I felt out of place. Like Cleopatra in Rome, a long way from my kingdom in Alexandria.

She looked back at us, her waist small, her breasts the proper size for her frame, her tall body well-proportioned and blessed with curves, a body that owned some size, but not looking unhealthy, not fat in any unflattering way.

Kiki Sunshine winked, then hurried her Amazonian body inside her good-old-boy truck.

Again I wondered what she was to Karl.

As the sun kissed Kiki Sunshine's flesh, jealousy rose inside me. A jealousy I didn't want. A protectiveness I didn't understand. Maybe being territorial was innate, tattooed into our DNA at birth.

It was the sex. Sex made us territorial. Sex made us primal.

If I hadn't experienced Karl, what he was to Kiki Sunshine wouldn't feel like an issue.

A woman let a man penetrate her and emotions fought with logic. That was our faulty wiring at work. That was our never-ending struggle with nature. At least it was mine. I could only speak for me.

Men said they loved you to get sex.

Women had sex hoping love was at the end of the rainbow.

I passed Karl my Gatorade; he took a long swig, finished what was left.

Kiki Sunshine pulled out on Groometown; Karl followed her, made that right turn.

When we were in the left-turn lane, light red, waiting patiently so we could turn onto High Point, I saw his curious and beautiful client looking back in her rearview. Her eyes were on mine. Her gorgeous smile was unhidden.

I closed my eyes on her happiness, wondered if she had smelled my scent on Karl's clothes.

Wondered if she had smelled my arousal on his breath.

Wondered if she knew this territory had been marked.

I wondered if she knew that Karl was fingering the jealousy out of me as we rode.

SIXTEEN.

We followed Kiki Sunshine to Big Tree Way. She headed inside Hunter's Chase apartment complex, led us beyond swimming pools and a tennis court. Lots of trees. Well-maintained grounds.

Kiki Sunshine parked her black Yukon near building K; Karl parked a few spaces over.

Karl eased out of the Jeep and went to Kiki Sunshine. They conversed, nodded, and then Kiki Sunshine pointed back toward the direction we had just come, made a few more gestures. Some agreement was made, then she waved good-bye to him. Her eyes came to me and again she waved good-bye. Southern people were so courteous. I returned the gesture. She hurried toward building K and Karl came back to the Jeep.

I asked, "What's going on?"

"We're going to check in, freshen up, then come right back and pick her up to shoot."

Karl took us to the Hilton Garden Inn, no more than two minutes from Kiki Sunshine's apartment, the hotel being right before Wendover Avenue, a main street that had all the restaurants and Wal-Mart.

We headed to 427, a room with a small living area and two queen-size beds, the suite facing Big Tree Way, a Waffle House, and K&W in view. I had a feeling that this was the side of town were NASCAR and Marlboro lovers considered Hooters and Red Lobster fine dining. Nothing like sipping on a Budweiser while eating fried wings or a plate of fried fish swimming in a lake of butter.

We showered then headed back to pick up his client.

En route I said, "What kind of name is Kiki Sunshine?"

"What do you mean?"

"Kiki Sunshine sounds like the name of a woman who does tricks on poles. Like an announcer in a club should call out, 'Now coming to the stage, Kee-Kee Motherfucking Sunshine.'"

He laughed. "Language."

"You're rubbing off on me. You're corrupting me."

Karl parked in front of building K, the midday heat unbearable. I didn't want to sit in the Jeep. I grabbed my purse and went up to the third floor with Karl, decided to get out of the sun and help him collect Kiki Sunshine. When she opened the door, she wasn't dressed, had on a house coat.

I went upstairs because I was nosy. I wanted to see what her apartment looked like.

I didn't expect much. Expected her living space to be furnished like a college dorm.

There was a fireplace facing a leather sofa that looked too pretty to lounge on. The red love seat was made of high-grain leather, so soft it was like resting in a tub of warm butter. Her ceiling fans were spinning on low, and when I looked up I saw that those weren't the standard apartment-issued fans, even those had been replaced with designer, high-end fans. Her furniture was expensive, too nice for an apartment, every item meant to be in a very nice home, every piece sexy and inviting, like being in the W on a Friday night, apple martini in hand. Her patio was small, filled with terrace furniture that was just as high-end. Her dishes were Mikasa, Mikasa clocks, same for her candleholders and picture frames. Even her kitchen garbage can shined, that being made of stainless steel. This furniture, her oversized truck, no house to put the furniture inside, no garage to shelter an expensive truck, that told me a lot about her priorities. She had invested in a lot of things that depreciated, not a single item that grew in value in sight.

Kiki Sunshine gave us glasses of water, used her Mikasa glasses, then she hurried and changed. I sat and waited for Karl to load his camera with a new memory card, then he sorted through several lenses, picked one, and attached it. Karl said he liked her space, asked her if she wanted to take a few shots up here before we went to find locations for outdoor shots. That excited Kiki Sunshine.

Moments after that Karl had brought some equipment upstairs, things to create the proper lighting, and was doing a photo shoot starring Kiki Sunshine, her apartment having great colors.

Kiki Sunshine wore a dress that showed off her legs, moved with charm and grace, like she was on a fashion runway in Paris. She posed for the camera, remained natural, never seemed uncomfortable.

She asked me, "Did you know Fantasia was from around here? She's from High Point."

I asked, "Who?"

"Fantasia Barrino. American Idol winner. She's from High Point. That's around here."

"Oh. Didn't know that."

"She's in The Color Purple on Broadway."

"Good for her."

"Fantasia grew up right around the corner. Our American Idol. Fantasia is blessed."

"Yeah, she is."

"There should be no doubt in anyone's mind that God is in the midst of that girl's career."

I looked at the photos on her wall. She had a few family photos, but most of the images were of herself. Poses in bathing suits, stunning gowns, she had many. In some she had big glossy lips. There was a series of her naked, her body painted like it was a work of art. Very creative. The kind of photos that left me speechless. One was blown up and had its own wall. She had on a black suit, big-collared white shirt open to her waist, exposing the edges of her breasts, cigar in her right hand, a whip in her left, her pose very masculine, very sexy. The shadows and colors in that photo were awesome.

Her pictures went against the grain of Southern traditions and supposed values. That motivated me to turn to our host. I asked Kiki Sunshine if she was born in Greensboro.

She shook her head. "I was born in So Paulo."

"You're Brazilian?"

"Momma is. Daddy met her on the beach in Casablanca, fell in love, hung out with her for a week, got Momma pregnant with me, went back before I was born, married her, brought us back here."

"Romantic."

"They way they fought and cussed at each other, I wouldn't call that romantic."

"You speak Portuguese?"

"Not a word. The only thing that looks Brazilian on me is my hair."

"Red looks good on your skin."

"Thanks. Colored it last week."

Karl had Kiki Sunshine step out on her patio for a few shots. When she stepped into the light, I saw the mixture of several bloodlines in her exotic features. Native American. African slaves. Spanish.

While Karl catered to her vanity and beauty, I stayed inside, evaluating, judging.

Her space was awesome. But I came to the conclusion that she wasn't money-smart. She had upgraded somebody else's property. Not a good move. Her life was filled with a lot of feel-good stuff. Immediate gratification that didn't last until the next sale started. On her kitchen counter she had boxes of champagne. Bollinger Blanc de Noirs Vieilles Vignes Francaises. Dom Perignon Rose. Salon Le Mesnil.

When the impromptu shoot was done, I helped Karl take the equipment back down to the Jeep, then he turned the air conditioner on high while we waited for Kiki Sunshine.

Kiki Sunshine hurried downstairs. She had changed, was wearing white flare pants, the wide legs almost covering up her golden shoes, sexy shoes with high heels, silk chiffon top with flowing prints, wide belt to cinch her waist, making her shape pop. She had two big Louis Vuitton bags with her. One was her makeup. And she was carrying a champagne box, the Dom Perignon Rose.

Louis Vuitton and Dom Perignon.

Kiki Sunshine loaded her things into the backseat and then eased inside the Jeep, sat behind Karl, getting comfortable where her eyes would be on me, forcing me to look at her.

I glanced back at her, saw her putting her seat belt on, exchanged smiles, then we were on the road, Karl taking me toward newness, likable or not, this being the continuation of a novel adventure.

Kiki Sunshine asked me, "Are you related to a girl named Yasamin Kincade?"

"Never heard of her. Why?"

"You favor her. She's black and Lebanese."

"Never heard of her."

"So you're not related to any of the Kincades from over in Charlotte or up in Detroit?"

I shook my head.

Karl made a right on Big Tree Way, passed by our hotel, then made a left on Wendover.

Kiki Sunshine told Karl, "You're going to make a right on Market."

"Is that after Friendly?"

"Before you get to Friendly."

Karl headed toward downtown Greensboro, passed another section of town populated by the privileged, those old-money people out walking dogs and riding bicycles, a couple were cutting their lawns, quite a few were teeing off on their local golf course.

Kiki Sunshine said, "Nia Simone, how you like living in the ATL?"

"It's cool. Been there?"

"Few times. Went to M Bar. Pearl. Slice. Verve. Two Urban Licks."

"You got your party on."

"Boyfriend took me down. Well, that ex-boyfriend was two ex-boyfriends ago."

"Uh-huh."

She asked, "What part of ATL you stay in?"

"I live in Smyrna."

"I was in that area once. This guy took me to dinner at Tomo Japanese Restaurant."

"Same ex-boyfriend?"

"Different guy. I met him on the Internet. Yeah, we kicked it in Smyrna."

"Small world."

"You have a house?"

"Townhome."

"I'm saving to buy a house. Used to stay near Bennett and A and T, but man, they kept breaking in. Lot of the guys who do the break-ins stay over that way. The guy everybody said who broke in my apartment last time works at Food Lion. I know that was the guy who did it. His ass smiled at me. I lost three televisions last year. Where I stay now, no problems. At least I ain't had none yet."

I said, "I heard that."

Kiki Sunshine shook her head. "Damn shame that black people have to stay by white people to feel safe. Well, that depends on the white people, because some of them are crazy, acting like they still mad because slavery is over. But it makes me so mad when black people treat each other that way."

I said, "Uh-huh."

"You know what the Bible says, what God said. 'My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge; because you have rejected knowledge, I will also reject you that you shall be no priest to Me; seeing you have forgotten the law of your God, I will also forget your children.'"