far as Passion could remember, Roan was just fine in bed. She’d actually screamed out his name the moment they’d both come and that was something she never did with just any man. And it hadn’t been the liquor talking, either. The problem was obviously with Gail, though of course she’d never, ever say that to her face.

Passion wasn’t supposed to know what Roan was like in bed. Sleeping with her best friend’s man was taboo, wasn’t it? Certainly while they were still involved with each other. Gail would never forgive her if she found out. It had been a random act of poor judgment on her part and would never be repeated. It was a secret she would take with her to the grave. It was a mistake, for which she was truly sorry and which, she and Roan had since agreed, would never be spoken of or, more importantly, happen again.

Right now, Passion had other things to worry about though. For one, this was her first date with Rocky. How did convention dictate she act on a first date? She hadn’t been on one in a while and she was feeling a little rusty. Had the rules changed? Was sex expected? She hadn’t had any in a long while. Playing coy would definitely be hypocritical, wouldn’t it? Especially with a man who looked like Rocky. But then, wouldn’t she seem over-eager and desperate if she gave up the punany tonight? Recently, she’d overheard two guys saying that if a girl played the hard-to-get sh–t, they were out. What constituted hard to get, though? Holding out a night? Two? Three? Personally, she’d always felt after the third date was appropriate. But that was really in theory; for all her proper boyfriends she’d always given it up on the first date. Sometimes even before.

Suddenly she was blinded by insight. Maybe her relationships were based purely on sex and that was the reason they tended to go off the rails so quickly.

Passion was loath to make it a purely physical thing between her and Rocky, much as her raging hormones yearned to disprove that theory. She had awakened that morning with the realisation that she was lonely and lacking intimate male companionship and that she was absolutely miserable. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t engage in casual sex any more. She was tired of meaningless relationships going nowhere.

She wished she could confide in Gail. She longed to tell her about Rocky, but Gail was such a snob, Passion knew she would only just criticise his lowly repairman job. Passion loved her friends but they were deep down just your average, garden-variety, uptown snobs. Honestly, Passion herself had a bit of the snob in her, too. The difference with her, though, was that she was open to new experiences. If Gail found out that Rocky fixed cable for a living, Passion wouldn’t hear the end of it. She’d positively hated Passion’s boyfriend, weed-smoking Ron, who’d been an unemployed loser, merely tolerating him simply because he’d been the son of a prominent Jamaican family, two well-placed neurosurgeons, one of whom now practised at the prestigious Johns Hopkins. No way would she be willing to accommodate Rocky, though, who didn’t seem to have any claim to fame. Almost definitely, there would be no trust fund somewhere waiting for him.

“… So I just told Roan to eff-off. I mean,” Gail was complaining in an animated little-girl voice now. “If he can’t be secure in his manhood to see a therapist with me, then what’s the point, right, Pash? I mean we’re going to get married in a few months and if he can’t get it up now, how can he hope to f–k me when we actually live together? Am I right?”

Passion rolled her eyes heavenward and answered, with as much enthusiasm as she could fake, “Absolutely, sweetie.” What she wanted to tell her, instead, was: “He could always come and check me.”

Her eyes alighted on an outfit, wedged inconspicuously between two of her more popular party pieces. It was a white cotton halter dress with a daring neckline that plummeted almost to just above her navel. She hadn’t worn it before. She held it up and examined closely. She would have to discard the underwear but it was the ideal outfit to create the impression she wanted: sexy with just a slight hint of slutty. Very Marilyn Monroe meets Jennifer Lopez. The salesgirl at Bloomie’s had promised that the statement it would make was sensuous but not out of reach. It was a bit much for an ordinary date, but she reminded herself she was 34 and competing with all those stupid younger girls who were stalking about preying on good men.

She yanked it off the hanger and hurried over to the dresser, holding it against her form as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She imagined Rocky salivating and his eyes popping out of his head when he saw her. She’d noticed his obscene erection at lunch and knew that he was already powerfully attracted to her. This dress was bound to totally make him lose his mind.

“Pash? Passion? Why do I get the feeling you’re not listening to me?” Gail’s voice on the other end of the line was plaintive.

“Huh… Um… yeah. It’s just that I’m getting ready to go out and I was trying to pick out something nice.”

“You’re going out?”

“Yes, I’m going out, Gail. Is that a problem?” Passion let out an exaggerated sigh. Gail was acting as if she needed her permission. For as long as they’d known each other, since they were eight-year old neighbours in Cherry Gardens, it had been somehow become Gail’s prerogative, her designated role in life, to boss Passion around.

“No, of course not. You’re your own big woman. It’s just… no, uh-uh…don’t tell me you’re going out with that idiot, Ron?” Passion could just picture the look of complete scorn on Gail’s face.

“NO! Oh, my God, Gail, please!” “Passion! This better not be some freaky booty call sh-t with that loser!” Gail was practically screaming her displeasure.

“Gail, I told you no. God, no. I’m over that loser. Now, just chill the f–k out!” Passion rolled her eyes and sighed. “I met a guy today… and we’re going out.”

“A new

guy?” Gail’s voice was cold. “You don’t say. And when were you planning on telling me about this little development?”

Passion had stripped down and was examining her naked contours in the dresser mirror. Her breasts were firm-ish, although she could see the downhill track of gravity about to set in. Another year or so and she’d have to have sex in complete darkness; she was squeamish about breast implants. Her belly was slightly convex, just acceptably so. She whirled around, looked over her shoulder, then winked and smiled coyly at her reflection. Now, that was a backside! Jennifer Lopez would have to ask her how it was done!

“So who is this new guy? Anybody we know? When do we get to meet him?”

“You don’t. Gail, I just met him today. We’re going on a date. That’s all.”

“Right,” Gail said dryly. “It’s not like you’re getting married… so where is he taking you?”

“Uh, to the movies… dinner. Anyway, sweetie, I’m running late. Gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow….”

“Forget tomorrow. Call me tonight when you get in.”

“Really? Roan won’t be there?”

“No, I hardly think so. He’s sulking because of the shrink suggestion.”

“OK. Later, then.”

“Promise? I want to hear every sordid detail, right?”

Passion sighed. “OK, Gail. Goodnight!”

“And, Passion?”

“

Ye-esss, Gail?”

“No kitty-cat, OK?”

“Piss off!”

Passion retracted the phone’s antenna and tossed it on the bed. She pulled the dress over her head and smoothed it over her hips, surveying the effect. She frowned. That last thing Gail said disturbed her.

No kitty-cat. Why did Gail feel the need to tell her that? Was that her opinion of her? That she was a slut who went to bed with every man she went out with? Did people think that she was really that easy?

It was basically true, though, wasn’t it? She and Delano, her last boyfriend, had gone to bed together on the first date. And before that, she’d gone to bed with Ron only a couple hours after she’d met him. Most of the men she’d known her entire adult life, she’d rushed into physical relationships with before really knowing them properly.

She sat at the dressing table and stared at her reflection. Hadn’t she only a few minutes ago sworn off that sort of life? What did she hope to accomplish by going out with Rocky, anyway? Was it primarily a sex thing?

Passion began applying her make-up. She rolled up her lipstick, stroked her lips and pursed. Her libido had landed her in a pile of trouble in the past. She thought about Roan. She was going to turn over a new leaf. This was the new and improved Passion Jones who would be taken seriously, dammit. The sex-kitten image was out. She was looking for love, commitment, a husband, for God’s sake. If Gail could get engaged, so would she.

She ducked back into the closet. She returned after a few minutes, holding a more demure outfit. Struggling out of the tight white dress, she left it in a heap on the carpet.

~

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Rocky Sutherland was speeding in his little ’78 Toyota Corolla with the dented door across the Portmore Causeway. He was supremely uncomfortable on account of the fact that he was late for his date with Passion Jones, a woman he’d guessed wouldn’t stand for his bullsh-t. In addition, there was the erection he’d had for what seemed to him to be the whole frigging day. Passion Jones was a walking, breathing, real-life wet dream. From the instant he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known that he was going to have her. She was just the type he liked. She practically dripped sex appeal, even though she was older than he. Still, she was well preserved; just standing next to her, he’d felt both his body and the room temperature go up.

He had arrived at Writers’ Blocks bookshop late that morning. It was his first job for the day but rain had been pouring down and like everybody in Jamaica did when the day started off rainy, he’d slept in late. He knew she was pissed-off about his company not sending anyone to fix her cable for a week and when he saw her, she looked like she was about to take it out on him. But when he shook her hand, her little pink tongue had darted out to moisten her bottom lip, and he’d realised that the attraction had been mutual.

He’d felt an instant stirring at the front of his Hanes. Jesus. The woman was sexy like hell. Her blouse had been open down to her chest and he could just see, without being too obvious, her shapely breasts spilling over the tops of her lacy brassiere. Victoria’s Secret, he guessed. Then his gaze had slipped downwards. Sh_t. The woman’s ass! Just thinking about how good she would be in bed had made his knees almost buckle. Every rational thought had left his body as he’d busied himself with sorting out the problem with her cable. He had been consumed with only one thought: how he could get her into bed.

She was obviously older than him. Maybe 34, 35. Independent. Uptown. Bourgie. She owned the bookshop. Didn’t seem married; wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d known girls like her before at high school. They always turned up their noses at him because he was a struggling youth from the ghetto, when all the time they were really lusting after his body in their hearts. It didn’t matter that he was smart. All they saw was his bad address. But a few years ago he’d started to seriously work out and had discovered the power of his own body to gain admission into any club. And now Rocky Sutherland was reasonably sure of one thing in his short 24 years of life: his body was his passport. He’d used it to get as far as he could. He could not afford to go back to school. The only way to make something of himself was by using his God-given assets. He had the goods and he could deliver.

Still, Passion Jones had the advantage of being able to get any man — any rich man — she wanted. He could tell that his body alone wouldn’t be the currency required to win her over. She owned a bookstore, for God’s sake. Clearly, he had to come up with a different play with her. Her dyke assistant Annie, for some strange reason, seemed to approve of him going out with her boss and was anxious to encourage him. She gave him the inside info on Passion and even offered helpful hints on the best way to score a date with her. Apparently Passion was impressed with big spenders. So at lunchtime, he’d spent close to a whole week’s salary to impress her by ordering lunch and sending it to her office. It had been worth it. She’d been touched by the gesture, as he’d hoped, and he’d landed a date for later that evening.

Problem was, he was now broke.

It had been hell to get away from Carla, his current girlfriend with whom he was shacked up. She’d had it in mind that they would be going out to the movies too. It had taken a bit of manoeuvring but he’d eventually convinced her that he’d had a roast to do for some overtime money. Carla loved overtime money. Before he left he’d rooted around in her underwear drawer where she kept her entire savings, $34,750, in an envelope.

He’d removed 20-grand (he wasn’t stealing it; he planned on replacing it as soon as he could), hoping that the evening wouldn’t cost him more, and now, armed with a pocketful of condoms, he was on his way to see Passion. As he wove through the traffic, he began to sweat. He tried visualizing what sexy outfit Passion would be wearing. Really, anything would look good on her. The woman had the most amazing body. He got so excited thinking about her, he literally started to feel pain. He grabbed his penis and groaned. He was ready for anything the night would bring.

~

Passion sat impatiently in her new Rav4, scoping out the theatre’s car park. She hated to be kept waiting. It was a Friday night, so hordes of people were out to the movies. She would die if she were to be subjected to public humiliation at a place like this. The Carib was just not a place where people like her hung out at on a Friday night.

The night was warm and filled with the noise of the long, articulated buses that stopped at the terminus outside the Carib car park. Passion was sweating through the black Jil Sander dress she was wearing. She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. 7:50 pm. Where the hell was he? They had planned to meet at 7:30. She was beginning to get seriously pissed. No man was going to keep her waiting for 20 minutes and get away with it. Not when there were so many men out there who would gladly donate a testicle to be out with her. Who the hell did Rocky Sutherland think he was?

She was about to jam her keys back into the ignition when the headlights of an approaching vehicle rattling into the car park almost blinded her. The car swung into the vacant space next to her and screeched to a halt.

Passion recognised the sh-t-eating smile before taking in the piece of junk the car was. She couldn’t bring herself to return the grin. She glared at his pile of scrap metal. God, the car was falling apart. There was practically none of the original colour left on the car. Thank God, nobody she knew was here.

Passion expelled air noisily from her nostrils. As far as she was concerned, the date was already over.

TO BE CONTINUED