The Deviant

by Tiana Laveen

  “Oh, let’s see. Well, on Saturday morning, I did some laundry, paying close attention to the holey socks that I refuse to throw away. Hail Mary, full of grace.” She heard a faint chuckle on the other end. “Seems a little sacrilegious to toss them out just because I abused them so badly that now my big toe plays peek-a-boo. Ran some errands in the afternoon. Grocery shopping – mainly searching for items no one wants so I can take them home, not want them either, push them to the back of my refrigerator and allow them to rot in peace. Thus, I’ll succeed in my master plan to lose ten pounds, but simultaneously, throw away hard earned money. Consequently, the scheme is flawed but I have no proclivity to alter it. I also argued with a cab driver who favored Fabio circa 1990, and almost ran over a sweet little old man who appeared confused and discombobulated as he walked amongst traffic.”

  “I love that you love big words and know how to use them. That shit is kinda sexy.” He chuckled, making her smile.

  “Big words are like swords. Unfortunately, I only challenge myself to a duel. No one else knows what the hell I’m talking about,” she stated dryly, and was met with a burst of laughter. “About the elderly man, though, once I got a better look at the old coot, I realized he looked suspiciously like the eighty-three-year-old bank robber that was on the news the other night. Regardless, that was my good deed for the day. Helping to extend the life of a man who was probably some gangster back in the 1940s with twenty bodies under his belt, then come out of retirement and aimed his rusty gun in some poor teller’s face, yelling, ‘Put ’em up. And make it snappy. Matlock is about to start and my sponge bath is in one hour.”

  “You are really somethin’.” He cackled. “You’re sick. A little exhausting. High energy, but funny. Anything else happen over the weekend?”

  “What else did I do?” She tapped her finger against her lower lip as she deliberated. “Oh, yes. Looked at shit I can’t afford, updated my devious plan for world domination. Oh, and the best part,” she held up her finger and grinned, “being a hater and a troll online, simply because I was bored and felt like it. Last night’s targets were beauty gurus from YouTube. I told one guy that his eyeshadow palette caused me to have an allergic reaction, which rendered me blind in one eye and able to see extraterrestrial beings with the other. So, yeah, you know, I did wonderful, productive things like that.” He chuckled even harder now. “Saturday night though was far more entertaining.”

  “Oh, there’s more? You make me regret asking!”

  “Of course there’s more. I’m a walking informercial. There’s always a ‘Wait! There’s more!’ when I’m around. I then went out with a girlfriend of mine for drinks Saturday night and on Sunday, I hung out in Central Park, solo. That’s one of my favorite things to do. Got some amazing Thai food afterwards. Did some yoga and a bit of window shopping. Walking. More walking. I was pretty much lowkey yesterday.” She rubbed her hand along her lower leg, massaging the ankle bone.

  “Yeah… days like that are important, too. Taking it easy.” They were both quiet for a spell. “So, uh, I’m glad you called, Suri.”

  “Mmm hmmm…” It was nice to be able to say whatever the hell she wanted without backlash. He took her rawness and sense of humor well. Kudos for the king.

  “Would you like to get something to eat with me this upcoming weekend? Maybe go hear some live music, too?”

  She shouldn’t have loved hearing his invitation so much.

  “This weekend? Um, I can’t on Friday.” I can, but I have to seem like I’m busy. Yes, I just contradicted myself from the shit I was thinking about earlier. So what? “Maybe Saturday, though. Does that work for you?”

  “Yeah, Saturday is cool. I have some shit going on earlier in the day, but I could swing by at—wait a sec, Suri.”

  “Okay.” She heard him shuffling about, speaking to someone in a muffled voice.

  “Alright, beautiful. I’m back. Let’s see, need to check something out real fast… Yeah, that’s at four… Okay, I could swing by and scoop you up around 6:30 on Saturday. Is that good?”

  “Yes, that works for me. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

  “All right. Cool. I’m actually in Staten Island right now talking to someone about some wall paintings they want to commission me for, so if you don’t mind, can I call you back later on sometime? Like tonight, when you get off work?”

  “Oh yeah, sure. You’ll just save my number that popped up on your phone?”

  “Definitely. Now that I know it’s you, I’ll save it. All right, Suri. You enjoy the rest of your day, okay?”

  “I plan to. You do the same, King.”

  “I took your red panties.” And then, he hung up…

  She stared at her phone, then burst out laughing. Fucking pervert. I wondered where the hell they were! She was still smiling, still spinning back and forth in her chair, still feeling guilty for breaking her own rules, still blaming God for His bad timing, still clutching that torn-out piece of notebook paper with the beautiful penmanship that now smelled like the spearmint gum from inside of her purse.

  I have no idea what I’m doing, but I trust myself. Well, girl, you’ve done it, now. The door is open, and it’s too late to close it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Brother’s Keeper, Brother’s Reaper

  My name is, ‘The Truth.’

  Your mother hates me.

  Yo’ Daddy tried to kill me.

  But no matter what you do to me,

  I will live forever.

  I am invincible. I will be here long after you and the lies are dead.

  Some call me, ‘Fake News.’

  Why? Because the Devil is an agent of chaos, deceptions, and confusion.

  But the Truth, was written by God.

  I am inscribed in blood. I will kill all naysayers where they stand…

  One red paint brush stroke at a time.

  “It was around April last year, I believe so, yeah, I’ve got it. Thanks.” King stretched out his legs in the back of the Uber – A Toyota Highlander, and ended the call with his former manager when he’d worked at the art clothing store. He’d asked for a letter of recommendation from him for another guy who’d called to follow-up from an interview he’d had the week prior. It was for another managerial position at a clothing store, and he was hoping he could land it, especially since he’d received such a request. The pay was decent, good health insurance, it was only a 20 minute train ride away from his apartment, he had the experience and once he was there for a while, he had some flexibility with the hours, too. It wasn’t long before the car came to a stop. He got out of the Uber and headed to his mother and step-father’s townhouse. He tapped on the door, glanced at his phone, then slid his hands inside the pockets of his red hooded jacket.

  “It’s King! Meu filho!” Mom flung the door open, her black mid-length hair tucked behind her ears and cellphone in hand. “My son… Tia, let me call you back.”

  “Mom, you always make it seem like you haven’t seen me in years. I was just over here two weeks ago.” He chuckled. She shrugged him off, raised her arms up to embrace him, and he buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her tight. He walked into the foyer. “How’s Tia (Aunt) Ana?”

  “She’s good. Hoping to come and visit us next year.”

  “Está fazendo o jantar?” He had to ask if she was making dinner for the smells of her delicious cooking filled him with happiness.

  “Sim.”

  Yes! “Arroz de tamboril?”

  She nodded and smiled sheepishly, knowing monkfish rice was one of his favorite dishes.

  “Eu já comi! Como pode fazer isto comigo?”

  He pouted, indignant that she’d do this to him after he’d just eaten. She burst out laughing.

  “You never tell me when you’re planning to come by. I would have told you. You know you can have some, King. I didn’t make a lot, but enough.”

  “Nah, I’m good. Next time though. So, where’s Dad?” He called his adoptive step-fath
er ‘Dad’ sometimes, too. His biological father never did like that fact.

  “He was called in.” She sighed.

  “The hospital has been workin’ him overtime lately, it seems.” He dragged himself to the big maple colored couch and plopped down on it. “How have you been, Mom?” He removed the hood from his head and swept his hair away from his face.

  “Estou cansado.” She sighed, appearing as tired as she said she was. “Um dos convidados perdeu a bagagem. A segurança foi envolvida e eu tive que ficar até mais tarde.”

  Mom worked at a Holiday Inn and when an incident happened like this, with a guest losing their luggage, there was no telling how things would escalate. Security had gotten involved and so she had to work late. Being middle-aged who typically moved like a twenty-one-year-old most days, didn’t mean she never got tired. Today was not one of the good days.

  He asked what happened to the luggage.

  “It was just misplaced,” she replied. “No one took it. We reviewed the tapes. Are you hungry, King? It’s not a problem if you are. I can fix you some when it’s finished cooking.”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine. Seriously. Did Lucas swing by?” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch and tapped his fingers against it. “He was supposed to call me back.” Lucas was one of his brothers, about three years his junior. The two had a great connection, a solid friendship, and he cared for his brother very much. Lucas was rather mild-mannered, and had just gotten a new apartment with a couple of friends. He worked at the hotel with their mother, mainly doing late night front desk work and small room repairs.

  “Yes, he was just here yesterday. He and your father went to Whole Foods together.” He nodded in understanding. “They had a sale on blueberries.”

  He didn’t bother asking about Tomas, his youngest brother, with whom he’d clashed on multiple occasions for the majority of their lives. Many of those arguments, including a physical altercation, had to do with the piece of shit sucking their mother dry. Every time their parents turned around, Tomas was asking for money. The son of a bitch didn’t care about anything or anyone but himself. He was notorious for living off others and using people. He spent his time running wild, moving from job to job or getting high and acting like a victim when it was time to pay the piper. The perpetual child. In drunken rages, Tomas never failed to remind him that he wasn’t a real Chrysalis.

  ‘You’re Dad’s charity case. He never wanted you. He just wanted mom.’

  ‘That’s MY and Lucas’ father, not yours, King…’

  ‘Go be with your REAL dad. Oh, I forgot, he doesn’t want you around…’

  King leaned forward and checked out some of the magazines Mom had on the coffee table. One bike magazine was addressed to his stepfather, Christopher Chrysalis. He flipped through it.

  “Lucas told me you lost your job, King.”

  “Lucas should have kept his mouth closed like I asked him. I had no choice but to tell him because he came by the shop, then called me, asking why the doors were locked. There’s no need for us to talk about this. I’m taking care of it as we speak.”

  She ignored him and continued, her tone somber and sullen.

  “He told me because I asked how you were doing. You’ve been hard to reach lately, and I knew something wasn’t right.” She leaned against the living room wall and crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on him. “Please take some money until you find another job, son.”

  “Nope.” He kept his attention on the magazine.

  “Your art will not pay the bills all the time, King. It’s too inconsistent. Eu insisto.”

  He sighed, rolled his eyes, and slammed the magazine on the table, face down.

  “Dayz closed. It was no one’s fault. The owner couldn’t afford to keep running it. I’m still friends with Herb, the head manager, and just spoke to him about another matter. I’ve been interviewing and will probably have a job offer coming soon, Mãe, so there’s no need for you to throw on some cape and come to the rescue. You need your money.” He pointed his finger at her. “What kind of man would I be to dip into my parents’ bank account without exhausting all options first? I saved a little. I’ll be fine. I’m not some little ass kid and you’re not rich, and even if you were, that doesn’t mean I should accept any bailouts.”

  “Você é tão teimoso!” She sucked her teeth and marched away into the kitchen.

  She’d called him stubborn many times, so that didn’t faze him.

  “Yeah, like my mother. Look in the mirror. We look just alike anyway,” He retorted. She returned with a dust cloth in her hand. “Why are you surprised about any of this? But I’m telling the truth. I don’t need you to help, Mãe, but thank you. I told you it’s fine.”

  She shook her head. “King, you tell me you’re fine when you’re not. I can’t trust you. What about when—”

  “Yeah, a lot of things have happened. Many times, I’ve hidden stuff from you, all right? Not because I wanted to, but because it would do nothin’ except cause you unnecessary stress. I handled my life, okay? I didn’t need you to do anything but love me. You did your job well.” She smiled sadly at him. “Besides, you’ve already got a kid that acts like you should give him all you’ve got.”

  “King, you’re being judgmental and cruel.”

  “Everyone should be judgmental. If we have no standards, then what in the hell do we have, Mãe?” He threw up his hands. “I judge myself just as harshly, so who cares? I tell you one thing, Lucas and I try to make life easier for you and Chris, not harder, and besides, you both raised me to be independent. As far as my money situation, don’t worry. When have I ever gone a long time without a job since I started working at the age of seventeen? Never. I’ve got this.”

  “You’ve always been obstinate, King. You tried to come out sideways!” She chuckled, but her tone indicated anger. She tossed the dust cloth at him and he ducked. Picking it up from the floor, he placed it on the coffee table. “That’s called swag. I was born with it.”

  She gave him a puzzled look, clearly clueless as to what he was talking about.

  “Speaking of your father, King, how is he doing?”

  “He’s good.” He shrugged. “I saw him last month, actually. Was in Queens to take care of something and I decided to call him and slide through. We had lunch. He’s still working at Best Buy. Same apartment, too. Grandma called while I was over there.” King adored his biological father’s mother, his Ma, so much. She was becoming a bit senile, but was always a ball of joy. “You should give Grandma a call, Mom. She said you will always be her daughter-in-law. She wants more than just annual Christmas cards from you.”

  Mãe mustered a smile.

  They went quiet for a bit. All he could hear was the traffic outside his parents’ home, muffled shouting, and the typical street noises he’d known his entire life. Soon, she joined him on the couch, handing him a glass of juice he hadn’t asked for, but appreciated all the same.

  “Pineapple, orange, lemon. Made it myself. Good for your immune system, too.”

  He smiled and tasted it. Delicious.

  “This is good, Mom. Thanks.”

  She got to her feet again and left the room.

  Closing his eyes, he smelled the juice, inhaling the aroma, and thoughts of the flavor and feel of Suri’s pussy jumped at the forefront of his mind. It had reminded him of tangerines.

  “You have an art show coming up?” his mother asked, stealing him from his thoughts. “I believe you mentioned that.” Her thick accent swathed the words.

  “Yeah, in a few months.” He took another sip of the juice. “Are you coming?”

  “Will there be another asshole on the wall?” He burst out laughing, almost spraying juice everywhere. She followed suit and shook her head. “You paint so beautifully, King. So talented. People know my son’s work! How could you do that?! I do not understand why you’d want to do a thing like that!” She waved her hands about.

  “Mom, it was just an expression of the body. It
wasn’t meant to be how you’re interpreting it.” He felt his face warming, and irrepressible mirth tugged at his gut.

  “Oh, I interpreted it right. Christopher and I get dressed up. We go to 5th Avenue. Walk in, wine… fruit… cheese. So pretty. Lights. People taking photographs like you were a celebrity and my son standing in a red suit, arms exposed, tattoos everywhere… Like you’re a comic book.” He chuckled and shook his head. Mom was a bit old-fashioned at times. “Very important people there that night. You introduced me to some of your new art friends, your girlfriend, well, ex-girlfriend now. Everything was fine, and then, I saw it. Across the room!” She pointed her finger vehemently at an invisible target ahead, acting as if reliving the trauma. “Two huge butt cheeks and an asshole in between them! It was disgusting. The camera guy came to me and asked me what I thought. All I could do was yell, ‘Damn you, King!’”

  Now King was laughing so hard, he couldn’t sit straight.

  He placed the juice on the coffee table before he spilled it, and he let loose. Thankfully, Mom had never asked about the white creamy stuff that was dripping out of said asshole. The theme had been sex, after all. Many of his art shows in the past couple of years were about sex in some form or fashion, actually. The way he presented it however, is what was unique. Jaw dropping. Exciting. It got him a spot on the map – gave him notoriety. That’s how he’d earned his nickname, ‘The Deviant Artist.’ The nickname was earned, and it stuck.

  “Christopher was both amused and shocked, too. He was red in the face. My son who paints amazing murals, draws people so realistically they almost look like black and white photographs, has a big art show about a butt. Wow! Took a lot of talent for that, huh?!” she teased, both of them now succumbing to the laughter. They fell all over each other, being silly. King loved seeing and hearing his mother laugh. It was a beautiful sound indeed.

  “All right, all right.” He threw up his hands. “I probably should’ve warned you before you arrived that it was a different sort of show than some of my other ones.”