by Alexa Reign
“That's nice, dear,” said Grandma snootily, unimpressed. She passed her tablet to Grandpa, who was seated beside her. “I just wish they had chosen a different color shade of lipstick for you –”
“You don't like it?” Ma batted her lashes behind her teacup innocently. “That's a shame. It's actually my lipstick. It's one of my favorites – the shade's called 'Streetwalker Red.'”
Grandma tutted, looking about ready to implode, when Grandpa interrupted tetchily.
“She looks fine, Mariette. Now, quit badgering her and finish your soup.”
Still glowering at Ma from across the table, Grandma yielded, returning to her bowl.
Our party of 4 seemed totally out of place amidst the mirthful chatter and tinkling silverware from the tables around us. The raw fish slices and zesty unagi that did make it into my mouth were exquisite, but that was about the only enjoyable element to this painful family lunch. The long and uneasy silences were broken up by repetitive small talk, Grandpa's wheezy grunts, and Grandma's backhanded compliments. Nonetheless, with this being our first-ever formal dinner together, just the 4 of us, Ma and I powered through.
“Pity Rosaline couldn't join us for lunch.” Grandma brought her ridiculously tiny soup bowl to her lips. “Poor thing says she's feeling under the weather today.”
“Really?” I replied, stabbing my sashimi with my chopsticks and shoving it into my mouth. “I wouldn't know – missed her this morning.”
I washed down my guilt with my iced calpis. As far as I could tell, Rosaline hadn't squealed to Grandma and Grandpa after all. We hadn't said a to word to each other since our little squabble last week. What started out as subtle jabs here and there had inadvertently escalated into an ugly, emotional shitfest. At this point, we may have been regretting some of the needlessly personal attacks we fired at each other, but neither of us wanted to be the first to come forward and admit it.
“How is Rosaline, anyway?” Ma asked, elegantly emptying her plate like she'd been using chopsticks her entire life.
“Rosaline is doing just wonderful,” Grandma bragged, raising her voice just loud enough for neighboring tables to hear. “She has just signed up for the 38th annual Miss Oneiro Country Club Pageant. Now, don't ask me how I know this –”
“Alright, we won't,” Grandpa groused under his breath.
“But I know one of the judges, and she tells me they have already taken quite a shine to her,” Grandma continued undeterred with a sparkle in her heavy-lidded green eyes. “I have a feeling that crown is already hers.”
“Ah.” Ma nodded, raising her dark, steeply arched eyebrows. “And Cailie? How is she?”
“Cailie? Cailie is...fine,” Grandma faltered, choosing her words carefully. “She's going through a rather...interesting phase. You know how stubborn teenage girls are –”
“I'd say the girl's doing pretty well, if you ask me,” Grandpa disagreed with his mouth full, flecking his bib with soy sauce. “She's got more sense than any of you did at her age – she's gone out and got herself a part-time job after school.”
“Yes, selling cheese fries,” said Grandma, recoiling at the thought. “I've seen where she works at that mall. God only knows why she would want to work with those greasy fryers and scholarship kids.”
Ma clasped her hands together and pressed her fingers to her lips.
Grandma went on, “When Cailie told me she was getting a job, I said I'd help her get a cushy job as a perfume girl at Nordstrom, but the girl has a habit of going against everything I say. Celeste, does that remind you of anyone?”
With Ma's glass in danger of cracking in her grip, I quickly swept in.
“So, Grandma – where'd you find this place? This sashimi is outstanding!”
“I'm delighted to see you enjoying yourself.” Grandma snuck Ma a blistering look. “It was Rosaline who brought me here. The décor is just a tad oriental for my taste, but you're right, the dishes here are exemplary. Which reminds me – isn't your birthday coming up next month?”
“Yes –”
“Why don't you come by tomorrow? I'll invite Rosaline, and we'll go for a shopping spree – just us girls. Maybe get you a new car for an early birthday gift. I'm sure Rosaline's chauffeur will know someone –”
“That's really kind of you, Grandma, but that really won't be necessary –”
“Oh, but I insist, Victoria! That motorcycle of yours must be a decade old – it's a loud eyesore and frankly, no place for a lady.”
“Noted, Grandma, but like I said, thanks, but my bike's working just fine.”
“Now, but Victoria, don't you want –”
“Mother, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but Victoria has a full-time job. You see, people with full-time jobs tend to have strict schedules –”
“Don't you patronize me,” Grandma snapped. She straightened up in her chair, the ruby chandeliers on her ears swinging. “I'm only trying to look out for Victoria –”
“Mariette,” Grandpa warned, shaking his head.
“How do you expect to properly parent your child when you're gallivanting around the world with your zany art projects –”
“I'm sorry – my 'zany art projects'? You mean the career and life I singlehandedly paved for myself without any of your support –”
“Settle down, Mariette. People are starting to look.”
That caught Grandma's attention. She peered around her nervously and flattened her back against her chair, recomposing herself. The mother-daughter stand down was unreal. It was like Grandpa and I weren't even there.
“A mother can only lead by example.” This time, Grandma kept her voice down, speaking through the frozen smile on her face. “It's no wonder Victoria turned out the way she did –”
“And what way is that, exactly?” I blinked.
“Victoria,” Grandma reached across the table and placed her cold, bony fingers on mine. “I only say this because I want the best for you. Rosaline's been telling me about your – how do I put this – friendship with that footballer –”
“You can say his name, Mother. Trust me, you won't be bursting into flames –”
“Or perhaps you should start joining Rosaline at Sunday mass in St. Paul's.” Grandma was still holding my hand and talking at me, but I had a feeling she wasn't talking to me. “When was the last time you went to Church, my darling? I should –”
“Enough, Mother.” Ma tightened the knot on her lapis-blue head wrap, the silver coins bordering the edge swaying. She laid her clenched fists onto the table. “Don't project your disappointment in me on my daughter. What Victoria chooses to do with her life is her business, and you will give her the respect of letting her live her life without making her feel miserable about it. Now, does that remind you of anyone, Mother?”
“Alright,” Grandpa stepped in, but his efforts were futile. “Settle down, girls. Let's just put this all behind us and eat –”
But Ma was on a roll.
“I've been sitting here long enough listening to you insult my daughter– not just Victoria; Cailie, too, that poor girl. The nerve of you to parade Rosaline around like some prized puppet when you know full well that girl's sitting on a sensational secret of her own –”
“How dare you.”
Grandma was boiling. The shoulder pads on her honeycomb-yellow jacket were rising and falling heavily and her lips had gone pale. Suddenly, Grandma pushed her chair back and snatched up her crystal pillow purse.
“Let's go, George. We're leaving.”
“But I'm not full –”
“Now.”
Grandpa let out an aggravated sigh and grabbed onto the steel armrests on either side of him, forcing himself to his feet. He gave us a surly nod and dropped a wad of bills on the table before hobbling off after Grandma. Ma and I looked at each other, mystified.
“Um, what just happened?”
“Damn it.” Ma leaned on the table with her elbows, catching her face with her hands. “Why did I even waste half
of my day-off with them? I'm sorry, honey, I know it was just supposed to be you and me today. I should have known this was going to be a disaster...”
“It's okay, Ma. We've got another 2 hours to kill before you have to go. That's plenty of time to get some coffee next door. I hear they make the best donuts around here, too.”
Ma sat up in her seat, exhaling deeply. She twisted the moonstone ring around her thumb, still glaring at Grandma's empty chair. All the while, I tapped on my knee, physically itching to sink my teeth into Rosaline's “sensational secret.”
“So, um, hey, here's a question: what were you saying about –”
“Excuse me, honey.” Ma stood up abruptly. She pulled up the ends of her flowy chiffon skirt, edging out of her seat. “I'm just going to freshen up. I'll be right back.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Ma squeezed my shoulder and went off to the ladies' room. Sighing, I flumped against the back of my chair. As catastrophic as this lunch was, I had to say, it went far better than I'd expected, so there was that.
Deciding to give it a few minutes before checking in on Ma, I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone.
“Crap.”
I had 7 missed calls from Ace.
Chapter Seven: Ace
A middle-aged man in a hot-dog-and-bun costume zigzagged down the sidewalk. He clutched a brown paper bag in one hand and held onto the railing next to him in support, the limp ends of the half-deflated hot dog flopping every step of the way. As he continued down the sidewalk, he broke up a group of kids playing in his path. The screeching girls scattered in all directions, dropping their toys behind them. Undaunted, the man just kept going, stumbling across their game of hopscotch and dragging a rainbow jump-rope behind him.
When the inebriated hot-dog bun turned a corner, my eyes reverted to the red-bricked building sitting across the street. A couple of the windows were lit up, some flickering and some glowing with sketchy blue and red lighting. Some dudes on the 6th floor were chilling on the steps of the fire escape, smoking a joint and downing 40s. But that stoop out front stayed empty.
The old school Rakim track from the fire escape drifted into the open passenger window.
“Corner's trifling, 'cause shorty's here,
I get cocked liftin' forties of beer,
Here's a sip for the crew that's deceased,
If I get revenge, then they rest in peace...”
I checked the time on my phone, which was mounted on the AC vent. 19:15. Fuck. I've been sitting here for close to 7 hours now. I'd fully settled in to the deep impression my ass had made on my chair, and I was hoarding empty coffee cups and crinkled Twinkies wrappers under the passenger seat.
“Damn it.”
I finished off the rest of my black coffee, scowling at the empty stoop. The bags under my eyes were starting to twitch, but the caffeine burning in my system propped up my eyelids like invisible toothpicks. I was exhausted and my body numb from the lack of sleep, but the caffeine was fighting to keep me awake. Shit was uncanny.
As I rummaged through the pile under the passenger seat for an unopened Twinkie, I finally saw him. He shuffled up the sidewalk in his frayed green parka with his hood up and his hands tucked in his pockets for warmth. The knotted lines of his earphones knocked against his bum zipper.
I brushed the sponge cake morsels off my chest and got out of the car.
“Yo, Nolan!”
He slowed down, peering over his shoulder.
“Ay, man, what's up?” He pulled off his earphones and hung them over his shoulders. The grin on his face started to waver. “You a'ight, man?”
“We need to talk.”
“Yeah?” He studied my solemn face, his brows starting to tense up with worry. “Now's, uh – now's not a good time. Grace is 'bout to start dinner –”
“It'll just take a minute.” I stepped in front of him, my tongue poking out my cheek. “But you and I need to talk. Now.”
“A'ight, man.” He looked around him jerkily before signaling me with his chin. “But not here.”
I let him lead the way. He untangled the knot of his earphone cords as he walked in front of me. I could tell he was trying to keep a cool head, but his trembling fingers gave him away.
He ushered me to the alley behind his apartment building. The narrow alley was cloaked in shadows, with just a thin ray of light from the street lamps on either end streaming into the passage. Other than the soft thuds of our footsteps and the faint beats of the Rakim playlist floating in from above, the alley brought nothing but steely silence.
“Yo, so what'd you wanna talk ab –”
I grabbed the sides of his hood and thrust him up against the wall.
“Whoa, bro – what the fuck?!”
“Who the fuck are you?” The paltry light from the distant streetlamps illuminated half of his wide-eyed, panic-stricken face. I hardened my grip, overpowering his wriggling shoulders and pinning him in place.
“Wh-what? It's me, man –” he stuttered, his voice cracking. His words had gone all high-pitched in his agitation. “Get off me! What are you, fucking outta your mind –”
I gave him another hard shove, banging the back of his head against the wall.
“Cut the shit, Nolan,” I growled in his ear. “You better start talking or I'm gonna –”
“Ay, chill out, man!” Nolan groaned, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “I don't know what you're talking –”
“Shut the fuck up, Terrence.”
Nolan stopped squirming at once. He ran his tongue over his thin, flaky lips, his whole body wilting in my grasp. I could almost hear the flurry of thoughts behind his intense, bug-eyed gaze.
“What – what did you call me?”
“Terrence. Terrence Martin. That's your name, isn't it?”
“I – I don't –”
“Fucking answer me!”
“Please, please, man, just let me explain –”
That was all it took to set me off. I threw him to the floor, landing right on top of him. I'd become possessed by the potency of the blinding rage that had overcome me, so much so I almost felt disconnected from what I was doing. I caught his drowsy attempt at a left-hook, and acted fast, twisting the cords of his earphones around his neck.
With him sputtering and choking in my hands, I started throwing down on him. All I could hear was the crunch of my fist against his gurgling face as I pummeled him over and over again. All I could feel were the drops of sweat and blood, splashing lightly against my face...
“...please – please stop – I'ma tell you everything – I'm – I'm 'bout to have a family, man – please –”
I stopped, staring down at him breathlessly. My fist was just a thread's length away from the egg-sized protrusion sticking out of his right eye. I stared at the bleeding gash on his fat lip and the river of blood running down his left nostril and shaking chin. This unnatural purplish tint was creeping up his neck and the sides of his face. I stared at the pink scrapes on my own bloody and swollen fist. For a second there, I wondered if the blood was his or mine.
“Please – just. Get off me. I'll – I'll explain everything.”
Grunting, I loosened the cords around his neck and released him. He rolled over to his side, his body convulsing as he gasped for air. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Get the hell up.”
He staggered off the ground and pulled back his hood slowly, wincing as he pushed his shaggy hair out of his distorted face.
“How – how'd you find out who I was?”
“It wasn't all that hard. Called up this PI I know who owed me a favor – found you in the system.” I breathed in sharply. The numbness was subsiding, and I could start to feel the flaming sting of my sore fist. “I couldn't figure out why some piece of shit druggie I've never met would lie to me about who he was. Yeah, alright, you met me at some shitty bar, I won't give you shit for giving me a fake name. But you got your wife playing along, too.”
“L
ook, I –”
I wasn't finished.
“Something didn't feel right. So, I had the PI dig a little deeper, looked into your family history...” I started to pace around him, rubbing my aching fist. “He came across something very interesting – interesting enough, he called me up at 4 in the morning just to tell me.”
“Meet Jackson Dubois – father of Marvin Dubois and grandfather of Xavier Dubois.” I took another step towards him, looking right in his bloated face. “You see, Jackson, the wealthy motherfucker that he was, had a little trouble keeping it in his pants, and had a reputation for fathering his own litter of illegitimate bastards on the side. One of these mistresses was a beautiful young woman, about 23 or so at the time, named Marilyn Haynes. You wanna go ahead and tell me how you know that name?”
“That's my mom.” Nolan – or Terrence, I guess – replied softly, looking away from me.
“So, you want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?”
He limped away from me and leaned against the back of the wall, sliding to the ground.
“Listen, man. I don't know where to start. I'm sorry I lied to you, man, but I had to –”
“I don't want any bullshit. Just talk.”
“When my mom got pregnant with me, my dad didn't want nothing to do with us. She took it hard and fell into drugs – and I mean, heroin got her good.” Terrence slipped into a monotonous daze as he told his story. He pulled his legs back against his chest and rested his arms on his knees. “She did her best to raise me, but you know, shit was rough. Xavier's dad – Marvin – he felt sorry for me when he found out about me, after my dad croaked. I was about 12 then. Marvin tried to make me feel welcome in the family, started to invite me over for family gatherings and whatnot. That's where I met Xavier.”
The hairs on the back of my name pricked up at the mention of his name.
“Xavier was about 15 at the time. He was the coolest guy I'd ever met – he treated me like a little brother, too. Used to let me play all the newest games on his Xbox, gave me all these toys he didn't want to play with no more. Things were a'ight, but as we got older – I don't know if it was 'cause I was becoming a man and I was starting to see shit from a different perspective, but Xavier changed. It became clear that the dude was using me. He'd give me all this shit he didn't need anymore so I'd run these favors for him.”