Game of Chance
Chapter 6
“I’m glad you decided to come,” Curtis commented as she slipped inside the limousine he’d supplied for her.
“Oh, god!” she replied, startled. “You better make it worth my while—”
“That’s up to Marshall, don’t you think?”
//
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” she said as she set her suitcase down in Curtis’ luxury apartment.
“Don’t thank me quite yet. We’re going out tonight, but I want you to wear something specifically…”
“What?” she asked with wide eyes.
“The dress is in the extra bedroom—where you’re at—which is down the hall. I didn’t know what the hell was your size…so I got a couple.”
“Where are we going?”
“To a party,” Curtis answered cryptically.
//
“Why do I have to wear this?” she grumbled.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing…it’s just very…revealing, and I don’t feel much like being eye candy tonight.”
“Just trust me on this,” he looked at her pleadingly.
//
Marshall was beginning to get impatient and incredibly annoyed. All throughout Dre’s little get together, he kept hearing about how beautiful and charming Curtis’ date was. His curiosity was piqued instantly, mostly because Curtis rarely brought dates to anything.
“Damn it,” he swore when he saw who Curtis’ date was.
She hadn’t turned to face him, but Marshall recognized each unforgettable curve. Something dark and primal rumbled through his body, and his eyes clouded as his anger reached new peaks.
Why was she in Detroit?
But why was she on Curtis’ arm and not his?
If his hand drops one inch lower, Marshall nearly growled at the thought.
//
He waited until the couple was alone, and then he was by them in the briefest of seconds.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.
Contessa flinched at his tone—both insinuating and furious.
“Marshall—” Curtis started calmly.
Marshall ignored him and concentrated solely on Contessa.
“What?” she stammered.
“You’re making an ass out of yourself,” Curtis warned. “Let’s take this somewhere else,” he suggested and tugged Contessa towards the hallway.
Fuming, Marshall followed but only to avoid the attention they were beginning to attract.
//
“Wanna tell me why you can come visit Curtis but not me?”
“Curtis asked me to come,” she replied defiantly.
“Look, Marshall, I asked her to come so you two could talk—”
Contessa’s demeanor changed, her shoulders slumped and the brightness in her eyes faded. “We have nothing to talk about.”
Marshall stared blankly at her. He wanted to smack himself for being so harsh, so cold to her. As well as give Curtis a good slap for bringing her to Detroit in the first place.
//
“Curtis, could you please take me home?”
“Fine,” he conceded. “Take the keys, I’ll be down in a sec.”
Thankfully, she grabbed the keys and nearly sprinted away.
“A smart man would go after her—are you smart enough?” Curtis said quietly and went into the main room to say his goodbyes.
//
Marshall waited, and eventually turned back towards the party; he knew he was a coward for not explaining to her why he wouldn’t—why they couldn’t—instead of letting her come to her own conclusions. He felt like an ass.
//
“What the fuck is your problem?” Curtis boomed as he caught Marshall going into the main room.
“Getting back to the party!” Marshall snapped.
“You’re gonna come back, when you know there’s a woman that you can’t forget downstairs—”
“I had forgotten all about her until you brought her here. You had no fuckin’ right—”
“Fuck you. I was trying to save you some trouble, but you don’t even fuckin’ deserve her,” Curtis replied coldly, effectively cutting off any possible response from the frowning blonde.
//
“You sure you wanna leave?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Look, I appreciate whatever you were trying to do, but you didn’t need to do anything… Marshall and I just had…a thing. No, we had a fling. It’s said and done now.”
“I know Marshall, and it’s not done.”
“Yes, Curtis, it is,” she reaffirmed.
“He’s a coward.”
“Yes, he is,” she whispered.
“And it’s his loss.”
“I know,” she grinned timidly.
//
Marshall was going crazy; he was at his Detroit home, scribbling on paper after paper. He’d write a phrase, a line, a word, cross it out and replace it with a dozen others—his hand was furiously penning down every little intrusive and disturbing thought racing through his mind. He wanted to stop; he couldn’t take the things pouring out of him. They hit too close to home, brought too many memories to the surface—ones he couldn’t deal with.
Flashes of Contessa ferociously electrified his mind, brought his heart to a pounding, threatening, booming sound within his chest. He kept seeing her legs—soft, long, and golden—tangled with his; he swore he could feel her toes tickling his ankle, her hot breath in his ear, and her hand caressing his thigh.
When the phone rang shrilly, his body tittered and his heart thumped through his skin.
“Hello?” he answered with a little agitation in his tone.
“Oh, hey, Mar—”
“Hey Kim.”
“I was jus’ callin’ to see what’s up.”
“What’s up with…?”
“Oh, you.”
“Nothin’. I’m writin’.”
“Do you wanna get together tonight?” she asked sultrily.
“Huh?”
“You know…”
“Not tonight… I wanna finish this song,” he lied. He had no idea what he was writing or where it was leading to, but he was nearly certain that it wasn’t a song in the making.
“Don’t make me wait too long,” she giggled. “Night honey!”
“Night, tell Hailie I said hi.”
//
“So you don’t care about Marshall?” Curtis questioned as he sat down at the kitchen bar counter.
“Of course I do,” she whipped around indignantly.
“What the hell are you doing?” he motioned to her opening and closing the kitchen cabinet doors.
“Looking for somethin’ to eat.”
“Didn’t you eat somethin’ at the party?”
“Not really.”
“Shit, I don’t have any food—”
“What?” she yelled. “How the hell can you not have food?”
“This ain’t my home. This is my Detroit place.”
“I expected you to be fully stocked!”
“Well, I’m not. We can go and get some shit if you want—”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t want you to go through anymore trouble than you already have. I’m gonna go to bed and try and catch an early flight back to Cali tomorrow.”
“Damn it! No!” Curtis roared.
Chapter 7
Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.