by Tiana Laveen
“You were a hell of a provider, but where were you for my father-dad breakfasts in kindergarten? Where were you for my first-grade play of the ‘Three Little Pigs?’ I played the wolf! I was so excited and I looked out in that audience and you weren’t there!”
“Of course you played the wolf…” Dad laughed sarcastically. “How befitting… That was the future bein’ told if I ever saw it!”
Lazarist ignored him.
“How about basketball games, huh?! Ya never took me to a Yankees baseball game and you knew I always wanted to go. You’d promised and never delivered. I hate that! I hate when people make promises ’nd break em, especially to a kid! That’s the worst thing you can do to somebody!”
“I can think of worse…”
“Uncle George ended up havin’ to do that father-son stuff… time ’nd time again. I didn’t want to go with Uncle George. I wanted to go with you! What about Eliza’s ballet performances, huh? What about when she got married? I had to walk ’er down the aisle. Even though she’d written you off, I knew deep down she was hoping you’d at least show up. You never did.”
“Your sister told me right beforehand she wished I was dead!”
“That was after you called ’er a bitch for callin’ you out on your bullshit! Where were you when I was goin’ through all those changes, huh?! I’ve been very successful businesswise in part due to your teachings, I’ll give you that. I’ll give credit where credit is due. But my personal life?” Lazarist shrugged. “You’re right… totally fucked! And you know what, David? You’re also holding some of the responsibility. You played your hand.”
“Oh, so I’m to blame now for you bein’ unhappy?! You’re forty fuckin’ years old!”
“Yes, you’re definitely part of the equation and my age has little to do with it. You share some of the fuckin’ blame! Now take it! My first divorce was one of the worst times in my life. Instead of you bein’ there for me, you blamed me when it imploded, sayin’ I was too nice to her, kicked me when I was down. You even laughed! Told me she wasn’t good enough for me anyway. What kinda… what kinda man are you? Jesus. What kinda father does that?”
Lazarist shook his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Dad looked lost in the conversation, maybe not even understanding or hearing a word he uttered. Sometimes, David would have periods of lucidity; other times, he couldn’t be quite sure. It was the nature of his illness. But Lazarist was going to keep trying nevertheless. He had to.
“You were a kid. Ya had no business gettin’ married at twenty-one.”
“Yes, I was probably too young to get married, but I loved Charity and you knew it!”
“She was half Spanish, part Italian and Black. It was doomed from the start.”
“What?! What does her race have anything to do with it?”
“Those people don’t have the same values we do. You shoulda never been wit’ her in the first place,” the man stated listlessly. Lazarist rolled his eyes, ignoring the fool. He refused to engage with him about Charity… it was useless. Dad’s racism was an underlying, subdued theme as of late. It seemed the sicker he got, the more pronounced it became. It was something that reared its ugly head in times of his mania or high anxiety. He’d never heard his father speak disparagingly of other ethnicities though, until he was an adult. So odd.
“A man takes care of home, Laz. That’s what it boils down to.”
“Home is just a house if you’re not in it…”
“Yeah.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I coulda done more, but it’s hard out here, all right? I had a wife and two kids. You’ve never been married for longer than two years and as far as I know, you’re not a father, so what tha hell do you know?! Must be easy to judge me when you weren’t in my shoes and lemme tell ya.” The man pointed his judgmental finger in his direction. “Your mother was no angel! She cheated, too. I should get a DNA test for your sister. Eliza and I look nothin’ alike.”
“She looks like Mom, too! Are you serious?! Don’t sit there and tell me how I need to walk a mile in your shoes before judging you because that mile would lead me places I never wanna go. Because of you, we lost everything. We were poor when Mom had to leave you! We went from bein’ upper middle class to being evicted time and again until Mom got on her feet, went to school part time and worked two damn jobs just to take care of us!”
“Oh, how sad! Your mother had to get up off her ass and work like the rest of America. Cry me a fuckin’ river.”
“She busted her ass while you, on the other hand, got a powerful attorney to ensure that you didn’t have to pay her a dime! Un-fuckin’-believable! What about your kids, huh?! The hell with us, right? You didn’t even want to pay child support, then when you decided you did want a relationship with us, Eliza said ‘fuck you’, but I was still hopin’ that we could have something, because I missed you!”
“Well I’m here now, fucker!” the old man roared.
“And here I am, your fuckin’ son! After all of these years, I still hate you!” He couldn’t stand how his voice trembled. “After all these years, I still love you, too!” Hot, angry tears welled up in his eyes. He hated this… he hated this more than anything else in life. “Your mind is fuckin’ gone, Dad. You used to be brilliant! You were one of the best attorneys in New York!”
“Still am…” the old man stated calmly as he looked down at his runover, dirty sneakers.
“You say that you’re here with me, but you’re not. Yeah, physically you are, but that’s it, Dad. You’re not really here and ya know why? It’s because you won’t get help. You’re livin’ on the goddamn streets by choice! Who does that? You’re not a drunk. You’re not on drugs. You’re fuckin’ insane and worst of all, if you took your medicine, went to your shrink, got into that program we talked about last year, you could be back at the top of your game. You could even go back to practicing law. But no…”
Lazarist shook his head. “You just refuse to be controlled, right? Gotta be a rebel at all costs! People are tryna help you, man! You walked in here smellin’ like shit! The man I knew wouldn’t have been caught dead without a good shave, clean body and hair combed perfectly, an expensive coat and shoes… you were what I looked up to! Even after you rejected me to go work and chase after more women, I still loved ya! Jesus Christ, Dad! You were an attractive, intelligent, highly respected, proud Jewish man who was open minded and loving, according to Mom. And then, you got sick. Something triggered it, something bad happened… things changed. When the marriage was over, you showed your true colors though, David. You acted like you didn’t want to have shit to do with us… your own kids!”
“And what a pompous prick you grew up to be…”
“FUCK YOU! Ya hear me?!” He jetted his finger in the bastard’s direction as his entire body heated like an oven. “Fuck you, David!”
The man burst from his chair, the damn thing toppling over as his eyes grew big and wild. He stormed up to Lazarist, bringing his face close to his.
“I WAS SICK!”
“Ya still are!” Lazarist yelled back. “Funny how you only admit it when you’re losing an argument and let me make something clear to you, dear ol’ Dad. I don’t hate you for bein’ sick! I hate you for not caring that you’re sick and doin’ somethin’ about it! All of this coulda been avoided.” He waved his arm. “If you’d done what you were supposed to, you’d still be married to Mom because we all know that you’re still in love with her and want ’er back. You’d still have your career and your family. But noooo! Ya just couldn’t and wouldn’t do it. Had to do it your way. Well, your way sucks.”
“I loved your mom, boy… I did. That’s true,” Dad stated calmly as he took a few rocky steps back. “Your mother was pregnant with you before we got married. Did you know that?” Lazarist tried hard to remain unchanged, unmoved. He hadn’t known that… but it hardly altered the facts. “That’s the only reason why I married ’er so fast. We got married right after she found out. You were late bein’ born, so she w
as able to play it off. Nobody knew. My mother didn’t like ’er.” The old man smiled… an evil, horrid smile. Dad got joy out of saying those words. “Your mother wasn’t a virtuous woman. Your mother, son, was a whore. She’d fucked so many men before I came along… A fuckin’ prostitute. I saved her from herself.”
“Get tha fuck outta my house!”
Lazarist snatched the old man’s arm and shoved him towards the exit. Walking a few steps behind him, he made sure the old man didn’t try anything. Lazarist unlocked the front door and swung it open as his heart beat frantically in his chest. He knew none of this would matter in a few hours. Dad would either forget the conversation even occurred, or he’d chalk it up as some dream he’d had, versus the actual reality. And then, the fucker would be back… taking a shower, eating food, complaining and saying shit that made absolutely no sense.
The old man slowly walked over the threshold. When his father turned back in his direction, his mouth opened to say something, Lazarist slammed the door in his face. He stood there for a long while, fisting and unfisting his hand. The hot, angry tears filled his eyes once again. Not just because Dad was a wreck, a walking mess… but because Dad had been right.
He had become in some ways like him, hardened, disconnected, hating the world, not trusting people—especially women… and he hadn’t even seen it coming…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wishes for a Horizontal Dance…
HE LEANED AGAINST the wall and stared at her.
It was obvious Sky didn’t realize he was there. She hadn’t even looked his way as her body swayed and gyrated in ways that didn’t seem humanly possible. He couldn’t believe her talent. She was fucking amazing…
The woman moved to Beyoncé’s ‘Partition’ like she was made of liquid vapor and flowing ink. Donning black leggings and a gray crop top that read, ‘FOREVER YOUNG’, she reminded him of a doll he wanted to play with… to risk it all to own and possess. Long black hair swung to the left then to the right as she contorted her body in insanely beautiful ways, doing a dance routine all by her lonesome. Minute after minute passed, and he was certain he’d been holding his breath for when he exhaled, it felt like a great relief. And then their eyes met. She smiled at him, walked over to the stereo, and cut it off, bringing the song to a shocking and abrupt end. He left the wall and approached her, slowly clapping his hands.
“You’re good… you’re really good.” He slid his hands in his pockets and sized her up, scanning her from head to toe. How he wanted to flick his tongue along her collar bone and taste her salty sweat, to lap it up like a spring in the middle of the concrete jungle he called home.
“You say that like you’re surprised,” she said with a wink, then went to grab a bright red hand towel, her feet moving gracefully on white sneakers. Dabbing her face and neck, she then chugged down the rest of her Gatorade, emptying the bottle.
“No, you’ve read me wrong. I’m not the least bit surprised, but seeing is believing. And now,” he said, grinning, “I’m a believer.”
“So, what are you doing here at my church?” She chuckled, playing with his words, twisting them around in a whole new way. Perhaps this was in fact her church, and she worshiped the ground she walked on… “I thought we were supposed to hook up later tonight?” Her gaze landed on a clock hanging on a wall.
“You’re correct but you see, I was in the neighborhood. I wanted to see you… you know, an animal in her natural habitat. I am a bit surprised actually though.” His brow rose as he looked towards a wall of windows, nothing but the city stretching beyond them before he set his eyes back on her.
The sun will begin setting soon…
“Surprised about what?” She set the drink down and began to stretch her arms and legs. His cock jumped; the damn thing grew teeth and tried to get at her like some chained up, gunpowder fed Pitbull…
“I thought you’d be giving a lesson or somethin’. I was surprised to see ya alone, actually.”
“Well, you must’ve just missed them. Class ended about twenty minutes ago.” He nodded in understanding. “So how’d the five day exercise go? Today was the last day and I promised you I wouldn’t ask you until it was all said and done. I’m ready for the full report. Wow me!”
She stood before him, head cocked to the side, looking beautiful.
“The ‘life-work’ balance?” He smiled and shrugged. “It was okay… It was a struggle, ya know? I hate to admit it, but the first day I failed. I ended up hopping on the computer and taking care of some emails and makin’ some calls after hours. The second day, I left work on time, but when I got home I went through some unpaid invoices and signed off on some contracts, then updated some spreadsheets. The third day, I left a little late, but I got on the computer and just chilled. I drank a little wine, snacked, vegged out…” Thoughts of his father arriving and spoiling everything came into his mind, but he shoved those aside. “The fourth day was perfect. Left on time, turned off my phone, watched a couple of my favorite movies of all time.”
“And what are they?”
“‘Fight Club’ and ‘The Dark Knight.’”
She laughed.
“Figures… and what about the fifth day?”
She drew closer to him and looked up into his eyes, the attraction growing impossibly stronger at that moment. When he wrapped his arm around her waist, she startled, but didn’t push him away. He slowly bent down to kiss her and soon her stiffened muscles relaxed in his grip. After a while, he turned her loose, cupped the back of her neck, and kissed her nose…
She felt delicate, yet sturdy. He liked how her skin and bones melded together, the contortion of her strong muscles…
I bet she looks absolutely gorgeous spread-eagled… or her fucking legs behind her head as I plow her pussy with all of my might. Shhiiiit… I can’t fucking wait to find out…
“The fifth day I went out with some pals of mine. My friend, Tobias, was having a barbeque. But, uh, I’ll be honest… when I got back home I—”
“Worked,” she finished his sentence, then sauntered away towards the other side of the dance floor. She bounced with each step, as if warming up to perform.
“Yeah.” He dropped his head, nodded then smiled. “I did. I was actually becoming more stressed knowing that things were piling up, that I wasn’t there physically as much. Some of my employees fucked shit up while I was away… See, that is why I micromanage so much. We’re all human, ya know? But somethin’ always goes wrong when I’m not there. It became a problem. Still working on it, trying to find that happy medium, but I’m a little closer to my goal I think. It takes practice I imagine. Old habits die hard.”
“Well, it seems you didn’t do so bad for your first try… It became easier over time, am I right?”
She gyrated her hips back and forth as if hearing a song in her head. It was driving him crazy. Every move she made gave him a rock hard erection. She was an erotic muse in the flesh, without even knowing it.
“It did. So, uh, as I told you…” He glanced down at his watch. “I figured we could go out for dinner. Are you hungry?” She dramatically rolled her eyes, let her head fall back, then walked back in his direction.
“Famished.” He smiled at her theatrics… cute. “Well, I was thinkin’ of something a bit more upscale than the bookstore.” She grinned and jetted out her tongue in a playful sort of way.
Watch out now. I can put that thing to good use…
“So, I’d like to take you somewhere nice tonight. I’ll let cha get home and get changed, then come get you, all right?”
“All right… still 6:30 P.M., right?” She bent down and grabbed a bag, drawing his eyes to her ass. It looked like a pumpkin perfectly placed inside her pants.
“Yes, still 6:30 P.M.”
“You know what, it’s already late so why don’t you just take me home, let me get cleaned up and changed, and we can leave from there?”
He tried to curtail a grin, but to no avail. Being at her place, near a bed,
could prove to be optimal indeed…
Yes, baby… let the big, bad wolf inside your house. I’ll be gentle, I promise…
“Sure, yeah. That’s sounds good.” He removed his phone from his pocket and typed in the name of the restaurant in order to get the number. “This place can get pretty packed so I better call and make a reservation.”
“Oh, where are we going?” She stood straight and hooked the bag over her shoulder.
“Victor’s Café on 52nd Street.”
“I’ve seen that place time and time again but never had dinner there. When you said upscale, you weren’t kidding.” She smiled, looking as if she were genuinely impressed.
Minutes later, he’d secured them a table and they were inside his car, heading over to her apartment. It was a balmy late summer evening and the scent of grilled meats and exhaust fumes filled the air. He turned on his stereo to drown out the honking cars, and the sounds of Sam Smith’s, ‘Too Good at Goodbyes’ came on the air.
“I really like this song.” She began to hum along and slowly rock back and forth in her seat to the rhythm. “It’s sad… but pretty. Sam Smith is so talented. I have all of his music.”
“You like him, huh? I haven’t heard too much by him… but I’ve heard enough.”
“Well, I guess they wouldn’t really play a lot of him at your nightclub. He does ballads mostly… love songs. The songs you’ve heard, did you like them?”
“He’s all right.”
The woman snatched herself away from him as if he had some horrendous, life-threatening, contagious, airborne disease, and eyed him up and down as if he were out of his mind. At this, he burst out laughing.
“What?” he tossed up his hands. “I mean, he seems a little overrated if ya ask me.”
“You just lost points… a lot of ’em. Boy, bye!” She turned away and waved her hand dismissively.
“What in the hell?” He cackled. “Shit, I was just bein’ honest. You want me to be honest, right?”