Pretty Kings

by T. Styles

  I turn to walk away until she says, “I think you better take another look at my child. And, then make your statement again. You may be uninformed, but you’re not blind. Use your eyes, this is Kevin’s child.”

  I spin around. I grit on her, and then my eyes roll over her son. He has the same long lashes as Kevin and the same thick eyebrows. Of course he belongs to him. I feel myself tremble. I’m sweating harder, and my legs buckle at the knees. I fall forward, but when I do I’m grabbing the girl’s hair with my good hand. I take her down to the dirty floor with my body weight. I use the arm with my gunshot wound to press my forearm against her throat. My other fist becomes magnetized to her jaw, and I strike her over and over again. Her skin opens up like a wax doll exposed to heat. Her warm blood lotions my hand. She’s no match for me. But, then again most bitches aren’t.

  She’s flailing wild arms in my direction, but isn’t landing anything that causes me serious pain. Her son is a different story. I can feel his knuckles slam against my right ear repeatedly as he tries to help his mother. My ears are ringing. His annoying blows distract me, and I push him toward the wall where he stays.

  When I’m done with her, I stand up, and throw the metal trashcan down on her face. It strikes her chin, and blood sprays up like a water fountain. Having damaged her face for what I predict is permanent, I spit on her and say, “Stay the fuck away from me and my family. Do you hear me, bitch?”

  She rolls to her side, curls up in a ball and weeps. “You a crazy, black bitch! What is wrong with you? All I wanted to do was talk.”

  I look at her son and say, “Your daddy is dead, kid. Get use to it. I have to.”

  I storm away.

  ****

  My tears fall down to my jeans as I sit in the driver seat of my Rolls Royce. My bandage is wetter with my blood. I guess the wound reopen. The teardrops cause the blue in my jeans to darken with tiny circles. The harder I wipe them away, the more I cry. How could Kevin betray me like this? Who did I really marry? If you fuck a bitch on the side, why you have to be a dirty-dick-ass-nigga about it and slide up in her raw? He has no respect for me, and my body and I’m glad he’s dead. I wish my heart believed my mind.

  I remember about four months ago I had a bad case of crabs. At first I didn’t know what was happening because my panties had red dots everywhere, from the crabs sucking my blood. When I picked one off of my pubic hair one day, and saw it move, I almost fainted in my bathroom. Instead of telling Kevin right away, I avoided sex for one day by telling him my period started early. When I couldn’t deny him my body any longer I told him the truth. I went through so many scenarios in my mind on how I could have gotten them, but I never thought Kevin went outside of our marriage once. It wasn’t even in my thought process.

  Kevin told me that I must’ve gotten them from the toilet in Las Vegas when we went to see Kanye West. And, I believed him because we went through hair after hair on his body, and there was not a crab in sight. I felt dirty thinking I could’ve given them to him, but he made me love him harder when he held me in his arms, and told me not to worry. I’m such a fucking idiot! That nigga gave them creepy-crawlers to me. To hell with Kevin Kennedy!

  I remove his picture from my glove compartment, and look at his smug face. No wonder he didn’t allow me to have any friends, or hang with anybody else without a Kennedy name. I would run the risk of meeting one of his whores. I wonder how many other kids he has out there. I throw the picture down on the floor, and it floats to my feet.

  I remove the pill bottle from the prescription bag, and twist off the cap. I push two out, toss them into my throat, and wash them down with the Corona hidden in the paper bag between my legs. I take two more for good measure. I can’t wait for the feeling I know is coming. The feeling that nothing matters. The feeling that all is okay, when the world is going to hell around me.

  Suddenly I feel like I’m being watched. When I look out ahead of me, I see a white man in a navy blue Honda Sedan. He’s staring in my direction. Who is he, and what does he want with me? Without moving my upper body too much, so that he could see me, I reach to my left to release my hammer under my seat. Slowly I raise it up, so that the barrel is facing in his direction. I roll my window down and aim at him. He can see me now. I wink, fully prepared to fire, but he speeds away from the scene.

  My mind is racing until, well, until suddenly I feel light and don’t feel anything anymore.

  DENIM

  I stand in the kitchen with my hands on my hips watching Scarlett drink ice-cold water. Bum ass bitch! I’m expecting her to give me a real answer about what happened to my baby girl. Right now Jasmine is upstairs sleep, because the medicine they gave her for the pain makes her tired. She suffered a broken hip and leg, and the doctor doubts she’ll walk the same again.

  “Scarlett, when are you finally going to tell me what really happened to my little girl?” I ask leaning against the stove. “I went in your bathroom yesterday, and noticed there’s a carpet right in front of the tub. So how could you slip? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  Scarlett’s face reddens. “Why do you want to make me so guilty, Denim? Why can’t you believe that I didn’t mean to hurt Jasmine?”

  “Because something is up with you,” I point at her. “Camp use to tell Bradley all the time how violent you were. Said you got real jealous whenever he would go out, and hit him in the face sometimes when he came home late at night. He said half the time he wanted to stay out, and that he despised being married to you. Camp told Bradley that he was even thinking about divorcing you and everything.”

  Scarlett slams the water glass down. “How did you know that? About the divorce?”

  “I just told you,” I respond. “I never said anything to the girls, because I respected your marriage, and I didn’t think you were abusive. But, now I’m wondering if I was wrong.”

  Scarlett pushes past me and walks into the living room. “If you can blame me so easily for something like this, Denim it means you’ve never trusted me in the first place.”

  “Bitch, I’m not trying to hear none of that shit. Bambi and Race may be blind to who you really are, but I’m not anymore. If it slithers like a snake kill it,” I yell. “For real, I would respect you more if you just came out and told me what you did to Jasmine. For once since this shit began, just be honest.”

  Scarlett stops in the foyer, and I stand in front of her. Her cheeks redden. She’s under pressure. Good for the bitch.

  “I’m gonna be straight with you, Scarlett,” I say. “I know watching an autistic child is hard work. Trust me I do.” My voice is softer. “There are plenty of times when I question God as to why he gave me an autistic baby. And, sometimes I even curse him for it. Especially, when I’m trying to connect with her, and she acts like she doesn’t see me. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed with autistic children, Scarlett, and I can understand if you lost it when you watched her. I just want the truth. I promise you, that if you tell me what really happened now, I will trust you again. But, if you lie to me, I will eventually be the death of you.”

  When she doesn’t respond, and appears to be thinking, I’m hoping that the truth will come out of her thin lips. Instead I see headlights brighten the curtains in the living room.

  Scarlett grabs her coat. “I never meant to hurt Jasmine,” she tells me while twisting the doorknob. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  When she runs out I walk up to the window. It’s dark outside but I can see Bunny’s black BMW in front of the house. Scarlett hops inside and they pull off. What the fuck is up with that? They don’t get up like that with one another. So why are they together?

  I walk to the house phone on the wall to call Bambi. It’s evening and she hasn’t been home. I hope things are okay, since I know she’s drinking again, despite telling us at dinner the other day that she quit. I want her to get help. When I dial her cell phone number, instead of her responding the call goes to voicemail.

  I smile because the voicemail i
s in Kevin’s voice and he says, ‘You have reached the love of my life…Mrs. Bambi Kennedy. She’s probably with me, but will get up with you when she can. Leave a message.’

  How cute. I don’t leave a message because I want to talk to her about Scarlett’s skunk-ass in person. I just hope Bambi finally believes me.

  ****

  My mother smells funkier than ever today. She’s on the bed, naked from the waist down. A piece of plastic is beneath her ass to catch the wetness. I dip the orange sponge in the warm soapy water, open her legs and wipe her vagina. The smell is sickening. White shit is caked up around her clit so I have to get it good.

  “Ouch, Denim…not so rough,” she tells me as she flips the buttons on the remote control. “I tell you all the time that you’re too heavy handed.”

  I frown. “Ma, if I don’t wash you good you’re going to get an infection,” I reply dipping the sponge back into the murky water to wash her asshole. “If Grainger would wipe you every other day like I asked, it wouldn’t be so bad when I do it.” I spread her beefy ass cheeks and wipe her ass hole. Shit is caked up everywhere in there also. But, when I see something plastic in her asshole, and pull it out, I’m grossed out. It’s a used condom. I throw it down on the floor and throw up what I ate yesterday. I wipe my mouth on my arm. How disgusting. “Ma, why would you let a nigga fuck you and leave that in your body? What’s wrong with you?”

  She looks embarrassed. “Denim, stop making everything a big deal, it happens to the smallest of girls.” She focuses back on the TV and I cut it off.

  “Ma, you can’t leave foreign objects in your body! What the fuck!” Her body is spread out all over the bed and seems to melt into the mattress. I can’t tell where she ends or the bed begins. “They don’t even have enough respect for you to throw the condom in the trash.” Frustrated, I lean against the wall across from her bed.

  “Denim, I got enough on my mind. I don’t need you fussing at me for getting a little dick from time to time.” She tells me trying to get her upper body comfortable. “These white doctors trying to take my leg, Denim. I need my leg. That’s the only thing on my mind right now.”

  She loves to turn shit around. “What difference does it make if they do take your leg? You don’t use it anyway.”

  She pouts and I can tell she’s about to cry. I’m sick of her fake crying games. Even as I look at the two dressers that sit on the left and right of the bed, they’re filled with cookies, candies and sweet sodas. She has diabetes and the doctor told her to eat right. I spent thousands of dollars in vegetables to help her eat healthier, but when I open the refrigerator everything is rotten and spoiled. Then this bitch had a nerve to have me washing her funky ass, with a condom in her body? She can cry if she wants to, but I don’t care anymore.

  “Why would you say something like that to me,” she sniffles. “When you know how hard I’m trying.”

  “Ma, you don’t do anything but suck dick and eat! How is that trying?”

  “Denim,” she screams at me. “Watch how you talk to me. I’m still your mother.”

  “I’m being honest, ma. You allow these men to come over here, put whip cream and shit on their dicks while you suck it off, and you think shit is sweet. I’m keeping it one hundred with you, you’re playing yourself like a fat whore.”

  “Denim, you don’t know how it feels to be immobile.”

  “That’s right, ma. But, do you know why?” I pause. “Because, unlike you, I didn’t allow a man to bring me down. I didn’t allow a man to stuff my face full of food until I was too fat to get out of bed when he was done with my body. I didn’t allow a man to make me feel like dying when he was through with me, ma.” I walk up to the bed. “Ma, you gotta get your life together. I’m not gonna always be able to take care of you.”

  “What do you mean?” She asks with wide eyes. “I can’t afford my health insurance or my medications without you.”

  This type of pressure makes me feel the need to do stuff I don’t want to. I agreed to help Bambi facilitate the meeting with The Russians for three reasons. First, I know my mother needs my financial help. Secondly I have an autistic daughter. And lastly, I do not want to give Grainger the satisfaction of knowing I failed with Bradley. But, I’m starting to not give a fuck no more.

  “I’m going to help you for as long as I can, ma. But, I’m starting to feel like you not appreciating what I do for you.”

  “Baby, that isn’t true. Of course I appreciate—,”

  “Then start taking care of yourself, ma,” I cut her off. “I want you to start eating right, and I want you to cut these men off at the door.”

  “You don’t understand, Denim. I need them.”

  “Even at the expense of your own health?” I look down at the floor again. “A nigga bust off in you and left a condom in your body. That’s not good, ma!” She looks away from me. “Ma, are you saying that you need these men even at the expense of your own health?”

  She stares into my eyes. “I’m saying that whether I’m fat, skinny, ugly or beautiful, it doesn’t matter if I don’t have a man to make me feel like a woman. You have Bradley, Denim.” I can feel a cry coming on realizing my husband is dead, but I push it down deep. “I’m trying to get that. And, if it means letting a man rub on me, grab on me, spit in my face, slap me around and take pictures of me while I’m like this, than so be it. Because at the end of the day, at least he’s here.”

  My heart breaks, because my mother use to be so strong. When my sister and me were kids she was the one who would take a dollar out of our allowance every time she saw us with our heads held low. Now she’s different. Weaker. Fatter. Uglier. And, I hate her for all of those reasons and more. Maybe she’s more alike me than I realize and I’m scared.

  “Ma, you can’t presume to know the things about my life I don’t tell you. I might not always have the unlimited access to money. Things change. People change, and situations change.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Oh, my God! Please don’t tell me that Bradley has finally left you. I knew it was coming, but I always thought that you would have more time. I hope you saved up some money for us because we’re going to need it.”

  My nose twists up. “What do you mean has Bradley finally left me?”

  “Baby, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that me and Grainger always said it was just a matter of time before he left you. Seeing as how he was her boyfriend first and all. I figure that he’s still in love with her, and I was always afraid he would hurt your feelings.”

  I’m consumed with anger. I do everything for this bitch. Wash her pussy when she can’t do it herself. Shop for her. Buy her expensive clothes to fit her large body, and still she takes Grainger’s side. And, then this bitch got the nerve to think my husband would want a fucking drug addict? As good as my juicy is? She got us all fucked up.

  “You know what, ma, I’m done with you. From here on out have Grainger take care of you and wash your funky pussy. I’m out.” I walk toward the living room to get Jasmine. I’m crying and I hate myself for it. So ungrateful, my mother is.

  When I walk into the living room, Grainger has Jasmine in her lap while she’s stroking her hair. Jasmine is sleep. It seems odd, and I snatch Jasmine out of her lap. I sit Jasmine in the loveseat and say, “What you doing holding my baby?”

  Grainger shakes her head. “Look at what God did to you,” she looks at Jasmine who is sleeping again, “that’s what happens when you betray your sister. You have a monster for a baby.”

  The hairs all over my body feel like they stand up. “I’m telling you right now that you’re pushing your luck with me,” I say to her. “What you want me to do, fuck you up in this bitch again?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she says. “Besides, Jasmine is cute even with her slow brain.”

  She’s doing all she can to push me and I hold back. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. I think she wants me to fight her so that she can feel alive. She’s a zombie, so I’ll leave h
er that way. “What do you want, Grainger?”

  She steps up to me. I can smell the dirt on her skin. “Word has it that the Kennedy Kings aren’t making deliveries,” she says with a smirk on her face. “Heads are gonna roll.”

  I try to keep a straight face. “Well whoever has the word doesn’t know what the fuck they talking about. My husband don’t miss no deliveries, sweetie-pie.”

  “Your husband huh?” She giggles. “You just love throwing that shit in my face.”

  “I’m not throwing shit in your face,” I say with my hands on my hips. “The last name is Kennedy, bitch. Deal with it. It’s really time to start doing that.”

  She looks angry now. “Where is Bradley?” Grainger continues. “How come I haven’t seen him in days? Normally he checks on ma at least once a week.”

  I wake Jasmine up, grab her coat off of the chair and place it on her body. “How ‘bout my husband has better things to do then to come around here and worry about ma.”

  “I hope he’s okay,” Grainger says shaking her head. “Because from what I’m told, niggas is looking for him too. He might be lying in a ditch somewhere. Are you sure he’s still alive?”

  “You swear you know everything,” I grab Jasmine’s arm and slowly walk her to the door. The cast on her legs makes it awkward for her to move. “Instead of trying to sell them fake ass purses you be pushing, you need to get a fucking job, and go wash ma’s funky ass. I left it in there for you.”

  “People who are almost dead shouldn’t give directions,” Grainger continues. “Because they also said unless they get their delivery, women and children can get the business too. Watch your back, baby sis. And your slow daughter’s too.”

  I move toward my car without responding. When I strap Jasmine into her car seat, I call Bambi again. She still doesn’t answer the phone. What the fuck is she up too?