by Tiana Laveen
Zina’s eyes were filled with desperation. He hoped she remembered how they’d felt when their little minds had been introduced to such ugly things—the black hearts of men. He hoped she remembered how the funeral had to be a closed casket because twenty-two-year-old Susan’s face had been bashed in. How the boyfriend had shown no remorse in court and had only spent a few years in prison for his crime.
Zina remained quiet but looked as if she wanted to say so much. Owen was fighting for air, his breathing coming out in choppy spurts, his chest pumping up and down, clothes soaked with his own essence, and a look of fear and revulsion on his bloodied face.
“I’m ashamed!” she yelled, bringing her hand up to her lower lip and turning her head to and fro, hiding herself behind an invisible curtain. “I knew better, but I… I tried to change him. For years I’ve hid it from everyone… He was careful not to hit my face. Until this year. I wanted to believe he’d change and that it would get better. He promised me.”
“Don’t be ashamed. This isn’t your fault, Zina.” She hung her head. “He beat your ass when you got home yesterday from lunch, didn’t he? Was it because you took too long for his liking? Out with me and Dad.”
Zina glanced at Owen who was now resembling a raw steak, then nodded. She burst in more tears, sobbing hard.
“This didn’t just start. That’s not how these things work. This has been going on for a while. I never knew he was beating on you, Zina. I never liked Owen, but I didn’t know he was doing this shit to you. If I did, I would’ve done this sooner.” Owen began to cough, struggling to sit up. “You stay where the fuck you are.” He lifted his sweater again, giving him a glimpse of the steel. Owen’s one semi-good eye went to the gun and remained fixed on it until he let the material drop. “So, what’s it gonna be, big sis?”
She grabbed the edge of her oversized T-shirt and twisted it in her fist. She kept staring at Owen, as if afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Yeah, it was just that obvious. She was so easy to read. Textbook.
“If he kills you, Zina, what’s going to happen to your students, huh? For some of those kids, you’re the only bit of stability they have. You’re the only damn mother they’ve got. We know what that’s like to lose a mother. We know what it’s like to have a lady die on us, in her own way!” Zina patted her eyes with the back of her hand.
“You’ve never given birth, but you’re a mother to hundreds of kids, Zina. I saw your awards ceremonies videos on the school website. Kids cryin’ over my sister! Kids mad that they had to graduate ‘because they wanted to stay with Mrs. Foster forever’… YOU.” She smiled sadly, the tears still coming, no matter how she tried to dab them away. “You’re a role model. Would you want little Susie to grow up thinkin’ it’s all right for her old man to kick her ass?” She shook her head, then averted his gaze. “Would ya want John Boy to think putting his hands on his girlfriend or wife just because she burnt the cookies was a fine idea?”
“…No.” She sniffed.
“Then stand the fuck up! Stand in your power! You’re a Rayden, not a Foster! Foster by marriage, but we don’t put up with this shit! You’re stronger than you think you are. And here’s another thing, how do ya think Dad feels about this?” Her cheeks went red. Lower lip trembling, she collapsed against him, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “Dad’s not okay about this, Zina. You’re his world. He still calls you his little girl, for God’s sake. You’re his kryptonite. You really think he’ll live a nice, peaceful life, enjoying his golden years, knowin’ his only daughter was murdered by her cowardly husband?”
“I wouldn’t murder my wife and I’m not a coward!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Gutter roared. “I didn’t tell your bitch ass to talk. Zina, this isn’t love… I know I can be an asshole. I know I can be insensitive sometimes, too, but I love you. I would set myself on fire for you, Zach, and Dad if it was the only way to keep you warm. We’re family. We’re survivors. We’ve been through the fire and came out platinum, baby.”
She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight.
“I love you, Owen… but I can’t live like this anymore.” She kept her face buried against his shoulder; her voice muffled but her meaning undeniable. “I’m terrified. It’s like walking on eggshells being married to you.”
“We can go to counseling, baby,” Owen blubbered. “I’ll go right now… I’ll go.”
“I wanted my marriage to work! I tried!” She pulled away, bent at the waist, and fell apart. Gutter forced her back up. Made her stand straight and tall. Then, he gently clasped her chin and turned her face to him.
“Focus. No more bullshitting. I want you to grab your shit, pack it up. The rest we’ll get later. Let’s go.”
She nodded, walked past Owen, and raced up the steps.
“Zee… ZINA!” Owen called out, his voice hoarse and weak. That one eye focused on Gutter with nothing but pure hatred. “You motherfucker… If she walks out that door, I’m calling the police and you’ll be arrested. You can kiss your career goodbye… AHHH!”
Gutter grabbed him by his ear and yanked him up from the floor. Slamming his back against the wall, he crowded him, practically nose to nose with the man.
“Let me make this shit real fucking clear, Owen,” he stated between clenched teeth. “If you call the cops and try to report me, I will finish the job.”
They glared at one another.
“Are you threatening to kill me?” the man asked as if truly in shock. Bewildered by such a proposal.
“Let me paint a picture for ya. Focus on it with that one open eye of yours before I close it, too. Now here’s how it’s going to go down should you test your luck. Let’s say you do something silly, like you threatened to, and call 911. First of all, you’d have to explain why my sister’s fuckin’ face looks like she ran into a hot frying pan, then end up arrested your damn self. Your 911 call would be ironic, don’t cha think? Now, that aside, let’s say, hypothetically of course, that you call ’em anyway, and they arrest me, too. Eventually, I will get out on bail. You know I will.” He offered a crooked smile. “I’m motherfucking Gutter, fourteen Grammy award winner of blue-eyed soul and alternative rock extraordinaire, the melodic king of Red Hook. I go to hospitals to visit sick kids, write award winning songs, and give back to the community. You’re an out-of-work drunk who’s been beating up on your well-respected teacher wife, a pillar of the community.”
“She won’t go against me, and she knows damn well that she pushes my buttons, and it’s not all my fault! I don’t give uh shit who you are, or what you say!”
“Oh, you may not care, Owen, but the courts would care a lot about who I am and what I say. I know the judicial system all too well, and I know my sister better than you, too. I figured it out. Like me, she was traumatized by what happened to us as kids, so she has this thing about walking away, not wanting to be like her mother, and you exploited that. Guess what? She’s stronger than Jenny. What happens when Little Brother comes to town and gives her everything she needs to get away from you, at last? Don’t overlook the fact I have friends who work security all over this fuckin’ city. I could hire one to be with her twenty-four-seven. And don’t forget about the restraining order I’ll make sure she gets. Should you violate it, well, let’s just say the shoe would be on the other foot, and the soap would drop to the floor.”
Owen’s eye slowly closed.
“What’s going to happen when they pull up the text messages and phone records, huh? Your threats to her during one of your drunken rages would be there for all to see, and the judge would learn about how often you call your wife while she’s at work. Clearly the actions of someone who is deranged. Oh yes… I dug deep all night long and got a shitload of information on you—even found out about the ex-girlfriend whose ass you beat before meeting Zina. But just to be sure, ya know, to dot my I’s and cross my T’s, I conducted an interview of sorts today, and sure enough, I had this shit in the bag.”
“You don’t scare me, Za
ke!” the man hissed. “You were a fucking hoodlum back in the day, hung with the trash, and look what happened to ya a few weeks ago? In a fucking shootout.”
“You think the judge is going to not show leniency towards me? I’m a victim of a recent crime. I give to charities. My fucking mother is dying of cancer. I was abandoned as a child, and my old man has a hole in his heart from the anguish of losing his wife and the mother of his kids, a wound that has never healed. He’s a retired firefighter who’s earned countless medals and awards for savin’ lives, from not only Red Hook, but the city of New York. He’s a hero. A legend. I’m a fucking walking Hallmark movie and Lifetime Channel, motherfucker, so nobody is gonna give a shit when I go Oxygen Channel on your ass and Snap! Go ahead and try to go against me. You don’t have a chance.” He sneered. “The crimes of my youth are not even admissible in court anymore. Be my guest… call the cops… When I walk out of that jail, motherfucker, a few days later, I will find you, wherever you happen to be, and put a bullet in your head. Then I’ll eat a pastrami sandwich on the ride back home. Wash it down with a Coke and write a song called, ‘I wish a motherfucker WOULD.’ You don’t want none of this…”
Owen swallowed. His lips pursed and the odor of beer permeated from his hot flesh.
“There will be nowhere for you to run. Nowhere for your drunk, woman-beating ass to hide. I will find you. No GPS required.” Gutter looked him up and down, tasting his fear. The flavor was both sour and bland. “I do not play when it comes to my sister. Or my family, period. What you need to know is that the moment you decided to put your hands on my sister was the moment you became dead to me. Don’t make that literal.” He let go, and the man dropped to the floor like a stone. Moments later, Zina appeared with two luggage bags bursting with what he presumed was clothing and perhaps work-related papers.
“Zina… baby… please… don’t leave. I’m sorry!” Owen begged.
Crying silently, she walked past him and headed out the front door. Gutter walked behind her, then turned to him again, putting his finger to his lips.
“Shhh. Hush little baby… Don’t get yourself a toe tag, dear soon-to-be-ex-brother-in-law. Now remember, kids… Snitches get stitches, and tattletales get impaled. Nighty night. Don’t let the pending divorce papers bite…” With that, he winked and walked out the door…
CHAPTER TWENTY
In Concert
The edgy tunes of the bass guitar vibrated through Promise’s body as if her cells had become the strings themselves. Gutter was sitting on her living room couch entertaining her guests: several of her friends, a few cousins she was close with, her brother and a few of his unsolicited invitees. Bringing the last song to a close, he was met with boisterous applause.
While he fiddled with the amp, preparing to begin another song, she went to grab another bottle of wine from the refrigerator and returned to refresh several glasses. This was an impromptu get-together to celebrate her recent promotion—all Gutter’s idea. He’d paid for a bunch of alcohol and catered food, but the biggest prize was him bringing his talents to the floor. She was feeling good, and so happy with her man who kept telling her how proud he was of her.
“Play that shit, man!” her cousin, Tristan, urged.
Everyone was dancing to Gutter’s rendition of Stardust’s, ‘Music Sounds Better with You.’ This was a night she’d never forget.
“All right, all right… Check this out. I’m only going to do this guitar solo if y’all sing along.”
“What song is it?” several people asked, elation and enthusiasm in their voices. Gutter set his guitar down and began to quickly open up a bunch of cases he’d brought over with ‘top secret’ contents. Now she could see inside them—a keyboard, computer, and other instruments. He made quick work of setting up and people helped move furniture around to make room for the musical maestro.
“All right… here we go!” He grabbed his guitar, and the powerful riffs of Stevie Wonder’s, ‘Higher Ground’ elicited a frenzied wave of excitement. “SING WITH ME!” he yelled, playing his heart out.
It sounds just like the original song! And his voice… How can he sound so much like Stevie Wonder now? How can he throw his voice like that?! Damn, he is so good! At that moment, she found herself soaking wet with lust and admiration for the man, feelings that flowed deep inside, a dream cum true. She snapped her fingers and clapped to the melody as her baby sang and beat on the keyboard.
“Next!”
He went right into Bruno Mars, Anderson Paak, and Silk Sonic’s catchy tune—‘Skate.’ People began to sway to the new age funk tune.
“Okay now, baby! That’s my jam!” she egged him on, winking at him before turning around to light a few sticks of incense and candles. Her long, high-collared and sleeveless paisley dress moved with her, the chain belt rattling. The curls atop her head had unraveled hours ago, and she simply didn’t give a damn. She paused, running her hand along her extended stomach, still full from the buffet she’d devoured earlier in the evening. The night went on, and Gutter kept on performing, his face glistening with sweat. She cracked a couple of windows, then grabbed a clean cloth from the hall closet and handed it to him.
“Thank you, baby,” he said, kissing her. “Okay… last song, queens, kings, and everything in between. This was supposed to be a party for my sweetheart, but I think y’all may have had more fun than even she did tonight.” Claps and whistles ensued. “I did a few of my own songs tonight, a few classics I thought you all might enjoy, and of course, there was that embarrassing three minutes of my life I will never get back where I performed ‘Play that Funky Music White Boy,’ by request… Wild Cherry… y’all silly.” He chuckled as people pointed and laughed. “So, let’s end the night right with—”
“Wait a minute, man. I’m a huge Thundercat fan, Gutter. Heard of him?” Westley piped up, holding a glass of wine with his half-inebriated self. Of course, he had brought several friends with him that she’d told him to leave home. He couldn’t pass on showing off that his sister was dating Gutter.
“Yeah, I know his music. What’s up?” Gutter drank from his bottle of water.
“Do you know the lyrics and the bass line for Thundercat’s ‘Them Changes?’ That’s my shit.”
“I got you.” Gutter pressed a few buttons on the speaker, adjusted the guitar strap around his body, and started up with one of the funkiest bass riffs she’d ever heard. The crowd got amped, cheering him on as he played and began to sing an unfamiliar tune she instantly loved. After it was over, Gutter played a final song—‘Sunrise,’ by Simply Red, which held the same musical notes as Hall & Oates’, ‘I Can’t Go for That.’ She didn’t know how he did it, but the man could read a crowd, and it was like he knew exactly what they wanted.
What kind of famous singer and musician would just come to someone’s apartment and perform like this? Gutter. That’s who. He doesn’t act like he’s too rich and famous to do it. He is so down-to-earth and with him, it’s like dating the guy next door. I love this man to the depths of my soul. He’s so real…
By the time the evening was over, people were physically exhausted from dancing too much, drinking too much, smoking too much, and laughing too damn hard. Her bare feet throbbed as she ushered the last of her friends from her apartment, at almost three in the morning. Most of them had managed to get some photos with the star, autographs, and even asked him a few questions, picking his brain about their own musical endeavors. She had to stop one of Westley’s friends from badgering him to listen to his mixtape.
Once she closed the door, she leaned against it, eyes closed, her body still jumping from a night of celebration and fun. When she opened them again, Gutter was putting his instruments away.
She approached him, arms crossed.
“You were showin’ off tonight.” She smirked.
He glanced at her before placing his guitar in a black case.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You love attention. It do
esn’t matter how big or small the crowd, Gutter. Have you watched yourself? A born performer.” She made her way back into the living room and lay on her side on the loveseat, her feet dangling on the edge of the arm as she eyed him.
“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not at all. I find it endearing and incredible, actually. I like that no matter who you are performing for, you go all out. Oh, there were several noise complaints tonight apparently. I guess the landlord was too lazy to come by, so he left a couple of voicemails I didn’t see until a second ago.” She shrugged.
He came to give her a fleeting kiss on the lips before continuing about his business.
“Hey, how’s your sister, honey? I meant to ask you that earlier, but there were so many people around, and I know it’s a private matter, so—”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s fine. She stayed at my place the first few days, then I got her an apartment. She’s moving in, and the cops went to her old residence to make sure he didn’t do anything while she got the rest of her stuff out of there. Some of it he tore up. She was talking about pressing charges, but I told her I would help her replace whatever she lost. I just want her done with him.”
“I hear you. It’s not worth it. Items can be replaced. People can’t.”
“Right.”
“So,” she yawned, “what’s her plan now?”
“Figuring out her next move. She went with Dad and a friend of hers to see a lawyer yesterday. Outside the lawyer’s office, there was a big ass blow up between her and our father. He told me about it.”
“Why did they get into it?”
“Because he was just letting her know that it was bullshit. That some women are alone, have no one to help them, and here she has a whole fucking family and friends who would lose a finger to help her get away from this guy, and back on her feet.”
“But Gutter, what you don’t understand is that men in general don’t seem to get this quite honestly. It doesn’t matter if you have an entire stadium of people with you. You can still feel alone, especially if you’re a private person, and ashamed. You said yourself, she told you, that she was embarrassed. That’s why she kept it secret from you all for so long.”
