by Tiana Laveen
This last statement was followed by an explosion of applause.
“That’s right.” Saint laughed gruffly. “I knew about that, shit. Yeah.” He paused. “I knew about that since I was a little kid. But, as I matured, I dated all sorts of black women, of all complexions. I didn’t just date light-skinned black women, or brown-skinned black women or dark-skinned black women. I dated them all. As I’ve continued to study and work for this cause though, gentlemen, colorism definitely had to be addressed. You see, there is a phenomenon going on, one that is going to have the same devastating effects on the Black Queen that the brown bag test had. Basically, in short, the brown bag test was a form of segregation. If a Black person was the color or lighter than the brown paper bag, they were okay…seen as decent enough for perks, advancements, things of that nature.
“If they were darker, then that wasn’t good.” He paused and raised his brow. “They were excused, not allowed in certain groups, alienated and ostracized! I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating for this situation right here—black is seen as bad, and white is seen as good in this society!
“Black mail, White wonder, white wash, white is clean, white is pure. Black is dirty, black is evil. Black cats and dogs are the least likely to be adopted. Black is grunge, white is angelic, you get the damn picture! All of this was on purpose. It is part of more mind fucking, only this time, it has no preference over the gender or the person, just the race! Now, when the opposite of this is done, it is embraced by the black community and Rainbeaus alike, but fellas, reverse colorism is a big issue with Rainbeaus and do you know why? I’ll tell you why—it is fetishism!
“A dark-skinned Black Queen who may have endured some challenges growing up, due to taunting and teasing about her complexion, finally breaks out in a smile and looks coy and sweet and embarrassed by the flattery when finally, a man tells her that he prefers her complexion! She now has merit, in her own eyes; she has worth. Another person had to basically put a price on her, to make her see her own damn beauty! Now, to some degree, I say cheers to that!” He held up his arm as if gripping a glass of wine, making a toast. “However, one should ask why? If being attracted to a black woman begins as physical, then yes, there will be things about women we’re attracted to that we find, shall we say, alluring, fuckin’ sexy, a turn on…shit that makes your goddamn dick hard! If dark skin turns that mothafucka on, more power to him! I get it, I understand because it turns me on, too. However, if it turns him on because then he can say to himself, ‘Well there is no question that she’s black’—and he gets his jollies solely on the fact that she is dark-complexioned, then Wilson! We have a mothafuckin’ problem!
“And do you know why, goddamn it?! Because she has once again become a fetish and she doesn’t even know it! She has once again been seen only as a skin color, just like with that fucking brown paper bag test that has methodically torn up the self esteem of black people for generations! Instead, these black women are cheering these men on because all they can think, due to being hurt repeatedly by society, looked past by black men and light-skinned sistas and white women chosen over them, time and time again, is that, ‘Finally! Someone is validating me! Finally, someone loves me for me!’ Bullshit!” His voice rang.
“Men, you better start questioning your goddamn selves! You better unmarry, unhinge, separate and divorce your preferences from acts of fetishism! They don’t need it and some of these Black Queens are so brainwashed by Blackistan and feel so angry towards light-complexioned black women for being born in skin that they, too, did not choose—they lash out! There is a war going on as we speak! One that none of you fuckers in here could ever understand, but you’re benefiting from it, emotionally profiting from the ill effects of Blackistan! I know that India and some other parts of Asia have complexion issues as well, I know this…I’m not stupid. I’ve travelled around this damn globe, and I’ve seen it. However, it was not born from African slavery; thus, though it is detrimental and painful, it is not the same. But every time you see it, you bet your bottom mothafuckin’ dollar it began when the Europeans came over, and put that shit in their heads! That is how you control a nation! You make the people in that nation your whore! The only white man’s whore are all the men and women who wish to assimilate and be like the dominant culture, throwing your own aside, and that means that the black men that are a part of Blackistan, have been suckin’ the white man’s cock without even realizing it, due to envy, becoming money hungry, out here doing his bidding by killing one another and drowning in ‘Me! Me! Me!’ mentality!
“This white boogie man no longer needs to exist! They’re handling the annihilation of their race, all on their own! What happened to collective group progression?! Men want what other men perceive as power and clout! It’s been going on since the beginning of time! When you add race issues to that, you’ve diluted and confused the core issues at hand. Power and clout are derived from money, land, material items accumulated, sex, sex appeal and virility! If anyone is the white man’s whore, it is any mothafucka—black, Asian, you name it—who sits around envious of what the white man supposedly has, and doesn’t even see that he has become exactly what he said he was fighting against!” The room drew quiet as everyone seemed to be waiting on their edge of their seat.
“He has put himself out on the corner and sold his soul for a dollar, but instead of focusing on the fact that he is a whore for riches, trying to assimilate into a white world and adopt a white mentality, all he can talk about is how these black women are sleepin’ with the slave master, not seeing that they’ve been trying to be the slave master since the goddamn Emancipation Proclamation, mothafucka! Who’s the whore now, bitch!”
The crowd lit up in applause.
“That means to me,” he said, dabbing his face with a tissue. “You really don’t give a shit about the damn slave master ideology! You want to be the one with the damn whip! And you are trying to beat that damn woman into submission! The mind fucking is non-motha-fuckin’ factor! It won’t STOP! So much energy, so much fascination. A wise woman, my wife,” he said with a chuckle, “recently told me something that blew my mind. I am going to paraphrase it. We were talking about something else actually…” He began to slowly walk again. “She basically said the people we hang around, the shit we think about—even if we profess to hate it—we become. That’s what is going on in Blackistan, Rainbeaus. Watch. The. Company. You. Keep! Pay attention to your obsessions, fetishes and preoccupations! They tell you way more about what you need you work on than anything else!
“I told you this would not be an easy night. I told you this! I’ve got some shit to say, some shit that is going to hurt you deep down in here!” He pointed to his heart. “That’s the only way we solve a problem, is if we are honest about it. Understand, Rainbeaus, you can’t fuel the damn tank! Stand in position, stand in your power, and direct it in the right way, towards your love interest! Use what you have for Good, not Evil! And the next time you hear some self-loathing fucker tell you that the woman you seek is the white man’s whore, you smile at him… You stand tall, and you count down the seconds, 10,9,8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1… YOU LOSE, MOTHA FUCKA! I got your woman, you self-emasculating, sensitive, whiny, sorry excuse for a human being. Now deal with it ’cause neither you nor anyone else is gonna stop me from checkmating your ass when you disrespect my Queen, and you know why? I’m the King and I protect and serve while you self-destruct and swerve!”
A storm of applause erupted as men jumped up from their seats, going wild with whistles and yells.
“She’s yours, damn it!” His voice grew hoarse as he continued on, invigorated with passion, lit up with fervor. “Do you hear me, Rainbeaus?! She’s yours if you claim ’er! She belongs only to the man that puts the damn ring on her finger! Rubber bands around corrupt money won’t make her ass dance! Wedding bands will make her dance, mothafucka!”
An outburst of laughter boomed throughout the auditorium.
“That’s what makes her dance, goddamn
it! Not the one that looks like her! Not the one that fetishizes her! Not the one that only gives her a baby but no papers! Not the one that verbally and emotionally abuses her in order to keep her in her place, and to keep her from runnin’ off with a damn Rainbeau! She belongs to her goddamn self and her Creator! She gives her heart to whoever meets her at the end of that damn aisle promising to honor, in sickness and in health, mothafucka!” The clapping became so loud, he had to wait it out before he started to speak again. “When she loves you, you don’t need to try to trick her ass! Your sincere words, followed by action, will be all the mind control you need! You don’t need to dominate her to prove your damn authority! Your genuine love for her will work magic! You don’t need to cut her down, to make yourself feel better because if you lift her ass up, once she is in the clouds, she will turn the fuck around, bend low, seize your hand and say, ‘Hold on, mothafucka! You’re coming with me! The Queen Goddess has got this in the damn bag!”
This time, the crowd became so invigorated, he was unable to keep his smile from cracking. The way the men moved, screamed and applauded was like nothing he’d seen before. He was reaching them. They were getting it; his message was settling in. In those split seconds, his words came back to him, mixing with Krishna’s and Xenia’s sentiments, as if regurgitated with an inner echo…
‘…He will try to trick you…’ Krishna had stated.
‘…You become obsessed with what you hate… Three times, you’re out…’
‘…Your genuine love will work magic…’
And I love Xenia…magic…trick…he will trick you…
…Obsessed with what you hate. Piru.
Lawrence’s and Xenia’s explanation of Gang Warfare…
Shit! It’s him! It’s not her! She does want me! He knew he could get me in a weakened state if my mate was impaired…you son of a bitch!
Saint felt copious sweat accumulate around his brow as he stood there in the midst of a breakthrough. He didn’t know how, or exactly when, but his soul within him screamed in horror.
Koki, it was you!
At that moment, he cracked up laughing, going insane as the realization hit him. He was so damn grateful he had almost finished with his spiel. He was going to draw the crowd in, bring it home, then make some much needed phone calls when this was all said and done, get to the bottom of this.
“Alright, you all sit down now, settle down.” He grinned, feeling a heating of his irises. Closing his eyes, he tried to regain some peace, cool his jets. “Yeah…so now you see why this conference was called, ‘The White Man’s Whore.’ The Black Queen is a not a whore for being with us… She’s a lover and a friend. She’s a helpmate. She’s a leader. She’s a mother that gave birth to all the nations. She’s the keeper of your future. She’s the rock, the foundation of the family!”
“Amen!” someone shouted loudly.
“She’s the heart and soul of the collective unit. She’s the glue that binds. She’s your confidant and partner! She’s your teacher and your student! She’s your comedian and the times you aren’t too afraid to let it out, drop a tear or two in front of her, she’s the one that wipes them away and keeps your secrets!”
The crowd got to their feet again, almost drowning him out with applause.
“She’s the woman that was made specifically for you! So in my book, if she MUST be labeled a whore by our union oppressors, then whore stands for:
W – Woman of my dreams
H – Heiress to my throne
O – Owner of my heart
R – Recipient of my seed
E – Earner of my trust!!!
Then yes, damn it! She’s my whore!” His brows dipped as he scowled and stomped the stage with his foot. This set the place into a damn frenzy. Men began to run up and down the aisles laughing, hollering and high-fiving one another. An ignited party happened right then and motherfucking there. Saint snatched his microphone off his shirt, letting it hit the ground, and waved as he made his way off the damn stage. He fought the thick curtains and hightailed towards the exit, his phone in hand. He could barely hear as the cheers continued, but he dialed the number nevertheless.
“Hey Saint! You shut that shit down!” Jagger chortled, not giving Saint a second to state the nature of his call.
“Thank you, man. It was a great crowd tonight. They were lively as hell. Chicago showed me mass love tonight. I’m glad you all could see it well from satellite connection. How is everything?” He changed gears, loath to cut the man off. After all, Koki’s damage was done—two more seconds weren’t going to change anything.
“Well, I didn’t have to check on Xenia tonight like you asked me to, because she’s at my house right now visiting with Traci. At this point, she’d probably spend the night if she could!” He chuckled.
Hmmmm…interesting.
“Really? Is it just a friendly visit?”
“Yeah, they are just doing girl talk. Xenia seemed a little depressed, though. Everything okay?”
Saint paused, unsure whether to tell Jagger what the hell was going on. After all, he regretted telling Lawrence. The shit was embarrassing. He felt silly about that reaction, but he simply couldn’t help himself. It was a Saint thing, something many wouldn’t understand.
“Just tired… Okay, I figured she was asleep.” He brushed it off, hoping Jagger wouldn’t redirect him. “… So I wasn’t going to call her just yet. Let me give her a call on her cell then, okay? Are the kids over there, too?”
“Nah, your mother-in-law has them.”
“Alright. Bet.”
“I’ll let her know you’re about to call.”
“No need. I got it from here. Just let them do their thing and I’ll touch base with her.”
“Okay and good job again, man. That was amazing, almost magical!” Jagger joked.
“Yeah…funny you should mention that word,” Saint mumbled so low, he knew the man couldn’t hear him. “Anyway, see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
A plan it is…and I have one, too. Koki, you’ve messed with the wrong damn one… Anyone who fucks up my sex life has got to pay. Only problem is, you don’t have enough currency, so I’m going to have to add it to your tab…
*
Chapter Thirty
“Hey baby,” Saint stated, a big grin on his face. “I understand you’re over Jagger and Traci’s spot.”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “I just wanted to chill with some friendly company. Mama has the children. I’m getting ready to go, actually. I need to get in the bed. I had no plans of staying over here this late, but we got to talking about the baby, the Queendom Conference and all of that.”
“Yeah.” He scratched his chin and lay back on the cool sheets of his bed at the Peninsula Chicago Hotel. He stretched his legs, his body almost molding and contouring to the furniture. It provided a wee bit of comfort in his troubled hour. “Sounds like fun.”
“Are you patronizing me?” He could hear the smile in her voice…glad he was the reason for it.
“Who, me?” He grinned, then laughed lightly over the phone. “I’d never!” He cracked up louder now as he adjusted his boxer shorts… The comforting sound of her voice made his dick slightly raise to attention.
“Jagger said you did a great job tonight. I have no idea why you are so superstitious about me watching you while you perform! I would have liked to have seen it, too.”
“You can. Just go to the computer and—”
“No, Saint!” She laughed. “I’m talking about LIVE. You are so crazy, like it would do anything if I watched…so superstitious.”
“Well, I think I might be able to feel your energy and it would get me off track is all. I know it sounds paranoid, but thank you for humoring me. Anyway, I love you and miss you.” He placed his arm behind his head.
“I love you too, Saint.” The worry returned to her tone. She must’ve known he was going to broach the subject, the source of all of their misfortune.
“Baby, first, I want to apologize again for insinuating you were with someone else. I knew the moment I said it that it wasn’t true. I was being spiteful because my feelings were hurt. That wasn’t cool.”
“Apology accepted, and I know you didn’t mean it.”
“Thank you. Secondly, I need to ask you a question.”
“Yes?” He heard some moving around. “Hold on a second, Saint…let me step in this bathroom to get a bit more privacy.”
“Okay, baby.” He waited until he heard a door close and lock.
“Okay, what did you want to ask me?”
He imagined her sitting on the top of a toilet lid with her legs crossed.
“The other day, when you were at work, did you…” He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to say it. “Did you recall seeing a tall Japanese man around you? I know that question is a shot in the dark, but I needed to ask.”
“Hmmm…” She paused, obviously deliberating. “No, can’t say that I did.”
Fuck! Am I wrong? This was all I had! I was so damn certain!
He tossed a pillow across the room in an angry fit. In that flash of a second, his enthusiasm and hunt for the truth was squelched. He’d stood on that stage at the end of his speech, certain he’d discovered the missing key to this messed up situation, and come to find out, it had been nothing more than a mirage. His heart sank and fear of the unknown resurfaced.
“Why?” she asked, bringing him back into the conversation. He cleared his throat, trying to gain his composure.
All I can do is be truthful with her… I’m struggling here. I need my baby back…
“Well, baby, please don’t take this wrong, but it is like a light switch went on inside of you ever since yesterday. When you came home from work, you didn’t even seem like yourself. I was just trying to figure out what may have happened is all.” He sighed. “And then, of course, the incident in our bedroom happened, which confirmed something was wrong. Don’t mind me…just brainstorming.”