Blaque Pearle
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Synopsis
Tarris Marie’s debut novel intertwines crime, romance, and the '90s era. A refreshing new voice for urban romance lovers and women’s crime thriller connoisseurs.
Before her Hollywood dreams were shattered, Pearle Monalise Brown was the tenacious aspiring actress from Compton's unforgiving, scarred streets. Never broken, Pearle switches gears to a fallback plan—resorting to her beauty and acting skills to swindle money and
expensive jewels. When she's hired by the Colombian cartel to steal a priceless Basquiat from the debonair kingpin and art collector, Blaque, her talents might not be enough to keep her from falling into a trap she never saw coming.
Blaque is sagacious and handsome—not to mention the legacy of two powerful organized crime families: the Laurents—known dons hailing from Kingston, Jamaica, and the Savages—a sophisticated syndicate with criminal enterprises across the U.S. As Blaque and Pearle
become passionately entangled, Pearle falls prey to a darker underworld. Time is ticking. Lives are at stake. Will these love outlaws be able to outsmart their enemies, or will they wage an all-out war, leaving the bodies to fall wherever they may?
Release date: September 26, 2023
Publisher: Black Odyssey Media
Print pages: 288
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Blaque Pearle
Tarris Marie
Writing Blaque Pearle was a spiritual journey for me. Its inception started with the character Pearle. Smart, sexy, talented, devoted, and flawed, her essence is a cumulation of different women from my past and present. She places the needs of her family ahead of her own and is not afraid to go dark for what she believes is her only means of survival.
Pearle’s name is considered “old-school,” but I knew she would carry it with confidence. Although she is a criminal, I wanted her name to symbolize characteristics all women could relate to––pearls, the universal gems of wisdom created in layers while trying to escape parasites in darkness. While trapped inside an oyster’s shell, pearls develop beauty and don’t shine until the oyster is done with them. Like women, pearls possess a value that appreciates as it ages, so I chose the name Pearle to represent the soul of a woman.
Christian “Blaque” Savage spoke to me immediately after Pearle. Blaque, like Pearle, is unlawful, but it is not my job to justify or judge them. His spirit was inspired by black men with whom I had come in contact throughout my life. He is intelligent, charming, protective, and, unfortunately, scarred. Loyal, loving, and respectful to the women in his life, Blaque is a powerful outlaw with a vulnerability I had never experienced in black male characters depicted in books or television.
Blaque’s birth name, Christian Savage, represents the humanistic struggle between good and bad. Like other black men I’ve known, he wrestles with his chameleon ability to adapt to his legacy and environment, both of which he feels have been affected by societal factors outside his control.
Blaque Pearle is a soulful love story, and the title––like the gem, black pearl––is dark in color and symbolizes eternal love. I don’t believe it is coincidental that black pearls are also legendary for healing wounded hearts because Blaque Pearle did more than heal me during my spiritual journey. It transformed me into a published author, and typing every word has been my pleasure. So please, kick back and find your inner Blaque Pearle.
Chapter 1
California Love
PEARLE MONALISE BROWN
Los Angeles 1999
I knew the Academy Awards would never grant me the coveted Oscar for any of my performances, but the Hollywood sign would always be my inspiration. Summertime 1999 required me to use acting techniques that would forever change my life. It was a quiet summer night, and Mother Nature blew an unseasonably cool breeze over me. Standing on the balcony, I admired the Hollywood sign and gazed at the dazzling stars amidst the full moon and black sky.
Maxwell, a handsome, six-foot-five, newly-retired NBA point guard, stepped outside and wrapped his arms around my waist. My velvety chocolate mountain had recently moved to L.A. to escape the cold winters in Minnesota.
“Hey, Robyn, are you ready to come inside?” he asked, gently kissing my neck. “It’s getting chilly.”
Turning around, I gently grabbed his face, and we kissed softly. Maxwell was the best kisser; his warm lips gave me chills.
“Are you ready to warm me up?”
He effortlessly swept me into his power-forward arms and smiled beautifully as he carried me to his bedroom.
“I was born ready.”
I loved the strength of his hands. He lifted my red dress with one hand and spread my bare lips with the other. As the fullness of his tongue moved deep between my thighs, I closed my eyes and reminded myself this was the longest relationship I’d been involved in. He was unlike the others. Being a guard on the court for twenty years must have also taught him to be an expert in guarding his heart.
I slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt while he removed his pants. He was always so gentle with me because, as he pointed out, I was the most petite woman he had ever dated. When he entered me, I gasped softly from his Magnum size, but he muffled my sounds with his full lips. I never had to fake the pleasure Maxwell provided.
My arms and legs grabbed him tightly, and he released passionately inside me.
He rested his head on my breasts. “Damn, Robyn. You’re amazing, baby.”
I smiled. “I love you, Maxwell.”
“I love you, too,” he replied, squeezing my body tighter until he fell asleep in my arms.
I rubbed the nape of his neck and stared at the ceiling fan. His soft breathing was so melodic that I soon drifted off to sleep, too. Moments later, the room shook from the door slamming against the wall.
Click. Click.
On cue, a voice shouted the words I knew too well.
“Welcome to L.A., motherfucker! You know what time it is.”
I provided my usual best performance, screaming with my hands in the air at the sight of a Glock pointed at us.
Before Maxwell could react, his hands were swiftly cuffed.
“Leave her alone,” he hollered.
My dress smacking my face put an end to my screaming.
“Roslyn, put your damn clothes on,” the voice commanded.
I looked at Goldie––my accomplice––fully masked as Batman, his favorite superhero since we were kids.
Maxwell squirmed in the cuffs as if he could escape them like Houdini.
“Roslyn? Robyn? Who the fuck are you?”
Goldie deepened his voice. “I’m motherfuckin’ Batman.”
When Maxwell finally realized what was going on, he started yelling obscenities. Having been called every name in the book, I tuned him out while slipping into my dress.
“Did you bring my Chanel?” I asked.
Goldie pointed to the doorway, then placed a towel over Maxwell’s face. The room suddenly fell quiet.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
“I put his ass to sleep.”
“With what, Inspector Gadget?”
“Chloroform. And I told you, I’m motherfuckin’ Batman.”
We walked swiftly to Maxwell’s master closet, where I collected the hidden cameras I had used to get the combination to the safe. It was payday for my full month of work in this gig. Goldie and I stepped over last week’s laundry and emptied his safe, tossing the neatly stacked bills into my Chanel luggage.
As Goldie and I bolted out of the closet and through the spacious master bedroom, I stopped to take one last dreamy look at my latest victim.
“He was the best kisser.”
“He was business, Roslyn. Now let’s go.”
We ran out the front door and down the long driveway. Maxwell’s house stared down at us, looking like a piece of modern art alone on a hill.
I smacked my lips. “That’s not my name.”
Goldie opened the passenger door of my white Corvette.
“I can’t keep up with who you are anymore,” he shot back and ran around the car to jump in the driver’s seat.
“You’re Batman, and I’m Robyn, nigga. It’s not hard.”
He laughed while starting the car. “Damn, that’s funny as hell.”
Goldie put the car in drive, and we sped off. The car zipped down the narrow, sharp streets until we hit Interstate 405. Goldie tossed his Batman mask into the backseat. After turning on Dr. Dre’s The Chronic, I snatched off my Halle Berry pixie-cut wig. Goldie let down the Corvette’s top, and I tossed my fake eyebrows and lashes into the wind. Then we high-fived because Maxwell was our biggest score.
This was how we welcomed suckers to the wild Westside. It’s kinda like what Tupac and Dr. Dre said in the song “California Love.” Goldie and I were untouchable in Cali, and in Compton, we kept it rockin’.
My name is Pearle Monalise Brown, and I grew up deep in the CPT, Compton, lit by the deceptive gleams of sunshine during the day and weeping candlelit vigils at night. The youngest of three, I had two stepbrothers, Goldie and Nike. My mother, Claudia Jones, and my stepfather, Niles Brown, married in 1979 when I was a toddler. My biological father, Devin Davis, was killed in a car accident when I was one year old, and Nike and Goldie’s mother died of cancer when they were also toddlers.
Niles had adopted me when I was too young to remember, and he and my mother were the only parents Nike, Goldie, and I had known. So, we were raised as blood in a loving home. Claudia was a beautiful, soft-spoken, nurturing woman who worked as a secretary until she was laid off a few years ago. She was Black but had been raised by a kind Mexican family. She spoke fluent Spanish and taught us to speak it, as well. Handsome, strong, and protective, Niles had been an auto mechanic and our financial support.
Mommy and Daddy loved each other and showed it, which grossed us out as children. Now, I wish I could watch them kissing in the kitchen again. They’d both grown up in a more suburban Compton when middle-class minority families dominated the neighborhood, whereas I grew up at the height of the crack era when the CPT became the straight-up hood.
I didn’t realize my life wasn’t typical until I got accepted by the Los Angeles Visual and Performing Arts Academy in the sixth grade. The kids I went to school with walked around with no concept of time or danger; their conversations were frivolous and carefree. They were inviting and much too trusting. I initially thought they were prisoners of the suburbs, but I soon realized I was the one living behind a metal fence and barred windows.
In my neighborhood, everyone’s feet moved quickly and eyes stayed open, always on alert for the lurkers and jackers waiting for someone to get relaxed and caught slipping. Our family slept on the floor many nights to avoid gunfire. Our parents bought us neutral-colored school clothes and shoes to make sure we didn’t get caught up in gang affiliations. As children, we would hear gunshots on the next block while playing outside and rode our bikes past gang fights in the streets. Everyone had been in at least one physical fight and countless cuss-out matches, and every kid had one male family member in or out of jail.
Where I lived, it was inevitable that someone’s mama, auntie, uncle, cousin, or daddy would become the next neighborhood crackhead. There was often talk about a family member or friend who was murdered. We all had at least one gang-affiliated cousin who was only a phone call away to fight on our behalf. Teenage sex and pregnancy were no big deal. Basically, no one gave a shit about the beauty of palm trees.
Once I experienced life on the “outside,” I wanted a one-way ticket out. An acting career was my passport, or so I thought. I had wanted to be an actress for as long as I could remember. Teachers selected me to perform in all plays in elementary school. Now at the Visual and Performing Arts Academy, I was surrounded by creatives and theater lovers. Life could be different. I was sure of it.
My talent was undeniable, and my family embraced it, showing their support by attending every performance. I loved the art of it and needed the escape, too, even though the getaway was only temporary. I poured my soul into the characters I played and continued to do so until I, Pearle, no longer existed.
Daddy was supportive of us all, but he also taught us to hustle, survive, and thrive. He dreamt of owning an auto shop. Every morning at 5:30 a.m., he would drop me off at the bus stop on his way to work. I’d catch two L.A. Metro buses and arrive at school by 7:30 a.m. My voyage home was longer because of traffic and an extra bus added to my route. I didn’t mind the commute, but Daddy hated it. Ultimately, he wanted the family out of the hood, and it’s what I wanted just as much, if not more.
When I was sixteen, everything changed. Daddy and his childhood friend became involved in armed robberies of stores and banks. My older brother, Nike, soon joined the crew, and the money grew even more. During one heist, they were caught, though. The consequence of the crime was a fifteen-year bid for my father, but worse, Nike was shot and killed by an armed security guard. The emptiness in our family’s heart would never be filled.
Before my mother had gotten laid off, her secretarial wage didn’t cover rent, and now with my father behind bars, the financial strain became even more unbearable for her. So, Goldie and I quit school to work. Goldie was happy about it because he hated school. I, on the other hand, was devastated and hated working at the mall. I auditioned whenever I could, but the streets of Compton sucked me back in like a vacuum, and I got trapped somewhere between the lint and dust.
After two years of drowning in sorrow, Goldie and I decided to step outside of Compton and found glitter inside a random strip club in Hollywood. That night, I wore a wig and switched my makeup to create a new fun look.
Goldie was surprised when I jumped in the car.
“Damn, Pearle, you look completely different. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Me llamo Teresa,” I replied playfully.
We laughed, and I became the Teresa character nicknamed Ri-Ri for the night.
At the club, I got the attention of Enrique, a gangster from Oakland. After a few drinks, he whispered in my ear that he had a house he rented near the beach in Malibu. When I noticed his duffle bag full of cash for the strippers, I convinced him to end his night early so he could take me to his place and show me the ocean.
I met Goldie by the restrooms. We set it up so that he would follow us, and I’d distract Enrique so he’d leave his bag in the car. Once the coast was clear, Goldie would break into his vehicle, and we would walk away with the cash.
At first, my protective big brother hated the idea.
“I don’t have time to argue,” I told him, speaking firmly. “Me gusto este hombre. I’d fuck him for free.”
The thought grossed Goldie out, but he finally complied.
Enrique and I drove to his Malibu rental home as Goldie tailed us. Enrique was sexy with his golden, tanned skin and dark, wavy hair. The way his lips moved, I couldn’t wait to feel them on my body. We talked and laughed the entire way down the beautiful Pacific Coast. When we pulled up to his gorgeous house on the beach, I noticed cars in his driveway.
“Enrique, is someone here?” I asked.
He licked his pink lips. “Yeah, Ri-Ri, but it’s cool. We have a private room.”
Right there in the car, I straddled him in the driver’s seat and stuck my tongue in his mouth. His eyes widened at my aggressiveness.
I grabbed his hands and pulled him out of the car. “Vamanos, papi.”
Entranced, he led me to the bedroom, leaving his duffle bag vulnerable. Within seconds, it was in Goldie’s possession.
Enrique and Ri-Ri had an unforgettable night. The next morning, Enrique was upset about the robbery but never suspected his sexy mami, Ri-Ri, was responsible. Goldie and I walked away with fifteen thousand dollars each, and our underground operation began.
From that day forward, I got lost in characters, experiencing the same high from the cons I executed as I did when I performed onstage during my school days. I had no close friends and spent many nights alone. I carefully chose the men I slept with and robbed. I liked and had fun with them most times, but after my performance ended, I disconnected.
People knew me as Pearle Brown, the cute, lowkey, around-the-way girl from Compton who owned a hair salon in the hood. Goldie was my funny, more flamboyant brother who owned a strip club. We both loved and took care of our mother and visited our father, who had a decade left to serve in the penitentiary.
What people didn’t know was how our businesses gave us immediate access to targets for our next heist. My quiet facade was how I listened undetected in the salon while women discussed the latest gossip and talked about the out-of-town celebrities and ballers who were visiting L.A. Goldie’s club swarmed with unknowing prey as they carelessly threw endless cash from backpacks, duffle bags, and briefcases.
Initially, jobs were quick and easy. Greed was a seductress to us. Although we made sure each robbery was more lucrative than the last, they became more dangerous, too. Word spread underground of a dynamic duo who could easily steal candy from a baby. During the late 1990s, cell phones became more common, which made my job—the sneaking, the disappearing—harder, not easier. Still, I craved the escapism, the money, and the free feeling. So, foolishly, I ignored the red flags.
Chapter 2
It Was a Good Day
MAURICE “GOLDIE” BROWN
After a victorious nighttime robbery, nothing felt better than waking up on top of Benjamins, sandwiched between two beautiful bodies with warm breasts on my back and a juicy ass positioned right in front of my thighs. With a payout of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the Maxwell job should have been Pearle and my last. However, greed is destructive, and later that day, my indulgence in that sin would change the trajectory of our lives forever.
My stomach growled loudly, expressing its anger at being empty. “Damn, I’m hungry.”
Alyssa smiled and slipped from behind me. “I’ll make our usual.”
I moved to sit on the side of the bed and slapped the hundreds stuck to her thighs as she slid into her purple fitted dress.
Alyssa was sexy and the best dancer at my club, with her big breasts, tiny waist, and nice booty. She had smooth, chocolate skin and long hair that was either natural or a weave. I couldn’t tell, nor did I care. She danced to get out of Compton and clung to me like dryer sheets to get what she wanted. I liked her, and she liked playing her position. So, our arrangement worked perfectly.
Tina, my ride-or-die alibi, main boo, and top bartender in the club, slid into my tank top and then sat on my lap. “I’ll make us Tequila Sunrises,” she offered.
I wrapped my arms around her waist. “What did you, Pearle, and I do all night?”
“Smoke, drink, and play Tetris.”
I kissed her neck. “And what time did Pearle leave, boo?”
“Six o’clock.”
“Dang, I missed all the fun!” Alyssa yelled from the kitchen. “The club was jumping till daylight, so I had to get that money.”
Tina and I smiled.
I played with her cropped curls. “I like the Jada Pinkett look on you.”
“I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I may not always say shit, but I always notice the sexy shit you do.”
She pulled my face to hers, and we kissed again. Tina had been in my life since middle school, and our shit was complicated. She was thick, brown, and beautiful and changed her looks randomly, which always held my attention. I was digging her new vibe. It highlighted her cheekbones and pretty eyes.
I couldn’t figure out why Tina put up with my ass. I guess it’s because we’d been through so much. Eventually, I would marry her if she was still down with me. I loved her and wanted what my parents had, but monogamy wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Marriage scared the shit out of me. So, the women in my life had a choice to either love me as I was or leave me the hell alone.
Tina handed us drinks, lit a blunt, and took a hit before passing it to me. “It’s a wake-and-bake kind of morning.”
I inhaled and passed it to Alyssa. “Shit, that’s every morning.”
After we ate and played a little Nintendo, Alyssa cleaned the kitchen and prepared to leave. While heading to the door, she stopped and turned to me.
“Goldie, I need to go shopping and get my hair done.”
With no hesitation, I slid a bankroll into her cleavage. She pecked my lips in response.
“Thanks. See you at the club, Mr. President.”
When I turned around after closing the door, Tina was standing behind me, holding a garbage bag in one hand and a bright pink letter in the other.
“How late am I?” I asked.
“Late enough to lose your mother’s house.”
“Shit. Can I take out a second mortgage on my crib? How much equity do I have?”
“You’ve done all that.” She took another pink letter off the end table. “This one is from the mortgage company about your house.”
“What about the club?”
She turned over the garbage bag, and pink letters dropped to the floor. “Baby, you have nothing else to rob from Peter to pay Paul.”
“Shit!”
She grabbed my face. “It’s time to tell Pearle.”
I shook my head. “She will beat my ass. I promised her and Pops I would handle Mama’s bills.”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to handle it the way I handle things.”
“Rob niggas?” she asked.
I nodded. “But I’ll have to do it solo.”
“No, you don’t.” She placed her arms around my neck. “I’m your partner for life.”
“No, I need your eyes on the club.” We kissed. “You know a nigga knows when to be serious and stop fucking around.”
“I know.”
I grabbed her face and admired her natural beauty. “I love ya, boo.”
“I love you, too, Goldie.”
Still exhausted from the previous night, Tina went back to bed to get some more sleep. So, I smoked a blunt while separating the stolen cash equally for Pearle and me. I grabbed a few stacks to give Mama and stuffed the money inside a Louis Vuitton bag I bought her from the mall. Bills were past due, but I couldn’t have Mama looking broke, rocking a swap meet knock-off.
When my brother, Nike, was killed and my pops was sentenced to fifteen years in prison, I went numb. I promised Pops I would protect Pearle and Mama, and I didn’t want to let him down. Shit was getting hot since the streets were talking, but no one suspected us. Despite the rumors swirling around about a thieving pimp and his bottom bitch, I believed Pearle and I were untouchable.
After walking out the door of my mother’s house, I stopped on the walkway to deeply inhale the fresh air. The visit with my mother was nice, like always. She was appreciative of the cash and loved the designer bag. Sure, I felt guilty whenever she looked me in the eyes and expressed how proud she was of me. It would’ve killed her if she ever found out that Pearle and I were thieves, but her losing her house would’ve killed me. So, I did what I had to do.
My thick gold chain, watch, and earrings gleamed in the City of Angels’ sunshine.. . .
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