by Tiana Laveen
“Yes, you are.” His old man shot his mother a wide-eyed look, a smirk on his drawn in face. “I think Ace likes this woman a bit more than he was trying to let on. Don’t worry son, we won’t embarrass you too bad…but we will show her the slideshow photos, especially the one with you butt naked at age six with that Mickey Mouse cape on, carrying a yellow water-gun.”
Ace had forgotten all about that embarrassing situation but of course his parents hadn’t. He waved them off with a laugh and walked out of the room, needing fresh air in the worse way. Soon, he’d be picking her up to bring her to his crazy family. He had to brace himself.
Where’s my fucking lighter?!
He dug into his black pants pocket, snatched it out, and lit that damn cigarette. He needed it bad, like a diabetic needed insulin. Sucking on the shit hard, he finally exhaled, letting out smoke rings that blended with the cold air from the early afternoon. More caterers raced passed him as he shook a bit from the chill, the damn snow piling up and not going anywhere anytime soon. He wanted out of there so badly. He stood there on his parents’ massive front porch, expensive cars lining the side of the dwelling as early-riser guests started to arrive.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
~***~
Brooklyn’s feet hurt. So did her face. A natural result of the permanent smile she had broadcast across it and the damn holiday shoes she wasn’t accustomed to wearing. Mrs. Blackstone would not let her arm go as she took her on an extensive tour of the massive grounds. The house was a damn mansion. Ace said his parents were well off, he even said the house was big, but that bastard sure downplayed it. This took the cake. Her own parents’ home was elaborate, but this seemed even more so. She’d been raised around the finer things in life but managed to stay humble; that was important to her, especially since she was fully aware of how the rest of the world lived.
“An archaeologist! That is truly fascinating!” The woman was excitable; at times, it was hard not to laugh. Physically stunning despite her middle age, the woman could hold her own. She was spunky, comical and charming — welcoming, reminding her of warm rum over ice. She held Brooklyn’s hand so tight, as if she were afraid she may flee from her grasp. Her kindness was genuine, and she looked exactly how Ace had described her. To make matters melt her heart even more, the woman had a slight Southern drawl, which opened a chasm of sadness inside of her, on the Lord’s birthday of all days. Holidays were hard, but this one was a bit easier to swallow — she had Ace.
Mrs. Blackstone continued the tour, her white furred sweater brushing against her prominent cheekbones. Wisps of blue-black hair framed her face. She stopped to introduce Brooklyn to various clusters of people dressed in thick cardigans, pretty dresses and stockings, and children with pale faces and ruby cheeks holding sticky balls of gourmet caramel popcorn. She couldn’t help but take notice of the multiple dining room tables as the woman whisked her past them. It wasn’t time to eat yet, but they were all decked out with large trays of food that looked like something out of a Rachel Ray culinary ad.
“And this right here belonged to my mother,” the woman said proudly. She drew close to Brooklyn; so close, Brooklyn couldn’t help but study her a tad more closely.
What an odd, fascinating woman.
Her raven hair was pulled away from her pale face, exposing slanted blue eyes and a long nose. Yes, she could see her much closer now. Brooklyn received immeasurable pleasure from observing the nuances of faces and the stories they told. She simply couldn’t help herself. She reminded Brooklyn of some old movie star with exaggerated movements for an extra dramatic flair and the way she clutched her, as if they were being filmed for some scene, was the icing on top. She imagined she may actually be getting ‘pranked’, but that was highly unlikely as the house was crawling with people, some with hideous holiday sweaters that made her inwardly chuckle.
Notwithstanding, this was one of the events of the year. Droves of kinfolk had flown in or driven from out of town, all to attend the Blackstones’ annual Christmas extravaganza. Brooklyn’s knack for eavesdropping that evening had provided her with an assorted potluck of information, and this was just one ‘treat’ she’d collected along her travels in the massive home, filled with holiday cheer. Sarah Blackstone sure made her feel comfortable. She could definitely see what Ace had talked about regarding Sarah and it tickled her so.
She had been a working woman, as well as her husband, yet they’d turned their hard, elbow grease into money that boomeranged, returning to them tenfold. Ace had already let her know that his parents were savers and thanks to his father’s good business acumen, they’d made smart investment moves in 1984, and the fruits of that were now quite prominent. Not to mention, his mother was still getting royalties from a movie she’d done in France that was now some cult classic.
I feel like I’m in some fantasy…
Brooklyn also felt like a bit of a Scrooge. In all honestly, she hated the holidays. It always brought back haunting and debilitating memories. Not because her Christmases had been marred with atrocities, but because she could never get pieces of those broken times back. She was here now, and those people were back there, almost in another world. It hurt her deep to her core but right now, for the first time in years, she was surrounded by smiling, laughing people on Christmas who treated her like the turkey…no, not in a bad way…but making her feel like she was supposed to be there. Not one unkind word was spoken; she was passed around like a trinket, the room spinning and glowing in colors of sparkling gold, blinding white, flashing red and shimmering silver. A quartet played jazzy holiday music in the corner of the great room, tunes soothing to the soul. Ace had vanished a time or two, but kept nearby, somewhere in the crowded room. She could feel him. Sometimes he’d startle her with a low chuckle close to her ear, like right at that moment.
“I see you finally escaped my mother. She’s a real cut up, isn’t she?” He teased as he took her hand and led her to a sitting area filled with far less people.
“Your two brothers pulled her away to let her know your dad was going to set himself on fire.” Apparently the man was meddling with the fireplace, and that was cause for alarm in the Blackstone household. She’d looked over her shoulder at Brooklyn, a bit of melodramatic melancholy on her face, and asked her to wait just a moment as she disappeared into the swarm of people, no doubt beginning a seize and rescue mission.
Laughing, Ace turned and said hello to a red-headed woman with porcelain skin; she assumed it was a relative. Brooklyn took that time to once again survey the area. This was just as beautiful, if not more so than the others. The place was adorned with blue and white furniture, things that Brooklyn knew were hand-made and well put together and would last three lifetimes. She ran her fingers across a chaise, then sat down.
“My mother will be looking for you again soon.” He caressed her cheek with his finger.
“I like her. She seems really nice.” She looked up into his eyes, watching them change colors right before her.
“She is. She is a good person. She really likes you.” He looked away, rolling back on his heels as if he needed a moment to sort through his thoughts. “My father does, too. I can tell.”
She felt her face warm, and she placed her palm against it. He sat next to her; soft Christmas music played in the room that had been piped through speakers from the great room. Aromatic, creamy eggnog poured in abundance, sugared-up children ran about and the piping hot lobster and artichoke appetizers were absolutely delicious. Soon, they were called to eat. Everyone gathered in the vast dining room, taking their respective seats at any given table. Ace didn’t hide his affections for her; instead, they sat side-by-side, gripping hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. She did find one incident that evening rather odd however, despite how perfect everything else had appeared.
Ace got mighty irritated with a fella who’d been enjoying too many free libations. A man with shoulder-length, wavy, dark hair, half intoxicated, careened towards the
m with a tilted glass of white wine talking about he’d heard that Ace was a one-stop shop for cheaters, and he wanted him to check out his wife. He busted out in hearty laughter, but appeared to be genuinely waiting for a response. She twisted her lips, then sank her teeth into the smooth flesh as she tried to dissect what had transpired in the odd interaction. Before she knew it, Ace was yelling at the guy, telling him to sober up, and yanked her away from the scene.
One stop shop for cheaters? What in the world? What did that mean?
She made a mental note to inquire more about that later…
~***~
This can’t go on. I love her too much, to tell her, and love her too much to not do so.
He stood in the ivory and ebony bathroom, his palms planted firmly on the white marble sink counter as he stared himself in the mirror. Tonight, his green eyes had a glossy, slightly pink sheen as if he’d been nipping the evening away. At that moment, he hated those eyes. They’d seen so much and denied even more as of late. He hated himself for he’d trailed down a rocky, dangerous path he knew was forbidden, and rightfully so. He was tired of lying.
How do you tell her some shit like this on Christmas day?
He shook his head and slumped against the wall. Someone knocked on the locked door.
“Go away, someone’s in here!” he barked. There were three fucking bathrooms on that one floor alone, yet that one was constantly being inundated with guests. He supposed it was because it had a bidet. People enjoyed looking at them, if for nothing else for pure amusement. He walked back over to the sink, washed his hands, ran his fingers through this hair and retreated. His head feeling stuffy and swollen, he stomped out of the room, bumping into people as he meandered down the hall, murderous and suicidal urges nipping at him. All perverse reactions, because he found Brooklyn with his two eldest brothers surrounding her on each side, framing her like two damn bees fighting over the same flower. She gripped a white mug with a peppermint stick hanging out of it and looked rather comfy between the two plotting weasels. He slowed his approach.
His eldest brother, Reid, winked in his direction — a signal that he ‘approved.’
“We’ve been talking to Brooklyn here,” he offered, smoothing his light blond hair away from his alabaster skinned face, fair like their mother’s. He said his little announcement as if it were some mystery. Ace stood before them and crossed his arms over his chest, his feet spread far apart while he waited to yank her away. “Her job is fascinating.”
No shit.
“You know,” Reid’s mischievous grin grew a bit wider, “I had read an article about her find in Italy, that woman….mmmm, didn’t even know it was Ms. Greene here. Of course,” he narrowed his gaze on Ace, “we’ve just found out about her a few days ago. You’ve been holding out on us, bro!” he smirked, making him feel even more uneasy. “Where the hell did Pierce go?” Reid popped his head higher like a jack-in-the-box. “He’s gotta get a load of this. He loves archeology stuff, shit like that, too.”
Brooklyn grimaced, then smiled. She winked at Ace, letting him know she was just fine. For now…
Jett nodded, his dark hair gleaming under the Christmas lights. A sheepish grin took over his face, then widened to a full grin.
Oh no…you motherfuckers aren’t going to gang up on me for your own amusement right now…
“Yeah, that’s great. Can you excuse us for a second? I’d like to talk to her alone, please,” he said curtly, taking Brooklyn by the arm and shoving his shoulder into Reid like some brute. He eyed him as he did so, challenging him to say one more goddamn word. The two men glared at one another until, finally, his brothers backed up a step or two, shrugged and glanced around, as if there were no other place they’d rather be.
“I guess,” Reid conceded with regret.
The three had been in their share of physical altercations, as brothers often were. Pierce and he fought like cats and dogs, too, only eventually; they’d formed an alliance against the other two — believing they’d be able to take them if they joined forces back in their teen years. Ace was sure that Reid recalled the humiliation of receiving a violet and black eye from his younger sibling, and then lying about who’d given him the shiner once he returned to school. Who in their right mind wanted to admit their punk little brother had beat the crap out of them? They had a history, and though they loved one another, there was always a strange tension, as if Reid were competing with him for their mother’s attention. Ace had never given it much thought, until today. Reid and the others had been told to keep hush about his work, yet, Reid more than likely realized there was more to it and he was going to play that card all fucking night, rev up the anxiety like a crank bar until it broke into a million pieces.
Yeah, it’s time to get her outta here…
“Brooklyn, we’ll talk more later!” Jett waved.
She waved back, took a sip of her mug and looked into Ace’s eyes.
“Is something wrong, baby? You look a little upset.”
“Brooklyn, I need…I need to tell you something. Can we walk out to my car, please?” He pointed towards the front door. It felt so far away, as if the hall had extended itself tenfold, like something out of Alice in Wonderland. He wanted nothing more than to keep her cocooned in the house, in that well of good cheer, festivity and mistletoe. Yes, mistletoe — so that he could steal another kiss he believed was rightfully his. But it was now a struggle to keep going this way. He had two options: stay and fight the dragons, begging them to not open their mouths and spew the fire, or simply tell the truth, regardless of how hot hell had gotten…
She nodded in agreement and set her cup down. He disappeared for a short moment, returned with her coat and helped her into it, then led her out the door. Cool air blasted them in the face as they meandered past the elaborate decorations and life-sized ice sculptures of the nativity scene through the front yard. Soon, they reached his car, parked near the front of the circular drop off of the house. When he opened the passenger’s side door, the scent of cigarette smoke and leather billowed out. She took her seat, confusion written all over her face.
Getting in the driver’s seat, he gripped the steering wheel at the same time a deathly fear took a hold of him.
She’s gonna go crazy…
“It’s cold in here. Can you turn on the heat?” She blew into her hands and rubbed them together, her back arched as if ice had already frozen her solid.
He didn’t hesitate. He started the car, feeling like cotton had lodged in his ears and under his tongue, too. His heart pounded painfully, the vessels working overtime. As the engine roared, J Dillas’ ‘Sun in My Face’ began to play again. His heart sunk as the chorus played:
As I open up my eyes, and finally see the world…I discover victory…and the sun…is in…my face…
Is it? Is the sun in my face? he questioned himself as he choked off the words he hadn’t yet emitted.
“What’s going on, Ace?” She turned towards him, her eyes growing darker.
“Brooklyn, I’ve been lying to you.”
“About what?” The tone of her voice dropped, and she veered back from him as if he told her he was married, or something devastating like that.
This was probably worse.
He swallowed, still gripping the steering wheel, still looking straight ahead into the ice-covered window. Tiny portions of it were scraped away, revealing bits and pieces of ice and snow covered branches from trees that dwarfed them. He used to love those trees — swung from them on a tire many years past when he was small and full of promise…
He snapped back into the moment when the finger of chill started a slow climb up his spine, or maybe it was his nerves. In his haste, he’d forgotten his own coat, yet, the cold soon dissipated, replaced by intense heated emotions.
Just say it…just man the fuck up and say it!
“We met because I was sent to meet you.”
“What are you talking about?”
He looked at her. Her brows prac
tically met in the middle. The skin around her lips drew downward, as if shesucked her teeth. He’d never seen Brooklyn angry before…and from the looks of things, it was something no one wanted to view, not in their wildest nightmares.
“Brooklyn, I’m not a sociologist.” He reached for her hand; his fingers trembled against her own. He’d never seen himself shake like this before. Right now, he felt like a demon had entered his body. It must’ve…to make him deceive her like this. He lightly gripped her loose fingertips but she snatched them away, as if he were the filthiest thing she’d ever seen and he hadn’t even told her the worst of it.
“What do you do then, Ace? What do you do for a living?” She spat the words out, flinging them at him as her face distorted even further in disgust.
“I’m…” he looked down, filled to the brim of his gut with incredible shame.
How did you let this happen? Look at her! Look what you’ve done…
His stomach caved; the muscles contracted as he tried to pull himself together. Claws had reached within and scratched his innards, leaving him with no guts at all… No, truly, he’d never been so ashamed in all of his life.
She’s gone after this. You know that, right? Everyone you love, leaves you…
He wanted to tell the voice in his head to shut the hell up, but there was no use, it wouldn’t stop.
“I’m a private investigator. Your…your father sent me to find you…”
The air become viscous, as though the dark clouds above were made of splintered heavy metal and had crash landed on top of him, leaving him flattened and bloodied, damn near dead. The car reeked of shattered, broken hearts, lost trust, abhorrence and some torturous shit he’d classify as unadulterated sorrow. She’d not said one word since he’d laid his torn cards on the table, but hot, angry tears welled in her eyes that had become deep, dark, bottomless pits.
Her lips quivered, her entire body soon followed, and then, she clenched her teeth and screamed out, as if she were being tortured, as if he had her by the damn neck and had attempted to choke the shit out of her. He looked at her helplessly, wanting to touch her, wanting to make it all better. Then, she began to move spastically about in her seat, rocking everything as she lost her shit right before his eyes. Her jittery movements shook the vehicle tremendously hard, as if a hurricane was erupting inside of her. It seemed almost as if she were having some sort of seizure. He realized, within a matter of seconds, that it was actually a nervous breakdown…
