by Tiana Laveen
“So, they have live performers like this every night?” She sipped from her glass of wine.
He swiveled in his chair, now facing the patrons and the glowing stage. The main performance hadn’t yet begun. People were milling about, talking in loud voices, drinking their hearts out. Majesty stood for a bit, as if she needed to stretch. I can stretch you out all right… He smiled at the thought, which ebbed as the smoke from Cigar Guy, who was now walking away.
When she sat back down, she seemed to feel his gaze on her. She smiled, her eyes gleaming as if she were coming to, from a long dream.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I want to.” She grimaced in an exaggerated sort of way, making him laugh. “So, at dinner tonight, you tossed questions at me like I was on a witness stand, and that’s cool.” He threw up his hands, while she folded her arms and pursed her lips. “But now, it’s my turn.”
“Okay. What is it you wanna know?” She took another taste of her drink.
“You told me you work in customer service for a couple different companies, and you teach some online classes, but what do you really enjoy?”
“Like hobbies?”
“Kinda. Our dream job should feel like a hobby, too. So, if you had your dream job, what would it be?”
“I want to be the Human Resources Director for a major company. I want to help ensure that employees get quality healthcare, and that the company I work for has integrity. I want to deal with all of the legal issues as far as first point of reference for the company and the employees, and I want to help create employee guidelines and—”
“Okay. Stop.” He waved his hand. “I know what an H.R. director does. This isn’t an interview.”
“You can’t ask me a question and tell me how to answer it.”
“I want you to tell me why you’re passionate about that though. What drives that desire of yours to fulfill that role for all those people?”
She dropped the attitude, and her shoulders slumped as she mulled his question.
“That’s a good question.”
“I know it is. Do you have an answer?”
“I sure as hell do.” She sat straighter, seriousness in her eyes. “I want to be what I wish I had, at so many different jobs. Like I told you tonight, I hate my job. What makes it bearable are some of my co-workers, but I don’t like much of the management. They don’t know how to treat people and in fact treat me like some token Black since I am one of the few in there. I was passed over for customer service manager twice, by two White women who were far less qualified.” He could see the hurt and anger in her eyes. “I needed that promotion. But see, I let that anger drive me to continue getting my education. It motivated me so that one day, I’ll be able to tell all of them to kiss my ass. I want to be one of the good guys when I climb up this corporate ladder.
“I want to be the person employees can turn to, that they can trust. I want to be the person they know has their best interest in mind, not just the company’s. It’s hard to do both, but not impossible. The reason why I’m also passionate about this, as you say, is because I honestly enjoy that type of work, Viper. I was an assistant H.R. manager at one job, a long time ago, and I loved it.” Her eyes lit up. “That company closed down, but it was the best two vocational years of my life. It didn’t pay enough, but it showed me exactly what I wanted to do.”
“I can respect that.”
“Well, that’s good, ’cause Lord knows if you didn’t respect it, Viper, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself!” She rolled her eyes, then burst out laughing. He shook his finger at her, amused.
“Looks like they’re setting up.” He gestured to the stage.
“Oh, good!” A few seconds later, she glanced at her watch. “Let me call Troy real quick. He might be already asleep, but I want to make sure he’s doing okay.” He nodded in understanding as she went somewhere quieter, cell phone in hand.
As he sat there for a bit, he pondered his work schedule, then decided to check his own phone. He’d turned it off while on this date, something he never did. Tonight, he didn’t want any disturbances. A waitress came by. He looked at his empty beer bottle, his usual draft, and decided to try something else. Sometimes this place has authentic Cuban beers.
“Do you have Bucanero Fuerte? It’s a native Cuban beer.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Bring me that, please.”
“Sure.” The waitress nodded and sauntered off.
He looked down at his phone and noted several missed calls and text messages, mostly to do with dog training and a party he and his King brothers had been invited to in Orlando. Then, a message caught his eye.
King Brick (Jose): King Golden Boy got flipped and shanked at chow-hall.
He wrote back.
Viper: Is he dead?
King Brick: No, but he’s fucked up. Bad.
Viper: Who did it?
King Brick: Jaguar got King Cadillac to do it, and a couple of his boys who are in the same prison.
Viper: Why?
King Brick: Said he was talking shit about Jaguar. Said Gold had said Jag was setting people up he didn’t like. He accused Gold of working with the Feds. Ahora es un hombre marcado.
He slipped his phone back in his pocket, a million thoughts swirling through his head. The waitress returned with his beer, and he asked that she refresh Majesty’s wine.
Viper crossed his arms and watched the band set up, while the people got riled with excitement. He liked this place quite a bit, but nothing beat the clubs back in Little Havana. His brain searched, swam, and dipped in the deep end of his consciousness. Memories and emotions were often covered in heavy cloaks of voluntary forgetfulness. His heart was ice, his feelings elusive, skipping into the depths of weary shadows and swallowed whole by gold and black holes – deficits in his own cosmos.
I am so fuckin’ sick of this shit. I can’t even take a honey out, have us enjoy ourselves without someone getting flipped or merked due to Jag. He’s supposed to contact me first. He went over my head. He knows he doesn’t have to answer to me; he’s Second Crown of our Miami, Florida division, our VP, but I’m right under him. I’m Warlord, the Third Crown, and some in the nation consider us practically equal. We’re both high-ranking, and the pride of men will destroy.
He wasn’t man enough to be Warlord. He can’t handle the blood but likes to cause it and then look away. He wants the glory without the guts. His cousin got him on board. Without that family tie, without King Snoopy, may he rest in peace, he would’ve been nothin’. I’m smarter than him, that’s for damn sure, because he lets his emotions dictate his next move. That’s weak-minded. Some pussy shit. Jag is charismatic though, and he knows how to make large sums of money fast, but so do I, if I must.
Still, he doesn’t know how to handle business beyond that. He just pretends that he does. I’m always makin’ him look good, as I always do. I’m the muscle. No one is supposed to get cut, beat up, worked over, punished, or taken out without my approval, and if it is real serious, we have to go through King Blood. Jaguar knew I’d tell him this was a fucked-up thing to do, so he didn’t bother to call me this time around. It’s all about his ego.
Even if he goes over my head, we had an unspoken rule that he’s supposed to fucking tell me first! Now I’m getting text messages that he got work done on Golden Boy. Golden Boy always says what he feels, so no surprise his mouth got him in trouble, but this is ridiculous. It’s juvenile. We’re supposed to have evolved beyond this. Golden Boy and Jag never liked each other anyway. Jag is still runnin’ shit for our division, prison bars be damned, but he’s out of control. Golden Boy is in his way. I know he wants him gone. Golden has high favor with several high-ranking Kings in Florida and Georgia. Golden is up for promotion. Jag got called on the carpet about that botched sting operation two years ago. That’s the REAL motivation right there.
I wonder if King Blood knows that Jag is trippin’? I could call a meeting, but th
en that would bring light to the fact that I’ve got beef with Jag. Jag knows I’m pissed. I told him about this shit before, that it wasn’t right. Regardless, I need to keep these communication lines open with this fool, even if he does pick and choose what to tell me. Some information is better than none. Marie and the brothers will fill in the rest. If he realizes I see him cracking, he’ll either avoid me or try to start some shit to have me targeted. I can’t let that happen right now. I need him to believe that I think he has everything under control. Gotta play this cool…
Just then, Majesty returned, looking out of sorts.
“¿Hay algo mal?”
“Huh? What did you say?” She frowned at him, scowling.
He laughed.
“I said, is something wrong?”
Blue, purple, and pink lights spun all around and the lead singer of the band began to test the microphone.
“Troy has been acting up.”
“Acting up? He got into a fight with one of the other kids the babysitter has tonight or something?” She shook her head. “Well, what is it? You had mentioned she had some other children over there that he plays with and—”
“No… well, yes, there are other kids, no fighting… kinda fighting… but not like that.”
“Now it’s my turn to say, ‘huh?’” He chuckled.
She swallowed and looked away, her complexion deepening. “I found out they had a birthday party for one of the kids there tonight. Troy was helping to blow up the balloons, and… and uh…”
“And what?”
“Nelson, another kid there at the party, caught Troy in a spare bedroom, bent over, his pants down and a balloon up to his damn ass.” Viper sucked his teeth to keep from changing his facial expression, and God forbid, laughing. “Right before that, he was slipping out of the kitchen where they were blowing up the balloons, going into that bedroom, and privately farting in them. Then he was returning to the kitchen, where everyone was, and releasing them into the air. He kept doing it, and no one knew where the smell was coming from until Nelson caught him in the act.”
Viper held out as long as he could, but then he erupted in laughter so hard, it made his stomach clench like never before. He was practically sliding out of his chair, melting right in his skin. His muscles gave out on him as his body lulled about in the chair, and he couldn’t catch his breath! His eyes watered until moisture was soon cascading down his cheeks, and he’d come undone. He could hear Majesty faintly going off in the background, something about, ‘…It’s not funny, Viper!’ By the time he had gotten himself together, she was sitting in her chair, rapidly rocking her leg back and forth and staring at the stage, doused in anger like gasoline – and he was the fiery match.
“Majesty…” he said with a snort as he tried to stop from laughing again. It was a tall order. “Majesty…” She kept looking straight ahead. “What’s wrong? Do you think I have a strange scent of humor?” And once more, he surrendered to the laughter, his gut hurting, his face hot, and his body trembling. She seemed unimpressed. “Baby… baby… Hey, how do you know when a clown farts?” She kept ignoring him. “…It smells funny. Hey… how does NASA pass gas, baby? They do it using ass-teroids! One more… one more…What do I have if I fart in my wallet? Gas money!”
This time, her mouth twitched as she tried to keep from giving in. The music began to play, drowning him out. She seemed satisfied with this, until he whipped out his cell phone and texted her:
Majesty, if a ho farts, is she called a prostiTOOT?
She clutched the phone and looked at the screen, the light bathing her face. And then he witnessed the angry mother-of-one’s eyes light up and narrow as she laughed her head off.
They went on to enjoy the music when the first song played, a Caribbean style fast jazz tune. People meandered to the dance floor. The pretty lady beside him jumped to her feet and grabbed his arm, a big smile on her face.
“Come on! Let’s dance!”
“Nah, you go ahead.”
“What?!” she yelled over the music and commotion. “You told me you were takin’ me out dancing. We’re here now, come on.” She pulled harder at him, but he wouldn’t budge. He curled his finger, motioning her to bring her ear close to his mouth. She hesitated for a moment, then did so.
“…I wanted to take you out dancing, so you could hear some good ass music. Live. I don’t dance, baby. I wanted you to blow off some steam. Now go on… dance. Have fun.”
He leaned back and waved her off before taking another swig from his bottle of beer. She waltzed off and at some point, she became engulfed in the crowd, but he could still feel her… knowing she was twirling and moving about, dancing to her heart’s content. She came back into view. The curls in her hair had fallen over her face, a sheen of sweat covered her skin, and she looked so sexy. Beautiful. Strong. Soft. Incredible.
She danced as if she’d been holding inside the weight of the world, and gave birth right there, to her own freedom. Something about moving and swaying to the beat of a good song would make everything all right. Music soothed the savage beasts. Music was a universal language; everyone had the urge to tap their feet every now and again. Music made angry men pause, made vipers tango and salsa. Another song came on, and she was still at it.
A man approached her to dance. Viper slowly sat up, watching.
He clasped his hands, trying to ignore the fact that he felt froggy and hot all over. He observed as she smiled and talked with the stranger… far too long for his liking, but then, she pointed at him, and the man turned toward him. Viper smirked, raised his arm, and waved at the fucker. The man walked off, leaving her alone. Yeah, that’s right. Keep it movin’…
A few hours later the good times at the Funky Biscuit came to an end. They left, laughing and talking, the cool air feeling good as they made their way to his parked car. He ignored the drunk guys trying to engage him in car chat—wanting to know where he’d gotten it, and if they could take it for a spin. He helped her into the car, got in, and drove off back towards their homes. When he turned on the radio, Queen Naija, featuring Ari Lennox, was crooning ‘Set Him Up.’
“Oh, this is my shit! Turn it up, Viper!” She was loose now. Between the dancing, conversation, laughter and the wine, the woman was in her zone. He leisurely leaned forward and turned it up while she rocked those sexy hips to the beat. When he pulled into her driveway, his heart was beating a mile a minute. It was three in the damn morning, but it felt like they’d only been out for a couple of hours.
This was one of the best dates I’ve ever had. I like how she looks… how she smells… how she talks. I love her humor, her modesty, and her confidence. I’m going to do this right. She’s definitely a candidate. Makes a motherfucker seriously consider turning over a new leaf. Well, I already was, but she could make it all the easier…
He cut off the car, hopped out, and opened her door. As he helped her to her feet, the fresh air caught the scent of her perfume and natural aroma, and it sent him into a lust-filled, hedonistic place. His dick hardened and throbbed, overdosing on all that was she.
Taking her hand, he walked her up to her front door, she holding the flowers, and him pretending to be the perfect gentleman.
“I had such a fun time tonight, Viper. Even if you’re lame and can’t dance.” She placed the bouquet of roses on a nearby windowsill.
“I didn’t say I couldn’t dance. I said I don’t dance. In actuality, I do dance sometimes, but I wanted tonight to be about you.” She gave him a curious look, as if trying to pick his mind. Perhaps she believed she had some super-power to do that. After a few seconds of silence, she pulled out her keys from her purse.
“You should’ve danced with me like I asked you to. I would’ve had more fun. Men kept hitting on me, thinking I was alone. Or was that a test? Did you want to see how I’d handle that?” She opened her front door but didn’t enter yet.
“Nah, no testing. It just seems to me that you’re so busy all the time, you never get time to y
ourself. You needed to unwind, but the main reason I did that is because dancing, even fast dancing, can be sensual. I’d be too much for you.”
“Oh, here you go!” She laughed.
“You were so concerned with thinking all I wanted to do was fuck you, I didn’t want you to feel as if I was up to something.” She crossed her arms, clearly not believing him. “I’m serious.”
“Sensual? It was a bunch of fast songs, Viper. Who bumps and grinds to Caribbean jazz tunes and ‘Beautiful Life,’ by Ace of Base? That was the last song they played tonight.”
“Close your door.”
“What?”
“Close the damn door,” he repeated. “Wait right here on the porch.” Making a mad dash to his car, he turned it on and selected a song from his collection: ‘Please Me,’ by Cardi B and Bruno Mars. He rocked his body back and forth, moving to the beat as he approached her, arms in the air, a grin on his face, then lifted his shirt, exposing his eight-pack, making his abs roll.
“You ain’t shit!” She burst out laughing. “All right. Fine. You can dance, but this ain’t no fast song! This is a ‘do-it’ song. A ‘come out them draws’ song!” When he finally stood before her again, they were both cheesing at one another, building on a growing connection. They stood there, dancing together, their eyes on one another. He grabbed her around the waist, bringing her close so he could feel her heart beating a mile a minute now, too. He looked down at her, and their lips parted at the exact same time.
