by Amarie Avant
“Jagger!” Mikayla presses a hand against my chest. “Everyone give us a moment. I promise to be the first with ideas of just how to put down Qaaim, but I must speak to him.”
She moves toward the hallway, wanting privacy. But I won’t allow her that. Unable to glance her way, I say, “Mikayla, you’re a princess–”
Her voice is full of longing. “We love each other.”
“You are a princess,” I begin again, tone hardening with each word, “You are sorely mistaken. You were royalty. Beautiful. I’d never had a princess.”
Finally, I’m closed off enough to glance at her. The color drains from her face. I focus on the truth, that her people will refuse to accept her if we continue what we have, I’d further batter her heart. “Did I ever say I loved you?”
Zane Solarin is staring at me as if I’m the rear end of a rhinoceros. There are so many tears in Mikayla’s eyes, if she would just wipe them away she’d know I was a liar.
“Jag,” my mom said, she was the only one who called me that. Then Mikayla started it, now Trick. “You are no longer welcome in my home while you have that masking.”
I held up my palm showing off the X Member blood oath. “Really? Mother, what happened to forgiveness? I thought your God did all the judgement?”
“True. I just cannot accept your sin.” Her lips trembled, and she dabbed tissue to her eyes.
“You and dad work at the mission. You make a meager salary and much of that goes back to tithes and giving! Take the damn money,” I found myself shouting. We were poor and I was holding more money than she’d see in a year, in salary or by the entire congregation of giving. “Open the Christian school, purchase better books.”
“Leave my house!”
Mikayla has asked if I loved her again. I stare at her with the same contempt my mother had for me. I’m blind to her beauty and the goodness that helped me overcome my anger for what my grandfather had done. My father’s family was rich. My mother’s family was poor, and they gave their last.
I am a fucking asshole. A horrible man, who doesn’t care about anyone but myself. My home on the hill, and the millions of dollars in luxury engines that I’ve taken and made better by transforming them into more efficient, useful–sometimes killing–machines are all I have. This is me. Nothing else!
Mikayla presses a hand against my chest. “You were talking to me, Jag. Opening up. I don’t care about the dynamics of how we become us! Or how short of a time we’ve been together. Jagger, we have gone through so much, and you love me.” She pounds at my chest to drill it all in.
“Mikayla, it has been a little over two weeks. What do you mean, what we’ve gone through together? You know the type of man that I am? It’s just another day in my life.” I can hardly stand the shit slinging from my mouth. “I’ve been to exotic lands, but you my dear, were my first princess. When they crown you, I’ll salute you with a beer in hand and say I’ve had my first Queen as well.”
She slaps me across my face, in much the same manner she did when we first met. Her eyes are aflame with anger that I haven’t flinched. Again, and again she slaps me.
MamLalumi and Zane Solarin are somber. They glance at me as if I’ve gone about this in the worst way possible. I can’t tell who they’re sadder for, Mikayla or me. They know I’ve lied.
Chumi nods at me. Apparently, he agrees with my tactics.
“You know what,” Mikayla says in a much more put together voice than she looks. “Jag, this is a learning lesson for me. You never cared about anything but yourself. Did you get the Lamborghini engine this morning? Is that what was so damn important to you? I hope you did.”
The invitation to the event is next week. I had no intention of attending the moment Mikayla went through the pain of making love to me the first time.
“I hope you enjoy it. Because, what did you say back in Nevada, less than a very small percent of the population will get a chance to own or touch it, well, the statistics where staggering. But I am,” she presses a hand against her chest, “I am infinitely and astonishingly more of a treasure than a fucking car.”
She turns on the heels of her tennis shoes, chin held high, and even with my heart being ripped from my chest I can almost smile. I can almost see myself scoop her into my arms and tell her she meant more to me than anything I’ve ever known. She makes me regret not leaving X Member as my mother begged of me. I could’ve returned home, had I done so.
But Mikayla is becoming the queen, and this just made her stronger.
In a business tone, she addresses everyone, “Jagger indicated that he knows how to handle what has happened to my friends. Despite he and I, I cannot have him brought to justice for what has occurred in California. This … person,” she says, as a royal wouldn’t cuss, “has saved my life and so I must pardon him. He said he has a way to weasel himself out of it, you listen to his plan. I’m going to grab my things. When I return, we will leave.”
She starts upstairs. A heavy silence falls for some time.
“He did what must be done,” Chumi is the first to speak.
“He broke her heart,” Zane scoffs.
“He broke his own heart,” MamLalumi says. “I see goodness in you, Mr. Johansson. You may not be aware of it much of the time, but you are a good man. And you didn’t have to…”
“He did what must be done,” Chumi reiterates.
“You are a foolish old man,” she frowns.
“So, we pin this all on Qaaim?,” Zane returns the conversation to something more relevant. “Jagger, to answer your question of why the government didn’t intervene. Three of the five elders also believed that Qaaim should’ve been king after Queen Makuachukwa married King Bannan. The South African government wasn’t prepared for the anarchy of a nation, as they along with the King Regent make up much of the advisory team for their country. After the death of Qaaim and Makuachukwa’s father, she was to be wed to a monarch in the Zulu nation, which has more in common with the Navieans. Bannan was a commoner who she met while in college. He is from a Malagasy group of Austronesian people in Madagascar.”
“They married for love,” the words slip from my mouth as I rub the stubble at my jaw. “Look what came of it.”
Chumi changes subjects, unwilling to let me live out my only regret. He says, “I am ashamed to admit, I belonged to the group who believed the rubbish that Mikayla and Bannan were abominations. I have gathered intel for Zane for a few years now, waiting for Qaaim’s quest to have her returned. After all that’s happened today, I remember Mikayla’s sadness as a child when people laughed behind her father’s back. We will tell her tomorrow. She’s gone through much today and you may think you’ve hurt her, and you have, but you’ve also made her stronger. Qaaim and his men will be dealt with accordingly.”
“What are their names?” I ask, ready to jot them all down. Mikayla has the rights to do with Qaaim as she pleases, but I’ll murder anyone on that list.
Zane leans forward.
“There are fifty of them. Probably a few more who sympathize now that Mikayla made her statement last week. However, each one who has followed Qaaim since the deaths of the true king and queen is going down with Qaaim, Johansson,” Zane warns. “Now that I have a pretty good picture of what you do in your leisure time, I will ask that you have no hand in this.”
“I agree with whatever Mikayla chooses,” I grit out, although I prefer painting my hands with each man’s blood. “But make sure she is kept safe during the entire process.”
When Mikayla comes downstairs with the outfit she wore the night I caught up to her at the Nivean ceremony I notice that she hasn’t packed any of her clothing.
Her eyes are puffy as she stands just at the entrance of the room. “We should all leave, Jag… Jagger has some cleaning up to do.”
Her guests get up.
Yep, I’m a fucking asshole.
She’s just taken her first life. Aside from my initial belief that this should be a moment of celebration, I just want to
turn back time. I glance around at the trappings of success and it dawns on me. What my mother said about riches. You can’t bury a man with all of his valuables.
And I’m probably going to Hell.
MamLalumi is the last to exit. She grasps my hand.
“You have two lives, Jagger. Both will be assessed in time.”
Unsure how to respond, I place my hands on top of my head as they leave.
***
For some time, I stand just inside where my front door once stood. Too much of a pussy to have watched Chumi’s car and too stubborn to head upstairs for the night.
I pull my cell phone from my pocket to even more messages from Trick.
ME: she’s safe.
TRICK: good. My niece is waiting to meet her next month.
Without responding, I scroll through my contacts to find the associations clean-up crew and make the quick call.
“Oh, and it’s Sinclair,” I add at the end.
“Just her?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to have to get further authorization.” The call goes dead.
***
Two hours later, there’s an X Member investigator at my home. They wouldn’t normally arrive since just a mark would’ve been murdered. But this is one of us so politics are taken into account. The guy is Korean, black sunglasses and suit like he’s begging to be noticed.
His shiny shoes are a fraction of an inch from Ava’s pool of blood. Her stiff body, awkwardly positioned on the floor. I hope my fish haven’t overeaten.
He snatches the sunglasses from his eyes. “You expect me to believe she fell?”
“Not at all. We got into a fight first.” Under any other circumstances I would never admit to, nor would I actually ever hit a woman, but what I intended for Ava Sinclair was worse. So I roll with the story.
“Big guy like you, I could see one hit and lights out. She was in a scuffle.”
I laugh for emphasis. “You know Ava? She liked to be slapped around.”
“I’m going to take a few photos before the team cleans up. Where are your scars?”
Fuck. I don’t have any fresh wounds….
Mikayla
Yesterday, I pledged my love to a vile, evil man who has no heart while in the presence of MamLalumi, a woman I respect and love, and two other men I hardly know.
Now, I’m at the home of Zane Solarin. His wife, who is in her late forties and about the same size as me, has provided me with a few dresses. I’m wearing a flowy one, my arms are wrapped around myself and it takes a minute of glancing around to become aware that I’m in their upscale kitchen. All stainless steel appliances.
“Princess Mikayla, can I get you anything else?” Mrs. Solarin asks. She’s beautiful, with hair in a thick braid, like a halo around her head. The look in her eyes for him and him for her when he brought me home, makes me want to curl into the fetal position and cry.
I’m supposed to be in hiding until Qaaim is brought to justice.
“Oh, I… this is so good,” I grab the spoon that’s sitting in a bowl of oatmeal, which was steaming…a minute ago, maybe more? I can’t recall, every time I’m not engaged in conversation, I contemplate on how stupid I was for falling for Jagger Johansson.
“Please, you need your strength. That no good uncle of yours is prepared to meet Zane tomorrow afternoon. We have to get him. I’m from Zihula, I’ll always love my island, but I have some good friends who should’ve never believed in him.”
“I have heard of your land.”
“My King is a very good man as long as he trusts you,” she chuckles. “I don’t mean you in particular, I’m sorry, you make me nervous but he did not trust your King Regent. King Damba is sick and set in his ways. He didn’t like how your lands were sold off so quickly after… after… well, you know.” She sits down next to me.
My ears perk. I need to forget Jagger and everything about him. Mrs. Solarin may have more than gossip.
“I am cooking dinner tonight. A grand dinner. The advisor for Zihula will be in attendance. The moment you snatch your throne back, you must work on the crops. The land is worked so hard, due to all the selling in the past.” She stops speaking and places a hand on her chest. “Forgive me, I cannot say ‘you must’ to a royal. And I have entertained lots, it’s just, the tales about your disappearance. We all have prayed for you, it feels like I know you. Everyone is curious about you.”
“It’s okay.” Though my eyes sting with fresh tears, I focus on Mrs. Solarin. Her mouth moves in rapid succession until another thought pops into her head. Then she’s standing again.
“I have lots of cooking to do. The kitchen is yours, anything you’d like. Tonight will be perfect.”
“I understand that an advisor from your country will be in attendance but please don’t prepare anything out of the ordinary for me.”
***
Last night, I reminded myself to breathe, and to smile on occasion. Just the simple things in life were so hard to do. I met with an advisor of the Zihula nation who gifted me with jewels and wouldn’t take no for an answer. The man was adamant that I had not only the King but Prince Fari’s backing for the confrontation this afternoon. He even agreed that the nation would provide materials such as compost for my country prior to when we are to plant our seeds. It’s a process, but I’ll learn.
Mr. Solarin indicated that he knew of good people in my tribe who would make the best counsel. Although, he stated as a government official, the choice is mine. Chumi has rounded up a recommendation of future elders that I’m in trepidation about meeting. Seems like another set of folks that can get rid of me when necessary. Yet I cannot fathom running a country all alone…
I sigh while lying in the comfortable bed. I reach over and grab the pillow at the opposite side, instead of hugging it to my chest, I flick it with my wrist. The feather pillow falls to the glossy wood floor below.
I don’t need a man on the other side of the bed. Hell, in middle school I couldn’t understand the necessity. Same went for high school and college.
I just loved me some Cree.
Thoughts of my oldest friend place a much-needed smile on my face as I sit up. After the conference with Qaaim, the news will be national enough for me to seek out my parents and start the process of rectifying the wrongs started by Qaaim and Ava Sinclair.
Just thinking over her death sends a chill down my spine.
“I did that. I can do anything,” I motivate myself. The altercation was self-defense anyway.
***
“What is going on…” I mumble as Mrs. Solarin starts into the parking lot where her husband works.
She was just mid-sentence about visiting once a week with his favorite lunch when I noticed the slew of news vans.
“You will oust Qaaim in front of all of South Africa.” She huffs. “Zane did not tell you, did he?”
“He mentioned a conference. Guess he failed to state the press were invited as well.” I lean over until my chest is against my knees. This is cruel… if Qaaim had recorded my statement about “screw the country” almost two weeks ago, they’d spit in my face.
“Are you alright?”
I slink back into a seated position. “Yes. I can do this. My uncle deserves to be hated by the masses. Your husband made sure they’d all come. So,” I sigh, “thank you. This past few days have been highly stressful.”
“I hope I didn’t add to the craziness.”
“The opposite, in fact,” I offer as much of a smile as I can muster. Listening to Mrs. Solarin drone on about this and that even taught me a few things. I’ve certainly got some apologizing to do for telling off my country. I need to learn about them as individuals, not see them all as mob of people who hate me.
Solarin comes to the driver’s door as his wife presses the button to roll down the windows. He affectionately cups her face with his hand, and I look away. I’m almost startled that I hadn’t noticed two other men with government badges, one dark. The lighter one ope
ns my door.
Solarin addressed me with, “Mikayla, this is Peter and Toma.” The guy holding the door nods first then the other one. “They will help escort you to the front of the building. It’s a short walk, but as you can see, you will be noticed.”
The moment we step out of the car, there’s shouting.
“It’s her!”
“That’s the princess!”
“Mikayla, Mikayla, there’s word that you’ve given up your crown?”
“Princess Mikayla, can you tell us where you have been for almost twenty years?”
From dark skin to pale, from various African accents to British, people are shoving cameras in my direction.
Peter holds out his hand to a microphone that’s inches from my mouth. Due to their first impression—well, after all these years—that I provided almost two weeks ago, I smile and try to address the closest investigator.
“I was dropped off in Long Beach, California a few days after my parents deaths.” I hand the man an old newspaper print out that Solarin had from the Los Angeles Times. After all the shame I’ve felt from being on the cover of the article, I can’t believe the articles about me help build a case.
It dawns on me, I was abducted from my home before I understood the meaning of the word.
As the truth sinks in, I’m escorted to the left side of the building and ascend the three steps. Today, I’ll listen as the government provides their evidence. I’m not really needed as an expert witness, but Zane explained it that the South African Government allowed Qaaim to rule, because they were waiting for this day, and he said my people “wanted to have their cake and eat it, too.” With my disappearance, they didn’t want Nivean to be a nation without a ruler, it would have devastated an already weak country.
My shoulder’s square as I take the final step up. They will be without no longer. A podium is stationed between the center of the innermost white columns. The building has a European style to it.
There are two rows of seats, six on each. Smack dab in the front, between a king and queen of the southwest section of Africa, from a country I cannot remember is my Uncle Qaaim. There’s two other sets of monarchs, who I luckily recall from the research Solarin implored me to finish. One is behind them and I start for the back row to the far right of all the people when I notice him.