by Tiana Laveen
“Your timing always sucks, ya know? Are you really going to fuck with me right now when I have a court case looming over my head from none other than my fucking drug addict, thieving, lying piece of shit brother? Mom said he told her he’s pressing charges against me for assault. Like I need this shit right now!”
“You’re right, you’re right. I was just tryna lighten the mood.”
King rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. One thing Dad always showed was consistency. “Lightening the mood by poking and jabbing? Kickin’ me when I’m down? Niiiice.” He sucked his teeth.
“Oh, grow a fuckin’ pair, King. You fuck with me when I’m down all the time! What about when ya called me a drunk Irishman, huh? Stereotypin’ the shit outta me. You’ve talked about me havin’ a hot temper, even said that little fucker on the Lucky Charms box was me and that I should sue General Mills for stealing my image without offering compensation. Always trying to be a comedian at my expense. You’ve said all kinds of shit and I know you’re just kidding. Besides, you’re half Irish, too, so I just take that shit on the chin. Hell, I’m the one who taught ya how to joke that way, so come on! I thought you had a thicker skin than this. I never see ya sweat, don’t start now! Man tha fuck up.”
“But this isn’t about havin’ big balls and it’s not about you!” They glared at one another. “THIS ISN’T CEREAL! OR GOLD AT THE END OF A FUCKIN’ RAINBOW! THIS IS MY FUCKIN’ LIFE, DAD!” He beat on his chest. “This is deeper than a fight with Tomas. This shit has been boiling over since we were kids, and you know this! You know what sparked this! Just when things were looking good, coming together, everything’s falling the fuck apart! I left two messages for my boss and haven’t heard shit back! There were so many people who wanted my job that there is no way he’ll hold onto me, so it’s probably a wrap. I’m hiding from the woman I’m falling in love with because I don’t know what the hell to say to her, how to explain this shit, and—”
“Just tell her the truth.”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t thought of that.” King rolled his eyes. “No matter how I twist it, change the words around, rearrange them, it all sounds bad. ‘A, baby, I got arrested for beating the shit out of my brother last night, spent the night in jail and now I’m unemployed, about to be evicted in a month or two, and will likely spend more time in jail for an indefinite amount of time. But we can still kick it and maybe we can have conjugal visits.’ Yeah, that sounds real good. I’m certain she’d never want to leave my side after hearing that offer she can’t refuse.”
“What’s the alternative then, King? Why can’t you just spit it out?”
“I can’t because I give a shit what she thinks of me!” His own voice rang through his ears, his head hurt, his body ached. “I don’t want to fuck this up… not any more than I already have.” He took a deep breath. “The cherry on top is that I have an amazing art show coming up soon that could be thrown in the garbage if I’m serving time. There are big name people flying in to see my work. If I lose this opportunity, I’m fucked.” He threw up his hands and laughed dismally. “God. Tomas got what he wanted, to fuckin’ make my whole existence explode.” Heat raged within him and his heart thumped so hard, it hurt.
Dad crossed his arms, his face impassive.
“You have to do something then, King. You already told me on the way over here that you won’t let me help. You’re going to need help. I know you’re independent and all of that shit, and that’s good, but to get out of this jam, you’re going to need some assistance.”
King huffed and averted his gaze as he gathered his thoughts. Out the window, he saw cars driving past, the sound of honking reaching his ears. He stood at last, grabbed his phone off the kitchen counter, and returned to sit across from his father.
After doing a quick Google search, he made a call.
“Hi, my name is King Chrysalis. I need to speak to an attorney, please…”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Best Kept Secret
The grave that you dig for someone else may just end up being your own…
Suri massaged her aching calf muscle while listening to Xavier Omär’s ‘SURF’ playing on her phone. She’d left work early, which she rarely did, but she’d been too distracted. Besides, she had plenty of sick days saved up. After leaving a couple of voicemails and sent a few (yet unanswered) text messages to King, she resolved he was either unable or didn’t wish to respond. All she knew was that he’d left the jail – but he’d given her no further information. Until now.
Her entire apartment smelled like him. Deep inhale. Deep Exhale. Just like his hard, smooth thrusts. Breathe in. Breathe out. More of the same. He took her breath away. His scent became her sight. Her sight, his vision, and they both could hear the world spinning backwards on its axis. Heated black leather, splashes of shocking red paint, traces of a sweet kiss dipped in wine and ruthless words…
She brought her fingers to her mouth, still relishing the feel of his skin against hers. His needy, fervent kiss emblazoned there. Memories rolled within her brain of the taste and feel of his thick, long dick thrusting into, and hitting the roof of her mouth. Panties instantly wet… and yet, right then, he was nowhere around. She pointed to the spot he’d once occupied. He’d stood right there, held her close, gliding his hand between her legs, and commented on the warmth of her cookie, which throbbed as it spelled his name in the air with each pulse. He’d promised to destroy it later.
And she’d been thankful for it.
She was attached to him now, so much in lust with the man that it hurt. But see, that was the easy part. She was falling in love, and though she hadn’t planned this, wanted this, it was happening and she refused to fight it. The ocean had come to her and proclaimed that she must ride the approaching swell of water. That wave was named King. So she grabbed her golden boogie board, slid on her invisible bathing suit, and held her breath as she drowned…
Picking up her glass of red wine, she drank, her thoughts scattering like diamonds along a rich bitch’s crystal table before she counted them one by one.
He was this close to getting ghosted. He would’ve come back sniffing around with some lame excuse. They always do. They miss this pussy. This warmth. This nasty-nice mouth. They miss my logic and my controlled insanity. They miss how I take care of them. How I move differently from most of the women they encountered before me. Most women walk into life. I fly. The men I let get close to me in the past miss knowing I’ll be there until I’m not. I disappear on motherfuckers who try to vanish when the shit gets hot. I don’t do fair-weather men or friends. I’m the only one allowed to do disappearing acts, but I never go without due cause. I’m reliable, not weak. And when I DO leave them where they stand, I offer no explanation. They know why. No ‘Dear John’ letter required.
King had finally called her back after being released from jail. She’d let him know she was going home in a few hours.
Hours later, much to her surprise, her doorbell rang and the bastard showed up with her favorite Starbucks coffee in hand, iced white chocolate mocha, and a single red rose. She cut him some slack; the man had had a rough night. It was evident from the dark circles around his eyes, like Saturn’s rings. But he still was her star, and their souls were united in a galaxy all their own. He pulled her into his big, strong arms, kissed her hard, apologized for not getting back to her sooner, then said he had some shit to take care of and would return later in the evening. She told him to bring his spend-the-night bag. She wanted long conversations. Long strokes of that dick inside her pussy. And long bouts of laughter that made her gut hurt.
He’s gone now. But he’ll be back.
She looked at the door. Closed and locked.
Lighting a cigar, his gold necklace gleaming under her living room light, he smiled at her, then made his exit. Clouds of fragrant smoke followed him like an inverted shadow giving chase, and she was left with nothing but his memory before she could process what had even happened. In cases like this, it was best to l
isten more and talk less, although it didn’t come naturally. Questions… I have so many questions. What he did share, however, left her dumbfounded and hurt on his behalf, made her blood run both cold and hot. His brother triggered him. It seemed that King did have a weakness under that tough exterior. It was called family.
She snatched her buzzing phone from the table and read his text message.
She placed the phone back down and rested her head against the back of the couch.
My mother told me to watch out for artists:
Con-artists, pick-up artists, inexperienced makeup artists.
But she never told me to watch out for the imaginative artists.
The creative artists. They’re a byzantine, tantalizing breed.
I suppose she should have forewarned me. Maybe she didn’t know.
Honestly though, it wouldn’t have changed
anything, but at least then, I could say I was advised against it.
I just never heeded said advice.
Because I do what the hell I want.
King placed the attorney’s card in his pocket and headed out the revolving office building door. He zipped up his jacket and made his way to the front of the building to call an Uber. People whizzed past him, many wearing earbuds, on their phones, or doing their own version of speed walking. Just a couple more errands…
After he stopped in to collect what he was certain would be his final check from Ricky Garcia, he planned to get a sandwich or a slice of pizza from somewhere, go home, work on a painting for a couple of hours, then head over to Suri’s apartment for the night. The thought of lying next to her, holding her, making love to her, being deep inside of her was the only thing giving him a sliver of hope and peace.
“Sup.” He nodded at a man walking past selling hats and sunglasses, before glancing down at his phone once again.
Traffic was picking up in the Bronx. The office of the attorney he’d hired was out that way and he’d spent far more time there than he’d initially anticipated. He was now caught in afternoon rush-hour rigmarole and he needed to get the rest of his tasks done for the day. After calling for an Uber, he sent Suri a text letting her know things had gone well with the attorney. That was when he noticed he missed a call from his father. I’ll call him when I get home. He probably just wants to know how it went. His father worked as a delivery driver for a grocery chain and was a part-time manager for Best Buy.
These jobs helped keep the man busy and his nose clean. Dad had always been a hard worker who never went without employment for long, but often he had to take jobs that were physically grueling, didn’t pay much, or with horrible benefits. His pride never got in the way of his need to pay his bills and his desire to prove he could cut it was a driving force. He instilled in King a good work ethic and encouraged his art, or anything he could make a legal living at.
The lawyer said that with my lack of a prior criminal record and Tomas’ felonious past, I’ve got a good chance of getting the charges dropped. But that only took care of one aspect of this miserable circumstance.
There was no court, no attorney, no sparkly fairy with a magical wand or enchanted wizard that could repair his broken family. Lines had been drawn in the sand and he wasn’t about to lie and tell anyone that he was sorry for kicking his brother’s ass. He was only sorry that someone had heard the commotion and called the police. It had likely been his parents’ neighbor as they’d heard Tomas screaming, cursing and calling out for help. Nevertheless, he hadn’t spoken to Tomas since the incident and the car still hadn’t been located.
Minutes later, a black Honda pulled up.
He checked the license plate, confirmed it was his Uber driver, and got inside. The driver was a buzz-cut, dark-haired Hispanic man wearing a white Polo shirt and jeans. “Here I go Again” by White Snake played on the radio as they engaged in small talk until finally, things drew quiet during the drive. He wished he had a fast forward button to hurry past his official firing and get to Suri. He’d already made a couple calls about possible new job leads, and had even spoken to Shane’s agent to set up an evaluation meeting and, if all went well, getting the ball rolling for some modeling gigs. He was prepared to accept anything that wasn’t out of his comfort zone. Something to tide him over until he found a proper job. He still had big plans, such as purchasing a car, moving to a bigger apartment with space for a studio. As soon as he could afford it, he’d begin to sell prints of some of his new work online and make a business of it. A nice side hustle.
“Thanks, man.” King said as the car pulled up in front of the shop on W. 64th Street in Midtown. The two said their goodbyes, he tipped him on the app, and inside he went, expecting the worst. The store was fairly empty, but that was typical for the time of day. The two gorgeous Ethiopian cashiers, Nia and Nuru, stared at him from the counter, not even trying to disguise their shock. He winked their way and smiled, undoubtedly making them more uncomfortable as he approached the back of the building, then rapped on the door.
“I’m here, Ricky. It’s me, King.”
“King, he’s not there,” one of them called out. He made his way back to the front of the store.
“Do you know when he’ll be back? He told me to meet him over here now.” He glanced at the time on his phone.
Nia shook her head. “We saw him head out about thirty or so minutes ago. He said he’d be right back. He didn’t tell us you were coming in. But you know how he is. No one knows if, when, and where Ricky will pop up.” The two women shot each other a telling glance.
“So, obviously, you heard why I wasn’t here yesterday.”
“Yeah,” they said at the exact same time.
“That sucks, King,” Nuru stated, looking sullen and depressed as she fiddled with some clothing security tags that sat in a large, clear bowl. “We really liked having you here. You made us feel safe, too, you know, when one of the customers got a little too flirty.” He nodded in understanding. It was true; there’d been a couple of incidents when he had to act as a bodyguard and escort bozos out who were clearly in there just to ogle the women who worked out front. “Now, he’ll probably hire some idiot who will yell orders at us, not do anything but play on his phone, and then pretend he’s been slaving all day to save face.”
“I take it you’ve already dealt with that.” He chuckled as he glanced back down at his phone. Of course he did. Ricky had filled him in on the entire sordid ordeal.
“You already know.” She smiled. “So, are you—”
Suddenly, his phone rang. It was Ricky.
“Hello. I’m inside the shop.” He leaned against the counter, legs crossed.
“Come outside.” The phone call abruptly ended.
Stumped, King walked out the front doors to find a spotless white Cadillac Escalade with glossy white rims. The tinted black window rolled down, and there sat Ricky, smoking a fat cigar he held in his jeweled hand. “Yo, jailbird. Get in.” The window slowly rolled back up.
King took a deep breath and approached the car. Before he could tap on the glass and ask questions, a tall man in a black business suit stepped out from the driver’s seat and opened the back passenger door opposite of Ricky.
“Mr. Chrysalis, please have a seat.” King stole a glance at the closed window where Ricky was undoubtedly studying him with snake-like eyes.
“Where are we going?” he asked, crossing his arms.
The driver said nothing, So King stayed where he was and tapped on the window with his knuckle, trying to get Ricky’s attention. His stomach knotted with confusion and resentment stirred within him.
“King, it’s a simple fuckin’ conversation. Don’t be difficult. Get in.”
King made his way around the back of the vehicle and slid on the white leather seat with Ricky who smelled of smoke and Creed Aventus. Neither looked at one another for quite some time. The car pulled away from the curb with a fast jerk. King leaned far to the side, rested his chin on his fist, and looked out the window. The world looked so
different in tinted hues. It was fitting. The souls of men were tainted, including his own.
“King, I understand your unblemished record is now, well, blemished.” Ricky chuckled, as if he got a big kick out of it.
“If you’re talking about my domestic situation with my brother, then yes. Do you have my check?” He turned to face him. “If so, I can get it and then be out of your hair.”
“King, relax. You’re not fired.”
He looked at the man, astounded.
“First of all, that’s illegal. I can’t fire you until you’ve been tried in court or pled guilty to the crime in question.”
“I did it. I guess I’m fired now.”
Ricky burst out laughing and slapped his leg.
“My God, man! I’m getting the impression you don’t want your job. Why in the hell would you say that?” Ricky shook his head, his eyes full of mirth.
“I said it because it’s true and should this go further with my brother, there’s no need to delay the inevitable. I did it. I know I did it. I don’t regret that I did it. I also don’t want to lie to you. You’ve been decent and fair to me. I want to extend the same courtesy to you. I don’t play games like that anyway.”
Ricky seemed to be about to lose his cool. He caressed his fingers and held his chin high.
“I knew you’d be perfect to work at Alpha, but many times, you’re far too honest for your own good, even to your detriment. You’ve told customers in the most beautiful of ways that certain garments don’t suit them because they’re too fucking fat or too skinny to pull off a look, or the color washes them out. You pair your words with the perfect compliments, and it all sounds sincere with the inflection of your deep voice. Then, you lead them to other apparel that not only looks better, but cost a hell of a lot more. I watch you work the room like a pro.
“Like I said when I hired ya, these men want to be us, and in this case, you. So, they buy into every word you say… hang on to it like a member of a cult. But sometimes, your honesty is self-righteous. It’s fiery and branded to cause despair.” King rubbed his eye, curing an itch, then looked back out the window. “There’s a darkness in your light. Light in your darkness. I recognize it. I’m that way, too. That’s why I often wear white. To pretend I’m holy when really, I’m the Devil’s reject.”