DUPED! (Letta Storm) Read online

  "Because my latest movie, Between the Sheets, is having its Studio Première this coming Saturday night, and I want Jamilla to be with me."

  "Why?"

  "I just do."

  She shifted in her seat. "Look mister, right now you're on our good side. If you want to stay on our good side, you had better start coming up with some answers. Jamilla has told me everything she knows about you, but it wasn't that much. Tell me about the sister you used to go with at UCLA."

  Tony glanced my way then back to Letta. "First, I want to ask Jamilla a question."

  I shrugged. "Go ahead."

  Tony's eyes bored into me. "All right. Jamilla, is your birthday December 3rd?"

  I exhaled every ounce of oxygen as if someone had kicked me in the chest, then a flash of heat surged through me. When I finally caught my breath, I had to know. "How? How…did you know?"

  Letta had a serious look on her face. "It is December 3rd?"

  Still shaken, I nodded.

  She turned back to Tony. "Yeah, fess up. How the eff did you know?"

  "I had a feeling?"

  By now, Letta's large round eyes were slits. "Not good enough, Buster!"

  "All right. They say a picture is worth a thousand words." Tony reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  While he fished around in his wallet, Letta hitched her chin. "Now we're getting somewhere."

  Tony pulled out a beat up old photo and handed it to Letta. Her eyes bugged out and her mouth formed the perfect shape to blow smoke rings. As she gazed at Tony, she looked dazed. "This is…"

  He nodded. "Shana."

  "Her name was Shana?" I blurted.

  "Ah-huh, and she used my middle name Nick, short for Nickolas."

  I couldn't get over it. They were the couple in the movie he wrote.

  His shrug and tight-lipped smile mimicked what he said, "What can I say?"

  Letta handed the ragged snapshot to me and asked, "Is it possible you have amnesia or maybe a twin?"

  I pursed my lips. "No." I peeked at the picture and gasped, then felt dizzy. I thought I might pass out when Letta revived me by dipping her hand in her ice water and running across my forehead.

  I looked younger and thinner, but there was no mistake, the picture was of me.

  Chapter Seven – What's Going On?

  "Letta, would you please go to the ladies room with me?"

  "Sure sweetie."

  I glanced at Tony as we stood. "We'll be right back,"

  Striding to the restroom, Letta grasped my arm and spoke under her breath, "Is something wrong?"

  "What do you think? The picture of his girlfriend in college was me—or my double. What's more, we did both go to UCLA."

  Letta held the door to the powder room open for me. "That's strange all right, but we need more information. I need to ask Tony more questions."

  The restroom was empty. "I know, but there are some things I need to tell you first."

  Letta's glance urged me on.

  We settled, side by side, in front of the vanity. Gazing at Letta in the mirror, I informed her, "Friday night was the first time I met Tony, yet from the moment I laid eyes on him I felt as if we had a past."

  Letta's eyebrows rose high enough to wrinkle her forehead. "You mean there's more to this than your snapshot?"

  Haplessly, I thrust my arms out to the side. "I don't know, Letta. This is new territory. I just want to tell you what I felt when I met him and about the dreams."

  Her eyebrows dipped. "Dreams? Baby, you better tell this sista everything. Else, how can I help you?"

  "I will." I nodded. "It didn't seem important until now."

  While I collected my jumbled up thoughts, she prodded, "Go on."

  "We danced. He's a very good dancer."

  Her lips pursed to one at my irrelevant revelation. "That's nice."

  "I thought so. Anyway, while we danced, the sensation that it wasn't the first time we danced wouldn't go away. But that's the least of it. Letta, I knew his hands had been all over my body, and mine his. We danced close, very close. He got hard. I felt him against me and as I did I pictured his thing as if I'd seen and touched it before."

  Letta swung her hands across each other as football referee might signal time out. "Hold on. You talking about his bazooka?"

  I frowned into the mirror. "What?"

  "You know. His joystick, his weapon."

  I must have looked confused, because she continued. "His talley-whacker, his shaft, his cock!"

  "Yes, I'm talking about all of those things. I not only know what his…cock looks like, I felt as if I've stroked it, had it in my mouth, and you know where."

  "Wow, this is bizarre! You blew and screwed some guy you never met."

  I nodded exaggeratedly. "Ah-huh. There's more. The feeling that we were intimate in every way you can think of just won't go away. The dreams I had were so real, they gave me orgasms."

  Her sparkling brown eyes widened. "Yes, the dreams. Tell me about them."

  "Sure. That first night and every night since, I've dreamt Tony and I made love."

  "Really. How was he? He looks sexy as hell. Is he a good fuck? How big is he?"

  I frowned and pursed my lips disgustedly.

  "Sorry, I got carried away."

  "He's big enough. And he's such a good lover that I have an urge to feel him in me for real."

  She snickered. "I'll bet he has the same urge. Is there anything else I need to know before we go back and interrogate your dream lover?"

  I laughed. "Just that as sure as I am that we've been intimate, I'm equally sure I've never met the man."

  Letta frowned and scratched her head. "Now, that's a conundrum. Let's go."

  Tony's piercing eyes studied us as we took our seats. "So did you ladies work anything out about the premiere?"

  "I'm working on it, but right now Jamilla and I have a lot more questions. Especially about Shana."

  He leaned forward and rested his chin on his entwined hands. "Like what?"

  Letta pulled a recording device from her purse. "You don't mind if I record your answers, do you?

  Tony raised his hands and shook his head. "Be my guest. What do you want to know?

  "Where did you meet Shana?"

  Impassively, he answered, "At UCLA."

  A single eyebrow dipped. "It's a huge school. How did you meet?"

  "In a writing class."

  Letta swallowed a sip of her iced tea. "When was that?"

  "Nine years ago. I was a junior and she was a freshman. Everyone in the class was supposed to partner up with another student on a joint project and even though we'd never said a word to each other, she came up to me and asked to work with me. She said she thought I was the most talented writer in the class."

  He paused, looked at the ceiling, smiled, and went on. "Shana, being pleasant to look at, had caught my eye, so at first I was flattered, but once we started working together, I realized it was she who was the most talented."

  "Is that right? Anything else?"

  "There isn't much more to say. Initially, it was mutual admiration. We'd have coffee together, then lunch. I was attracted to her from the start and later she told me she'd felt the same way. Soon we started dating--going to movies and parties together. Shana was a lot of fun. There was no stopping us. After two weeks we were in love and intimate."

  "You loved her?"

  His stare was so intense, I wouldn't have been surprised if bolts of lightning shot out of his eyes. "From the start. I adored her."

  "And what about her?"

  "It was mutual. We wanted to get married."

  Letta leaned back in her chair. "Sounds like a match made in heaven."

  "It was."

  "What about her parents? Yours? What'd they think?"

  "They never found out, but it wouldn't have mattered. We loved each other."

  "Then why'd you break up?"

  Suddenly, his gaze turned emotional and tears began to seep from
his eyes and trickle down his cheeks. "We didn't. On the way to move in with me, she was murdered."

  "Aww-oww! I doubled over from severe pain, feeling as if I'd been kicked in the groin. Suddenly, biting cold engulfed me as extreme loneliness and sadness descended on me, like a curtain.

  Letta, shut the recorder off and laid a hand over mine. "Are you all right?"

  "No!" My teeth chattered and I shook. "Something strange is happening to me."

  Letta lifted my arm, until I stood, and then addressed Tony, "We need to talk some more. We'll be back."

  Chapter Eight - Shana

  Still feeling as if someone had jumped up and down on my stomach, Letta led me back to the ladies room with her arm around me. Fortunately, there was a divan where we were able to sit down.

  "What happened?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. I got this mind numbing pain in my abdomen like I'd been stabbed with an icepick, then a severe cold came upon me as if I was at the North Pole naked. Then, I felt agony as though everyone I loved and half of humanity had just been annihilated."

  "Are you still cold? You're shivering like crazy."

  "Yes, I'm freezing."

  Letta rose and tried to lift me up. "We better go. I need to get you to a hospital."

  My head shook as if it had a mind of its own. "No! It's not me. It's her."

  "Who is she? Do you have a sister?"

  My head started to nod, but I said, "No, just a brother."

  "Older or younger?"

  "Younger, his name is Rondo." Another pain shot through me and I doubled over.

  "Well, if you don't want me to take you to the Hospital at least let me take you home."

  "I just can't. My calendar is full of appointments this afternoon. Take me back to my salon. I'll be all right."

  "What're your parent's names?"

  Through the blazing pain, I wondered why, but answered, "Renata and Jared Turner."

  She rose from the divan. "C'mon. I'm gonna take you out to your car and after I tell Tony we're leaving, I'm driving you home."

  * * * *

  Tony's gaze followed me as I trekked across the restaurant to his table. As I took a seat, he asked, "What happened to Jamilla? Where is she?"

  "She's taken ill. I'm taking her home."

  "Can I help?"

  "No, I can handle it. I have a question, before I leave. I know you never met Shana's parents, but—"

  Tony shook his head. "I never said that."

  "You said they never found out."

  "I don't know about her father, but I met her mother. I meant she never found out we were sleeping together, that we were in love and that we were going to get married. Her mother knew me. I was Shana's writing partner."

  "Okay. I have more questions, but I have to see to Jamilla. Give me your phone number, so I can call you."

  He pulled out his wallet and handed me a card.

  As I rose to leave, he grabbed my hand. "About the première. It's very important to me."

  "Why?"

  "The screenplay for this movie was the project Shana and I worked on. As the co-author I would like someone there to represent her and no one is closer to Shana than her. Jamilla looks so much like Shana, it would be like having her there."

  I felt his pain. I also felt his hope for Jamilla. I liked Tony Castanza. I figured he'd be good for her. "We'll work it out. I'll see that she goes with you."

  It was like a cloud lifted the way his face brightened. I waved his card. "I gotta go, Jamilla is waiting."

  When I got back to Jamilla, she'd fallen asleep. I wanted to drive her home, but since I'd ridden with her, my car was at her salon. Reluctantly, I drove her there. On the way, she began to squirm and moan. I wondered if she was in pain until she groaned "Oh Tony, I love the way your tongue feels down there." It really was quite distracting, especially since I began to have sexy visions myself. I need to figure out a way to have sex more often.

  After five more minutes of moaning, groaning, and fidgeting. Jamilla went off like a fog horn as she jerked around spasmodically for a half a minute. Thankfully, the seat belt kept her from hurting herself.

  When she calmed and quieted, I called Jamilla's recent dream lover, Tony. "Hello?"

  "It's Letta."

  "How's Jamilla?"

  I exaggerated. "She's sleeping peacefully. Could you tell me how Shana was mur…died?"

  "She lived in a drug and gang infested part of L.A. where you learned to sleep despite gunshots and sirens or you didn't sleep. Once we became lovers, I wanted her out of there. Finally, after a couple months of living with me by default, she agreed to move her things into my apartment. She never made it. Shana was caught in a hail of gunfire in a drive by shooting. She was D.O.A at the hospital. She never had a chance.

  "I was grief-stricken. I'm still not over it. I got drunk and stayed drunk for weeks. For awhile, I felt her presence. It seemed as though her spirit urged me on. Feverishly, I began to write, barely sleeping or eating. I used to weigh thirty pounds more than I do now, but lost it and twenty pounds more as I typed my sorrow away. I went through a hundreds of six-packs and scores of boxes of Kleenex as I wrote about us. About our love, and when I finished, I named it Mixed Couples."

  I was taken aback. "The academy award winner? You wrote that?"

  "Yes, with what I felt was Shana's guiding hand. It didn't win though."

  "I know, but everyone said it should've won. Tony, for Jamilla's sake, I need to get to the bottom of this. Did Shana have any siblings?"

  "No, she was an only child."

  "What was her full name and her mother's name."

  "Shana Jean Easton. Her mother is Glenda Easton, sorry I don't know her middle name."

  "That's fine. That's enough to locate her."

  "You want to find her? I know where she lives. We stay in touch."

  "Oh, good. Where's that?"

  "7575 Live Oak Street, apt 106, Bell Gardens."

  "Got it. Thanks. I'll be in touch."

  Not long after ending the call, Jamilla woke up. "Where are we?"

  "On the way to your shop. How're you feeling?"

  "Much better. Thanks for helping me."

  "It was nothing." I pulled into the alley behind her shop, where her car had been parked, and where she suggested I move my car, so I wouldn't get a ticket. Parking next to my Ford Mustang, I announced, "We're here."

  "Oh good. Only five minutes late for my two o'clock."

  Since I was so close to Van Nuys, I made a pit stop home to check on some things before heading south to Bell Gardens.

  After a fifty-minute drive I stood in front of apt 106 on Live Oak Street and knocked. After a twenty second wait the door opened to the extent of the safety chain and a pleasant looking middle-aged lady gazed out. "You must be Letta Storm?"

  I nodded. She pushed the door closed to undo the chain, then pulled it open for me to enter. Seeing Shana's mother was startling. She was the spitting image, except older, of her daughter Shana and Jamilla. She invited me to sit in one of the threadbare pieces of furniture, and went to get us both a cup of the coffee she'd just brewed. I sat in one of the occasional chairs and after she came out and handed me a cup and sat in the davenport opposite me.

  She took a sip of coffee and smiled as she set the cup down. "Now, what can I do for you?"

  I pulled my recorder out of my purse and showed it to her. "Just to make sure I don't get anything mixed up, do you mind if I record our conversation?"

  She shrugged. "I guess not."

  Setting the recorder on the coffee table, I activated it, then set back in my chair, cup and saucer in hand. "As I told you on the phone, I'm an attorney. What I didn't tell you was I represent your daughter."

  As I expected her brows dipped and puzzlement colored her face. "I don't understand, my daughter is dead."

  I chuckled. "Yes, she is, but she seems to be very active, she even seems to be playing matchmaker. However, I didn't mean to confuse you. I represent
your living daughter, Jamilla."

  "Shana was my only daughter. I have no other."

  "Glenda, may I call you Glenda?"

  She nodded. "Of course."

  "Good. A simple check of birth records showed that you gave birth to twin girls on December 3rd, 1983 and that one of them, baby X was offered for adoption."

  She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "You have been busy."

  "Ah-huh."

  "So they named her Jamilla? When I said I only have one daughter, I wasn't really denying baby X. Out of desperation I'd given her away and she no longer belonged to me. How did she turn out?"

  "Very nice. She's a go-getter. She owns a beauty salon. Now, that she's grown up, you might want to meet her."

  "Maybe. I could get ahold of her through you, I suppose?"

  "Yes, I do have a few more questions if you're willing."

  "Of course, but first I have a question for you."

  I smiled. "Go ahead."

  "You said something about my daughter being active and playing matchmaker. Could you explain that?"