He looked at King and smiled. “All right, then.” He looked back at Ivy and Sophia. “It was nice meeting you, ladies.”
Ivy struck another sexy pose and put her perfectly manicured hand back on his chest. “Nice meeting you too, baby. I hope to do lunch, dinner, or just skip to dessert with you real soon.” She examined his manhood and licked her lips. “Mmm . . .”
Swag turned around, but before he walked over to the elevator, he felt a tap on his butt. He turned around and saw Ivy smiling seductively.
“Damn, baby, you got a nice, firm, phat ass,” she said, grinning lustfully.
Both King and Sophia giggled.
Swag shook his head and speed-walked to the elevator.
Chapter 9
Twinkle Toes
Once Swag got on the eleventh floor, he followed the directions King told him to find the bathroom where the first aid kit was. Once in the bathroom, he closed the door and locked it. The last thing he wanted was King’s crazy ass popping up. And he especially didn’t want Ivy’s horny, schoolgirl ass in his business too.
Swag took the handkerchief off his wounded hand. He couldn’t believe what he saw. Facing him was a huge, ugly cut—the kind you saw in horror movies. Looking at the wound, he knew he needed stitches before his hand got infected. He started to wonder why he’d even left the prison to come to the Palace. Then he thought if he stayed in the rat-hole prison, he and the fellas would’ve gotten a three-to-five-year sentence. Plus, Swag considered himself to be too fine to be in anyone’s prison. His freedom was way too valuable to him.
As he opened the door to the medicine cabinet, he saw it was like a mini pharmacy. It had everything you might need from condoms, medicines, to Xanax, and painkillers. Swag also saw something he hadn’t seen since he was a kid. Iodine. He grabbed the bottle of alcohol, cotton balls, iodine, and a few painkillers. Then he doctored his hand with the alcohol. “Aah . . .” he shouted in agony from the burning feeling. “Shit!”
Once the alcohol finished working its magic, Swag put some iodine on his hand. It burned a little, but not as bad as the alcohol. When the iodine dried, he wrapped his hand with the bandage. After it was tightly wrapped, he looked at himself in the mirror. He no longer saw that hardcore pretty boy who was running the streets of the Lou that everyone feared and loved. All he saw now was a scared little boy who didn’t know if he was going to live or die. He lowered his head, trying to hold back his tears. One thing all the hustlers taught him was not to show any fear. If you did, you were considered weak. Swag took deep breaths. He was determined to win this battle and get himself out of the shit he’d gotten him into, along with his boys.
He then thought about his cousin, Brad. He wondered if Brad was still alive, if he ever got out of Brazil in one piece . . . even if he got his lady, Diamond, and that if he would ever see his cousin again. Swag lifted his head, shaking it for a moment, not knowing the answers to his own questions. He turned on the water and splashed it in his face. He also took a sip to wet his dry throat. While gazing at the mirror again, he made promises to himself that he wasn’t sure he could keep. Those promises, along with prayers, revolved around his boys, keeping them safe, and finding Brad. Swag crossed his fingers, pounded his chest, kissed his balled-up hand, and pointed his index finger to the most high. “Amen.”
He left the bathroom and paused when he heard music coming from down the long hall. At first, he thought about heading back down to where King was, but then he thought of Ivy’s horny ass. He decided to be like a nosy white person from a horror film and investigate the noise.
Swag moved closer to the classical music, which, in his mind, was very weird to him to hear coming from King’s place. When he got close to the door, he tried to remember where he’d heard that music before. A lightbulb came on in his head. Swag remembered the music to Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet, Swan Lake. His little sister, Tamara, was the lead as Odette for one of her many boring dance recitals his nana used to drag him to along with his siblings.
Tamara was a talented dancer who danced hip-hop, tap, but her love was ballet. She was a mixture of the late, great Janet Collins and Janet Jackson. Swag remembered his baby sister being beautiful as a child, even though he would make fun of her. And he remembered her telling him and Nana, “When I grow up. I’m going to New York to attend Julliard to study how to be a famous prima ballerina, travel the world, be an actress and singer, live in Rome or England, marry a Russian billionaire, and have thirteen children when I retire from dancing at 55.” Swag remembered Nana just laughing, especially about the parts of marrying a Russian billionaire and once she retired at 55 to have thirteen children. But the part that made Nana melt was when Tamara told her she was going to take care of her, and Nana was going to live with her in a mansion in either Rome or England.
Swag smiled at the memory, but then his face fell flat as he looked at the floor, and evil memories came into play . . . memories that related to Juanita and Mitch. They’d said negative things to Tamara like, “You too black,” “You too ugly,” “You can’t dance,” “You a ho bitch.” Swag tried to do his best to encourage her, but he was too busy in the streets saving up to get the hell as far away from his mother and Mitch as possible. Years later, Swag was glad to find out Mitch was gunned down and killed from a drug deal gone bad.
Unfortunately, the last update he’d heard about Tamara was that she was nothing but a petty-ass thot with a coke problem. Also, before the age of 18, she’d had three kids: two boys and a girl who were all taken from her and put into the system.
The music behind the closed door began to get even more intense. He was curious to know what was behind that door. He turned the knob and poked his head inside.
On the other side of the door was the ultimate shock surpassing all that he’d seen the last few days. It was as if he’d seen an angel that God brought to him. It was like a breath of fresh air, and he opened the door wider, realizing the room was a huge dance studio. The floor was so shiny that he could see his reflection. The walls were painted white and Tiffany green, and all the furniture pieces were from Tiffany’s. What really caught Swag’s eyes were the numerous photographs on the walls of the legendary dancer/singer, and St. Louis’s own, Ms. Josephine Baker.
Swag took his eyes off the late Josephine Baker’s photos and saw a vision of loveliness. There she was . . . a sexy, flawless, cinnamon-colored bombshell dancer in the center of the room in her own world. She was gorgeous, and she made Zaria look like a common stripper, and Milena, who he’d met back in Brazil, the ultimate gold digger she was. Swag smiled and decided to nickname the dancer “Twinkle Toes.” She was petite, had soft, almond-shaped brown eyes, a cute bunny nose, kissable full lips, and her face was adorable like an expensive china doll.
Even though baby girl was petite, her body looked good in the light blue, sequin tutu with matching ballet slippers. She also had a blue headwrap on, making her even more mysterious looking. Twinkle Toes looked like she had been dancing all her life. She was making every move from a croisé, pirouette, and a plié.
Swag remembered some of the terminology Tamara had to use when she was in ballet school. He couldn’t stop thinking about her as he kept watching the dancer with fascination and amazement. As the Swan Lake music started to die down, Twinkle Toes went behind a four-panel divider. Within seconds, African tribal music started playing. Twinkle Toes came back, but this time in a whole different outfit. She was now wearing a vintage cocktail retro with an African print Ankara dashiki dress. She still wore her head wrap, but she didn’t have her ballet slippers on. She did an African traditional dance as she worked her hips and butt like she was working for tips. Swag was so impressed with this chick. He wondered how she could go from a beautiful swan to a gorgeous African goddess so quickly. He could tell she didn’t belong in this brothel, and once the music was over, she bowed and sat on the floor while lowering her head.
Swag clapped his hands. “Bravo! Bravo!”
Start
led, Twinkle Toes snapped her head to the side. She looked Swag’s way and got off the floor. As she walked in his direction, he continued to clap.
“Hold up! What do you want? If it’s what I think you want,” Twinkle Toes hissed as she marched toward him with a dagger in her hand, “then you have another think coming, sir.”
Swag lifted his hands and laughed. “Hey, hey, ma, it’s okay. I was coming out of the bathroom when I heard your Swan Lake music down the hallway. I had to see what was up. I watched your routine, and I loved it. I liked how you took a classic and mixed it with African culture. It was beautiful.”
Twinkle Toes had a change of heart and put the dagger behind her. She smirked at him. “Thank you, sir. But what you thought was African is a Haitian dance.”
“Oh, my bad. I didn’t know you were Haitian.”
“Yes, sir, I’m Haitian Creole.”
Swag smiled. “Damn, that’s sexy. Say something in Creole for me.”
She playfully rolled her eyes. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew Swag could most definitely get it. She couldn’t get over how fine he was, and to her, he resembled model Don Benjamin. So, she said in Creole, “What the hell you want from me?”
“Nothing, I think you kind of fly, especially the way you dance, baby girl,” he replied, remembering some of the Creole he learned while messing around with a chick in Miami.
Twinkle Toes was so impressed. “Damn, you speak Creole beautifully. Are you Haitian as well, sir?”
Swag laughed as he seemed to have her undivided attention. “Oh, nah, ma. I’m black mixed with Puerto Rican.” He pointed at her with a smile on his face. “And don’t ask me to speak Spanish.”
They both laughed.
“I won’t, sir.”
“None of that ‘sir’ stuff.” Swag held out his hand to shake hers. “I’m—”
Before he could introduce himself, they were interrupted by King’s voice. “Oh, there you are.”
They turned around to look at King, who was walking their way. When Swag walked into the room, the essence was so warm, vibrant, and peaceful. Now, the atmosphere felt below zero degrees. She was undoubtedly the Snow Queen or “The Snow King” of her palace.
King looked at Twinkle Toes, then at Swag. She smiled. “I see you two have met.”
“Oh, not officially,” Twinkle Toes said with a chuckle.
“Really?” King said. “Well, Solomon, this is my daughter, Josephine Batiste.” King pointed to Twinkle Toes. Josephine and Swag shook hands.
“You can call me Josie,” Josephine said.
“No, he will not. You are strictly Josephine after your idol, Josephine Baker. Josephine, this is our houseguest, Solomon Carter.”
Josie ignored King and continued to smile at Swag. “Nice meeting you, sir. I mean, Solomon.”
“You too, ma,” Swag said.
He stood in amazement because he didn’t know King had a child. “Your daughter? How? King, was you six years old when you had Josie or something?”
King shook her head and laughed. “Oh, no, baby. Josie isn’t my blood child. There is no way in hell I’m fucking up this body for nine months of pure hell. I have a world to rule.” She walked over to Josie. “For now, I have an adopted child and protégé.” She put both her hands on Josie’s face. Then she walked in circles, admiring her child.
She’d cared for Josie ever since she was 12½ years old. At first, she nurtured her like she were her flesh and blood child, but now that Josie was getting older and sexier, King had so many plans for her. Sometimes, after sex with one of her guys or girls, King would often masturbate herself to sleep just thinking about Josie. And the best part about Josie that turned King on was that baby girl was still a virgin. If there were one thing King loved, it was a good ol’ virgin, especially a female. Her passion for Josie, however, could wait. She noticed a few things with Josie were out of place, so she frowned.
“Sweetie, what did I tell you about dancing to that god-awful African jungle music? This won’t take you places like ballet will. And what’s up with the getup?” King pointed to the African attire and head wrap. “I make sure you have plenty of prima ballerina outfits and materials to help you make your own. Not this mess.”
Swag couldn’t believe King was insulting Josie’s attire and Haitian culture. But what got him was how Josie was taking King’s insults with a simple sweet smile on her face.
“Please dispose of the garment, ASAP,” King said.
“Sure, Mother, no problem,” Josie replied softly, knowing damn well she wasn’t throwing away an outfit she’d made— especially one she considered the best outfit she made yet. For now, she was going to put it in her secret place where she kept outfits King didn’t approve of.
King smiled and looked up at the head wrap on Josie’s head. “For God’s sake, Josephine.” Without asking, she took the headwrap off Josie’s head.
Swag had a look in his eyes like, “Oh no, this trick didn’t.” Now that was mad disrespectful what this bitch just did. This chick! But then Swag noticed why King wasn’t feeling the head wrap on Josie. It was covering her long, black girl hair, which, in America, would be considered good hair. Josie’s hair flowed down her back. It was the icing on the cake that brought out her beauty.
King threw the head wrap to the side and stroked Josie’s hair. “You know how I feel about these rugs on your head. No child of mine wears those. Hair this good should never ever be covered or even cut. I don’t want you ever to wear this shit in my presence. The only towel I want to see on your head is the one you come out of the shower wearing. Understand?” King placed her hand on Josie’s shoulder.
Josie thought her mother’s hand on her shoulder was like venom from a snake, but she didn’t want to make her mad. She put a smile on her face and told King what she wanted to hear. “Sure, Mother, not a problem.”
King smiled. “Thank you, my child. Now, go to your room and get out of that outfit. Dinner will be served in a few hours.”
Josie nodded.
King narrowed her eyes and looked seductively at Swag. “Come, Solomon.” She walked toward the door to exit.
After King left the room, the chill from her negative vibes evaporated.
Swag addressed Josie again. “Nice meeting you, Josie. And don’t worry about what King said. You look beautiful in that outfit, with or without the head wrap.”
Josie was flattered. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you too, Solomon.”
“Swag.”
“What?” Josie asked with a confused look on her face. “Swag?”
“Yeah, that was my tag name back home. If I call you Josie, then you can call me Swag. Just not when King’s around. Between us.”
Josie giggled and nodded. She was about to open her mouth when she heard King from outside the room, yelling, “Solomon! Come! Now!”
Swag walked to the door, and in moments, Blood entered the room with a twisted face.
“Hurry up. The King doesn’t like to wait,” Blood said. “Let’s go.”
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Josephine,” Swag said.
Josie nodded and mouthed, “You too, Swag.”
That bought a smile to Swag’s face. He felt all warm and fuzzy around Josie. He hadn’t had this feeling inside him for years. He didn’t know what kind of Haitian voodoo Josie had put on him, but it was working. The feeling he had wasn’t sexual—it was like something he hadn’t felt since Zaria. He wanted to get to know Josie on a physical level. She seemed so pure, innocent, and like a diamond in the rough. Being around her made him feel like he was a teenager again. But Swag’s mood changed when he felt a hard blow to his head.
“Ow!” Swag fell to his knees. “Shit! Shit, man!” He rubbed the back of his head. It felt like his head was on fire from that hit. “That shit hurt!” He looked up at Blood, who was in his space. Blood chuckled as he cracked his knuckles.
“Young buck, what I gave you was just an appetizer out of respect for the King, my King. If you fail to follo
w the King’s orders again, trust and believe, the repercussions will be a whole lot worse.”
Swag rolled his eyes and rubbed his throbbing head.
“You hear me?” Blood said, pulling Swag up by his neck.
Swag was in utter shock. He didn’t know if Blood planned on snapping his neck.
Blood shouted in his ear. “Do. You. Hear. Me?”
Josie moved in another direction because she didn’t want to be in the middle of this bullshit. Her heart went out to Swag. Please don’t hurt him, she thought.
Swag was in so much pain that all he could do was cooperate. “Yeah, yeah! I hear you, man. Shit!”
Blood smiled and patted him on his head. “Good boy.” Then he pushed him down to the ground. “Now, move your ass!”
Swag struggled to get up, and Josie rushed over to help him. He waved her off. “Back up. I got this! Shit!”
Josie stepped back. “Fine!”
Swag regained his balance and walked out of Josie’s dance room. She walked around for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. “Damn,” she whispered.
She was at a total loss. She had no idea what her mother was going to do with Swag. She knew it wasn’t going to be good, so she lost her enthusiasm to dance and went to shower.
* * *
Swag and Blood walked down the long hallway and headed toward the elevator. Swag looked back at Josie’s door. He didn’t mean to raise his voice at her, but he’d be damned if he was going to look like a punk in front of any female. Hell, in his mind, he was still fearless and savage at heart. The only thing on his mind, at the moment, however, was to crack Blood’s skull in half and get that ass when he was off guard.
Blood turned his head back around and made himself clear. “No, not for you. Josephine is off-limits.”
“What you mean about off-limits, playa?”
Blood grabbed Swag’s arm and twisted it before pushing the up button on the elevator. “Listen, I’m only going to say this once. Don’t look, say, or do anything to Josephine. She’s King’s child, and no man is to touch her. So, as a fair warning, don’t touch her. Understand?”
Hardhearted Page 6