Dulcie Brown's Private Rooms

Late afternoon in downtown LA, Jerome raps softly on the door of Dulcie Brown's boudoir. When there is no answer, he enters slowly. A sudden movement catches his eye over by the massive four-poster bed. He squints in the semi-darkness and then grins in recognition.

"Jimmy? Dat you?"

"Yair, it's me," Jimmy croaks. Jerome realises that the cause of the man's hoarseness is due to a rope tied around his neck, tethering him to the bedpost. He had obviously tried to escape, and almost garrotted himself in the process. His hands are cuffed and his feet are bound with rope also.

"What you doin' all trussed up like a turkey?" Jerome shakes his head in amusement.

"She punishin' me."

"For what?"

Jimmy looked away, embarrassed. "I couldn't satisfy her."

"Well why the hell not?"

"I - I is scared outa my skin Jerome, so when it's time to do the business, nothin's workin'."

"Well now, I feel real sorry for you little brother, but I think I might be able to help."

"No, you can't untie me, she gonna kill you!"

"Oh no, I aint gonna untie you, I got somethin' else in mind." Jerome rummages through the inside pockets of his jacket and holds up a small vial. "Here! You need to take this."

"What is it?"

"Spanish Gold Fly – best aphrodisiac on the west coast and guaranteed to last for five hours of pleasure."

"Aphro-what?"

"Never you mind. All you gotta know is that it puts the iron back in your rod, know what I'm sayin'?"

Jimmy, glances hesitantly at the bathroom door, "Quick, help a brother out wud ya, and gimme some o' that stuff."

Jerome walks over and drops half the contents of the vial down Jimmy's open mouth.

"How long till it starts to work, she still bathin'."

"Hmm – bout 20 to 30 minutes. That fast enough for you?"

"Yair, I reckon." Jerome heads towards the bathroom door to Jimmy's alarm. "No! She said she don't want to be disturbed by anyone!"

"It's ok, the tehuti mon isn't anyone" he leans against the bathroom door and cups his hand and calls "Dulcie, he's here to see you!" He turns back to Jimmy. "Stay strong little brother, once that shit starts to kick in you gonna be lovin' her real good – then she gonna cut you loose. I promise you. She might seem like a tigress, but Dulcie is a real pussycat, 'specially when she's been fed." He claps Jimmy's shoulder as he walks past.

Dulcie Brown is partially submerged in a large porcelain claw foot bath, the centre piece of her lavishly decorated bathroom. She sits upright at the sound of Jerome's voice. Bright red rivulets run down her shoulders and bosom. The bathtub is filled with what once flowed through the veins and arteries of Pasquale La Rotta, her one-time rival for control of "the Strip". Dulcie practices Obeah, the Jamaican form of Voodoo, bathing in the blood of her enemies was part of a ritual that gives her protection and keeps her in the position of top dog. That, and her alliance with Damien Sinclair. She smiled at the announcement; it was always a pleasure dealing with Damien – he had such exotic taste in drugs, and she enjoyed rising to the challenge.

Downstairs, in the apartment conjoined with Dulcie's Club, Damien is waiting patiently on a plush velvet sofa, smoke from his cigar circles the room. Dulcie appears in the doorway in a bejewelled peacock blue kaftan and matching turban, large hoop earrings almost touching her shoulders.

"Come Damien, I have sumtin' to show you."

He follows her into a locked room where even Dulcie's henchmen are forbidden to enter. Dulcie unlocks a safe and takes out a small white jar and places it carefully in Damien's hands.

"What is it?" Damien read the label as Nymphaea Caerula.

"Blue Egyptian Lotus – very rare, and very expensive."

"If the mythology is correct, a taste of the lotus makes you forget everything and puts you in a perpetual state of bliss."

"So ya know the stories den?"

"How did you get it?"

Dulcie smiles coyly, "I can never reveal my sources."

"Is there anything you do want to reveal to me Dulcie?"

"Why do ya ask – wud you prefer dat I was more revealing?" she looks over her shoulder and her kaftan slips down slightly, exposing smooth, chocolate skin.

Damien sweeps his hand over her shoulder, just hovering but not touching. "A woman chooses what she wants to reveal, and the rest is a mystery to be discovered."

"Well, d'ere is a lot o' me to discover. Wud ya like to explore me, Damien?"

"Dulcie, I would like nothing more than to survey every inch of you."

That's how it was between them, a kind of flirtatious dance that created a palpable sexual tension. Dulcie enjoyed the thrill of this verbal interchange sometimes much more than any of her physical sexual conquests. To Damien, Dulcie was a dangerous, exciting, creature; who's ruthlessness was almost akin to his own. Sometimes it could turn into a type of sparring match, each threatening the other with what violent things they were capable of. Of course, these threats always had the same sexual undertone. That is how they usually conducted their business, the dance first, then negotiations after.

They sit at the usual table and Dulcie pours tea - a concoction laced with Jamaican rum and spices. Naturally, she refuses to tell Damien how it is made.

"So are ya interested in the Lotus?"

"Very much so. I'll take the whole jar along with my usual order. What's the price?"

"A special price, for a special friend." Dulcie writes a figure on a piece of paper and slides it across the table. Damien whistles.

"Damien, 'dis is the real deal."

"I don't doubt you." Damien reaches inside his jacket for his cheque book. "Dulcie - I need to ask you something else, a personal favour."

"Ask me anyt'ing."

"I need you to back off from Marvin Tork."

"Tcch! Why do ya worry 'bout that chi-chi mon he nuttin' but a bagga mout!"

"Nevertheless, I still need him. You can add his debt to my personal account."

"Hmm – ok den" she scrutinizes his face. "So, do ya need him like ya need me?"

"Dulcie, I don't just need you, I want you. You are essential to me."

"Dat so? Well, where is ma invitation, everyone has bin talkin' bout ya big party."

"Right here," Damien flicks his palm, and an envelope materialises between his fingertips. He slides it across the table and Dulcie tucks it down her cleavage for safekeeping. She claps her hands and two of her men appear with a large gift box for Damien, his order. She slips the jar in the box before handing it over. With business finished, Damien presses his lips to her fingers and bids her farewell.

"Wait!" she commands, and he turns sharply on his heel. "You'll be needin' the instructions." She goes back to the safe and hands him a tiny scroll. "Be careful wid' it, it's very potent."

"Rest assured, Dulcie, I will."

"Also, Damien, de instructions dey not in English – dey in old Egyptian."

Damien raises an eyebrow, nods, and leaves through the beaded curtain.

Back in her boudoir, Dulcie is seated at her dressing table re-applying her lipstick. She takes out the invitation and opens it, breaking the decorative wax seal with a long fingernail. As she reads, a shadowy figure approaches her from behind, shaking fingers reach for her.

"Oooh!" Dulcie squeals as Jimmy presses his body against hers "Well it's 'bout time sumting woke up!" She releases him from his bonds, and they fall on the bed together. It's not long before the headboard starts banging against the wall and Dulcie is screaming with pleasure.

Jerome, his ear pressed to the other side of the door, chuckles to himself. He tosses the vial up in the air, and in a Harlem-Globe Trotter-like move, catches it again behind his back. He slides it back in his jacket pocket and saunters off, whistling That Old Black Magic.

....hope you are enjoying Gabourey Sidibe's character Dulcie Brown, the inspiration came from the movie Tower Heist and real life Columbian drug queen Griselda Blanco. More on Dulcie and her gang in further chapters.