Graffiti Bleu & Madison Lake Collaborate

When the synergy of two authors collide, a new story is told. Without risk, life is stagnant.


GRAFFITI BLEU, poet, music man, author extraordinaire & MADISON LAKE’S Modern Trash Collaborate


Introduction by La Mont Anthony Wright or Graffiti Bleu

There is a trust element inside of writing that no one speaks of. The reader trusts their judgement that something in between the covers of the book is worth their time. I felt something familiar when admiring the work of Madison Lake, and was compelled to collaborate with a gifted like minded writer. Typically, artists are too eclectic to unite, and every artist has the right to be finicky with whom they share their art with. For some reason, Madison Lake chose to share her art with me. “Episode Number Thirty Three” of The Simony Chiavary Story, a real time manuscript that I publish monthly on my website, was written partly in collaboration with Madison Lake. I wrote the first chapter from the perspective of my main character, Simony Chiavary. In turn, Madison wrote the second chapter from the perspective of the main character of this book, Liam Irish. As I stared at the screen looking at how our words danced harmonious, it dawned on me that this woman, this artist and writer, was special. She had the courage and trust to be vulnerable. I know you will enjoy the fruits of her passion.

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Episode Seven from Graffiti Bleu’s infamous Simony Chiavary – written by Graffiti Bleu

The ultimate high doesn’t come from a pill, powder, crystal or leaf. It comes from life being lived to its fullest potential. Some believe success is being at the right place at the right time. However, few can predict where and when these mystical lines will cross. Others believe that you make your own luck by the persistence of well played moves in life’s chess game. Simony Chiavary knows that neither perspective is fully correct or completely false. She knows the truth about success is a combination of the two. As she sits, she brushes her Brazilian mane while admiring herself in a vanity mirror. Satisfied with the bounce of her thick flowing curls, she stands on her feet to admire her solid red slacks and blazer. Underneath the red power suit she has nothing on but a red lace thong and Madison stiletto shoes with six inch heels. She’s living in the fantasy of having power for the first time. Her feminine bravado is exquisite and fierce. The caged cub is now the roaming tiger. No child of the ghetto has ever skipped the ladder to the top entirely. It takes most hustlers a lifetime to be this connected, where as she has achieved this at 21 years young. Her father had no choice but to throw her to the wolves early. For Bendito Chiavary does not have the luxury of time. As he was arranging for her to host her inaugural ball where sexual fantasy is exchanged for dead presidents, he realized he would have put her out early regardless. His “sink or swim”mentality was who he was to the core. His baptism by fire approach has kept him as sharp as he is. His only daughter adapts to the challenge with the resolve of a champion. She walks through a crowded smoking room with tall ceilings and a giant painting of a woman making wine with bare feet. All the men are in solid black suits tailor made to fit, with crispy white button down shirts and red silk ties. As she sexily bullies her way through the men who tower over her small frame, the crowd parts like a black bull’s eye pierced by a blood tipped arrow. This is respect for the woman they affectionately know as the“Controller” Her job issimple. “No man leaves unsatisfied, no man leaves with regret and no man leaves without exploring something new” she says at the end of her powerful speech. She gives it from the top of a chair at the head of the room. Standing at a mere five feet and one inch tall, she enjoys her position atop the chair looking over sex-thirsty guests who await instruction. She stays quiet for a time, peering out at the wealth that is ripe for the plucking.

Simony invited thirty-two men and received their moneys before paying back Victor and pocketing a big bag of folded change. However the log book bared the signatures of thirty-three men not thirty-two. “However could be/my guest thirty-three” She mumbles a melody in the tone of a child. She has been dying to find the identity of the infiltrator so that she can secure her new hustle.“You men look like so many grapes ready to be picked from the vine” She says with her eyes scanning for the party crasher before she continues. One by one she counts the foreheads of her guests. Her eyes dart in a manner which makes every man feel like he is special. “Gentleman tonight!..(She yells in a loud speaking voice) I only ask that you allow yourself to let go of your inhibitions” She climbs down from the chair as she finishes her speech. Her eyes have found guest number thirty-three. He blends in well with the others. The only reason she tagged him was because of his size. He’s a big boy, which Simony loved instantly. She gives him the once over and notices that he’s the only man not wearing a red silk tie. She does not rush to intercept him, nor does she tell Victor to escort him out. There is business to handle, and business always comes first. She pierces the crowd of restless men once more moving to a set of double doors at the back of the room. The doors are closed and she places one hand on each of the door’s handles and pauses. “Gentlemen, I give you tonight’s entertainment!!!” She then pulls the french doors open wild and sudden, holding her hands in a flowing motion as they slide apart on rolling tracks. The men applaud wildly as they can now see the prize that is waiting beyond the doors. Fifty women of all nationalities are waiting with eager eyes and revealing lingerie.

Somewhere inside of a mansion in Chicago, December 14, 2001; this is how the rich play. While the country is still reeling from the first terrorist attack on American soil, the rich indulge themselves like there is no tomorrow. With her guest now preoccupied, she can get to the business of picking the brain of guest number thirty-three. She walks up to him and he doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated like the others were. She guessesthat at a stocky 6 ft 3 inches tall, he probably isn’t scared of much. “Mr. Liam Irish I presume” she says with the fire of inquisition in her eyes. “You are very good at what you do. This is quite a set up in here” he replies back with a playful guilt in his face. “I suppose you got my name from the log book outside? Did my black tie give me away?” he says back to her. “I noticed your height first actually, a short woman like me just so happens to like tall men” Simony says and continues. “Then I realized your tie was the wrong color” As she speaks she undresses him with her eyes. “What is the significance of the ties being red?” he replied back to her, as he slips his fingers through the creases of his Windsor knot and removes his from around his neck. “Red is a power color” she says “And in this room filled with powerful diplomats, bankers and money makers, there maybe confusion as to who is in control here” As she speaks Liam is fascinated with the boldness of this short sexy vixen. The gentle giant listens as her rant intensifies. “Since I am the controller, I thought it would be a nice touch to have all of my guest wear a red silk tie. This is to remind the dogs that I am holding their leashes” she says as she gets closer to him. If you received my invitation you would have known that,Mr. Liam Irish, if that is even your real name” Simony folds her arms across her chest as she waits for a slick reply. In doing so,her arms push her breasts upward making a supple and deeply cleaved offering to the guest in question. Liam Irish is in fact my real name but my question for you is; Are you really the controller?” Simony looks at him every way but sideways before he clarifies. “I’m not talking about the title itself. I Suppose a better question would be; Are you the one who is really in control here? Or are you just the face on the package?” Liam’s question catches Simony off balance. She looks him deep in his eyes fishing for answers and clues. His poker face provides nothing for her to read so she sticks to protocol. “Regardless of what you know or what you think you may know, this is a private party. My guests love their anonymity and they pay me well to remain faceless in a crowded room. You’re obviously not a cop, because a cop would know that the men in this room are powerful enough to end any cop’s career with the stroke of a pen” she says as she surveys the room to check progress. “I can’t argue with that” Liam says as his attraction for her begins to intensify. I am sure one of the guys I saw in here used to be a senator from my home state” He concludes. I know you want to keep this little thing quiet” Liam says to her in a voice that is calm but assertive, much like her fathers. She had him by the balls and now he has her by the neck. Her temper is short but she must show discipline and she must display leadership. For she knows her performance is being graded tonight. Simony takes a deep breath as she alters her plan and then she puts two fingers to her mouth. She whistles loud enough for her people to hear but not loud enough to disturb the other guest. Victor Etienne arrives with two huge bodyguards who stand on either side of Liam. “Mr. Liam Irish, come with me. I have something special planned for you…”

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Episode Seven of Graffiti Bleu’s Simony Chiavary – excerpt by Madison Lake

Liam didn’t follow the bodyguards to the back room, he was led quite persuasively with a pocketed gun stuck in his side. He didn’t mind. He would have gone anyway, but it wasn’t her thugs who had grabbed his attention, it was silky smooth Simony Chiavary.

“Now that we’re here, what do you have planned for me, or should I say us?” Liam put the question to her like a challenge, and as suspected, she took him up on it.

“This is my lair. I’ve brought you here because I smelled the animal in you, from the moment you stepped into the club.”

Simony strutted over to a wall full of chains and whips, wiggling her hips as she went. Her stilettos certainly aided her moves, as it wasn’t easy not to flash her full, round buttocks when she walked in those things. When she reached her destination she flung them off, one heel landing in a dark corner of the room, the other by the stairs. Flaming torches mounted on stone walls were the only light. They sent an array of shadows flickering in all directions, creating an eerie mood in the dungeon-like space.

“Isn’t this a bit obvious?” Asked Irish, nodding his head toward the goth-like surroundings. “I mean, if you’re into fetishes, this is the epitome of them.”

Simony ignored him and continued to walk around the room admiring the ‘toys’ that hung from huge iron hooks and hangers.

“You have no idea my fetish, Mr. Irish, so don’t get your knickers in a twist – yet…”

Liam reined himself in. He was curious about this sexy young woman, and more than turned-on, but for the moment he felt out of his league. He was used to being top of the heap, running the show and keeping people in line. Now he felt like he was the one being put in his place, and he wasn’t used to it.

Simony pulled a leather strap down from a fireplace mantle where soft embers were smoldering. She flipped it once against the concrete floor and it cracked with a vengeance.

“You like whips, Mr. Irish?”

Not wanting to appear ruffled, Liam calmly replied with a simple, “No, but there’s always a first time.”

Simony laughed good naturally and hung the whip back on its hook. She bent down, picked up a small log from the wood box, and laid it on the coals. Blue and yellow flames shot up at once, and the room filled with an orange glow. Liam could’t help notice that Simony’s red satin pants had a zipper that ran from her waistband all the way down the seam of the left leg. An interesting fashion statement, he thought. While she was bent over, Liam took advantage of his position behind her to explore this mystery. First, he placed his palms gently around her small waist, to reassure her he wanted to play nice. She stayed put, bent over the fire. Feeling his heat, she nudged her backside up to him. He responded immediately by leaning into her. Then he backed off, and with deft hands, he began to slowly unzip. As he did, her dark, Brazilian skin became exposed, bit by sensual bit. Her lace thong only emphasized a smooth round butt that Liam caressed on his way down her leg until she stepped out of her slacks altogether. She turned toward him. Her red jacket was already unbuttoned, revealing full, round breasts, nipples hard and ready. She reached out her hand and took Liam’s, cupping it around her bosom so he’d feel its ripeness. He moaned softly.

“Was this what you were expecting?” Simony said, her voice as creamy as her skin, and what lay below.

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” Liam managed to answer. “Not from the daughter of the notorious Bendito…Chiavary, is it?”

Simony froze. This is not what she had expected. Not at all. She tore his hand away and pulled her jacket around her bare chest, not bothering to cover her lower half. Instead she leaned back against the cold stone. Rather than repel him, she reached her own hand down and placed it between her legs, gyrating slowly to give emphasis to the act.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Apparently you don’t want to play nice after all, do you, Irish? Isn’t that what they call you, Irish? Well, I can play nasty too.” She reached up, grabbed the whip again, and held it out threateningly.

Liam was unfazed. During the short time spent together he’d figured her out, and could handle her, he knew that now. It was just a matter of time until she was putty in his hands.

“Listen, Simony. I didn’t crash your party to play nasty, or to mess with you. I actually came to warn you.” Liam steadily held her gaze. He wanted to impress upon her that he wasn’t fooling around.

“What makes you so sure I need to be warned of anything?”

“Simony, quit playing hardball with me. I’m from the streets too. I know my stuff, and I know what’s going down in this city. Your Dad, Bendito, do you know exactly who he is, what he does?”

Simony thought of getting even more cocky with him, to up the ante. She didn’t like being overpowered, but there was something in his voice, something in his aura, that made her want to listen to this total stranger who had shown up at her gig unannounced. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something trustworthy in his demeanor, and after the low-life’s she hung around most of the time, she found it very attractive indeed. But his talk of ‘her father’ made her uncomfortable. She knew him as Bendito. That was all. Sure, there were times she had her suspicions about him, but Bendito had never let on, so it had been easy for her to put any questions she had in the back of her mind. There had been something familiar, something alluring about Bendito from the start, but she was only along for the temporary ride. That was it.

Sensing that it might take some work to get to the heart of Simony Chiavary, Liam removed his jacket and spread it on the floor in front of the crackling fire. Then he took off his shirt, reached around her, and tied the arms around her waist to cover up her nakedness before helping her down to sit by the fire. She had never had a man treat her with such chivalry before – ever, and was completely taken with him, but tried not to show it.

Startled, but not surprised, his taut, muscular body was covered in tattoos. One in particular, a spitting Indian Cobra that ran from tail to tongue down his arm from his left shoulder, caught her attention. Dangerously beautiful, inked in green, blue and yellow, she could hardly tear her eyes away. There were others too; roses, so delicate she felt she could smell them, dancing skeletons, what looked like a mother’s face, and the word truth. Mesmerized by this magnificent body, and the art upon it, she forgot she was staring, until she saw Liam watching her with interest.

“You like?” He asked.

Caught off guard, Simony did what any person whose vulnerability was in question would do. She countered defensively.

“So then, tell me Irish, what do you know?”

Liam took a few seconds to find the right words. “Well, I guess that depends on what you want to know I know.”

“Don’t mince words with me, Mr. Irish. You know exactly what I want to know.”

“Actually, I don’t.” He replied calmly.

Anxiety was building in her now. She was perturbed at having to pull this information out of him, but she was desperate to know what he knew about Bendito. Was he her father? She wanted – no, she needed to know, but could this man tell her? The word truth, tattooed over his heart, made her think he could.

“If you want to know about your father, I can tell you what I know,” Liam offered. “As much as you might love the guy,” he went on slowly. “He’s a rotten sonavabitch. I’m sorry, Simony. That’s the truth.”

Liam waited to let his words sink in, but noticed Simony bore no apparent reaction.

“I’m sure he’s good to you, Simony, but he’s the devil to everyone else.”

For a moment he thought she’d make a good poker player, stone faced as she was, and he could always use a good card shark. He also noticed how serene her eyes looked, in the fiery glow of light cast upon her. She was an exotic beauty, and although he had to tell her the truth – about everything – he also wished he could put this evening on rewind, to go back to the moment when the two of them had stood so close to one another it had burned. Although he had wanted more than just his body to crave for this spicy vixen, it had been that moment when the pulse of his male desire took hold of him. The pain of wanting, but not yet receiving satisfaction, was the devil itself, but then, he was still learning the patience of being more than a man. With time, he thought, with time I will beat this. With time, I will win her heart.

“So, what makes you think he’s my father? Who told you that was his last name. Who?” She demanded. “I already know he’s a sonavabitch. Tell me something I don’t know.” Simony said, a little less sharply. Liam was instantly brought back to reality.

“Okay,” he said, feeling brave. “Do you know that this exclusive men’s club, all the clubs Bendito runs, are just a front?” He let the words sink in.

“What do you mean, a front. What else is he up to, gun running, drugs? C’mon, Irish. I know Bendito ain’t no saint.”

“Try human trafficking.”

Simony’s mouth dropped. “Whaaat! What do you mean human trafficking – like immigrants, kids, what?”

“Listen, Simony, I have a lot of friends in the know in this town. I ain’t no saint myself, or at least I haven’t been, but I’m trying to clean up my act, and any other act I can along the way. Too much has happened and once bad starts it just gets badder, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, and no.” She waited.

“I have some good friends who work at Bendito’s clubs, good people. I’m not talking about the bartenders or the bouncers, I’m talking about the ladies, the girls who dance, the ones deemed as ‘cheap tricks’. You get my drift.” Simony listened, again without showing emotion.

“A lot of these girls are good stuff,” he went on. “They’re just trying to get some work to set themselves right. Many of them have children they’re trying to provide for, the only way they know how. I’m not saying it’s great, but it’s a start for many of them, and they are trying to pull themselves out of the darkness.”

“So you’re Robin Hood, the hero to save them all from damnation. What? Do you ‘take care’ of all of them? A real ‘serviceman.” She laughed sarcastically. Liam looked stern.

“Shut the fuck up, Simony. You don’t know what I do.”

As soon as the harsh words left his mouth he regretted saying them. He didn’t want to put her off, didn’t want to hurt her. He knew her pain, and wanted, needed her as an ally. Besides, he’d taken a fancy to her. He wanted to explore their capabilities beyond just a tug of a bra strap.

“I’m sorry, Simony. I didn’t mean to bark at you, but take care.” He continued slowly, genuinely. “Recently a good friend of mine went missing. She works at one of Bendito’s places. She just disappeared. She’s about the third or fourth victim from a number of clubs over the past eight months, so I’m starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together.” He paused. “The common denominator in all the cases is Bendito. He was the last person to be seen with each girl before they disappeared.” Liam took a deep breath. “I don’t know about you, but it all points to…”


Simony’s eyes were tearing up, but Liam left her alone. He knew instinctively she needed to deal with her unexpected emotions. She brushed away the teardrops and gazed into the fire. Blue flames simmered above red hot coals. It warmed her, and for a moment she forgot where she was and what she was dealing with. She wished she could stay there, in this place of quiet abandon, but memories of her childhood reared their head again. She turned to Liam.

“I often wondered why, after all these years, Bendito sought me out, why he set me up in this place, running this business. I suspected he might be my father. But now I’m convinced he’s not. There’s no way such evil could be in my bloodline. No way!”

Liam let silence fill the room. They both needed to feel some peace, the reality too much to bear. He looked at her with care and concern.

“I know this isn’t easy for you, Simony.”

“Hell, what’s easy in my world, huh?” She was crying now, not holding back anymore. “I guess that’s why you’re the party crasher. You came to crash my party. You came to ruin my life.”

Simony looked up at him. Her eyes were filled with pain and anger, but also with passion, desire, and longing. Liam stood, and grabbed the leather whip from its hook. Turning, he flung the long arm of the whip around Simony’s waist and hoisted her up to standing. Then, with a light pull, as he felt no resistance, he reined her in to his own yearning body. The only sounds were the crackling of the torches and fire, but neither were burning as bright, leaving a soft luminescence in the room. They could hear a faint thump-thump of bass coming from the upstairs party, along with what sounded like raucous laughter, but Liam and Simony easily blocked it out. They had more important things to pay attention to.

Liam felt her hard nipples lightly touch the hairs on his chest. He kept her at a distance to allow the heat between them to play with their desire. His breath blew against her neck, then down to her full, inviting breasts. Loosening the whip from her waist, he drew the long leather strap from behind her, up through her legs, until he held it again. Her garments had fallen away, and her lovely skin was once again revealed. With care, he placed the strap around her and pulled her face to his, rubbing the thin leather against her upper shoulders. She let her head fall back, exposing a slender neck to him, but he did not touch, did not kiss her. He could feel his groin ignite excitement in her, even though their bodies did not meet. That was the essence of true foreplay – don’t touch -until absolutely necessary, until the urge was uncontrollable. Liam knew in this instance it wouldn’t be long.

All of a sudden they heard footsteps coming down the wooden stairs, and two of Simony’s goons entered the dimly lit room. Liam pulled away and stood in front of Simony protectively. She didn’t bother to cover herself up. The men knew they were way out of their depth intruding on their privacy. They would do more than hear about it later.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Both men kept their heads down, but the taller man quickly spoke.

“We’re sorry to intrude, Madame Chiavary. We wouldn’t have, except things are getting out of hand upstairs. There’s a problem.”

Simony glared at the men.

“What kind of problem? We don’t have problems here. Take care of it, and don’t bother me again.”

The two men turned on their heels, keeping their heads low but glancing over at one another. Simony looked up at Liam, who had tuned his body back around and was now pressed up against her. She could feel his arousal and it made her heart skip a beat. Letting her back arch, she acknowledged his yearning. Her mouth met his in an instant, wet embrace, their kiss long and languid. With large, muscular hands, Liam began to explore the smooth sculpture of her body, trying to embed each curve, her full suppleness to memory. Each stroke of skin brought him closer to losing control, yet he wanted this moment to last.Control, he thought, is more than a position of power.

As his mouth left hers, he let his tongue find its own way, licking and sucking as he discovered new parts of her body, new tastes. He knew what he wanted, what he was after, but he would take his sweet time getting there. Pleasure was in the wanting and in the waiting, and her trembling body told him she knew this too. As his mouth reached for her moist oasis, and their bodies shook with pleasure, the door to her secluded chamber opened and a crash of footsteps came clambering down. Liam rose, and by the time he turned, there were four big men standing before them. No longer were they shy or withdrawn in their invasion of privacy. The same tall guy who had come down earlier spoke, this time with urgency. Liam kept his arms around the naked Simony, but the men didn’t seem the least bit interested.

“Madame Simony, we have a serious problem upstairs. Your presence is needed…now.” The man, breathless, continued. “The others are doing all they can to keep things under control, but…” His words trailed off when they heard a loud crash…

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