Pretty Kings

by T. Styles

  Instead I move to the black safe…the one belonging to Kevin. I enter the combination and it pops open. Inside is a stack of money, about fifty thousand dollars. It’s all I have left in the world. I think about something serious at that moment. I realize without Kevin I have nothing. No money. No assets. Nothing. Even this house didn’t belong to us.

  It was a gift from Kevin to his aunt Bunny, the most evil woman in the world. When he first gave it to her, she said it was too big for a woman to live alone, and begged him to stay in it and buy her a smaller one. He quickly fulfilled her wish like he always did. I think wanting us to stay here was a way to control our marriage. Although she never said it, I know she loved the idea of us staying in her house. Control. It’s all about control. Since Kevin is dead, the house goes back to Bunny. So I’m technically broke.

  I kept telling him we needed to leave and buy our own house and he promised that after the deal with the Russians, he’d buy me the home of my dreams. Now, he’s gone. My world is crushed and changed. What’s to become of my kids? I can’t afford their school with fifty thousand dollars.

  When I feel my stomach swirl, I stand up, grab the small wastebasket and release the bitter liquid from my belly. It’s yellow. It’s strong, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. Back on my knees, I wipe my mouth with my hands. I remove a white envelope from Kevin’s safe. In it is a sheet of paper. On it is a number and the word Fruit Delivery written in red ink. I knew all about this. I know a lot about Kevin’s business.

  On Saturday, Kevin was to call the number and say one of two things. Same, which meant a delivery truck would be parked outside of the house. Inside of the truck would be the keys and the cocaine. The coke would be taken to the Russians in exchange for the money. The other thing that could be said on the phone was Different, which required a new address.

  As I hold the sheet of paper in my hand I realize this is my only option to survive. If I want to take care of my family, I need to see to it that the meeting goes down without a hitch. My only question is how?

  Sunday, November 4th

  9:00 am

  SCARLETT KENNEDY

  The last thing my husband said to me before he was murdered was I want a divorce. As I lie face up on the black carpet on my bedroom floor, I can feel the tears well up in my eyes and roll back toward my ears. From my position, I can smell Camp’s red dirty boxing gloves. They lay a few feet up from my head next to a red Everlast freestanding heavy bag. I crawl toward them, on hands and knees, and place them against my nose and inhale. When I smell the sour scent of the dry sweat gloves I cry. Hard. My stomach churns. I feel sick.

  It doesn’t matter that Camp didn’t want me anymore before he died. It doesn’t matter that he filed for a divorce not even a month earlier. It doesn’t even matter that I couldn’t tell my sisters-in-law that our marriage was coming to a complete end. All that matters is that I will never get a chance to change his mind.

  I drop the gloves, and roll into a ball on the floor. I think about the woman I am. The woman I’ve always been. I’m abusive, and angry at times. It’s not like I’ve changed since we first got married, it’s the way I’ve always been. I guess Camp couldn’t deal with it anymore. Maybe it was becoming harder to lie for my abuse. Because of me, Camp had a black eye almost every other day. If I wasn’t punching him, I was scratching his beautiful brown face. I can’t count the times his boxing hobby took the rap for my violence. In the past he enjoyed sex with me when I hit him, choked him and spit in his face. I guess those days are over.

  I get up off the floor, and walk to my personal bathroom to brush my teeth. That’s one thing I love about this house, each room has it’s own bathroom…it’s own personality. And most of all, privacy. When I walk inside, I hear the water dripping in my black tub. I remember now, I was going to take a bath before I heard Bambi’s scream last night. They were murdered, she told us. Our husbands are dead. I shiver.

  After I brush my teeth, I throw on some jeans and a baby blue and gold, Juicy Couture t-shirt. I leave to check on my sisters. Although, we don’t have the same blood, or even the same ethnicity, I love them more than I love my own family.

  When I knock on Bambi’s door, it opens. I look inside and she’s not there. I move to Denim’s door, and can hear her four-year-old daughter Jasmine talking to herself. Since her kid is up, I figure Denim is up too so I don’t bother her. I don’t want Jasmine coming near me. Kids make me nervous.

  I move to Race’s room and knock on the door. From where I stand I hear her crying loudly. When I turn her 18-kt gold doorknob, and push it open, the smell of feces immediately smacks me in the face. I see Race on the bed, rubbing her eyes with her fists. But, what is that smell?

  “Race, what’s going on?” I ask entering her room. “Are you okay?”

  The moment I take another step inside she yells, “Get out, bitch! Now!” She throws something at me and I duck before it hits me in the face. “Get out of my room!”

  I run away and slam the door behind me. She’s taking the news of their deaths just like I knew she would, and I can’t blame her. The only reason I’m not having a nervous breakdown, is because I knew in advance that Camp was through with me before his death. I guess I’ve been grieving for our relationship ending for some time now. It’s like I had a head start.

  When I hit the elevator button to go downstairs, I can smell food cooking. I step inside the mahogany and gold elevator and the doors close. I look at myself in the reflection on the mirror. I’m taller than the average girl, standing about 5’10 with no heels. My boobs are big and luckily for me, so is my natural ass. I wonder will I be able to find another man now that I’m alone?

  When the elevator stops, and dings, I step out. My feet cuddle the expensive cream Italian carpeting on our living room floor. I walk toward the front of the house, and see Bambi in the kitchen cooking. She’s wearing her green army fatigue pants and a red bra…no top. I shiver. The only time Bambi wears her fatigues is if she’s mad or up to no good. But, even in her fatigues she is so beautiful. Her long brown hair hangs down her back, and her brown skin is flawless. I guess despite the horror stories I heard about regarding her past…war becomes her.

  I walk behind her and can finally smell the bacon. “What’s going on, Bambi?” I ask looking at her pants. “Are you okay?”

  She doesn’t look at me, and flips the bacon over in the large black cast iron pan. “You mean besides, the fact that our husbands are dead?” She looks at me and I can see the tear stains on her face. “If you take that out of the equation, I think life for us is great. Don’t you?”

  She’s being sarcastic and I wonder if she’s mad at me for something. I don’t say anything to her. Instead, I wash my hands. Five more minutes of silence pass between us, and the house phone rings.

  “Hello…oh hold on,” I hold out the phone. “Bambi, it’s Sarge, he says he has to talk to you.”

  “Not now,” she says to me.

  “Sarge, can you call back later? Bambi doesn’t want to talk right now.” I hang up on him and focus back on Bambi. I can tell she’s irritated but I want to speak to her. Finally I say, “I didn’t mean it that way, Bambi. When I asked are you okay. I know you’re hurting, I am too.” I take the eggs and cheese out of the refrigerator. Then I remove a glass bowl from the cabinet, and crack the eggs on the rim.

  “I know you didn’t,” she says in a breathy tone. “My mind is cloudy today. Stuffed with so much pain.”

  “I don’t know what to feel anymore, Bambi.” I admit. “What are we going to do without them? It’s like I feel lost already.”

  She removes the bacon from the pan and place it on a plate covered in paper towels. “We may have to do some things we not prepared for.” Bambi turns around to face me. “We are all we got, Scarlett. You guys are my sisters, and we must stick together if we are going to survive now.” She exhales. “I saw the news today. Apparently the man who came into the casino was a disgruntled employee. He killed twenty-
six people but they aren’t releasing the names until they notify the families.” She looks at the phone. “We haven’t received a call yet. I don’t even want it to tell you the truth.”

  I step closer to Bambi. “You know Kevin and them travel under false names. Maybe, they don’t know who to call yet.” I rub her arms. “No matter what I have your back, Bambi. This family is all I have.”

  It’s true. Before marrying Camp my life was ugly. So ugly it’s amazing that I’m even here right now. I don’t deserve this life. I don’t deserve to live.

  ****

  6 Years Earlier

  Twenty-three year old Scarlett Kirk stood in the busy crowd, away from her ex-husband Mark, her mother Courtney and father Joseph. Although they didn’t see her, from her viewpoint Scarlett saw them clearly. There was a trial taking place in the District Court of Maryland due to the abuse Scarlett inflicted on her four-year-old daughter Samantha. To Scarlett, court that day felt like the end of her life.

  Scarlett was a monster, but it was learned behavior. Because she never told anyone that her aunt Reba treated her so violently when she was in her care, they didn’t know her mindset. She was a child abuser and those types of people deserve to be punished. At the end of the day Scarlett sprayed drain cleaner in her daughter’s eyes, because she was crying after being disciplined for using her makeup. And, now she had to answer to the charges.

  Scarlett’s red hair was died dark brown, and pulled back into a tight ponytail. Tears fell from her eyes, and onto her navy blue dress suit, and she tried to figure out why she was so evil. Her abuse didn’t stop at her daughter. She struck her husband Mark for everything from not liking the way he looked at times, to not loving her hard enough.

  Earlier that day, before court, Scarlett gave up all her worldly possessions. Most she gave to her brother Matt and the other things she gave to thrift stores. She was just about to turn over her life to the court system when someone grabbed her softly by the hand. She snatched away, and looked at who was vying for her attention.

  “No disrespect, I just thought you were my wife,” Camp Kennedy said. “Truth be told you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Prior to that moment Scarlett never dated a black man. She didn’t have any love or hate for them, she just didn’t know them. Still, as she stood in front of Camp, she couldn’t help but feel a connection. Camp’s wide smile, low curly hair and chocolate brown skin made her warm inside. She wondered what life would be like if he was in her world. She could tell either he had money, or that he had a position of authority because he carried himself with extreme confidence. He was a dope boy, but she didn’t know. This was a plus since her ex-husband was so weak, and mild mannered.

  Realizing she had no time for play because she was due in court she said, “I’m kind of busy right now. You better go find your wife.”

  Scarlett turned to walk toward the courtroom, until he grabbed her hand again. “How about we get out of here together,” he smiled at her. “I got time if you do.”

  How does he do that? She thought. Make me feel so weak?

  “What is your wife gonna say?”

  “I don’t know, I haven’t found her yet,” he explained. “It could be you.” She tried not to grin but couldn’t help herself. “Maybe we can get some breakfast or something like that,” he rubbed his belly. “I don’t know about you but I can eat.” Suddenly his face turned serious. “That is, unless you have something major to take care of today that’s more important than being with me.”

  Scarlett thought about how she was facing time for the abuse. Maybe he was her way out. Her escape goat. One door leads to an incarceration and the other led to excitement. “What are you in the court house for?” Scarlett asked him.

  “I docked my boat in the wrong place. Had to pay some fines,” he advised her. “What about you?”

  She swallowed. Something told her he could take her away from it all But, if she wanted to start over, she couldn’t be fully honest with him. “I…um…have some traffic tickets to pay.”

  “That ain’t about nothing.” Camp reached in his pocket and pulled out a stack of cash. “Let’s take care of that, and then grab something to eat. You coming with me.” He walked toward the counter.

  She grabbed his hand, “No, I’ll take care of that later. I kind of want to go with you right now. If it’s okay with you.”

  From that point on, Scarlett never left Camp’s side. A year later she became his wife and her jealousy, and fear of losing him, caused her to react abusively toward him. In the beginning Camp loved being able to toss her around, and throw her across the room before sticking his dick into her wet pink-pussy. That is until things got out of hand one day. After she found out he was cheating, fought him and called the police. She didn’t even think about the warrants out for her arrest and nor did she care.

  When the police came to the mansion and saw her white bruised skin and the African-American man standing behind her with clenched fists, things got serious. The cops pulled Camp out of the house, beat him and arrested him. They treated Camp so violently that she finally understood that although she was his wife, the world was still a racist place.

  Luckily Bambi and the Kennedy Kings were not home otherwise they would’ve hated her for the drama she caused. They didn’t fuck with the police, then again, who did? Scarlett was able to get Camp out of jail and Bambi and Kevin were never aware of that fight. Both Camp and Scarlett kept things on a low about their relationship.

  Life for Camp and Scarlett was up and down during the years they’d been together, yet Scarlett never thought she’d really lose him, until now.

  ****

  “We’re out of biscuits,” I tell Bambi when the breakfast I helped her make was prepared. We made eggs, bacon, pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice. “I know you like them instead of pancakes. What you want instead? Some toast?”

  “I wish you could go to the store and get some for me,” Bambi says to me. “It’s been years, Scarlett, and I still don’t see how you move around without a driver’s license. I need to be mobile.”

  Nobody knew about my warrants. Not even my husband Camp. Because, I never went to court to answer to the abuse charges of my daughter, I could never lead a full life, and that included getting a driver’s license. I was even afraid that the police or my family would find me when Camp and I got married. Our entire wedding day was stressful for me, and I had to stay drunk just to relax. In the end I was fine.

  “You know I don’t like to drive,” I tell Bambi as I help her place the expensive Mikasa Chinaware on the table for my sisters. “I wouldn’t even know how to act if I had to drive a car right now.”

  “You do know that slavery is over right?” Bambi asks me. “Us black people are free now and don’t have to work for the white man no more.”

  My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. There’s a downside to being a white woman marrying a black man. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but in the background was always the difference between them and me. My hair is stringy and my skin is cream. Their hair is thick, and their skin is brown. We never called each other out of our names, and we sincerely loved one another, but me being white was always the pink elephant in the room. At least that’s how I felt anyway. In my mind I always had to prove myself to them and do more to be accepted in the family. To the point where I was secretly denouncing my own race.

  Things were worse out in the world, a black man was involved in a major trial against a white one. During those times if I walked hand and hand with Camp in the street, the world would react violently toward us. I’ve been called everything from a bitch to my face by black women, to a nigger-lover by my own people. An interracial relationship is not for the weak at heart, and despite people thinking the world has changed, Camp and I knew differently.

  “I hate when you say stuff like that, Bambi. You know, about slaves and all,” I tell her sitting down at the dining room table. “It makes me feel like you think I thi
nk about you in that way.”

  Bambi stops what she is doing and sits next to me at the dining room table. She grabs both of my hands, and looks into my eyes. I look down at our fingers. My cream hands interlocked in her brown ones look beautiful to me. Like how Camp’s and my body look when we make love.

  “Scarlett, I’m so sorry,” she cries. “You know I don’t feel that way about you. My mind is all over the place right now. It’s moving a mile a minute,” she snaps her fingers four times by her ear. “I’m trying hard to save face, but I don’t know what to do right now. Part of me wants to just stay in bed and cry, but the soldier in me wants to stand up and defend us. I still have you all to worry about, and my sons. I’m older than all of you, so I feel some sense of responsibility. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”

  “Bambi, you don’t have to take all of this on your own. If there’s something I can do, just let me know.” Suddenly my jaw feels warm and my stomach hot. I want to go to the bathroom, but I don’t want her to think what she is saying is unimportant to me.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, because I have a plan, but I’m still trying to work some things out in my head first,” Bambi tells me.

  And, then it happens. I throw up. Everything in my stomach splashes out onto our hands and then the floor. I finally remember what’s going on. When Camp decided to divorce me, I stopped taking my birth control pills so that we could have a baby. In the beginning he wanted a child, but because I couldn’t trust myself around kids, I denied him that right. When he wanted to leave me, things changed. I figured if I were pregnant he would keep me as his wife.

  As Bambi rushes into the kitchen and spins the paper towel rack to clean up my vomit, I realize my move was all for nothing now. Right?