by S. W. Frank
“She is.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“Thanks for extending the invite.”
“We have to take care of our ladies. They bite if we don’t.”
Tony had his towel. A swipe down the face and then it went around his neck as they climbed out of the ring. Alfonzo had a full-size gym and exercise equipment in the basement of his buildings. They were in the New York headquarters an after-work bout before Alfonzo flew back to Puerto Rico. Saturday was only thirty six hours away. Alfonzo often made an appearance during the week to peer at books, sign checks and whatever else he did from that spacious office suite on the top floor.
The sparring rejuvenated Tony. He smirked as his boss exhibited the shared sentiment by stretching and then with explosive ease did a series of handstand push-ups. Tony grinned, those weren’t easy to do. Arm strength and control. Alfonzo flipped and then stood upright with a brow up to challenge Tony. Tony scoffed, met the dare with a handstand and several one arm push-ups before he sank to the floor with his arm burning.
“Show-off!” Alfonzo laughed and tossed his towel at Tony.
Impressive!
Alfonzo had to stop at his mom’s crib, hopefully she was packed and didn’t make him wait and then he’d fly home. Tomorrow evening he’d be back in New York, but with his wife who certainly needed a break from the kids. A casino opening was the reason, but also doubled as a date. A long overdue quiet time for parents with four rambunctious children.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The sound of children at play filtered through the cracked window. A slight irritation to a girl engrossed in a Nancy Drew mystery book. She thought to close the window, but on a hot summer day the breeze pushed the interior heat away. Besides, the fan worked best with fresh oxygen. She smiled down at the pages loving being transported into the story. It took her away from the place of crowded buildings, hopelessness and talks of boys and sex. None of the girls her age talked about love, just the act of sex and how good it made them feel. When their bellies swelled and they complained about being fat, concerns were of missing parties rather than school which made her mad. Well, unprotected sex leads to babies. She knew that since she was nine. No, when she had sex she wanted love and a husband, someone who adored her to pieces and not some weed head from around the way without a job. She didn’t want any part of that world where dreams died disguised as love.
The creaking of the door brought her head out of the book. She smiled at her dad, “Hey dad.”
“Hey munchkin,” he said closing the distance and sitting on the edge of her bed. “Reading, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Your mama tells me you don’t like going outside anymore. Something happen?”
The girl turned the book over and crossed her legs like an Indian. “No,” she replied. Her mom liked to exaggerate. Since when had preferring to stay in her room with a good book instead of sitting on a hard bench with no friends a crime?
Her father rubbed a hand over his scalp. He’d gone to the barber and got one of those Jordan cuts. She liked his hair and never understood why he always chopped it off when it started to grow. His hair was real straight and black as a tar pit. It even had the glossy shine, too. She’d inherited it, somewhat, but her hair was wild and untamed with her mother’s unruly curls. The girls thought she wore a weave or permed her hair and when she said she didn’t, they said she lied a lot. Yep, the so-called friends running around outside squealing like banshees didn’t like to hear truth. They didn’t like to talk about books or art or anything other than cute boys and clothes. Maybe, something was wrong with her for not caring about what girls her age should.
“You know you can talk to me Sela’, no secrets with us remember?”
“I remember.” And she did. They had made the pact when she was five when a girl in the next building around her age at the time was molested by a next door neighbor. Her parents sat her down for a talk about ‘inappropriate touching’ and made her promise never to keep secrets if any one did something inappropriate. Nothing inappropriate happened in her life, except how utterly lonely she felt because somehow there wasn’t anywhere she fit in.
Her father patted her head affectionately like a dog and her nose wrinkled. He laughed, “Oh, I forgot you hate when I do that.”
“You think?”
“All right…all right I’ll stop.”
“You say that all the time dad.”
He smirked and she grinned in return. Handsome is what her dad was and smart. She decided then she wanted to become a teacher. “You know, we won’t be here long. Another year we’re moving out of here. You and your mom deserve a nice neighborhood. I’m sure you’ll find friends who enjoy the same things you do and you won’t have to stay cooped in your room like this.”
“Hurry up year!” she shrieked in his ear and made his smile broaden.
His eyes were tender. “You’re growing up so fast girl, soon you’ll be in High School and then college and one day some lucky guy will get to call you his wife.” The conversation began to turn sappy when he said, “I love you. I did so many things right when I married your mom and the gift I received was you.”
“Thanks dad, I love you, too,” she answered quickly hoping he’d leave so she can get back to her book. Thankfully, he stood and winked.
The minute he was gone the book was turned over and she began to read. The sounds outdoors became muted. The boisterous happiness had become fearful shrieks which shattered the glass. Shards the size of her novel careened in to her room, dropping into beautiful crystals atop her book. Then the bed folded in half and she was wedged there, screaming and trying to push the mattress to free herself, but those lovely innocent crystals dug into her flesh. The screams and clawing at the covers further bloodied her hands. Panic suffocated her as she pleaded for her dad’s help, instead a deluge of fetuses dropped from the ceiling on to her head and she broke free. Atop a bed of glass she stood and when she peered downward, her eyes widened. She had been disemboweled.
A hand grabbed her, holding her immobile. Softness and love filtered through to her soul. What ease to the pain it brought and she found courage to die and join the others. Unafraid she whispered in the air to the hands without a body, "I'm fine...release me...I'm fine...I swear."
The hand reluctantly released. Somber and eerie was the sound that came in the silence shortly after, an explosion of human grief shook the heavens and lifted the flood gates of hell's despair. The endless screams were for her mother as the blood suddenly ran down her legs. The hand had become a torso upon the bloody fetuses; there in the carnage of life’s vile death lay the head of Alfonzo, missing as well his limbs.
“Goddammit babe, come on…shit…babe wake up…wake up!” Alfonzo exclaimed for the umpteenth time. He had his wife in his arms on the bed, the scratches to his chest bled. Anita was over his shoulder, talking and wailing in Spanish when he couldn’t wake Selange.
Damn woman’s making it worse, Alfonzo thought as he shook Selange until she opened her eyes and he breathed relief.
She put a hand to her stomach and then she stared in his face. He wanted to cry for his woman then, instead he pressed her head to his clawed torso just as she sobbed with ragged breaths. “It’s okay babe, I have you…you’re safe,” he said with his head tilted to the ceiling vowing to stay strong. He told Anita she could return to bed. The loco woman burst in the bedroom when Selange was screaming with a freaking bat.
Anita spun around, marched to the door doing that clucking mess with her tongue while muttering in Spanish, “I thought somebody was getting murdered in here. Aye!”
The door closed and his attention went to his love who slapped at her face to rid the tears. “You all right?” he a
sked.
“I’m fine…I just had a terrible nightmare.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I’m sorry if I woke up everybody.”
“Nah, I believe Anita lurks at the bedroom door,” he tried to joke.
A half-smile formed on her lips. “I hope not.”
He scooted back with her between his legs to the padded headboard. He could tell the nightmare rattled her to the core, but his wife as usual wanted to seal the door. The part of a husband who’d slay men for his family sat helpless as he sought to wiggle his way beneath her emotional stronghold. He tread very carefully. Sometimes the mind holds tragedy at bay as a defense mechanism and pushing her to talk when she wasn’t ready might result in a total shut-down. He rubbed her arms, ignoring the razor sharp stings to his chest left by her fingernails. “I hear talking about a nightmare helps. You want to share?”
Selange rested her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes and sighed. Just having him here, holding her made it all better. She couldn’t undo the past, change anything about it. Her parents were gone, a fetus never lived. Too much sorrow came from dwelling on what might have been. What strength she found upon waking to the reality Alfonzo lived. Goodness, how comforting to lie in her husband’s arms and breathe through the pain. Her hand caressed his chest. The dampness on her hand was his blood and she turned sad. “I scratched you?”
“It’s nothing, trust me,” he frowned. The blue eyes were hooded. She hadn’t answered his question and he worried. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD is some scary shit to witness. That’s what the therapist she’d seen during their divorce called what occurred at sporadic moments, triggers as innocuous as a color could set it off. This nightmare was bad. He caressed her back, pressing a palm to her spine and held on to her –tightly. “So what happened in this dream?”
“You wouldn’t understand. It’s a woman thing.”
Ah, now here the fuck we go with that man-woman bull-shit. What the fuck, did women think men didn’t have emotions other than pleasure from their dicks? Did she know he suffered after the shootings to the point where he couldn’t goddamn perform during sex? He rubbed his chin, stroking it to soothe the ill-temper seeping up to his mouth. The uplifted eyebrow was a sword of black fine hairs. He stopped massaging her to say, “Everything you feel, every goddamn pain you go through I suffer it too.” He beat at his heart. “Never tell me that I can’t understand how it feels to lose a dream…to…” He shook his head. “Not cool babe…not cool,” Alfonzo said as he reined in the anguish. He jerked the shit right back inside and closed his eyes to steady the tremble of his broken heart.
Selange breathed in, trying not to cry, asking in silent screams for her mother’s help. She’d dug in deep at the charity, worked around the house, and busied herself with the kids to avoid thinking or dreaming. The images were getting worse and she didn’t know if she was losing her mind. The other night she literally broke out in a cold sweat.
She shivered suddenly. Alfonzo set aside frustration to pull his wife up more to face him and with palms to her cheeks and an intent stare he decided not to allow her to run anymore. “You talk to me. Tell me what you’re going through. This is why I’m here babe. No more suffering in silence dammit let me help.”
She choked a sob. “I’m scared to sleep. I keep seeing too many bloody things.”
“Aw babe…aw…nena…what do you see…share with me?”
Her lip trembled violently and he knew from the quiver she’d say, “Babies, my dad, my mom, everything.”
Every why, every goddamn riddle that never fully received an answer got solved. It wasn’t only the anniversary of a parent’s death she harbored; it was the fear of loss. A bright light turned on. Keep it hidden is what she’d done for years, hadn’t she? Covered and smothered fear with bravery presented for his peace and these nocturnal terrors were the cost. Oh, an ass and a blind fool is what he’d been. Cut and bleeding, shot and burned to a corpse his wretched soul. The wounds to the flesh were nothing compared to her pain. Nico saw it; the sonovabitch was there putting ointment on her festering sores. But her husband was here, completely on guard and never a day forward would he let her perish for his sins. Lift up this fallen warrior heart, lift her up you sonovabitch with your love are the words that set the course!
“It’s okay love…it’s okay,” he said tenderly and pressed his mouth to her forehead. There his lips attached to talk to skin letting his affectionate words permeate the pores of her soul. “We lost something that wasn’t meant to be. I know how much it hurts, I’m suffering with you at the death of our possibility but when I look at what I have…you…us…our kids…breathing…I’m humbled to have that. Cry on me, claw me every night if you have to in order to grieve but don’t hold it in babe…please…don’t hide anymore, don’t try to protect me.”
Then she sobbed pitifully just like Allie and Alfonzo’s embrace brought them closer, breathing in sync their woes. Hold me; she thought when the downpour became a flood. Always hold me is what she wanted from this great love that each night she dreamed would be taken away. Protect him is the prayers a frightened heart asked the universe because death surrounded their happiness. In the recent onset of horrific images, she failed to mention that with the bloody visions of babies she also saw his face –separate from his body.
A decapitation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brooklyn, the BK, do or die as the natives liked to say when repping their borough with pride. Alfonzo wasn’t from Brooklyn, but Selange was and the moniker he agreed fit her to a tee. He gripped her hand as they walked the burgundy carpet with small floral designs accented along the edge. She wore a stunning teal gown, which concealed her long gorgeous legs. Tasteful and elegant as always, his babe. He squeezed her fingers and she turned with the smoky eyes and he winked and got her to smile.
On the left of them was Tony and his lovely lady, elegant in an off the shoulder number that fit like a glove on the dancer’s body making her man proud. Acknowledgements in greetings, a stop here and there to shake hands and smile went a long way to keep peace. There were several celebrities in the crowd and a few well-dressed escorts he spotted immediately, don’t ask how, he just did.
“Come this way,” a tuxedoed host said as he escorted the couples to an exclusive closed area on the second floor where the live band entertained the wealthy. The design of the spacious room was somewhat like a skybox, far larger in area, and overlooked the entire lower level.
The carpeting beneath their shoes boasted the casino’s name in rich gold colors, the dinging of slot machines became muffled once they entered through colored glass doors with armed security posts.
There were dancing couples in the middle of the floor, others suited or in lush finery sprinkled about the circular tables against the walls with drinks and conversation, eyes on who entered without tension.
Massud, the host asked, “Would you like to join a complimentary game?”
“No thank you, dancing and food is enough,” Alfonzo answered. The disastrous poker game with family left a bad taste in his mouth that hadn’t dissolved yet. Besides, he wasn’t the gambling type. Getting his pockets loosened by mood lighting, further enticed by liquor isn’t in anyway romantic. There’s nothing fun about getting fucked out of large amounts of cash. The game was complimentary but he didn’t want to get in the habit of gambling. There are some addictions that can have you in bed with the wrong people. In the gaming business there’s an underbelly of things he sought to avoid, like prostitution and drugs. He cocked his head at Tony, maybe he might want to dabble there. “You and the lady might have some luck.”
“Want to Tiff?” Tony deferred to his lady and she smiled.
“Why not, we’re T-and-T, trinitrotoluene, let’s blow this place up!”
Alfonzo chuckled at her excitem
ent, glad Tony’s woman was enjoying herself. He hoped she won. If she did she’d receive complimentary chips or a voucher, a win-win situation when you’re not spending any money out of your pocket. The rich could afford to lose if they chose, but as always received free shit. Alfonzo just passed the gratuity on to somebody else.
When they followed Massud, Alfonzo took his wife’s hand and on the dance floor he marched. He came for the music and to dance with his gorgeous wife. A slow tune was perfectly timed when he had her in his arms. “Estoy enamorado, nena.”
“Me too,” she cooed.
“You look hot, you always do.”
Love sparkled in her eyes. Handsome is an understatement to describe her husband. Something about his aura made him super-fine. “You don’t look so bad yourself guapo.”
“Ah, shit,” he said, moving with an extra grind of his pelvis. “My babe thinks I’m handsome, what more can I want?”
A cute giggle made her dimples pop. “Grapes.”
“You’re trying to get me aroused in public, ‘cause if you are don’t play shy when I fuck you right here on the spot.”
“I dare you.”
A vertical tilt of a dark masculine brow and a hand sliding from her spine to palm her ass, received a squatting for him to stop. “Got scared?” he asked with that wicked grin she loved.
“Ooh you’re bad, I swear.”
“Got that right mami.”
A waitress holding a tray of assorted drinks inquired, “Something to drink, sir, madam?”
“Nah, what about you babe?” he asked Selange.
“No thank you,” she answered, secretly proud of her husband. He actually said no to a drink.
They danced for a long time, until Selange had to confess. “These heels are killing my feet.”
“Alright, get a table and I’ll get us some of that food.” He released her waist, watching her sexy ass sway to a table before hitting the buffet. Shiny silver, aproned servers, fresh steamy vegetables and meats lined the far wall. Desserts, delicate china and the whole enchilada were laid out for the wealthy guests in high-class presentation. Not one loud mouth popping shit, saggy pants obnoxious guest up in this bitch. These were cultured, slick thieves in fancy suits, mannerly brutes who lost and made money with finesse.
