“Thank you, Nino, but I don’t think…” she pauses to bite her lip. “I’m gay.”
“You gay?” I ask with a slight chuckle.
“Straight up lesbian. I chop it down with the best of them.”
We both laugh together as I shake my head. “Man, that’s foul.”
That fat ass leans back onto the table, and Rocky is finally comfortable as she says, “Okay, I’m lying. Look, to keep it as real as I can be, you don’t want none of this.”
“Why is that?” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder. My thumb begins to rub softly on her skin. This shit has me remembering the backrubs that Zendaya and I used to give each other. Mostly her giving and me taking. I only gave if I felt that I might have busted my bitch in the mouth too harshly or what not.
Rocky wriggles away from my grasp, saying, “I’m married.”
“Married?” I glance down at her ring finger, even though something tells me that Rocky isn’t lying.
“It’s a complicated situation, and my husband isn’t a nice one…”
I consider what she means by this. The tone of her voice has me ready to fight whoever the fuck she’s married to. The muthafucka ain’t done her right. But I can rectify that, and I think she feels it too because her eyes turn away from mine.
“So even if I weren’t married, or my husband wasn’t … crazy, right now I’m working on me, Nino.”
The anger in me begins to rise. I can’t grab the back of Zendaya’s—I mean, Rocky’s neck and order her around. And I sho’ the fuck can’t stop seeing her; no matter how jaded this bitch is over whatever the fuck her husband did. “Well I wanted to take you to dinner as an associate—”
“Associate?” Her eyes shade slightly, not believing a word I said.
“Yeah,” I shrug, thinking faster. “A potential associate. Why do you think I asked Perez to introduce me to you? Uh, I guess his old ass got confused.”
“Confused?” She folds her arms, continuing to subconsciously move further and further away from me. Shit, I need my Zennie back. I used the businessman tactics that had me surviving the mean streets when I was young and keeping my bitch fed.
“Perez came in here asking you the wrong question, had you thinking that I didn’t like your style, Rocky. Now me,” I place a hand against my taut chest, saying, “I know your worth.”
“My worth, huh?” There she goes again thinking I want to smash. Nah, I don’t just want to fuck, I want to own this girl.
“Dinner this evening, Rocky? We can talk potential business. I’m sure you have some designs that you can show me,” I tell her, beginning to back toward the door. I don’t need to give Rocky enough time to deny this date.
“Designs, well, yeah!” She lights up. “But tonight I work at Jiménez Casa. How about tomorrow?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.” Damn, I’m good. If all goes well, I won’t be on that ‘I don’t mind dying’ tip if Santiago ever catches up to me.
Chuey
The last thing I recall was Rockwell crying over me. If that ain't love, then...
They say when you're in a coma you can hear things. Perceive shit. I'm guessing I spent a long time just collecting thoughts. My moms came through on a daily. But as I wake up, I realize she had me transported back to her home. The olive green walls tell me that I'm in one of the guest rooms somewhere in this large fortress.
“Chuey!” Mayté shouts.
I turn toward her. After a while, Rockwell’s tears for me were no more. She'd been crying. Then there was silence. Did Lorenzo... “Where's Rocky?”
“Gone,” my mom replies to fast.
“Gone where?” A heart monitor begins to skyrocket and the little noise it makes picks up pace. I start pulling off all the gadgets from my bare chest. Then the IV drip needle clanks onto the side of the hospital bed as I pull it from my arm. Damn, should have known my mom was going to make sure I came home and had better care than in the hospital.
“Stop, mi amor, you just awoke.” Mayté begins to arise, imploring me to, “Get some rest.”
“I ain't tired anymore.” I turn my head away from her patting. This shit feels like I'm a kid again. Colombiana Madres.
“Look, ma, I've been sleep since…”
“Two months.”
My eyes bug out. “Two months?”
“Yes, Señor Mendoza, you've been in a coma for just shy of eight weeks.” A sensual voice tells me. I look over to see a chick too muthafucking sexy to be a doctor. Her dark curly hair is like a lions mane. The lab coat she's wearing ain't fulfilling anybody. Underneath is ass and hips. And I know this doctor is the best but her ass is also here for a reason. As she smiles at me, I glare at Mayté. First, mom tries to baby me. Then uses a sexy doctor to keep me under lock and key. Hell, nah.
“As your mother has suggested,” the woman begins again, licking thick pink lips, “Rest will do you well, Señor Mend—“
“Look, beautiful Mr. Mendoza is my no good ass dad, not me. All I need is to make sure Rocky is well, one of y’all need to tell me where she is.”
The doctor has been trained well. She looks to my mom for support. Mayté’s lips mash shut. Bernice walks into the room. So I quickly ask her.
“Uh, well...”
“C’mon Tia Bernice...” I use the line, auntie, since it once got me cookies, and candy as a kid,
“Rockwell is okay, mi amor,” Bernice says then speedily backtracks out of the room. The woman that's been more like an aunt to me was just about to crack. I start to arise, knowing Bernice will tell me exactly where Rockwell is. All I need to do is catch up with her, and away from my moms.
The gorgeous doctor takes this time to speak again, “Señor Mend... Uh Santiago Junior—“
“Chuey,” I correct as my feet reach the cold marble floor.
“My apologies, Chuey,” the doctor says, then steps in front of me, making it a challenge to stand. “Will you allow me to run a few tests? I'd also like to observe.”
“Not necessary.” I stand up swiftly so she has to back away. Fuck, my knees feel like buckling.
~~~
It took hours of hours of calling Rocky for her to answer. By the time she does, my mom is in my ear. I've respected Mayté’s wishes for me not to leave. I point a finger at her as if she's a child, then place a hand over the receiver saying, “When I've gotten everything situated with Rocky you're going to tell me how it is that you're up and about so well.”
As Mayté smiles and shrugs, saying it’s a miracle, the call connects. Rockwell answers.
“Chuey, I just got off w... Never mind, I got your messages. You're okay?” She sighs deeply through the receiver.
There are loud noises in the background; the investigator in me says she's somewhere busy. Maybe a restaurant? A kitchen? Rockwell doesn’t have to work for shit, but I place that thought on the backburner. My eyes light up with interest, I gotta see her soon. I ask, “Where are you?”
“I'm around,” Rockwell murmurs. The happiness that just greeted me on the phone is gone. Damn, I thought she missed me.
Then she lights up again, and I’m guessing lil mama just wants to keep the convo about me. “Chuey, I'm so glad you've awoken. How are you? How do you feel?”
“I'm good,” I reply, not at all concerned for myself. “Where you at, Rocky?”
Mayté
I've been caring for my son for almost two months. It makes me realize that I fucked up my two sons’ entire lives by being so heartbroken over their father. My youngest, Sean, he stays in the states now. He barely calls. I think Chuey has always been there for me. Sean never knew happiness when it came to having a parent’s love. Chuey was three when his younger brother was born and Santiago began to look at me in disgust. Too much baby fat? Maybe. But the motherfucker had been cheating since day one, so I’m guessing that Santi got tired of me. No matter the fact that he always had eyes for other women, and blatantly fucked around, I thought that us being childhood sweethearts, meant more than any bitch
…
Let me stop. I can’t dwell on Santiago at this moment and the way that life stacked up against me.
So here I am, doing the job I should have been doing when they were younger, caring for Chuey right along with the doctor and fleet of nurses that I've hired around the clock.
I stand within arms extended, eavesdropping on his conversation with Rockwell. She promised to leave him alone for me. Hell, she promised to leave him alone for his good and her own livelihood. Arms folded across my chest, my fingers are crossed. I can't hear her portion of their talk but when she answered the phone, there were fireworks in Chuey’s eyes.
Break his heart real quick, I mentally plead and then pray to God to forgive these thoughts. My mind alternates from begging reality to strike when it comes to how wrong Rockwell is for Chuey,. My son will get over it. He's dealt with heartbreak his entire life. I got used to it, fucking with Santiago. Funny, Chuey came into this world not being enough for his father. It took just a few years for me to set him aside because of his stupid ass father.
As they continue to talk, those fireworks begin to simmer down. Now he's repeating his question as to where she is...
Chuey’s tone lowers, he turns toward the ceiling to floor windows, watching the ocean crash against jagged rocks below. His entire demeanor changes. At first, he rose as if he was a man who’d only been sleeping a short while; doped up on life and… love for another man’s wife and not like a person recuperating from the beating of his own life. Chuey has a few scratches here and there, one scrap on his forehead. But the meat tenderizer that Lorenzo apparently put my son through has healed. By the grace of God, Chuey is back to his old self. You’d think he would have dreamt it through and concluded that Rockwell is all wrong for him.
As Chuey leans a forearm against the window frame, his shoulder is slumped. The man that just came to life mere minutes ago is once again dying. Not because of his misdeeds, trying to steal Lorenzo’s girl. No, because of Lorenzo’s girl. His tone has lowered; it has lost the pep. Now I can't hear them at all. All I can do is guess by the tightening of his jaw that things aren’t going right.
He hangs up. The nurse in the room must've stepped out because it's so damn silent now. The damn room is so large too. I hate this fucking mansion. Every room is the size of some shacks not even an hour away.
The tension is thick, but I refuse to stop praying for Rockwell to be kind enough to break my son’s heart….
Chuey turns toward me, dark eyes storming, “So you told Rocky not to tell me?”
Damn, Rockwell threw me under the bus. My hands ball at my sides.
He shakes his head in disappointment. “Are you fucking serious? Nah Rocky didn't tell me that keeping her current location from me was at your request. But that look on your face, mom, that shit tells me it all. Like I just said, you told Rockwell not to tell me where she was?”
I wag a finger at him, “Don't you cuss at your mother!”
He chuckles. “I'll stay a few days at your insistence, and at my need to know how the hell you've been getting around so well.”
I cough slightly. Fake. Everything about me has been fake since coming to terms with the fact that the man I love is the fucking devil. I spent so much time trying to save Santiago from himself before awareness took over. I’m guessing if I hadn’t known he raped his sister, that little bit of awareness never would have solidified. But anyway, I cough again. People are usually blinded by their need to help others that they get lost in that. I need Chuey to forgive me, so back to being sickly me.
“Mayté, you ain't sick. You don't have any diseases.” He pauses for a second. See, I love my son as he internally considers how disrespectful it is to even mention my misdeeds.
“The thing is, mom, I'm happy you look so healthy, but you've been dying of cancer for the longest.”
Though I've spent all my life just listening or taking the cards dished out to me, I finally keep it real. “Well, I’ve lied. I haven’t been dying from cancer. No, I've been dying of sadness. Depression is a disease.”
Blu
For the past few weeks Moms has been taking my brah’s children on outings. Saying that since their mom is gone, they need this…. Hmmm. Can I believe that?
Philip Junior goes on occasion. But this Saturday morning as my son is brushing his teeth, I post against the bathroom doorframe. “Junior... Where y'all going today?”
He shrugs, continuing to brush. His demeanor tells me that the little nigga isn’t lying. Maybe he doesn’t know exactly where. But Junior knows exactly with who. I sigh as Junior washes his face. I consider another tactic.
“Do you see Rocky when y'all are out?” I casually ask.
From the mirror, I view his handsome face. Little liar. His eyes dart to the side at first. Then Phillip Junior says, “Uh...”
I slap the side of Juniors ear. “Boy, you bet' tell me what the heck is going on!”
“Aye,” Popeye swiftly steps into the bathroom. “The fuck wrong with you, Blu?” he stresses in my ear while Junior just stands there, chest puffed up. His big brown eyes are watered but Phillip Junior doesn't cry. Just like his damn daddy when it comes to loyalties. I know his granny told him not to tell me. My mom has this fool trying to keep secrets. I shake my head.
“Our son just lied to me!” I shout, pointing at my chest as if this can hardly be real.
“I didn't say nothing,” Junior pouts.
“As far as I'm concerned not opening your muthafucking mouth is a lie too,” I say, pointing a finger at him.
“Junior,” Popeye tilts his head toward the door. Our son takes one last look at me before exiting.
Popeye closes the door, and it’s evident that he wants to school me. “Man, Blu. When your ass in on one, ain't nobody safe.”
I wave a hand, saying, “It’s a’ight. Junior knows I love him. I just don't like him lying. But I already know my damn mom is the reason he's keeping secrets.” My eyes narrow as I consider the scenario. “These damn grandmas get away with murder.”
I lean against the sink, knowing Popeye wants me to elaborate. He gives me this Scooby-Doo glance as if I am not making any sense. Head tilted to the side, I look at this fool as if he should already understand. But since he doesn’t, I snap, “Rita has been taking my brother’s kids to see that bitch.”
“You stupid.” Popeye laughs as if the bomb of betrayal I just dropped doesn’t mean a thing.
“The fuck you mean I'm stupid, nigga?” I start to walk past but Popeye stands before me. “Up out my face,” I command, pushing his chest.
My nigga doesn't even shrug. “Why you so mad at Rocky? She’s fam. Damn, y'all been day-one besties.”
“Why you so damn concerned. You like the bitch?”
“Here we go,” Popeye huffs, having me still pinned against himself and the bathroom counter.
I use that line just to get this nigga up out my face when need be. I know Popeye doesn't like Rockwell or half the bitches I’ve accused him of wanting on occasion. But if I talk too much shit, he gives up and walks away. Yup, that’s exactly what I’m waiting for. Popeye to get over himself.
Today must be a new day. Tho I still ain't in the mood to argue. I try to move around him. Popeye slams both hands down on either side of the marble sink top. He looks me dead in the eye. Well damn, if the nigga wasn’t so fine with milk chocolate skin and pearly white smile, I would slap the confusion off his face. The confusion that Popeye has in believing he can order me around. Who does he think I am, besides his wife?
While all up in my face, Popeye speaks calm and collected, “You spend too much time in e’erbody else business, Blu. We're supposed be preparing to move. Been tryna find us a spot out of the limelight for a while now. But ever since there’s been issues on the home front with Lorenzo and Rockwell, here comes yo’ ass, right in the mist.”
Does this nigga not know the Colombiano way? Rocky was fam, but my brah is blood for life. Without letting my husband really know about himself f
or coming at me like this. I say, “But that bitch doesn't deserve to see Lorenzo's—”
“Her kids. The three kids Rockwell had with Lorenzo?” His eyebrows rise as if I’m the stupid one. Dang, this dude is sexy when angry. He moves back a little bit, understanding the look in my eyes. It’s pure sex. Popeye already knows that I will manipulate his ass. Take the pipe in my mouth so he will shut the fuck up.
“Yeah, their kids,” I reply since Popeye clearly isn't tryna give me any play as my hand begins to rub beneath his wife beater. Ripples upon ripples of taut muscle make me murmur. But regardless of my mouth beginning to water, feigning for the pipe, I’m bullheaded enough to continue trying to get Popeye to see my side. “Rockwell still doesn't deserve to see them. Cheating with Chuey. And wherever and whoever she fucking with now...”
“I know one thing,” Popeye says in his commanding voice. Then for a second he pauses, I can tell that my caressing his six-pack has him feeling kinda right. He takes a step back, then adds, “Look, I ain't ever tryna be in no female issues but that's your girl, Blu. You didn’t even have Rocky around when trying to deal with the possibility of those Jamaican’s giving you AIDS.”
My throat clogs. My nails grip into the flesh, as my hands have turned into hard fists, while thinking about those fucking yardies. Tho I don’t want to give Popeye the benefit of being right, when I went to the doctor to have the first test completed, she and Lorenzo had just gotten back together so I didn’t want to ask her to roll through for moral support. Then came the waiting months for the results, and I didn’t confide in Rocky because she and Lorenzo were beefing tough.
Popeye continues, “So I’ma tell you one thing, Rocky hasn't fucked Chuey. There you have it, Misses. All. About. Loyalties. Next thing you’re going to be wolfing that pay penance by slicing her fucking throat like your mom has talked of.”
I almost crack a smile. This nigga thinks that I’m as crazy as my moms, wanting somebody to carve smiley faces on their neck for some shit they’ve done. We’re from Hoover, Illinois. It doesn’t matter that Colombian blood weaves through our veins. Back in The H, you couldn’t get a muthafucka to apologize for accidently stepping on your big toe. I glare at Popeye as if he’s just called me some type of Junior High School hall monitor. Or worse, Rita, like I said, Moms is outta her damn mind with the old-world mentality.
Loving a Colombian Cartel Thug 3 Page 14
