by Tiana Laveen
He couldn’t help but crack a devious smile.
Hmmm, this honesty strategy seems to be doing the trick. This is getting interesting again…
“I don’t think I’m privy to your pussy. I’m privy to conversation and getting to know you. How do I get to know women I’m interested in? I fuck them, Sky. That’s just how it is. I need to know if we’re sexually compatible or there’s no need to continue.”
“Oh, what baloney!” She chortled, leaning forward and shaking her head. “You’re the type of guy who will get me to your pad, screw me, and I’ll never hear from you again. So here’s the answer: No, I am not sleeping with you tonight, Lazarist.”
“What about in the morning?”
They both looked at one another and burst out laughing.
“You aren’t shit, you know that?” She giggled a bit more. “I’m serious though… no sex on the first date. I’m not that type of woman.”
“Type of woman? I’ll have you know I’ve slept with many ex-girlfriends on the first date and my second ex-wife I slept with on the first date, too. See? We ended up being together. You’re making this too complicated.”
“And look where they’re at now! Gone like common sense and virginity on prom night. Like VH-1’s Unsung Heroes… those women are a distant memory!”
Damn, she’s funny, too.
“All right, you’ve made a good point.”
“Why, thank you.”
They stared at one another for a long while, and then he reached across the table and took her hand. Grasping it tightly, he hooked her gaze.
“I know that this showdown wasn’t your idea… but regardless of how it all started and who planted the seed in your head, you completed the race and got over the finish line. I respect that. I’m not going to give up though, Sky. I’m going to keep on working on you until I get what I want. We’re going to fuck. And we’re going to fuck soon. Obviously not tonight, but it’s coming. Trust me on that.”
She slowly stood to her feet, grabbed her purse, and slung it over her shoulder.
“By then it won’t matter… because you’ll already be head over heels in love with me. Let’s go. It’s a lovely summer evening and I want to take a walk with you.”
He looked up at that woman and realized a few things—things that could never be reversed, taken back, or denied…
Sky had stolen control… He hadn’t seen her crawl from the back and take the wheel, but somehow, she’d managed and now here he was, in the back seat and panting in disbelief. He liked the fuck out of her. She had been playing him the whole time, knowing exactly what he was up to but worst of all, that shit about falling in love? The broad might just be right…
CHAPTER SIX
Success Has Many Fathers, Failure is an Orphan…
…Several days later
LAZARIST FORCED HIMSELF to sit on his bed and focus on senseless YouTube videos that involved foolhardy stunts, pranks, and nostalgic uploads from television shows he used to love as a teenager… the stuff he used to enjoy before things had gotten out of control. Constantly shifting his body beneath the black sheets and readjusting his laptop, he grew impatient and restless.
“Shit…” he mumbled, stressing about all the things he should’ve been doing.
I should be at the club right now…
I should have at least gone through the mail…
I wonder if Shelby ever found that shipment of parsley?
But he had to admit, he was sorta enjoying himself. It had all begun on one evening a few days earlier, after leaving the bookstore, hand in hand with one of the most remarkable women he’d ever encountered. Ms. Sky Jordan. She’d challenged him to go home after work and do nothing, and she meant nothing work related, for at least five days straight.
He wasn’t even allowed to see how many virtual strangers had hashtagged Fallen Angel on Instagram. Nope. She’d been very specific about the directions, and he wasn’t one to pass up a challenge. He sat up a bit straighter, pressing his back against his headboard and pushed play on a video entitled, ‘Fart Spray Prank Goes Wrong’, while reaching for his glass of merlot. Five minutes later, he had tears running down his face—he was laughing so hard.
“Jesus! I wouldn’t have stayed!” He cackled, his stomach hurting oh so good. Just then, his doorbell rang. All of the muscles in his body tightened. He glanced over at the clock. 3:42 A.M. Sliding the computer off of his lap onto the unoccupied side of the bed, he flung the sheets back and slid his size thirteen feet into his Brooks Brothers velvet slippers. Then, he grabbed his silk black robe from a hook and made his way a floor below. He stared at the front door, knowing damn well who was on the other side. What’s the problem this time?
He cut off the alarm system and took a deep breath. Undoing the three locks, including the deadbolt, he swung the door open and came face to face with David Zander. The man was wearing his old, worn trench coat, standing slightly hunched and gripping a plastic grocery sack full of Lord knew what. One hand shook ever so slightly and his blue eyes looked bloodshot, dark bags hanging from them, an all too common sight as of late. Silver and black stubble dotted his chin and cheeks, proof of a lack of a shave for at least a week. Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out his old eyeglasses. Placing them across his face, he gave him a twisted smile, exposing slightly yellowed teeth.
“So, uh, ya gonna let your father inside or just keep starin’ at me, you son of uh bitch?”
…30 Minutes Later
LAZARIST SAT AT his kitchen table and crushed the can of La Croix sparkling water before tossing it several feet to the recycle bin, getting a slam dunk. His basketball skills may have been rusty, but he still had it. His father, now freshly showered and donning an oversized clean shirt and pants, sat opposite him, slurping kosher chicken soup and nibbling on a piece of French bread.
What an enigma of a man. Hatred grew within Lazarist, more with each moment for the specimen better known as ‘father.’ His heart was breaking a million times over and worst of all, this shit never got any easier, no matter how long the sordid mess had been happening. In fact, no matter what and despite his best efforts, things never changed. They remained the same like a vintage family video played on repeat… the nightmarish kind.
“Your mother still seein’ that guy?” the man questioned in between slurps, his brow arched.
“What does it matter, David?” Lazarist tossed up his hands indifferently. “I say this to you all the time. You two have been divorced for over twenty years. Let it go.”
“She’s my wife!” the man yelled, pounding his bony fist against the table.
“No, she’s not,” Lazarist stated calmly, leaning back in his seat. “Mom has moved on, okay? Eliza wants nothin’ to do with you, so here you are, one child left… me… and I’m hanging on by a thread.”
“Your sister is a cunt.” Dad took another heaping spoonful of his soup, shoveling it into his mouth before giving it a hard swallow. His mouth hanging open now, detachment in his eyes. “My mother, your grandmother, she uh, she told me not to marry a Gentile… worst mistake of my life. She never liked your mother… fuckin’ half Irish, half Italian entitled bitch… Catholic, geesh! I shoulda married a Jew. Jewish women are loyal. Now my kids are all mixed up…”
“Here we go again, right? I’m so tired of this shit…” Lazarist dropped his head and shook it.
“My marriage is ruined. I gave your mother everything, but look where it got me?” The old man chuckled. “If I’d married a Jewish woman like my mother wanted me to, things woulda been different.”
“Now that’s a first. I hadn’t heard you word it quite that way. This time you must be trying to entertain me, right? Keep me invested in this idiotic conversation. Lest I remind you, David, Mom converted for you. Funny how whatever doesn’t go with your narrative you conveniently omit. You’re not in court… I’m your son.”
“My son?” The old man chuckled. “You call me by my first name half tha fuckin’ time. How’s that
for respect? You judge me… judge and jury. You’ve always been so fuckin’ smug, you fucker you!” Lazarist rolled his eyes and grinned. His prayer was that the bastard would be gone sooner rather than later. “May as well treat ya like it’s court since you sling your hand around like a gavel. And your mother was full of shit, all right? She went back to Catholicism as soon as she’d kicked me out!”
“So what? She still made that sacrifice for you. But again… you’re stuck in the past.”
“And you’re not?”
Lazarist’s smile faded. He blinked a few times, gathering his thoughts, trying desperately to steer clear from any triggers that would work him up. When it came to his father, however, it didn’t take much.
“Dad, I know that most of the time, when I offer you money, you don’t take it. Not because you don’t need it, but it’s a pride thing with you. This isn’t right though. I even told you that you could pay it back. We can draft up a contract if you want.” Lazarist was practically pleading… imagine that? Begging someone to take his money.
“No. The answer is still no.”
The old guy turned away and crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. Dad’s social security check wasn’t enough to make ends meet, but it was better than nothing. The man would use a bit of it every now and again to get a hotel room, food, a new shirt or two, perhaps some warm socks but the rest of it? It was anyone’s guess what was going on and how it was being spent. Lazarist had a theory though. There were whores who walked the streets. He was pretty damn convinced that his father was blowing it on hookers.
“I want you to take the money I’ve been tryin’ to give you, a check… not cash. I want you to see your psychiatrist that I had you go to a while back and get back on your medication. And I want you to take that money and put it towards an apartment for deposit and first month’s rent. This is important! Winter will be here again before you know it, and you’ll be in trouble. It’s not safe … you bein’ on the streets. You’ve already been mugged, beaten up… This has to stop.”
His father waved him off and huffed.
“It’s safer on the streets than that fuckin’ shelter, and I don’t want your money! Stop actin’ like you care about me. Ya don’t! I was richer than you at your age, you know that, right? I don’t need your pity!”
The man shoved his bowl out of the way, causing the soup inside it to violently slosh about. Lazarist looked at that bowl for a spell, watching it slowly achieve its calm, become placid.
Be like that soup. Don’t let him upset you… keep your cool…
He crossed his ankles and kept insisting, “You need help. I tell you that every time you fuckin’ come here, David. You are sick. You’ve been sick for a very long time. You keep bringing up mom. Well, that’s why your marriage ended. Mom loved you.” Dad rolled his eyes in disbelief. “She did… and a long time ago, you loved her, too. Things change though, right? Sometimes it’s our fault, sometimes the blame points in another direction, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t even matter because the shit is squashed. It’s done. The ending has been written and you’ve gotta accept it. But your kids? We’re forever.”
“Forever? Neither one of ya appreciate anything!”
Lazarist couldn’t believe his ears.
“Really? That’s why Eliza, who had been a daddy’s girl up until the big blow up, wants nothin’ to do with ya… ’cause of this shit right here! You sit here and call your own child a cunt. What kinda fucked up shit is that? You are the reason things are the way they are. YOU and only YOU!”
Lazarist stood to his feet and went to pull out a small carton of creamer from the refrigerator, then set it on the counter. He could hear his father sniffing, as if he had a bad runny nose. Then he heard the spoon hitting the bowl once again. The old man had gone back to eating.
“I’m going to tell you one last time. Get some help before it’s too late. You’re going to die in the next year or two at this rate.”
“Good! And I don’t need help from nobody…”
“Then why are you alone and homeless?”
“You’re one to talk! How many times ya been married? Four?! Snubbin’ your nose at me… geesh! You go through women like underwear! I’ve heard about you, boy. You’re the same now as you were so long ago. I’ve watched you in action your entire life! Real piece of work you are!” Lazarist kept his back turned towards the man as he prepared his coffee, biding his time, begging for patience. “Can’t blame ya!” The old man laughed, a loud, cackling witch-like giggle. “I guess you’re like your old man back in the day, huh? A real ladies man. I had my share… I had my share… Where do ya think you get your looks from, huh?”
“I look like my mother.”
“You don’t have my nose or mouth… but you’ve got my eyes! That got the ladies all the time. Your mother has hazel eyes, not blue! That blue is from me, ya cock sucker. You’re tall… got your height from me, too. You’re taller than me, but it’s my side of the family that’s got the height. I’m the reason you’re a success… that fuckin’ club of yours…” He could hear the old man tapping his fingers against the table. “It should be condemned… if they really knew who was fuckin’ runnin’ the show. All of that drinkin’, partyin’ ’nd shit. Nice lookin’ place, though.”
His father burst out laughing again, the sound oddly out of place. “You’re a demon, ya know that, Laz? A mean son of a bitch… heartless. So different from how you were as a kid… so different…”
Lazarist slowly turned around, holding his empty coffee cup. His fist shook ever so slightly as he glared at his father.
“You’re a paranoid schizophrenic, Dad with bipolar disorder. I am not going to fuckin’ argue with you, of all people, about your perceived reality of my life and my choices. You—”
“Choices? We all gotta make choices, don’t we, boy? All this money… this beautiful house! All those sexy women you bang night after night, the cars, the boats, ya got it all. And still, your life is fucked up!” The man pointed a finger at him and laughed so loud, it echoed. That laugh—Lazarist loathed it with a passion. “I can see it in your eyes, Laz. You’re miserable. You’ve got amazing business sense. You’re charming as a feather in a cap but when it comes to everything else, you’re an idiot! I begged you not to follow in my footsteps, boy! I know I was a bad example, so I told ya to not to do it! I told you not to get married the first fuckin’ time, the second time, the third and the fourth!”
“I’ve only been married twice.”
Confusion danced in the old man’s eyes. His smile slowly faded before he turned away abruptly to stare down into the bowl of soup.
“Yeah, you’re an idiot… ’cause of the women… You always wore your heart on your sleeve, you know that, Laz?” his father said mildly, his smile now sad. He stirred the remaining bit of broth with his spoon. “You were such a softie as a kid… fallin’ in love just like that.” Dad shook his head as he snapped his fingers.
“Every time I turned around, you had a new girlfriend. Your mother said as long as you kept your grades up and didn’t get anybody pregnant, she’d leave ya alone. Well, you made honor roll a lot, played basketball, had your friends… and the girls. Everything was fine I suppose, right? Then, you went and got hurt… found out what it was like to be used…” Darkness grew in the old man’s eyes. “I know that feelin’… you say I wasn’t around sometimes, but we talked. You must not remember… but we did. Ya called me all upset. A sixteen-year-old kid, all tore up over some chick. She’d dumped ya, and you’d thought the world was ending! I think you met that other broad soon after that…”
“Charity… my ex-wife,” Lazarist stated dryly.
“And that ended badly and now you hate women. You hate your mom, too, don’t ya?”
“What?” Lazarist wrinkled his nose in confusion. “I don’t hate my mother. I love her. Don’t you ever say that to me again. Don’t try to put your own bullshit on me. My mother is a good person and you know it, especially after all the
bullshit she put up with because of you!” Lazarist gripped the mug a bit tighter, his patience almost on E. “Nobody is perfect, but she did the best she could do, especially after the situation you left ’er in!”
“That bitch left me! We woulda still been married!”
“She had no choice!” Lazarist slammed the empty mug on the counter and tossed up his hands. “You were constantly working! You were cheating on her, too! You became ill and wouldn’t get help. Why in the hell was she supposed to stick around after all of that? And that’s just the shit that we know about. Rumor has it Eliza and I have a brother out there somewhere. What kinda mess is that?!”
“I was a good father most of the time! What I did behind closed doors was none of your goddamn business!”
“Good father?” Lazarist spun in a circle and laughed. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. You felt like us havin’ a nice house and being in a nice school was enough. You weren’t even there!”
“Ahhhh! Here we go with this shit again, but you tell me I am livin’ in the past! Hypocrite!”
“I just have one question. Where the fuck were you, Dad?! Don’t even answer, okay?” Lazarist held up one finger and vigorously shook his head.
“I’m sick ’nd tired of you.” The old man fell back in the chair as if he’d been working night and day.
“You’re sick and tired of me?” Lazarist pointed at himself. “That’s rich! I’m sick ’nd tired of you comin’ over here any fuckin’ time that you please, talkin’ shit to me, taking your ritualistic shower and fuckin’ up my bathroom with all of your filth! I’m tired of watching you sit there eating, pickin’ a stupid ass fight with me, then runnin’ off! Coward! In a minute, we’ll be hittin’ that good ol’ repeat button for next week, and the week after that. Play it again, Sam! Rerun after rerun is my life with you, ya know? You’re a fuckin’ joke with no goddamn punchline. I don’t hate Mom, I hate you…”
“You wanna talk about the past, fine! We’ll talk about it. I took care of you, Laz, before the divorce. You and your mother and sister didn’t want for nothin’!”