by Tiana Laveen
“Both. He’s biracial. His mother is Black, originally from England, and his father is Swedish.”
“Like a meatball. So, uh, is he tall? Short? Young? Old?”
“These questions are ridiculous, Giovanni.” She laughed and shook her head, as if he were the most incredulous person she’d ever met.
“I mean, geesh, just humor me.” He turned onto Henry Hudson Pkwy.
“He’s about 5’10, built nicely, forty years old…”
He nodded, pleased with her description. In his mind, he pictured a toad-faced son of a bitch. A guy with thinning hair, age spots covering his body from head to toe, missing and chipped teeth, thin limbs with loose skin that hung like flesh-colored fabric from a rod, and a prominent hunchback. Something like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons…
“So, you ever been to Dovetail?”
The woman looked at him for a spell then shook her head.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve heard about it, though. You’re really taking me there, huh? I thought you were kidding.”
“I wouldn’t kid about a thing like that. It’s one of the best damn restaurants in the city. Besides, I’m tryna make a good impression… give ya somethin’ to think about after I’m gone.” He reached over to his stereo and turned it on. Etta James’ “I’d Rather Go Blind” started to play. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gorgeous lady next to him smiling and bobbing her head. She began to tap her hand on her thigh, to the beat.
“I like your chinky eyes. They’re sexy. I got a thing for eyes… especially ones like yours. You half Japanese or something?”
“Nope. My bones are made of the splintered, bloodied wood of slave ships that sailed from West Africa to America. The curve of my thigh is imported Kenyan ivory Elephant tusks, and my smile is created from the shimmery white fish of the Nile. More importantly, Guido… what do you know about Etta James?” She chuckled, causing him to do the same.
“This Guido knows a lot of stuff… like you’re poetic ’nd shit. Fishy smile, elephant thighs, and brittle wood bones… Nice. What a catch!” He winked at her, causing her to burst out laughing. “When you’ve got old Italian grandparents that play ancient Black soul music in between their Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra records, you start to appreciate it. I like good music, no matter if it’s rock in roll, soul, jazz, pop, showtunes, vaporwave—shit makes me no difference. Just needs to have a good beat.”
“Can you dance?”
“Can I dance?” He grinned hard.
“Yeah… that’s what I asked. Can you dance?”
“I’ve got some moves. Can you?” He shot her a look up and down.
“I’m Black, aren’t I?”
“Not all Black broads can dance. That motherland magic didn’t touch everybody the same.”
At this, the woman howled as he turned onto Columbus Avenue.
“You’re right about that.” Flashes of a Black chick named Cammie that he’d taken behind his high school building one night after a game came to mind. The woman couldn’t fuck, couldn’t suck… it had been a fiasco. With her stiff hips, it had taken him forever to get the girl in the right position to fuck without his dick bending in awkward ways inside of her. She’d had no rhythm whatsoever, and had it not been for her cousin, Amy, who months later had ridden him like a fucking amusement park ride and made him cum harder than any other chick in his entire teenage whorish career, he might have walked away believing that it was all a myth…
“Gimme your hand.” He reached out to her, waving his fingers. “Hurry up. This is a stick shift.” He approached a light. The woman placed her hand in his. He looked at her fingers and couldn’t help but smile. “Soft and pretty… nails done, cuticles in check. You take care of yourself. I like that.” He brought her hand to his lips, gave it a kiss, and slowly let go.
“So, you have a thing for hands and eyes?”
He pulled into a parking lot, not missing the sarcastic tone she dished out.
“I like a lotta things… those are just to name a couple. Sit tight.” He pulled up to the valet. Moments later, they were seated inside. “Order whatever you like. This is one of those hoity toity places, stick up the ass, but the shit is good and I like that everything is fresh, ya know? The ingredients are good, like out of a garden, and the ambiance is nice. You like it, right?”
The woman sported a tilted grin on her gorgeous face as she held her menu and peered at him from over it. The lighting hit her just right, in orange and warm yellow sunset hues.
She’s gorgeous.
“You’re insane, Giovanni. I can tell already.” At this, he did nothing more but shrug and smirk. “So, tell me how you became a fitness mogul?” She broke their gaze and scanned her menu.
“I was always good at sports. Real fuckin’ good. I hated school though. I did the bare minimum because I was bored but from the eighth grade, all through high school, I was on the basketball team. My grandmother was all bent outta shape ’cause my brother and I didn’t want to go to college, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “I told ’er that it wasn’t for me. At the time, I was working at a car place, sellin’ cars, and had gotten my own place. It was okay, but I was always brainstorming my next move. She was on me and on me, and I love my Grandma, always wanna make her smile. Her health had gotten funny so I told ’er I’d enroll, right?”
Vanessa nodded as she listened.
“I honestly thought my grandmother was gonna kick the bucket soon but she’s still alive, right this very minute, and before I fuckin’ knew it, I had to really pick a major and start taking classes since I’d already signed up and had gotten accepted. I swear the rosary she gave me is cursed.”
Vanessa burst out laughing, then quickly covered her mouth.
“Your laugh is cute as fuck. So anyway…” He waved his hand. “I chose sports medicine at Long Island University. Well, it surprised tha hell outta me—I liked it and did real damn good at it. That branched off into me offerin’ fitness help at a few of the gyms, helping people here and there with the equipment, giving them tips. People were always asking me how’d I get so buff. See, a lot of tall guys like me don’t have strong legs, but I made it a mission to build up my calves and really have an overall good appearance. Before I knew it, I got hired at one of the gyms and was doing contract work that way, too. Turns out, I was amazing at it.
“So amazing, people started talking and I had movie stars ’nd shit hitting me up. Then that allowed me to get more in the public eye and I decided to make some YouTube videos. One of my videos went viral where I was explaining to women how to get rid of baby fat in a safe but efficient way after they gave birth; and I had another video about nutrition, eating on a Keto diet, that did the same thing. It’s been a whirlwind ever since.”
“I watched one of your YouTube videos while I was getting ready for our date tonight.”
He placed his napkin across his lap.
“Did you, huh? What did you think?”
“You sounded professional… I was impressed. You looked and sounded nothing like you do right now.”
“That’s work… that’s business. I can’t be myself on that fuckin’ video. People wouldn’t take me seriously. Right now,” he said, “I’m in my element. Moving to my own rhythm, working this on my terms, doing things how I want them. This date has nothin’ to do with money. Therefore, I can be myself.”
“Can you?”
“Yeah… What’s that supposed to mean?” He rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands.
“I think you change up for whatever the occasion is… like a chameleon. You become what you think the audience or person you’re with expects you to be, or what will get you the results that you want. Most people probably don’t really know who you are. You have a duality, two sides of your personality, and one is dark, the other is light…”
He stared at her for a long while, not sure if he liked what he heard—but he heard her loud and clear all the same.
“Are you a Freud
doctor or some shit?” he spat before slamming his menu down. “You don’t know me.”
Her expression never changed at his reaction. “Nope, I don’t.”
“Then why are you bustin’ my chops? Does that get your pussy wet or somethin’? Here I am, being nice to you, spending my hard-earned money, wanting to share some time with you, and you’re sitting over there giving me the third turd degree and trying to act like the Einstein of psychology.” He laughed dismally, then huffed. “Yo!” He raised his arm in the air and waved. “Can I get a wine menu, please?”
“Do you think I’m saying you’re stupid, Gio?”
“Now why in the hell would I think that? Nothing you said made it seem like you were sayin’ I was stupid.”
“Well then, what’s the problem?”
He didn’t like her easy-going ways, the proud smirk on her face, the twists and turns in her thick hair, or the sparkle in her dark, slanted eyes.
“You’re saying I’m sneaky… that I’m moody. You’re saying I’m like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. That I’m unpredictable and manipulative.”
“I didn’t say any of that. You did.” She placed her menu down and took a sip of her water. “Do you think that’s true about you? What you just said?”
It was at that moment he realized he had a real bitch on his hands. There was a woman sitting before him with a pretty face and banging body, but that brain of hers was the real star of the fucking show. In moments like these, he usually cracked a joke or two to worm his way out of the uncomfortable situation, or he might curse out a motherfucker for less offensive words. If intoxicated, he was known to throw fists, and he didn’t fight to lose…
She was sitting there looking sexy as hell, teasing him and insulting him all at once. But then he thought about how he wanted her… how each time she opened her mouth, he craved her, he drew quiet. He wanted to know what her lips would feel like against his, to find out what her pussy smelled like when it was all hot and wet, and to discover what made her toes curl. He hoped and prayed said toes were painted and taken care of like her hands and nails, too.
I like this fuckin’ bitch… fuckin’ ball buster… fuckin’ mind fucker… pretty face my ass! She’s a fuckin’ demon in heels. Sexy, chinky eyed, fat assed bitch. Demons fuck the best… But sometimes I’m Satan, the original fallen angel. She’s got nothin’ on me…
“Yeah, some of it’s true.” The woman laughed at his confession, the kind of laugh that rattled your ribs. She had a satisfied look on her face, as if she’d unearthed something near and dear to him that no one had before.
“Which parts are true?”
“Enough of ’em. I guess you want the details?”
“Of course I do.”
“All right then, here we go, Black Chyna. I manipulate people for sport, sometimes outta necessity. I lie sometimes to get my fucking way. Everyone lies every now and again, it’s part of life. Most people can’t handle the truth so I have to do what I have to do. I’m charming when I need to be, an angel like you’ve never seen. Other times, I’m a walkin’ nightmare if you get me mad enough. I take it easier on women though than I do with guys… gotta really be pushed to my breaking point to lose it on a lady. My temper can be explosive if pushed too much. I don’t like being toyed with, ya know? I love my family, so that probably keeps me a little bit on the straight and narrow. Even at my age, I still care about what my grandmother thinks of me.”
“That’s sweet.” She smiled, seeming sincere.
“But she doesn’t know who I am. She thinks she does, but she only knows a little of what I’m like.”
He put his fingers up, bringing thumb and forefinger close to indicate a smidgen.
“My grandmother thinks I’m the choir boy next door. I treat her and my mother like queens; everyone else gets ignored unless I love them. The last chick I dated thinks I’m a fuckin’ dick and frankly, I don’t give a shit. My clients think I’m amazing. I do care about that… because that’s my money, that’s how I survive. My mother loves me to death but thinks I’m a smart-ass twit. My father and college professors believe I’m smart. My brother saw me get my tongue stuck on a pole in the dead of winter twenty years ago so he thinks I’m a shmuck. Everyone thinks something different about me, baby, but few know the entire truth. I honestly don’t think about that too much. I wouldn’t say it’s intentional. It’s just something that happens. It’s not like I’m walking around trying to keep people away from me. I like people, ya know? I just have to be comfortable with ya.”
“So, you keep your true self away from the public for what reason then?” She took another sip of her water.
“Hell, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I’m in denial my goddamn self so how the fuck am I gonna school anyone on all that is Giovanni Luciano?” He grinned, though a pain in his chest came out of nowhere… “Now, what do you wanna eat? The waiter is coming over soon and I got shit to do. I hope by the end of the night, you’ll be one of ’em…”
Vanessa found herself in Bushwick, Brooklyn with a smock on and holding a can of red spray paint. After dinner, she and Giovanni had had such a good time, neither wanted the evening to end. She couldn’t believe it, but she took him up on his offer to go to a graffiti spray paint class he’d just found out about on his phone—he’d searched for something fun for them to do since she refused to go back with him to his place, much to his dismay. Regardless, he took it well after the second, ‘No’, and now here they were, standing in a small crowd of people, getting an art lesson on how to deface property in the late hours of the night.
“There’s a difference between graffiti and street art,” the man before them explained.
She felt Gio’s hand graze hers, and then they were holding hands. From the nose down, his face was covered with a mask, which made him look like a doctor, but it didn’t hide the smile in his eyes as he looked down at her. He was beautiful. Not just physically, but the man was funny-bone-busting hilarious. She also appreciated the glimpse of honesty he’d given her, as well as his sensuality. He was affectionate, kissing on her neck and hands, hugging her, but not going too far—always toeing the line. He smelled good, and he was fun… so much damn fun.
Even if we don’t ever have a second date, tonight was much needed. This shit is real, like medicine. This is such a great stress reliever.
“So, you’re havin’ fun, right? Gotta make sure you’re having fun.”
“Hell yes.”
She grinned, and from the way his mask moved, he grinned back. They kept listening to the instructor’s spiel and before long, they were standing in front of a wall and spray painting their hearts out. After a few minutes, she caught a glimpse of him and had to place her arm over her mouth to keep from exploding with laughter. Gio had snatched his mask off and tossed it to the ground midway through. He was going to town with his spray paint, his arms working hard and a look of pure determination on his face. But there was one problem. His picture looked like a bunch of cocks stuffed between blades of grass. The instructor slowed as he strolled by, then burst out laughing before he continued on his way. This seemed to confuse Gio, for he suddenly stopped, looked at his work, and then began to go clean the hell off.
“Oh really?! Did ya see that? He’s laughing at my shit!”
“No, he’s not.” Her lip quivered as she tried to swallow the lie.
“Yeah, the hell he is. What’s so funny?” Giovanni paused, took several steps back, and surveyed his ‘art’ from various angles. His face suddenly went from tense to ‘oh no.’
“Jesus Christ! Looks like a bunch of big fuckin’ penises sprouting in a damn forest! I was tryna make a garden, ya see, a bunch of flowers and mushrooms right there, but this looks like X-rated Alice in Wonderland shit!”
She burst out laughing, trying to stop several times to no avail. A look of angst came over his face.
“But look at yours!” He pointed at her work, his eyes large. “Damn, you’re good, Vanessa. That’s like a lady holding
a pie, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you? Like Leonardo di Vinci?”
“No, but I uh… I just like to draw and paint. I do makeup, remember? I better know a little something about color and layout.” If she was a betting woman, she’d think the bastard had been trying to compete with her. He definitely seemed like the type.
“What made you paint that?”
“You were talking about your grandmother a lot tonight, so I painted mine.”
He nodded in approval, as if loving her answer.
“Jesus Christ!” he muttered. “You’re paintin’ pretty pastries and I’m spray paintin’ custard launchers… fuckin’ Boston cream cocks! Nice! Real fuckin’ nice! I think we’re done here!”
He tossed down his can and snatched his smock off. Her body convulsed as she laughed her ass off, and he was laughing, too. The man was turning red in the face and soon, others looked at his painting and burst out laughing as well.
“They’re fuckin’ mushrooms!” He said between chortles. “I swear! Let’s go. I’m outta here.”
He waved a finger in her direction, clearly finished with being the butt, or perhaps penis, of everyone’s joke. Moments later, they were walking to his car. The man opened her door for her and the wonderful scent of fresh leather seats filled the air. She looked at the time on her cellphone and couldn’t believe it was almost one in the morning.
“I’ve had so much fun tonight, Giovanni…” She lounged back onto the seat, feeling free, weightless, and content. “Thank you for the great dinner, good conversation and graffiti party.”
He turned on the engine and headed towards the road.
“I’d never been to one of those before. That was a lot of fun… penis garden and all,” she said, smiling.
“I had a real good time, too.”
He turned his music on. “Tyrant” by Kali Uchis featuring Jorja Smith played from the stereo. Reaching over, he intertwined their fingers and squeezed her hand. She pressed her thighs together as she inhaled the air, smelling his rich musky cologne mixing in with the scent of the leather.