by Sienna Mynx
Brick took a sip of water and moistened his lips. It was a habit of his that I enjoyed. Kissing him always felt like an enticement with those lips of his. He's still the same handsome Cajun who stole my heart.
Brick has a square face with a jawline that could chisel granite. He has dark lashes laced above brown eyes spaced evenly apart, and thick, dark, silky brows. They say eyes are the windows to the soul. And for Brick that's true. There is a salt-of-the-earth kind of honesty in the depths of his irises that I once loved. Still do. The man is a good kisser, licker, all good things come from his lips including when he uses them to blow on his saxophone. Please tell me Georgie and Marcel are wrong and he still plays. I can’t believe all that talent is gone.
Today he looks good, healthy. He has that same jazz musician swagger that makes the tramps, boozed up on Hurricanes, weak in the Quarter for him. Georgie says the Bone Room closed it’s doors. She said it was Brick’s idea that they never open again and Smoke could do nothing to stop him. I can’t believe he let his club go. I can’t believe a lot of what has happened to us both. He's dressed in a white linen shirt with what looked to be khaki-brown linen pants. His hair is still tapered low to the sides and thick with the short hairs combed back from his forehead in the middle.
He sends another text and my phone beeps.
Brick: If you want to cancel, I understand. Let me know.
Either I do this and face this man, or I disappoint my best friend and Marcel by running for the airport.
“Screw it.” I make the walk to his table, which is short but feels like a mile, and half way there his gaze lifts and impales me.
“Coco,” he mouthed. He slays me with the ease to his smile.
“Hi Brick,” I say under my breath. Still somehow I think he’s read my lips and heard me. He stands. He comes around the table to draw out my chair. I’m surprised, but I play it natural. Brick leans in to kiss me on the lips. He’s testing me. I can tell. I give him my cheek instead. He defies me and his lips brush closer to the corner of my mouth and it's a surprisingly nice move. I thought he hated me? What is going on with you, Brick? Are you really going to make this easy for me? Brick doesn't live or conform to the rules. He makes his own.
“It’s good to see you again,” I say.
He pushes in my chair. The closeness brought the smell of him and I secretly inhaleIt had been four long years since we last saw each other. Maybe, just maybe he’s missed me too.
My-My, she's still beautiful—my mocha baby. To see her again and know that she was only a few feet from me after all this time has more of an affect on me than I thought possible. I tried hating her. It worked for a short while. Then I tried forgetting her. It never happened. I can never forget. The good and bad are both burned on my soul. So I decided on hating her again. I’m not stupid enough to trust her beautiful smile or sexy way. But I’d be lying if I said deep inside my heart my emotions didn’t churn with desire when she started walking toward my table.
I’m not going to let her see even a glimmer of my pain. Fuck regret. I’m a man now, twenty-seven years old. I’m not the stupid, immature boy she tossed aside.
Despite everything between us I can't stop staring at her beauty. It’s like time doesn’t know her name. In fact she looks younger, fresher, sweeter. Her skin is a warm sun-enriched ochre-brown. Her face is surrounded by dark curls. And her thinly plucked eyebrows are shaped in a perfect arch over her round eyes. They stare at me under her long lashes and a part of my anger melts. I could see she still possesses that figure of hers that kept me on my knees. A womanly figure with no artificial flavoring. She has heart-shaped hips and thick thighs to round off the sexiest ass on the planet, all natural. And she only appears more voluptuous because of her small waistline. She can try to cover those curves of hers under silk and linen but I see through it all. Today she returns to my life in a powder-blue silk blouse and a powder-blue pen-skirt that is tight to her hips and slims down her thighs. She's 5'5 but in the pointed toe, high-heels she has on she's at least four inches taller. Funny, how women in tight skirts can walk and sway their hips the way they do. I love the feminine grace of Coco when she enters a room. I always have.
Reminds me of the first time we met.
“So?” she begins, after taking a seat. “Georgie and Marcel are finally going to do it, huh?” she asks.
“Looks that way.”
“And I'm her matron—ah, maid of honor and you're the best man. Guess we need to come up with a plan to get these two down the aisle, without any drama,” she says after a nervous chuckle.
“Congratulations.”
“What?” she asks.
“On the play. Your Tony Award. You did it.”
Her expression freezes. Does she really think I don’t know what she’s been up too? I can’t turn on the television and not hear about the stupid fucking play. “What’s it called, Getting Down and Dirty in the Bayou?”
“Brick…”
“So my family was an inspiration for you?” I ask. “We just a bunch of dirty swamp, harmonica playing Cajuns, huh?”
“Of course not. I never disrespected your family. I love your culture. I tried to show that. I wrote that screenplay as, uh, a way to heal. After… everything that happened between us. My agent fell in love with it. I needed to tell my story. That play… it’s our story.”
“I didn’t ask to be part of your fucking story, Colette. Neither did my family.”
“I meant no disrespect. No one knows the play… that it’s, your family.”
I scoff. Of course we know it. She didn’t share our family secrets. In fact the play she wrote is a Romeo and Juliet style production turned into West Side Story with all the music. A boy from Cajun country who falls in love with a wealthy Creole girl. They both die trying to be together after they escape their warring family. Blah, blah, blah, blah.
“You still hate me?” she asks. Her eyes mist with tears. I want to flip the table over and go for her throat. But I’ve learned a lot in the past four years. Mostly I’ve learned to control my emotions when it comes to her.
“One year. You stayed married to that fag for one year,” I say, and chuckle. “Saw the video of fucking that man in the ass. Did he take your cherry too, Colette?”
“That’s enough, Brick! Your redneck is showing. Don’t use that word around me.”
“I’m just getting started.”
“Can we not do this now?” she lowers her voice as if she has to remind me of where we are. “I agreed to meet to talk about the wedding and…”
“Fuck the wedding!” I shout at her. Several heads turn. Coco looks away from my angry eyes. “Look at me, damn it! You owe me that much!”
She returns her gaze to me.
“Fuck their wedding, Colette. Tell me about yours. Did you know he was gay when you married him? Was that the plan all along? Did he toss you out on your ass when he lost the election? Did you cry for him?”
She picks up her purse and makes to leave. But then she stops. My left brow wings up to the challenge. She wants to fight? I hope so. I’m itching for this fight. My dick gets hard just at the thought of it.
“I’m not the one to blame in all of this. I warned you about who I was, and who my family was. I begged you to see it my way. To do it my way. But you’re just like your father. Arrogant, and full of hate. Did you have to marry a man you despised? No. Did you have to live a lie to protect your family and the man you love from killing each other? No. Did you lose anything, Brick? Anything?”
“I lost you,” I mumble.
She shakes her head. I’ve made her cry. Good. I want her in tears.
“If you had seen my play you would know the truth. You never had me. It was all a lie. A sad pathetic lie. Goodbye, Brick.”
“Fuck you, Colette.”
She gets up and walks away. I slam my fist down on the table. I put my face in my hands to keep from staring at her backside.
“Ah, excuse me sir, will you be dining alone?” The wai
ter asks and the question pulls a trigger he didn’t know I had. I flip over the table in the restaurant. The people in the restaurant scream. The waiter jumps back. I reach in my back pocket, remove my wallet and take out all the folded hundred dollar bills I have. I toss them in his face and walk out.
When I leave the restaurant I see Coco being escorted to a cab. She doesn’t look back but once inside the car I know she can see me at the valet. Once again I can do nothing but watch as she drives out of my life.
“So? I’m dying to know. How was it?” Georgie asks.
“Awful, why did I let you convince me to even see him again. It was awful. He was nasty, mean, racist, hurtful, he cursed me out and I left.”
“Wait racist? What?” Georgie gasps.
“He called Xavier a fag, he cursed me out and…”
“No. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Coco, I swear. Brick came around here excited about the wedding, about us four being reunited he… was the one that suggested we all go to St. Kitts to celebrate before the wedding.”
“He did? He hates me.”
“Coco, listen, I promise you he doesn’t. He’s not that good of an actor. He wanted your number to set up this meeting because he wanted to see you again. I’m telling you, he’s not forgotten anything, let alone his feelings for you.”
I wipe my tears. I’m humiliated. My hands are shaking. I hate this city. I hate everything about it. The only reason I agreed to come back is because Georgie and Marcel are having a destination wedding in St. Kitts and Nevis. But being stuck on an island with Brick isn’t as appealing to me as it was before.
“You there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” I answer, while holding the phone.
“Where are you?”
“In a cab headed to my hotel. I need to lay down.”
“I’m coming to you. Too much family drama over here at Ma’s. Meet me in the hotel bar in an hour, okay? We’ll talk.”
“I’ve missed you, Georgie.”
“I’m so glad you’re back. So excited!”
I hang up. I check my phone for another text from Brick. There is none. I sigh with defeat.
“W’sup man?”
“Nothing. Look, brother, I got some bad news. I got a call from Pops. I need to leave town. I won’t be able to head out with you and Georgie in the morning to the island. I got some business, ah, to take care of.”
Marcel chuckles. “Didn’t go well, huh?”
“What? Oh? Nah, fuck that, I saw her. Nothing to see really. I got business. I’ll be there in time for the wedding but… yeah, I can’t take off and… just leave, ah, Pops needs me...”
“Brick? You’re my best friend. It took me four long years to get Georgie to be mine. And her family is going to make me fucking nuts. I need you to keep my courage up bro.”
I close my eyes, but don’t reduce the speed in my Maserati on the road. Crashing it would be a good way to get out of this. I couldn’t spend five minutes with her before all that anxiety and pain came back. I hate the feeling.
“Brick? Brick?”
“I’m here.”
“You better have your ass on the plane in the morning, ya heard me?” Marcel says.
“Fuck you.”
Marcel laughs. “Me and the boys want to go out tonight. Why don’t I cancel and we hang. Like in the old days. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“Nah, keep your plans man. I do need to see Pops. Make sure everything is okay with him before I leave town. I’ll see you in the morning at the airport.”
“Brick, you need to talk it out with Coco. You might be surprised at what she has to say. You two need to work through your shit. It’s been four fucking years man.”
“No thanks. I think after I leave Pops I’m going to see Darlene tonight and let her cook for me. I won’t let you down brother. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Alright then.”
Marcel hangs up. I toss the phone to the side. As soon as I do I see the green bubble on the screen that says I have a text message. I’m at a stop light when I pick it up. It’s a text message from Coco.
I know you’re angry with me.
Can we try to find a way to be civil?
For Georgie and Marcel?
I’m willing to, if you are.
The man behind me blows his horn. I’m trying to cool off but the fucker keeps blowing his horn. I reach inside the center console and get my gun. I throw open my car door and walk in the street towards the car behind me. Traffic is slowing down at the green light to not hit me. Others who drive past us slow to stare. I open fire on the hood of the man’s car. Pump six bullets into his engine. The man and his wife scream in horror. I smile at them both before I turn and go back to my Maserati. I get behind the wheel and gun it through the light that switches to yellow.
I feel better.
“What did he say?” Georgie asks me.
I stare at the phone with just as much anticipation as she has and wait for Brick to text back. He doesn’t. After three minutes I set it down. “Told you it wouldn’t work.”
Georgie rubs my back. “Trust me. He’s acting mad. He’s got it bad for you.”
“Stop saying that Georgie. It’s been four years. The man hates me. I broke his heart. Hell, he’s probably moved on with another woman.”
Georgie sips her drink. Her pink nails are sharpened to dagger points. A new nail fashion women do now. I think it looks gaudy. But I don’t say so. “Why do you do that to your nails?”
“What? These? They called stiletto nails. They cute.”
“They look like something out of halloween.”
She laughs. I don’t. I doubt I will laugh during my entire visit home. Georgie must sense it. She lets go one of those sighs, which sounds like she plans to give me a lecture. Here we go.
“I never told you this, but I think you should know. Two years ago Brick came to my apartment. It was late one night. He’d been drinking. He looked rough. He and his father had a fight and he was pretty banged up. Marcel was in London and Brick knew this. So I was shocked when he knocked on my door. I was afraid to open the door but he pleaded with me. So, I did.”
My heart races. I look at Georgie who is staring down into her martini. She continues with her story and I hold my breath for the rest of the news.
“He was so upset. Said he couldn’t take living his life anymore—whatever that means. The club had closed. But he was the one that shut it down. He was working at Bondurant Foreign Cars. He was a hot mess.”
“What did he want?”
“You.” She says and looks over to me. “He wanted to talk about you. Made me get my albums out of us growing up together. Made me share my pictures on my phone from my last visit with you in New York. Actually made me text him a few to his phone. He’d knew about the divorce and wanted to go to New York to beg you to take him back but kept changing his mind.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me? Call me? Let me speak to him?”
Georgie looks over at me with regret. “I’m sorry, girl. Brick was broken. You’d gone through hell to get out of that mess with Xavier nasty ass. You two both were, just in a lot of pain. I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“Damn it, Georgie! It wasn’t your call. I would have called you if it were Marcel.”
“C’mon, Coco? You had dumped him and married another man. You wouldn’t even allow me to mention his name. How was I supposed to know that deep down you wanted him still?”
“Yeah, well, okay.”
“I know. I know I should have told you sooner but let me finish the story. Brick passed out on my sofa. He was gone before I woke. I told Marcel about the late night visit and he was pissed. He didn’t like the idea of Brick showing up on my door drunk in the middle of the night. He and Brick got into a huge fight. Brick cut Marcel with a knife.”
“Wait? He did what? He stabbed Marcel?”
“It was a cut nothing really bad. To avoid jail the judge forced him into rehab after that. Marcel went
to Pops to make sure Brick stuck to the court order. For some reason Pops agreed. Everyone knew Brick was out of control. To my knowledge he hasn’t had a drink since. I don’t think. But he’s running on empty. And then early this year your musical debuted. Marcel and I went to New York, remember? We were there opening night. You got us front row seats.”
I nod that I remember. I didn’t have a chance to see them after. I was swept up in some production drama. They had to explore New York without me and fly out the next day.
Georgie looks back down into her drink.
“What is it, Georgie? Just say it, okay?”
“What we didn’t tell you is that Brick came to New York too. He was there. In the audience. He didn’t want you to know. He even brought some woman named Darlene to the play. Girl, she was a cheap imitation of you. The girl had on a tacky purple mini dress, like a copy of that cute Versace one you used to wear for Brick at the club. It was strange. He was obsessed with the musical.”
“A woman? He bought another woman to my musical?”
“Yep. Girl, he ranted so damn much about that musical. He tried to make it out to be that he was pissed you told a story about his family in the bayou. Made this big deal about how he was going to sue you. Said he was going to the musical to see it for himself so he can take you to court. But I saw him in the audience. He was happy. Smiling and laughing like the rest of them. That musical was so damn good even Brick had a good time. And the saxophone solos you put in the play. He talked about that one of the songs was his songs. And you stole it. He talked about that for months. Every time he saw me he kept inserting it into conversation. How the saxophone player was shit. Couldn’t play anything like him. How you were low down for stealing his shit. How he hated it and hated you.”
“I can’t listen to anymore of this.”
“He’s been obsessing about you every day, Coco. My question to you, Coco, is how do you feel about him? Why did you write a play about a Cajun saxophone player? Why did you agree to see him today?”