Savage

by Tiana Laveen

  “Oh, really? What kind? Psychopath?” He smirked.

  “It would be unwise for me to diagnose you with so little information, but—”

  “No, I was asking you what kind of personality disorder, but calling you a psychopath.” He chuckled as he took another sip of his wine.

  “You do show some telltale signs of narcissism. Your behavior right now is indicative of it.”

  “Here’s the funny thing about narcissism, Zaire. From my understanding,” He took another swallow of his wine then leaned back in his chair. “It’s not something you can get rid of. You’re either a narcissist or you’re not, and it’s triggered due to trauma. Rarely is someone born this way, right?”

  “That’s debatable… the whole nature versus nurture. Regardless, yes, that’s been argued. Have you had trauma, Savage?”

  “Haven’t we all?” She looked at him. He looked back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Allison crossing her arms and watching them as if she were sitting in front row seats at a Grand Slam tennis match. “Yeah, let’s talk about trauma, baby…” He ran his hand along his jaw and narrowed his eyes on her. “Isn’t it trauma that causes a woman to not only crusade for other women as ruthlessly as you do, but create a hostile environment, for even a lunch date, due to her very fucked up attitude, and then become annoyed when the man—who is her test subject—doesn’t jump through her hoops? Feminism was born out of trauma. World wars were born out of trauma. Anything that is reactionary or radical in nature was born out of trauma. So, isn’t there a psychological diagnosis for people like you, too? The in-denial-savior complex? Some shit like that? Or did they skip that chapter in school?”

  “Oooooh, girl! Whew! Now that was a read!” Allison giggled, clearly taking delight in her know-it-all friend being served what she cooked for others, shoving it down their throats one grotesque spoonful at a time.

  Zaire cocked her head to the side and clasped her hands together, resting them on the table.

  “I’ve had no trauma that led me to crusade, as you say, for women. I do it out of the love and concern in my heart. It’s my calling. I saw a need, and I fulfilled it. You’re trying to twist and turn this around, warp the truth.”

  “I don’t have to warp the truth. The lies you’ve told yourself are warped enough for the both of us.” He tossed his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. The host came over in record speed.

  “Yes, Mr. Savage?”

  “Please bring out that dessert tray. My friend Allison here deserves it. She’s had a hard time lately.” He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

  “Of course.” The host disappeared.

  “Mr. Savage, you’ve apparently—”

  “Not to cut you off, but I wasn’t finished. Let me explain something to you, Zaire. First of all, as I told Allison here, looks are deceiving. I love cerebral conversations. Betcha didn’t even think I knew what that word meant, did you?” He tapped the side of his head. “You don’t know shit about me. What you do know is based on textbooks—books written by people who’ve never met me. I’m a different breed. There’s no one else like me on this planet.”

  “Thank goodness…” Zaire grimaced.

  “Yes, thank goodness because this entire world would be burned to the ground if there was.” Their eyes locked. “I love watching NASCAR; I race cars for fun myself. I ride my motorcycles. I speak English, Armenian, Spanish and Russian fluently. I could probably drink most guys under the table. As you know, I enjoy gambling too, particularly Blackjack, and I’m damn good at it. My I.Q. is through the fuckin’ roof, and yeah, I’ve been tested. I am very fuckin’ smart. Nope. I have no degrees.” He shrugged. “I went to no fancy schools like you. I have a high school diploma, and barely got that. It wasn’t because I couldn’t handle the curriculum, but because I had other priorities, pressing matters to take care of. Regardless, I’m not ashamed of my past. I’m comfortable in my present and I’m lookin’ forward to my future. I do have mommy issues, Zaire. In that respect, I am a classic case, as you say.” He paused and scratched the side of his nose. “My mother was a prostitute, a paid whore, a cum dumpster for my entire childhood.”

  Zaire’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

  “She’d been an orphan, had a really hard life. She was an immigrant. She used to trick in Armenia, and then, she moved to America, specifically, California, where she met my father while working at one of the strip clubs. My father saved my mother’s life. She’d been living with a man who was kicking her ass, but she had nowhere else to go. My father got her away from him, but there was a catch. My old man is a card-carrying member of the Vagos Motorcycle Club, a biker gang.” Allison gasped. “Unlike your theory, yes, he was and still is in my life. I see him often. My parents were never officially married, but everyone knew they were together. They loved one another. He is one of the smartest, funniest and scariest motherfuckers I’ve ever known.

  “He is not someone you want to cross. So, I learned from a wicked yet honorable master.” He shrugged. “Now, contrary to any stereotype you may have floating in your head, since you think my suggesting Jill Scott was strictly because you’re Black, my mother didn’t fuck her johns in front of me, all right? She had more sense and class than that. I didn’t become somehow scarred by that and end up on the next undiscovered serial killer database due to a mother sellin’ her pussy right beside me as I watched cartoons and ate my fucking Fruit Loops. In fact, I wouldn’t have even known she was whoring had she not been honest and told me when I asked her where was she goin’ late at night when she left me with the babysitter.

  “My mother is a complicated woman. She’s sneaky… devious… because she had to be in order to survive. She’s at times a cold woman. She’s a paranoid woman, but she’s a fighter, and she did the best she could with what she had. I also know she wanted me. My mother had never gotten pregnant until she was with my father. She told me she wanted to give him a son. He already had a daughter, my older sister, with another woman. Her wish came true. Despite all the crazy shit in my childhood due to having what many would call unconventional parents, I know that she loves me, in spite of everything. Love isn’t determined by one’s occupation. It’s determined by how a person treats you. I was never hungry. I was never left unclothed. I was never ignored when I truly needed either one of them. I was hugged and kissed, even by my father, Mr. Tough Guy. I was told I was special. Didn’t matter that a pretty high-priced foreign whore and a brutal bike gang leader were tellin’ me that—all that mattered was that they said it. And they meant it.”

  An uneasy sort of quiet reigned when he finished talking. Zaire looked down into her lap and fidgeted with her napkin.

  “Hey, uh, I’m going to take a little walk. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Allison stood from her seat, a sad smile on her face. When she walked past Zaire, she stroked the woman’s shoulder. It was time for a one-on-one meeting…

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Did You Save Room for Dessert?

  The silence continued for a few more minutes before Zaire broke it, yet her voice was now softer than before.

  “Savage, I want to… thank you for being so open.” He nodded. “I’d like to have a genuine conversation with you now. Get to know you better.”

  “Why?”

  “I find you intriguing. You’re right, there is definitely no one else like you. My curiosity is piqued, without a doubt.”

  “Okay, what do you wanna know?”

  “Well, for starters, where were you raised? Are you from Vegas?”

  “Yeah, I grew up in North Las Vegas though we often visited California, too, ’specially during the summers. That is where my father is from.” She nodded. “While in Cali during the summers, I stayed in Willow Brook, Los Angeles with my parents at my father’s rental house. See, in North Las Vegas and Willow Brook, they’re real diverse – a true reflection of the world. I was around all sorts of people. Whites, Latinos, Blacks, Asians… Later in life, I really appreciated that. It helped
me truly judge a man by his character, not by the color of his skin, the way he spoke, the way he dressed. In fact, I think it’s stupid to judge someone for their gender, too. But you seem to do it without blinking an eye.” He tossed up his hands and grimaced, not exactly frustrated, but perhaps mildly annoyed.

  “Okay, we can talk about me in a moment, but that leads to my next question. Don’t you think you’re being dishonest? In fact, don’t you see women in an unflattering light, Savage? I know I’m not wrong about your resentment toward us. I can just feel it. No degree required.”

  “Resenting women and not trusting you all are two different things…” Their gazes hooked. “I have no skeletons in my closet. Not because I don’t have secrets, but because I never leave a crumb trail to be questioned about them in the first place.”

  “You seem to have a lot of influence, power, money… What is your profession?”

  “Assassin.”

  The woman’s jaw dropped before she burst out laughing.

  “Come on, we were having a good conversation. Don’t do this. Don’t be silly. Now seriously, what do you do?”

  “I told you. I kill people, usually very bad people. I’m not a serial killer or mass shooter, let’s just be clear. Those people are fucking nuts.”

  “Okay, I’ll play your little game. Shouldn’t I be calling the police right now then?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve threatened to call the police on me. Not exactly ideal for a first date.” He chortled, drawing the same reaction from her, too. “Anyway, what do you think of Gummy Bears?”

  “I see I’m not going to get a straight answer.” She shook her head, still laughing. “You really do have a morbid sense of humor at times. Geesh.”

  He shrugged, but kept quiet.

  “So, why don’t you trust women?”

  “Because you all are too emotional to realize you have all the power, hold all the cards.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Anyone who can’t see they are in control of the whole fucking world because they’re too busy crying, being hormonal, attention seeking, and trying to manipulate others, I can’t deal with. You own us, and you’re clueless!”

  Her lips curled in a smile. Not the reaction he was expecting.

  “Are you implying women are stupid?”

  “Not at all! You’re emotional thinkers by nature. That’s not stupidity, but it is at times poor judgment and acts to your disadvantage. Let me explain somethin’ to you.” He shook his finger in her direction. “Women could stop over half the shit going on in the world right now, you know, the bad shit, by simply believing they can. But since so many chicks don’t see their worth and power, they let it rot, and that gift’s totally unutilized. Women think their tits and asses control us. Bullshit. All of that hasn’t changed anything, has it? A man will fuck you and still treat you like shit. We can use our hands and cum. That’s not what this is about. Your bodies attract us; they don’t hook us. Why? Because that’s only part of it.”

  “What’s the other part, in your opinion?”

  “Don’t you see? It’s the love you give… a special type of love. It’s soft, fluffy, heavenly shit. It’s the shit we can’t get enough of. You all own that, baby. No one smells like a woman, except a woman.” He watched her complexion deepen. “No one can touch and caress like a female. Your kiss, your words, your softness, your femininity. It’s the medicine, the elixir for the entire world. You have it on lockdown. We can’t extract it from you; you have to give it willingly. We can overpower you and take your body, your money, all that shit… but we can’t make you love us, no matter how hard we try. We can’t grow it. We can’t hunt it. We can’t go inside some lab and create it. It belongs to you, and we need it. If we don’t have it, we feel lost. It’s not just the pussy, it’s the passion. That ‘XX’ chromosome breaks men down.”

  “Are you in a relationship right now, Savage?”

  “No. If I were, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

  “Hey, men in committed relationships ask women out all the time who have obligations.” She tapped her nails against the table.

  “I’m not like most men…”

  “Fair enough. However, if you don’t have a woman, that means I can safely imply you’re not being loved, at least not in the sense you described. So, do you feel lost without it?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted.

  “Well played, Zaire…”

  She burst out laughing. “I’m just asking for a friend.” At this, they both broke into laughter. “Okay, let’s move on past that question and try this one instead. Do you believe you know a lot about women?”

  “I don’t believe I know a lot about women, I know that I do. I don’t understand everything regarding women though, because I’m not you. I’m not inside your head. I can only go so far.”

  Soon, the desserts arrived.

  “Where is Allison? She is going to miss all the fun!” Zaire smiled from ear to ear as she studied the golden tray laden with freshly baked fruit pies with thick crusts, moist red velvet cakes, buttery French pastries, and small bowls of vanilla bean and raspberry gelato.

  “Shit, call her…” He selected an apple pie and vanilla gelato. Zaire nodded and grabbed her phone. “Thank her for letting us have some time alone, too.” He winked at Zaire who in turn blinked several times as a smile formed across her face.

  “You’re a bit rough around the edges, but I have to give credit where credit is due, Savage. You’re an interesting conversationalist and you have a fascinating background, too. I’ll admit it. I didn’t think I would, but I’ve enjoyed myself. I wouldn’t mind speaking with you further.” They smiled at each other, their glances lingering. “You’ve also given me a little food for thought, and that says a lot.”

  “Regarding?”

  “Many of the things you’ve stated this afternoon, but mainly, regarding the love of a woman and the power it has over not only mankind, but the world.” She regarded him in a dreamy sort of way as she reached for a piece of berry cobbler. He liked that.

  She’s attracted to me physically. I could tell right off the bat… but she’s more of a mental attraction type of lady. She’s the type of woman who has to find you mentally stimulating as they say… I can hang with the big brain boys. Now that she sees I can have a decent conversation and didn’t let her little mindfuck games upset me, maybe she’ll give it up if I can get her alone for a bit longer. I gotta admit though, I kinda like the talk we just had…

  “Can we talk about you now?” He dug his spoon into his ice cream.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Why aren’t you married or seeing anyone?” he asked.

  “Who said I wasn’t seeing anyone?” She winked. He winked back.

  “You’re not, at least not seriously. You would’ve never agreed to have lunch with me, regardless of Allison being here or not.”

  “I could be a two-timer.”

  “You could, but you’re too judgmental for that.”

  “Some of the most judgmental people in the world do the very acts they profess to abhor.”

  “Why do you speak that way all the time?”

  “What way?” Her brow arched as she took a bite of her dessert.

  “So proper… Just say, ’Some people do crazy shit and then, on Sunday, they’re standing behind a pulpit giving a sermon.’ Or, ‘Sometimes people’s actions don’t match what they say.’”

  “Does it bother you? This is just how I speak and I’m definitely not going to apologize for it.”

  “It’s not that I’m against proper English, Zaire, but this is supposed to be your weekend getaway, and you’re acting like you’re still at work, writing a book or some shit. I want to get to know you, Zaire. The real you.” She paused, looking at him closely. “That voice you use, that tone, all of it is a way to protect yourself. To keep what you consider riffraff away. I presented the real me to you.” He pointed to himself. “What you see is what
you fucking get. I am rough around the edges, just like you said. Rough as fucking sandpaper. I am a street kid by choice. My father was a badass, in every sense of the word, and I saw a lot of shit going down between him and his buddies. I knew how to shoot a gun by age eight. I was tossing knives and getting it square in the bullseye by age twelve. I can shoot a bottle of liquor from over one hundred feet away with pristine accuracy.”

  “Are you glamorizing your father’s life of crime? Well, at least in your mind? He seems like your hero. Believe it or not, that is not a judgment call. I am genuinely curious.”

  “He is my hero, but no.” He shook his head. “I’m not glamorizing it one bit. He told me to not follow in his footsteps, but I couldn’t help it, it’s in my blood… My parents were merciless with everyone except each other and me.” After they stared at one another long and hard, he said, “Anyway, I gotta go soon, but before I do, can I tell you about you? Want me to take a stab at it?”

  “As long as you don’t mean literally. After this discussion of guns and knives, I think I need to make that clear.”

  He chuckled. “Of course not. All right, here we go… You have a thing for bad boys. Had two parents. One or both probably had some sort of problem that made you wrestle with your self-esteem. Maybe one was too strict, worked too much, maybe it was serious, like a drug problem or illness. Was raised in a good part of town, probably with a sister or brother, maybe both… Along the way, you found out life wasn’t so perfect. You realized your love couldn’t change the bad boy you liked. He had to do it for himself but the one who took your heart and twisted it up, the one who hurt you the worst, that shit probably happened right before your career zoomed off.

  “You were heartbroken, torn to pieces after he fucked you a few times then dumped you. After a while, you got control over yourself, dusted yourself off, and decided to use your hatred for broken men to help repair broken women. It’s noble. It’s courageous, but it’s a flawed plan. You’re trying to heal yourself through others. That never works.” She visibly swallowed. “It’s flawed, Zaire, because you still love bad boys, but they have to be bad boys with a brain…”