I Gave Him My Heart

by Krystal Armstead

“She thought when you said that you were a ‘Scorpio’ that you meant you were born in October.” I grinned, sitting down on the stool directly in front of him.

  Saint grinned, shaking his head at me. “Sabe usted algo acerca de los escorpiones? Do you know anything about scorpions?”

  I shrugged, crossing my legs. “I know the muthafuckas are black, and they’ll sting the fuck out’cha ass if you fuck with ‘em .”

  Saint’s employees laughed a little.

  I rolled my eyes at them.

  “Scorpios are born to protect themselves from invasions. It’s in their blood. It comes naturally to them to protect themselves at all times.” Saint schooled me.

  I watched as Saint rolled up his sleeve, showing the intricate scorpion design that Nina inked on his shoulder.

  “The scorpion represents self defense—protecting one’s self from outsiders.” Saint caught me eying the brass knuckles on one of his employees and the two 9-mms tucked in his pants. Saint grinned at me. “Un escorpion tiene su aguijon alta. A scorpion holds its stinger high, shifting from left to right, side to side, not allowing its enemy an inch to attack, while always keeping his stinger front and fuckin’ center.” And then, he started talking about his team like they actually were scorpions. “We anticipate every move of our adversary. We move in silence, striking muthafuckas quickly and decisively, when they least expect that shit.”

  I eyed another one of his employees, cleaning off of a knife, when I noticed a bloodstain on his shirt. I looked over at Saint. “I see… Did I miss something? Or do I even wanna know?” I looked around the bar. When I thought this nigga was being helpful, he was just helping clean up what was probably a murder scene.

  Saint grinned. “Just be glad you weren’t here to see the shit, Ma; that’s all I can say.”

  I shook my head at that crazy fool. “Y’all muthafuckas crazy. But I’m tryin’ to be down with y’all crew. How do I become a Scorpio? What I gotta do? Learn to speak Spanish or something? Carry a 9 milli’?”

  They all burst out laughing, watching my face form into a frown.

  “Are you serious?” Saint laughed so hard, tears were in his eyes. “Ma, you need to just stick to being pretty and leave the dirty work to us. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

  I nodded. “Good. That’s more like it. Don’t count me out, Saint. You’ve done so much for us; you already know I’m down to ride for whatever. Just let me know, boo.”

  Saint smiled, white teeth and all. That man was crazy, but he was gorgeous. “Aye.” He reached under the counter and then pulled out a package that had to be at least 16 x 20 inches. He handed it to me. “Open it.”

  I looked down at the package and then back up at Saint. “Is this the picture? No, I can’t open it; it’s Nina’s.”

  Saint sighed. “Yo, just open it. I have wrapping paper in the back, Ma. I want you to see this nigga’s skills.”

  I carefully opened up the package and slid the canvas out of the packaging. And there it was. A painting of Nina and I together at Saint’s party, the night that Nina found out that Saint and Ricque were brothers. Though the event was an emotional one, you could never tell by how happy Nina and I looked together on that picture. I’d given Saint the picture once he told me that he could get Nina’s favorite artist to paint it. I knew the dude had skills, but I didn’t know how much of a beast with the paintbrush the dude was until I saw the replica of that night at Saint’s place. I ran my fingers across the textured dried oil paint.

  “Tim…” I read the signature that was in the corner of the painting, dated October 25th. I looked up at Saint, pursing my lips. “Really? How the fuck is she gonna know that Timothy Knoxberry painted this picture when all the nigga wrote on it was ‘Tim’?”

  Saint laughed a little. “That’s all the nigga writes on all of his paintings. Trust me, Nina will know.”

  Saint’s homeboy, Marco, came over to me with a roll of wrapping paper, scissors, and tape. And he sat everything on the counter.

  I smiled at him and then looked back at the painting, looking it over from corner to corner. I shook my head to myself. “Man, this white dude has skills!”

  Saint laughed. “What makes you think this nigga is white?”

  I shrugged. “His family is rich, he never shows his face, he’s got art sprinkled all over the fuckin’ country, he designs monumental buildings all over the country, you don’t see the dude on the BET awards, you don’t hear about baby mama drama, you won’t find one magazine with the pictures of him in them, the dude is worth billions of dollars, his whole damn family is muthafuckin’ white—dude, pick one!”

  “You wanna meet him? I can hook you up. It’ll be a minute, probably around December of next year before he’s free though.” Saint watched me roll my eyes. “That’ll give you enough time to get your shit together.”

  I lifted my left eyebrow at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “You have skills, Kourtney, but the only one you allow to shine is Nina. She’s phenomenal, and so are you. You’re more than a got-damn pretty face with legs. Show these muthafuckas, Ma, and quit fuckin’ playin’.” Saint watched my eyes water a little. He seemed to be the only one who believed in me. “I heard that you just got your license to do tattoos. That’s what’s up. Do something with that. Your girl, Pretty, says that you can draw. She even showed me a few paintings you did a few years ago that she has hung up in her room.”

  I looked at the fool. “The fuck you doing in Pretty’s room, Saint?”

  Saint laughed a little. “Yo, fix your face; don’t look at a nigga like that. Don’t get it twisted. I helped the men lay that carpet in her room a few weeks ago, remember?”

  “Yeah, that better be all you’re laying in that bitch’s room, Saint; don’t play.” I watched him and his boys chuckle a little.

  “Don’t try and change the topic. You’re gifted and you need to show everyone. I know you’re tired of people saying, ‘Aye, ain’t you Nina’s sister? She inks a badass tattoo, she paints, she draws, she designs landscapes, she’s married to a superstar. What is it that you do? Do you do anything? Shit, can you do anything?’” Saint reached for my hand because he knew I was about to walk away. “What makes you think you don’t deserve a better life, Kourtney. Huh? Why do you continue to live in Nina’s shadow? Where’s your life?”

  I just sat there on the stool, feet shaking anxiously, not really sure what to say. I really couldn’t deny what the man was saying. I was afraid to fly on my own. I always flew with Nina. We were birds of a feather, though we were nothing alike. Even though I wanted the same things that she had, I wasn’t so sure I could handle the heartbreak if I failed. Nina was good at everything she did. She deserved the spotlight, so I always gave it to her. Everything in life was a fuckin’ competition, and I didn’t want to compete with my sister.

  I brushed the man off because I really didn’t wanna cry in front of him and his people. “Boy, bye.” I grabbed the roll of wrapping paper and scissors. “Anyway, boo, thanks for the painting. Nina is going to love this.”

  Saint frowned a little before he responded. “No problem, Ma. Anything for my sister-in-laws.” I know he hated to say that.

  I felt sorry for him. He really loved Nina. He’d made the mistake of walking in on Nina’s wedding dress fitting, and I made the mistake of walking up on him crying in his car that day. I didn’t even hesitate when I saw the boy crying. I got in the passenger seat of his ride and got close enough to wrap the boy in my arms. As tough and crazy as he was, the fact that Nina was marrying Ricque broke him all the way down.

  “How have you been, boo? You okay?” I asked him before cutting through the paper.

  “I’m good. As long as I’m busy, keeping my mind occupied, I’m good.” Saint brushed his hurt feelings off.

  “Right.” I smirked a little, knowing the nigga was keeping his bed occupied, too. “Hey, let me get some Roscato to take back with me, too. My girls are trying to get fuckin’ drunk
tonight.”

  ***

  Man, when I’m telling you them hoes got drunk at Nina’s party, I’m telling you, them hoes got pissy drunk. I let Nina open all of her mediocre gifts that night, knowing in the back of my mind that both Saint and I had the best wedding gifts for her. That nigga had a got-damn custom-made, pearl-colored Porsche waiting for her, parked outside of the honeymoon suite that Ricque’s Uncle Dom was going to surprise them with in Jamaica. The nigga had her a Porsche custom-made to match her wedding dress, from the paint job to the got-damn crystals that were embedded in the chrome rims. He went all out for her. I couldn’t really take credit for my gift to her because he was the one who made sure my gift was even made possible. Yet and still, I held onto my gift until the party was over, making her think that the only gift that I gave to her was making sure all of our girls came to see her.

  Once our girls fell into their drunken sleep, knocked the hell out, drooling all over the shop furniture, Nina and I sat outside at one of the umbrella tables in front of our shop. It was around 1:30 that night, and Nina was checking in with her Ricque to see how his party was going.

  “What y’all niggas doin’?” Nina took the blunt that I was passing her from my hand. Nina hadn’t smoked loud in years. That night, we got fucked-up for the first time since we were about thirteen. Nina was the good girl. Never really drank or smoked unless she was really stressed out. She was ready to marry Ricque, but I’m sure she was nervous about taking that jump with him. Those two had been apart for seventeen-got-damn years, but the way that they still loved one another, you would have never guessed.

  I walked over to my shiny baby parked at the curb of the shop and popped the trunk to get Nina’s gift out of it. I held the package in my arms, closing the trunk.

  “I know you’re not at your bachelor’s party, but you did say that your cousin, Nacho, was in town. I remember that nigga, Ricque, from when we were teenagers. Wherever he’s at, there’s a group of hoes with him. Keep on laughing, Ricque—let me find out…” Nina rolled her eyes at me laughing at her irrational jealousy. That nigga could give a fuck about a hoe. And she knew that shit, too.

  “Girl, hang up the fuckin’ phone. Let that boy have some fun. Damn.” I walked back over to the table and sat across from her.

  Nina stuck her middle finger up at me. “Okay, boo, I’ll see you in the morning. I love you… A’ight, boo.” Nina pressed ‘end’ on her phone, watching me sliding the gift over to her. She looked up into my face, a slight grin growing across hers. “What’s this?”

  I took the blunt from her fingers. “Open it and see.”

  Nina hesitated before carefully opening up the package. You should have seen the expression on Nina’s face once she finally got the present unwrapped and saw what it was. Her big brown eyes searched the painting to the lower right hand corner of the canvas, where she saw Timothy Knoxberry’s signature. She ran her fingers across it, eyes big as saucers. She looked up at the grin on my face before she burst out in tears.

  “Kourtney, do you have any idea how much this painting is worth? How much any painting by anyone in the Knoxberry family is worth?” Nina exclaimed, tears running down her face.

  I shrugged, taking a few puffs from my neatly rolled blunt, basking in the glory of getting something for her that no one else bothered to notice she was even interested in. “Nope, but I’m pretty sure it cost a grip,” I replied.

  Nina looked back at the painting, running her fingers across the portrait of the two of us together. “Grip isn’t even the word. Kourtney, boo, how did you get this?”

  I wanted so bad to tell her that Saint had hooked me up, but he made me promise not to tell her. It was no secret that he loved her, but I’m sure he was feeling some kind of way about being in love with the girl that he had absolutely no chances of ever being with.

  “Girl, you know I got the hook up like Master P.” I joked through her awestruck expression.

  “Thank you.” Nina cried. “I remember meeting this family at an art exhibit when we were kids. You remember that night because that was the night you went to a party with Geneva.”

  I rolled my eyes, not so much at Nina, but at what happened the night of that party.

  “Mama wouldn’t take me because she had a dinner date with some hot-shot lawyer that night. So, I took the bus there myself. I waited for three hours to get into that exhibit. Once I got into the exhibit, the place was crowded with thousands of people. The Knoxberry family stood in the center of the gallery, standing on the red carpet, all fifteen of them, from the great-grandfather all the way down to the youngest child. So I thought anyway.” Nina dried her face.

  I looked at Nina as she ran her fingers over the signature.

  “While the paparazzi was in awe over these rich celebrities, the crowd was really in awe over the two little mixed kids in the back of the gallery. The little girl, who couldn’t have been older than two or three years old, stood there posing while this little boy, who couldn’t have been older than five or six, was standing on a stool painting this girl’s portrait on the wall!” Nina was in tears talking about the little boy. “This wasn’t just a painting but a mural! The painting had to at least be 15 x 16 feet, Kourtney, and it might have taken this boy a good two hours to completely finish it. And when he finished it, he signed the bottom right hand corner of the wall with ‘Tim’. The whole crowd was stunned to silence watching this little mixed-raced kindergartener drawing this picture. Everyone was taking pictures, girl. The governor was there. All types of prestigious people were supposed to be there, meeting the entire Knoxberry family, but instead, they were in awe over this little boy. I wanted to meet him; oh, I had to meet this kid! I wanted to be able to talk to him, at least get his autograph, because I knew that day that he was gonna be somebody. I had no idea that he was even a part of that family until the family made their way out of the gallery. I pushed my way through to the crowd to get to the little boy, when I saw King Knoxberry signaling the boy and his sister to come along with them. I snuck my way behind them, following far behind, until they got to their stretch limo. And the moment that they were away from the crowd of people, King Knoxberry, the most known of the Knoxberry men, punched this little boy in the face, before shoving him into the back of the limo.”

  My eyes widened.

  Nina shook her head, drying her face. “Poor little boy and his sister were outcasts of that family because they were black. That’s why you never see them on television, Kourtney. That’s why you never see their name in lights. Of course, they have to acknowledge the youngest boy’s name because, as you can see and as I saw back then at the age of twelve, this boy has undeniable talent. Timothy Knoxberry doesn’t even sign his portraits with the family’s last name. Last I heard of his sister, she dances for a dance team at Howard University called Black Beauty. I think her name is Roxanne. You should look her up. I would give anything to meet them, hear their story. I am sure it’s just as painful as ours, if not worse. They weren’t wanted either.”

  I shook my head, finally realizing why my sister was so into the arts. Why she was so intrigued by that little boy with so much talent. “Well, I know a person who could probably hook up a meet and greet. But I’m hearing that Timothy isn’t free until like next December.” I said.

  Nina nodded. “I’m sure he’s busy. The man is an architect, a famous photographer. Not to mention, he owns several tattoo shops in Maryland, DC, and Virginia! You should check out his family’s art institute in Maryland. I think that would be a good idea, now that you finally decided to do something with your own artistic talents.” Nina grinned at me.

  I just looked at her.

  “Ya know, online classes, boo. You don’t have to leave me if you don’t want to, if that’s what you think I’m saying.” Nina watched me puff some more from my blunt.

  It wasn’t that. I was thinking of leaving Punta Cana anyway. I loved it there, but Saint was right; I needed to spread my wings and begin to fly on my own.

/>   “So, how does Saint know Timothy Knoxberry?” Nina asked.

  I hesitated.

  “C’mon, Kourtney, don’t try to play me.” Nina shook her head at me. “The one picture that hung in my shop back in Goldsboro was by Timothy Knoxberry. Just about every time Saint came in my shop, he’d stop and admire the painting. He mentioned knowing the artist. I thought he was just joking, but I should have known that he wasn’t. Saint knows every got-damn body. Anyway, he told me that if I ever wanted a painting by this guy, he could get it.” Nina looked back at the portrait. “And he did get it. Ol’ crazy ass Saint.”

  I was a little offended at first. There I was, going out of my way to try to find something that was different than the pots and pans that our friends gave to her as wedding gifts, and she was still giving all the credit for my efforts to Saint.

  “Well, it was my fuckin’ idea, Nina—I’m the one who gave him this picture from my phone, so he’d give it to the muthafucka so he could paint it for you.” I shook my head.

  Nina looked at me, “Why are you getting offended?”

  “Because I went out of my way, trying to get you something that you love, and you still don’t give me credit for trying.” I sighed.

  Nina grinned a little. “You don’t even know who Timothy Knoxberry is, boo. You have no idea that this picture is worth millions. Saint knows that; that’s all I’m saying. I love you for this picture, Kourtney, and everything else that you have done for me.”

  “It was my idea, Nina,” I repeated, ignoring her attempts to try to make me feel like something after she’d already discredited my attempts to please her. “If you want the present to be from Saint though, it’s cool. The nigga got it for you, the nigga knows what you like, the nigga is in love with his ‘little Nina’. There, are you happy?”

  Nina looked at me, a hurt expression sweeping across her face. I knew she missed Saint. I knew she regretted the way that things went down. If Ricque never came back in town for that concert, Nina would have been stuck like glue to Saint. Seventeen years had gone by, and Nina never thought fate would bring the two back together. Turns out, fate was nicknamed Saint. He was the only reason why Ricque got the nerve to stand up and face his past. If Saint hadn’t of stepped up to the plate to fight for both himself and Nina, Ricque would have kept on running. Saint was that dude; I’m sorry, shit.