The sun dipped below the LA skyline as Uma Thomas, attorney-at-law and the youngest full partner in one of LA’s largest law firms, stepped out of her sleek convertible Jag. The evening air on Sunset Boulevard was tinged with the promise of adventure.
Uma had meticulously planned this night, and as she approached the entrance of the “Rhythm Room,” her heart raced with anticipation. The bar was a beacon of west LA sophistication, its neon sign flickering above the door, inviting the city’s elite to indulge in an evening of music, dancing, and joyous release from the routines of their lives.
Inside, the air was thick with the sultry and soulful R&B and pop melodies of Wanda Heart and Her Love Puppets. The “Rhythm Room” was an elite meat market of the highest order, where the beautiful and the powerful mingled, with all eyes scanning the crowd for love and hookups. Uma felt a thrill as she surveyed the scene, her group, Anita, Whitney, Claire, Jamal, Marcus, Parker, and Monica, were already the center of attention.
Anita, a svelte, MILFy literary magazine editor and one of Uma’s west LA acquaintances, stood by the bar, her yoga-toned body clad in a form-fitting athleisure ensemble that accentuated her toned curves. Her flowing blonde hair fell just past her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled as she sipped a cosmopolitan.
Beside her, Whitney, her niece, a tall, polished Kentucky girl who managed a racehorse farm up in Hidden Hills, exuded an air of domineering confidence, her long black hair and flawless features commanding attention. She was dressed in high-end designer casual wear, her athletic frame radiating the social ease of one who comes from old money.
The inimitable Wanda Heart belted out “For Your Love, I Would Do Anything.”
Claire, Uma’s legal assistant, leaned against the wall sullenly, affected deeply by the song’s lyrics as they so completely mirrored her aching love for Uma. She had blown in on her motorcycle. Her edgy urban look was a stark contrast to that of the upscale crowd. Her brunette curls framed her face, and her brown eyes scanned the room with a mix of curiosity, wariness, and outright hostility. She was a scrapper, and one of Uma’s lovers. Her attitude and appearance screamed, “Fuck all y’all!
Jamal and Marcus, also attorneys and also Uma’s subordinates, stood near the stage, their presence undeniable. Jamal, tall and muscular, wore a tailored suit that hugged his broad shoulders, his confident smile and piercing eyes drawing the attention of every woman in the room.
Marcus, equally handsome with his biracial features and immaculate appearance, stood beside him, his polished demeanor a stark contrast to Jamal’s raw charisma. Whenever Marcus was around Jamal, he was reduced to the role of sidekick, a role he tried to shake, but couldn’t.
Uma took a moment to appreciate the scene before joining her group. She felt a surge of power as she realized they were the most attractive group in the room. Her killer body and whimsical style, a mix of quirky accessories and professional attire, set her apart, her bright eyes and expressive dimples drawing admiring glances.
Soon, Uma found herself in Jamal’s arms, his strong hands guiding her through the rhythm. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, the heat between them undeniable. Uma’s heart raced as Jamal’s lips brushed her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Don’t I remember you with your sweet ass pinned against the wall a couple of nights ago, Uma?” he whispered.
“That mighta been me, I think it was me,” Uma said with a small smile. Growing wet, she reached for Jamal’s huge pride and joy. Uma smirked, “Jamal, always the charmer. I have my hand on something that just might charm me!”
Jamal’s eyes darkened with challenge. “We’ll see about that.”
Marcus, standing nearby, watched the exchange with a mix of envy and admiration, but mostly envy. He was drawn to Uma’s carefree spirit, her intelligence, and her undeniable beauty. But his uptight nature and his fucked-up emotional repression kept him from acting on his desires. He turned away, his polished exterior hiding the turmoil within. It was easy, however, to find an alternative dance partner. After all, the room was filled with white chicks looking for nocturnal adventure.
Monica, Uma’s loan management friend, sat at a table, her curvaceous figure accentuated by a tailored outfit. Her dark auburn hair framed her Liz Taylor face, and her warm smile lit up the room. She was engaged in conversation with Parker, a young shemale, and Anita’s cherished son/daughter who looked undeniably beautiful in a short skirt that barely covered his/her ass.
Parker exuded undeniable, even if ambiguous, sex appeal. For the moment she was a she, her green eyes sparkling with excitement, her budding feminine charms drawing Monica in. Monica had been picking up on Parker’s androgynous vibe and was digging it.
With her experienced eye, Wanda Heart noticed Parker in the crowd and mischievously broke out with “Lola.” The crowd parted at the center of the room, beckoning to Parker to perform a dance solo, and the vixen eagerly complied. Sensuously and provocatively. “Girls will be boys and boys will be girls….It’s a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world, except for Lola…La-la-la-la Lola…”
To the crowd’s raucous, joyous cheers.
And as the night progressed, the electricity continued to surge.
Claire, watching Uma and Jamal from the sidelines, suffered. Her toughness cracked, her vulnerability surfaced. The little legal assistant turned away, unable to mask her pain.
Anita approached Claire, draping an arm around her. “You okay, honey?” she asked in her high-pitched, gentle voice. Claire shrugged, her bluntness returning. “Just not a fan of watching my boss get cozy with the fucking black dude. I love her, Anita.”
Anita managed a half-smile. “Sometimes, we have to let go of what we can’t control, baby.”
“I wish I could control her, but I can’t. She’s too fine for me. I’m not on her level,” Claire said, as if her heart were breaking in a thousand places.
Wanda Heart pounded her piano, accompanied by raw, emotional guitar work, and belted out a soul-searing version of “I’d Rather Go Blind” that appeared to be the soundtrack to Claire’s struggles.
As the night reached its climax, the group found themselves entangled in a web of desires. Uma and Jamal’s dance moves had turned into pure fire. Claire, unable to bear it, stared at the floor, her heart aching. Whitney, ever the dominant figure, took control, her commanding presence drawing Monica and Parker into a sensual threesome. Monica’s curvaceous figure and Parker’s girly-boy beauty created a titillating display.
After that, Monica and Whitney headed for the front door, with the eager Parker in tow, raising many eyebrows.
Finally, Uma and Claire turned to each other, their eyes locking in a moment of raw emotion. Uma’s emotions surged, her tears threatening to spill over. “Claire, I…”
Claire’s tough exterior cracked, her vulnerability emerging. “Uma, I can’t… I just can’t watch you with him. I can’t see you with anybody.” Uma pulled the weeping Claire into a warm embrace. “Our time will come, baby. You are precious to me.”
As the night drew to a close, the group found themselves changed. Uma and Claire’s unresolved tension hung in the air, their emotions raw and exposed. Jamal, sensing Uma’s conflict, stepped back, his confident smile fading.
Marcus, having just witnessed Claire’s raw and public moment of vulnerability, felt a sense of liberation. He drummed up the courage to approach Uma, his polished demeanor returning. “Uma, I… I just wanted to say, you’re incredible. And whoever ends up with you is a lucky man.” There, he had said it, barely keeping his feelings for Uma under control.
Uma smiled, her heart swelling. “Thank you, Marcus. That was a sweet thing to say.”
Uma left with Jamal and headed for her condo as Marcus looked on with an attempt at stoicism. A not entirely successful attempt.
The group finally dwindled, and the “Rhythm Room” grew silent. Uma’s plans for the evening had unfolded in ways she had never expected, her desires and emotions laid bare. The whole thing had been a bittersweet affair. Glass half full, glass half empty.
Wanda Heart’s last song of the evening had been “My love is blind, can’t you see my desire?…That’s the way, that’s the way…That’s the way love goes.”
Sometimes there’s a lotta wisdom in a song.