by Tiana Laveen
“She doesn’t drink coffee. She drinks souls and Colt 45. You may be able to have fun with her though if you like pork rinds doused in hot sauce, consider Madea movies to be intellectually challenging, and think re-runs of Duck Dynasty and Honey Boo-Boo are worthy of Golden Globe nominations.”
“Saint, I am warning you,” Xenia threatened, though he could see her lip twitching from suppressed laughter. “Now you stop it.” She waved her finger in his direction. “Gaspar, don’t listen to my husband. I will definitely ask on your behalf.”
“I can’t believe she’s not married!” The silly man threw his hands up in excitement.
“Yeah,” Saint yawned as he plucked one of the apples from the bowl and rubbed it against a fresh dish towel. “It’s the great mystery of the world why no one has snatched that prize of a lifetime right up! She’s a natural wonder … and I wonder how the hell this happened.”
“Saint, you’re not funny,” Xenia quipped as she opened the refrigerator door and disappeared momentarily behind it.
“Wait a minute! Y’all fuckin’ wit’ me, aren’t you? This is some sort of joke. Pam in hidden cam! Nice show title, huh?”
Xenia slammed the refrigerator closed. He took a big bite of his apple, then skidded away from Xenia, barely missing her flying fist.
“A nice lookin’ lady like that being a free agent. Wow! I feel so lucky!” The man ignored his barbs, and his eyes were glossy with promise … the beginning stages of a fool in love.
“Yeah, you go down this road and you’ll be as lucky as breaking a mirror, knocking over salt, and walking under a ladder all in one day. Man, steer clear!” Saint waved his arms back and forth as if trying to warn a speeding driver of a cliff up ahead. “She’s a life sucker, a common-sense ducker and mother fucker!” Saint ducked when Xenia tossed the dish towel at him, this time, laughing as she did so.
“You just don’t know when to quit!”
“Oh, Saint.” The man waved him off as he grinned. “Hating a mother-in-law is so common, I can’t trust your judgement on this.” He guffawed.
“Hate is such a strong word.” Saint grimaced, feigning irritation. “Let’s just use ‘despise’.”
“Saint, now I’m serious! That’s enough!”
“I’m just kidding, baby!” Saint chuckled. “No, seriously, Gaspar. Damn, I mean, Pam is actually a really nice person but yes, we have personality clashes and differences of opinion. Anyway, based on some comments I’ve heard over the years, I don’t think she’s interested in dating interracially, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Xenia and I will talk to her.”
“Yes, please do. I’d like that very much.” The man polished off his drink and set it on the kitchen counter. “Well, I will get to work. I need to drill up that slab and then it will need to be re-poured.”
“That’s fine, I trust you. I know you know what you’re doing.”
Gaspar nodded and walked with sure steps past them, leaving out the back door.
“Saint, you don’t really know though if Mama wouldn’t mind dating someone other than a brotha. Let’s be honest, her prospects are not exactly lining up. It’s hard dating in L.A., let alone being a senior and set in her ways. Besides, she is becoming more open minded. I think she’d actually enjoy male companionship and Gaspar is such a nice gentleman.”
“Exactly! And that’s why I don’t want him ruined by the likes of your mother! You know Pam can’t be trusted with company. What if they go out and it blows up? Gasper helps with investigations, too. I need him focused, not sidetracked due to Pam having some meltdown because she can’t find her bunion cream at the pharmacy.” His crunching grew louder as Xenia rolled her eyes and ignored him.
“You talk about my mama like she belongs in some kennel and I’ve had it. You don’t exactly come from the lap of royalty, either, Mr. Snooty.”
“I never said I did.” Saint regarded her coolly as he helped himself to a small glass of lemonade. “But my parents had common sense.”
“Oh, really? So that’s where you are trying to go with me?” She put her hand on her hip, ready to battle. “That’s the road you want to travel, huh?”
“I sure do. Do you want to use Garmin, your smart phone navigation app, or a good old-fashioned paper map?” He placed his empty glass in the sink and began chomping on the apple once again.
“Jerk! Fine, you want to hit low, let’s get down on the damn ground!”
“You should be like Michelle Obama.” He smirked. “She said, ‘When they go low, we go—”
“Punch a mothafucka in their eye, that’s what the hell she said in my book, okay? I could talk about how cheap your damn father is! How ’bout that?! What about those rolls of scotch tape Osaze gave the kids for Christmas, huh? And they weren’t even name brand. They were something called ‘Dotch Card’ instead of Scotch Guard. I should have told his wife. She would’ve set him straight. He did that on the sly. Osaze knew better than that.”
“He doesn’t celebrate Christmas. He’s Muslim!” Saint threw up his hands, trying to not bust out laughing and spew apple all over the damn place. “He was just trying to be nice.”
“He knows what the hell Christmas is and how it works! Instead of buying his grandchildren gifts, he just gave them the wrapping paper supplies as far as I’m concerned! If you call that common sense, then you need your head examined.”
“You can never have enough tape…” Saint smirked before taking another big bite out of the apple. “Like to tape your mama’s mouth closed.”
“Why don’t you give Osaze back the tape so he can make himself a car, television, and new house? I’m sure he’d find a way … ol’ cheap ass. And tell him to stop giving us those expired grocery store coupons, too. He’s the only person I know brazen enough to argue with store employees about why eggs should cost 1 cent a piece.”
“You know what? I’ve been standing here thinking about that whole tape over your mother’s mouth thing, and it sounds better and better, Xenia! Picture it! I bet if her lips were sewn shut for even just one day,”—He held up his finger and donned a stern face—“people all over California would parade around holding hands and singing happy songs in the streets. It would be a celebration of sorts. Finally, some peace and quiet! And let’s not talk about coupons and being cheap, okay? What about your mother telling those people at the buffet that she may not be twelve and under, but she is a child of God, so that means she should get to eat for free?”
“She was just trying to be funny! You can’t count that. She got that idea off some comedian, some lady who posted a video on YouTube, but that is beside the point. You need to cut it out because you’re in no position to talk. Despite what you try to portray her as, she is picky when it comes to men, but not racist. That’s what we were originally discussing, so let’s get back on track.”
“You can’t possibly be serious? Your mother has used so many racial slurs against me over the years, Xenia, that if I had a dollar for each one I could retire!”
“You can retire right now from your position as President of the Rainbeau Knights,” Xenia teased. “You just choose not to and regardless of that, she is just messing with you half the time. She doesn’t mean any harm. When it comes to her, you can’t take a joke.”
“Really?” He spat out a seed into the trashcan and turned back towards the woman who was defending her crazy mother’s honor. “What about her comments about White people smelling like luncheon meat, huh? Or Chinese people capturing, frying, then eating neighborhood kittens and stray dogs?”
“Well, Saint, the Chinese restaurant close to her shop did get in trouble when the Health Department found they were having some, shall we say, questionable K-9 cuisine.”
“That’s like one in a million!” He tossed up his hands. “That doesn’t mean all Chinese restaurants do that!”
“Did you ever go into Wok This Way? The meat in that restaurant’s fried rice was strange! It didn’t look like pork, chicken, or beef. It was a mystery meat. I saw it o
nce for myself.”
“I can’t believe this!” He tossed the apple core in the trashcan and shook his head. “Next, you’ll say that when she came up to me saying, ‘Chimmy Cham Chin Choy’ last week, that she was trying to just speak in my native tongue.” Xenia slapped her hand across her mouth and stopped an obvious burst of laughter from escaping. “I’m not Chinese, I’m half Korean and she knows it. And furthermore, Chimmy Cham Chin Choy is gibberish in all languages. That’s not a sentence! It means absolutely nothing. Your mother would lose her mind if some White person turned around and treated her the same way. What if Gaspar came up to her saying, ‘What’s happenin’, foxy Black Mama? Got any bread for an ol’ head like me so I can buy me some chitterlings, red Kool-Aid, watermelon and fried chicken?”
At this Xenia burst out laughing, her eyes glossed over with mirth as she shook her head. “Boy, you need to stop! And why do you sound like Fred Sanford right now? Just crazy!”
“I ain’t no non-melanin’ havin’ jive turkey, okay?” Saint continued, determined to finish his shtick. “Been takin’ 1970s Ebonics lessons so I can slide in close to the elderly sexy mocha choca la vita loca sistas such as yourself. I just want to play a bit of strip tease after rubbin’ some ointment on my joints of course, because all I want to do is make you take them damn draws off and get in on your social security. My age is 69, and that ain’t the only 69 I know about!”
“Saint, you need help!” Xenia’s eyes watered, and she held her chest tight, barely able to breathe. She laughed until her face turned beet red.
“I want to partake in your limitless supply of prune juice, toast to us, and then pop a Viagra so I can pump my way into that sweet, vintage pu-naaaan-neeee! Yes! I want that boarded up, out of commission, cobweb Halloween haunted house filled with spirits of orgasms past punani, baby! I want to beat the mothafuckin’ dust off that damn punani, puuuuuu-naaaaan-neeeee. Gimme that ancient ruins pussy, baby!” Xenia wheezed with laughter, losing her breath. “Yeeeeeah!” Saint grabbed his nuts and shook them through his pants while snarling and making nasty gestures that sent her over the edge. “Gimme some of that antique pussy, seasoned just right! The blacker the berry, the sweeter the mothafuckin’ juice and I wanna squeeze yo’ old ass until the wrinkles on that cougar coochie straighten and smooth right on out!”
“Saint!” Xenia had turned a million shades of red as she held herself, shaking against the counter, her eyes flooding with more and more tears. “You’re a damn fool! So silly. You are so messed up.”
“You see how I sounded, Xenia? It sounded ridiculous, just like your mother.” The woman rolled her eyes. “All those stereotypes about Black women and senior citizens all rolled into one big pile of bullshit! That’s how your mother is, just reaching for insults and then trying to act like she doesn’t know what anyone is talking about when they call her on it. To this very day, she still tries to call me ‘Stunt’, instead of Saint, every blue moon as some memorial joke, just like the very first day she met me… See? Not much has changed. She reminded me of how far she has not come.”
“You know she’s just teasing you. When my mother jokes like that, well, that’s just love, baby.”
“Well it’s not funny anymore and I’d love for her to get the hell out of my house!”
“You don’t have to yell.” Xenia swallowed the last of her guffaws, then sashayed past him with a limp wrist that sparkled from her diamond tennis bracelet. “I’m just saying, you act like every stereotype against a race never has a bit of merit. Black men do excel, on average, on the basketball court for example, when compared to other races of men. Black women do sometimes have more curves than White women, naturally. White men do seem to swim better than us, and the Asian culture does seem to care more about scholastic achievements. These may be considered stereotypes, Saint, but they hold merit and you know it.”
“And next you’ll say without Eskimos there would be no snow cones,” he spat out, which only caused the woman to burst out laughing again.
“Saint, you need to lighten up, seriously. This conversation between you and me has been long overdue. It seems you’ve had some pent-up hostility. Not everyone who makes a joke of that nature is racist.”
“Oh, really? So her calling my father on the phone and asking him if he knew anyone who’d flown one of the planes into the towers on the 9/11 terrorism attack was all right? Or how about when we ordered Indian food through Uber Eats the other day and she asked the Indian delivery guy if he had his little horn with him that they use to snake charm because she always wanted to see one.”
“Yes.” Xenia struggled to keep her face straight, attempting to look serious and astute, but her belly caved in and out, no doubt working overtime to muster the strength for her charade. “Those examples are awful, but that doesn’t mean she’s actually racist, Saint. It means she is trying to be friendly, funny, and is quite honestly ignorant about many race related issues. Mama doesn’t think she is better than anyone because she’s Black, and though I agree her comments at times would be better left unsaid, and I’ve gotten on her about this very thing in the past, truthfully, I think it’s just her way of trying to make sense out of a complicated world. Mama comes from an era where the racism was more in your face. Regardless, I think she’s more open-minded than you give her credit for.”
“Hmm, we’ll see.” He opened the refrigerator door and scanned the shelves, not seeing anything to spark his interest for his pre-lunchtime snack. “Hey, speaking of Indian food, where is my leftover Tikka Masala from last night?”
Xenia gave a half grin, then suddenly scurried out of the kitchen.
“Pam ate it?! The same woman who complained that it looked like puke, then ate all of hers up? Now she scarfed down mine, too. Damn! Ain’t nothin’ of mine safe in this house!” Saint slammed the refrigerator closed, then tossed a balled-up paper towel across the room in a huff. “If it’s not Hassani and Dakarai eating up all the pretzels and chips, or Isis eating up all the cookies and fruit, it’s Pam devouring food she claims to hate!”
“He’s an annnnngry man!” Xenia called out, laughing her head off in the distance.
“Said she didn’t like sushi—came home last week and my damn California Roll is gone! I asked her about it. She told me she was homesick and thought eating it would make her feel like she was back in L.A. Then I get slapped in the back of the head by my wife for telling her there is no need to miss it … just hop on a plane and leave ASAP. My treat. Said she didn’t like sunflower salad—came home that same week, and my shit is in the trash, but half of it was eaten and then she had the nerve to tell me it needed more dressing while picking seeds from between her teeth with a toothpick, right in front of me!” He raged on, but he was sure Xenia was far out of earshot by then. He opened up cupboard after cupboard, on the hunt for something that would pacify his appetite while he worked for an hour or two in his office, hopefully in peace.
He spotted an open ream of crackers in a far corner, just out of reach of smaller hands.
It’s only a few in here, but this is just enough for one person…
Snatching the things up and holding them possessively close to his chest, he swung the icebox door open and reached for the package of Sargento sharp cheddar cheese cubes.
“Yeah … this will do.” With a bit of pep in his step, he began to make his way back to his office, his mouth salivating already.
“Daddy?” He turned around to see Dakarai standing there in his Spiderman pajamas. “What chew got?” The little boy pointed at him, eagerness in his beady, golden eyes that shined with hope for a morsel or two.
Saint kept his back turned, but glared at the child from over his now slumped and defeated shoulder. He sighed.
“You don’t want this, Dakarai. The crackers have sesame seeds and the cheese is hot. It’s spicy … real spicy,” he lied, not feeling an ounce of guilt as the parchment paper wrapped around the crackers crackled in his grasp.
“Let me try it anyway. I might
like it.” The boy held his chin high, as if hip to his father’s games.
“Damn it!” Saint spun on his heels and burst back into the kitchen. Grabbing Dakarai a little Minion character printed plate, he lined the crackers up with a sacrificial cheese cube. He debated sneaking a drop or two of Frank’s hot sauce on the snack, a last ditch effort to make the boy steer clear, but decided against it. His son sat happily on the bar stool at the counter, waiting to be served. Saint sat the plate down before him, and the little dickens swung his short legs back and forth, happy as a lark while he smacked his lips around a mouth full of cheddar.
“It ain’t spicy, Daddy. Dis good! Hey, can you get me some chocolate milk, man?”
“No. And I’m not your man, nor your butler.”
Dakarai burst out laughing with a mouthful of food, and pointed at him.
“You said butt!”
Saint ignored him as he looked around in vain for something else to nosh on.
“You’ve had enough chocolate milk today, too.”
“Please, Daddy…” The boy batted his eyelashes, laying it on thick.
Snatching the refrigerator door back open for the third time, Saint grabbed the chocolate milk and poured his son a glass. Dakarai was now making funny faces at him, being a clown, bringing joy to his heart. Saint burst out laughing, shaking his head at the entire scenario, everything that had led up to that moment—Pam, Xenia, Gaspar, all of it.
Sometimes my family drives me crazy … but I love them all so very much…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hassani looked to his left, then to his right as he stood huddled in the corner of the gymnasium. Gripping his freshly ironed white shirt collar, he smelled it and caught a whiff of his father’s cologne. He smiled when it filled his nostrils. Dad had let him borrow it for his big night with Asia at the school dance. He hopped about from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for her by the entrance. Glancing down at his cell phone, he noted the time, which only worsened his nervous state. He put the phone back in his pocket, hoping to not be tempted to look again. The music was loud and the kids even louder as they paraded in and out of the area. The clean version of the Migos’ “Slippery” boomed from the speakers at a deafening level. Sliding his cellphone out of his pocket, he sent Angel another text.