Love Don’t Live Here Chantal awoke to the comfort of $1,500 Frette sheets, still dreaming about the incredible sex session her and Andre had in the limo after the movie premiere, and the amazing night of lovemaking when they arrived home. She knew after the fireworks their bodies ignited, significant progress towards her goal had been made. Andre was warm, affectionate, and treated her with respect during the duration of her visit. Last night to the world they appeared to be the perfect couple. As she lay naked in bed, Chantal began making plans for the redecorating she would do once moved in permanently. Andre did have exquisite taste, but she thought the place needed a woman’s touch. Although Chantal’s preference was to live at the mansion in Jersey, Andre insisted that with all his business meetings in the city the penthouse was more convenient for everyday purposes. They would usually stay in Jersey on weekends or long holidays. But Chantal had no doubt in her mind she would change all of that shortly. So when she stepped out of bed and opened the double French doors that were adjacent to the master bedroom, and heard him making flight arrangements for her departure, her bubble instantly popped. To Chantal’s dismay Andre was putting her back on a plane to Chicago. “Why are you in such a rush for me to leave?” Chantal wanted to know as Andre was hanging up the phone. “I have a lot of shit to take care of. Business is crazy right now.” “So crazy that you need for me to leave?” “Yes,” Andre said in an agitated voice. “How long is this back and forth mess going to last? You need for me and your daughter to be closer to you. Why do you insist on having us way in Chicago when you are here? It doesn’t make any sense, Andre. Don’t you think your daughter wants to be near her father?” “I’m not in the mood for this bullshit, Chantal. I told you before that I’m not ready for this living together crap. Last time we tried it, you started wilding out on me.” “Yeah, because I caught your ass fucking around with mad bitches.” “See that’s what you get for looking. I told you not to be all up in my business and you wouldn’t find anything, but being the nosey bitch that you are you can’t let shit go.” “Fuck you, Andre, just fuck you. I don’t have to deal with this.” Chantal turned around and began gathering up her belongings as if she was going somewhere. Andre walked towards the bedroom where Chantal was randomly picking up shit and tossing it in her luggage. When Chantal saw him standing in the doorway from the corner of her eye she met his glare. Andre looked at her in a vicious almost hateful way. His words were clear and defiant. “Chantal, you don’t have anywhere to go. I make you. Without me, you’re just that weed smoking, pill popping, coke snorting whore. Everybody who is somebody has fucked you, and the ones who haven’t, heard about the pussy and chose to pass. So my suggestion to you is to get on the plane and take your ass back to Chicago. When I need you, I’ll call you.” This was how Andre would get sometimes, cold and cruel. When he acted like this, Chantal knew he was trying to get rid of her so he could be with the next bitch. He would send her home pissed, and in a couple of days after he fulfilled his urge with one of his jump-offs, he would call saying how sorry he was. This was a constant ritual. Chantal was hoping by now he would’ve outgrown it. But until he did she would have to hang tough. Chantal had started off as one of Andre’s jump-offs, but she played her cards right and was able to stick around. She wasn’t about to let one of these other tramps come along and take her place. Chantal would give him his space for now, because he would be back begging for what was between her legs soon.