Pisces_Mr. Imagination_The 12 Signs of Love

by Tiana Laveen

  “I’m not here to comfort anyone, rock uh bye baby.” Paxton rolled his eyes at the guy. “They want people with voices that are less distinguishable, ya know? Where you can’t tell what part of the country they’re from. This is New England; our voices sound like we’ve got an attitude all the damn time. Even a nice greeting makes a guy think we want to whack ’im one good time. I’ve gotten real good at softening it when I talk in my shows, but when we’re all in a room goin’ at each other, I can only imagine what someone not used to it thinks.”

  Paxton stabbed his meatloaf over and over with his fork. Mom shot him a glance out the corner of her eye.

  “What’s wrong with how we sound? Tom Bergeron is from Boston!”

  “Nothin’ is wrong with it, but for news and stuff like that, I’m told it’s too aggressive is all,” Jacob piped up, agreeing with him. Dad’s face turned all red, and he seemed deeply wounded by this fact. “I mean, hell, I think we could lay it all out without the fancy shit, and they don’t want that.” Jacob waved his hands. “Like, look, ya know, just say it’s gonna be cold outside, right? Like, we’ll talk about the damn temperature and leave it alone.”

  “All right, I agree with you there,” Dad said. “All that other crap they throw in there is for the birds and what kills me is when the weatherman stands in the middle of the goddamn television screen, blocking the weekly forecast! Move outta the way; you’re not see through, you lousy bastard! Geez Louise!” Everyone, including Mom, burst out laughing. “Sorry, Ivy,” Dad apologized as he pushed his empty plate to the side. “That just pisses me off.”

  “No problem. We all have our pet peeves.” She picked up her knife and began to work on the last bit of meatloaf. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the woman was actually enjoying it. Mom could make a convert out of her yet.

  “Does anyone want seconds?” Mom asked as she got to her feet.

  “No, I’m fine,” Paxton responded, followed by similar responses from others around the table. Mom began to pick up the plates and cart them off into the kitchen.

  “Would you like some help? I’d like to join you if you don’t mind,” Ivy called out, getting to her feet.

  “Oh, yes, that would be nice. Come on in, Ivy.” Paxton’s heart beat a bit faster as he watched the woman waltz away from the table, leaving him there with his brother and father. Soon, it was just the three of them, and he could feel the heat from the stares as he fiddled with his empty bottle, peering down into the slick hole before resting his eyes on the guys once again.

  “All right, what’s going on with you and her?” Dad pitched his thumb towards the kitchen when he thought the coast was clear.

  “What’s this? An intervention?” Paxton chuckled. “What do you mean what’s going on? She’s my girlfriend. It’s self-explanatory.”

  “I know, but it would’ve been nice to get a heads up.” The older man grabbed his bottle of beer and took a long swallow, his eyes never leaving his.

  “Oh, did you want me to send a special carrier pigeon or perhaps some blimp in the sky that read, ‘Beware! A Black woman this way cometh!’” Jacob burst out laughing, but Dad grimaced and crossed his big arms over his chest. “Maybe I should have played ‘Ebony and Ivory’ by Stevie Wonder as soon as we pulled in the driveway, or maybe I should’ve sent you a bag of Oreo cookies with a note that read, ‘Look, Dad! Meet your grandkids!’”

  “Look, you fuckin’ smartass, that’s not what I mean. You know I’m not racist.”

  “Do I?” Paxton’s brow rose. “I honestly don’t know that, Dad. I told Ivy you aren’t, but that could’ve been bullshit. Maybe I was blowin’ smoke up her ass. When we walked into this house, you could cut the tension with a knife. Do you know how uncomfortable you made her?! You and Mom whispering in the kitchen like I’d brought some hooker in here off the street, then turnin’ and looking at her like she was some weirdo. What’s wrong with ya?!”

  “Weirdo? No the hell we didn’t. We’ve been nothin’ but nice to that woman!”

  “Then why did you need a heads up if it wasn’t a problem? If she were White, you wouldn’t have asked for a heads up. This is fuckin’ silly. Don’t play games. We both know what’s going on here.”

  “All right, all right. Cool down, Pax,” Jacob said real easy like, as if the situation were being blown out of proportion.

  He shot the guy a sharp glance before turning his attention back to Dad.

  “It was unexpected, that’s all, Paxton! Doesn’t mean we disapprove. It just took me by surprise and I’m not going to sit here and act like it didn’t. You act like you come home every day with a woman for us to meet. You don’t. I find out years down the line that you were engaged or whatever and then when you have brought a woman by, she’s never been Black. So sue me if I found that curious!”

  “Sue ya? So you can hire an attorney against me with my own money? Jesus Christ… what a stupid conversation. And you wonder why I rarely come home?”

  “Awww, come on, you two. Let’s not do this!” Jacob protested.

  “Paxton.” Dad pointed at him. “You never come home because you decide not to. You’re paranoid. Now look, Ivy seems like a nice girl. I think it’s bullshit how you’re sittin’ here diggin’ around, trying to find something to get all P.O.’d about so you can storm off.”

  “You think I came all this way to turn around and leave again? That’s silly, but yes, I will leave and take her with me if she is shown any disrespect.” Dad sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m paranoid. You’re prejudiced. Mystery solved. Pass the mashed potatoes.”

  “Paxton, you and I have had trouble for years now,” Dad stated somberly. He grabbed hold of his beer again and took a hard swallow. “Everyone knows you don’t like bein’ around us, like you’re too good now. I just want this to stop. All right, I was surprised Ivy was Black; so what?” He shrugged and leaned back in his seat.

  “It’s not that I think I’m too good; it’s that everyone likes to play games in this family it seems. That’s not my thing. Unless I’m on stage, I prefer to be real with people I care about, not try to hurt ’em just ’cause I can, and not deprive of ’em of love just because they don’t deserve it.”

  “We appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Pax; you’ve been real generous but nothin’ beats having family around in the flesh.”

  Jacob sat there soaking it all in, probably getting a kick out of the banter.

  “Major is with me. That’s enough.” Paxton rolled his eyes, itching for a joint.

  “Yeah, and he told your mother that you two haven’t been getting along. You gotta stop that, Paxton. You’re always gettin’ into it with someone. Stop fighting with your brothers! You’re getting too old for this.”

  “I have to stop that?” Paxton jabbed his finger into his chest. “Do you have any idea what he’s been doing?! I’m the bad guy once again, right? He only told half the story. Of that, I’m sure.”

  “Dad, you can’t always trust what Major says,” Jacob grimaced and shook his head. “He’s got ulterior motives half the time.”

  “Motives or not, Major loves Paxton and you know it, Jacob. He was pretty upset about all of this. You and Major have always been close and I hope you work out whatever bullshit you two are fightin’ over. Though he said it was the girl, I’m not buyin’ it. Anyway, stop avoiding us. You toss money at us, but we wanna see you too, Paxton. We are who we are; you are who you are. Nothing is changin’. We love each other. We don’t have to like each other all the time, but family is family. I’m not going to be around forever.”

  “That’s right,” Jacob chimed in, grating on Paxton’s nerves.

  He drew quiet for a spell, hating Dad’s words… Was he sick? The thought of losing the guy had never crossed his mind. Of course Dad and Mom wouldn’t live forever, but he never allowed his brain to process such a thing. Jacob got up and excused himself to go to the guest bathroom down the hall.

  “Now, as far as the lady’s race, I don’t give
a shit that you’re dating a Black woman. That’s your choice. I can’t tell ya what to do, who to see and care about. You’ve always made your own decisions.” Paxton wanted to argue, fight back, but then he heard Ivy burst out laughing and his mother’s voice mingling with hers. He ran his fingers along his forehead.

  “She’s important to me, so I wanted you to meet her. I love her… I love her a lot.”

  Dad nodded in understanding.

  “You have no idea how happy we are to see you, Paxton.” Dad’s smile was steeped in sadness. He wasn’t an emotional man, but he could see the truth in his eyes. “We missed you. Your mother and I know how hard you work.” Dad stopped short of saying he was proud of him, but he could see that in his eyes, too, and this soothed his heart. Just then, Ivy and Mom came out of the kitchen, both of them laughing their heads off. Jacob returned a few seconds later and took his seat.

  “It was just so silly! But yeah, I get it.” Mom laughed so hard, she looked like she was finding it hard to breathe. “Just toss ’em in a bag.”

  Ivy was holding a plastic trash bag. “This is for the dolls.” She looked across the room at him, then burst out laughing, causing his mother to crack up all over again.

  “Those damn dolls!” Dad hollered before slapping his forehead. “I told Peggy to take them outta that room, Ivy, but she doesn’t know where to put them.”

  “Tha trash… put ’em in the trash out back, then set ’em on fire,” Paxton interjected, causing Dad to grin and Mom to shoot him a death glare.

  “Grandma had those dolls. Everybody is too suspicious to toss ’em out, ’fraid they’ll come back and haunt the family,” Jacob teased.

  “They’ve gotta go.” Ivy wiped happy tears from her eyes and reclaimed her seat. “I’m so glad your mother was so understanding, Paxton.”

  “Oh, trust me, I was gonna make them disappear before the end of the night, anyway. Not tryna have a dozen glass eyes on me while I try to sleep. A bunch of Brides of Chucky… no thanks.” At this, everyone burst out laughing. “Last time I was here I rounded them up and put them in a drawer. I should’ve buried them out back. I bet they would’ve risen from the dead though… creepy fuckers.” Ivy held her belly, tears of mirth coming out of her eyes.

  And then they all began to talk amongst each other, laughing, drinking and eating cinnamon coffee cake. Paxton was in shock at how different the evening had turned out. He had been prepared to fight, to argue, to escape with his prize in tow, but for whatever reason, Dad didn’t push him too far this time. He’d nudged a bit, but backed off, something Dad never did.

  He’d realized many years ago that he and his father were in some ways too much alike and for this reason, they clashed. But this time, things were different. Dad didn’t engage in his typical banter. Maybe the man truly just wanted him to be happy, regardless of whether he understood his choices or not.

  His woman sat there with a belly full of food she didn’t want in order to make his family feel more comfortable, and she and Mom had apparently enjoyed a great conversation—perhaps sowed the seeds of a new friendship. One could dream, couldn’t they?

  The tables had turned. He couldn’t remain angry at his father anymore. The man was honest, and he’d shown his hand. He couldn’t be angry at his mother, either; she was clearly having a good time and had moved on. Who knew what magic Ivy had woven; perhaps her natural glorious self was the only wonder they all needed. Whatever it was within her that had changed the energy in the place, placated the turbulent sea and evened out the vibe, he was grateful. For her very presence, sprinkled with her laughter and likability, had worked like a charm…

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Extra, Extra, Read All About It

  (Then Read it and Weep…)

  Eric sat at his desk at home. glaring at his computer, his head buzzing with booze and the odor of his recently extinguished cigarette seasoning the air. It was almost two in the morning. Some woman he barely knew—Heidi was her name—had vacated his house after he’d called her an Uber and now here he sat, scratching his head as he re-read the article Ivy had sent over…

  This was going to be a game changer, but the words on the page jarred him, took him to places he didn’t expect. This was journalism at its best, an introspective piece into the psyche of a man who didn’t run from his shadows; he was the night and glimmer of light that caused such darkness to form in the first place.

  After reading the article, he felt a mixture of confusion and admiration for Ivy’s talent. He sighed and swiveled back and forth in his chair, rolling the words over in his mind. His brain became a think tank, asking questions about morality, mortality, and much more.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” He ran his hand down his face in frustration. He understood the woman’s reluctance now, her struggle; but the shit was just so beautiful and it would definitely get them top billing by making international news. The one question Ivy hadn’t yet answered was whether Paxton Starr himself had read and reviewed it, and if so, what did he think?

  “Ivy… you’ve outdone yourself. But at what cost? You haven’t said it to me, but it’s clear as day. You’ve given me what I wanted, except for your heart. But you can’t, right?” He smiled dismally and shook his head. “It’s too late. I know what’s happened… I can read between the lines. You’re in love with this man…”

  Paxton observed his front door open and close, then lock. Her heels clicked down the hallway as she approached the elevator until he would no longer detect her presence, were it not for her lingering sweet gardenia perfume. He turned slowly back towards his computer and started at the beginning. According to Ivy, the horse was out of the barn and running full speed ahead. She had turned her article in to her boss. Paxton tried with all his might to pretend he didn’t care if he saw it in advance or not, before it hit the paper. But he did care.

  After reading Ivy’s introduction, consisting of a stellar description of him doused heavily in purple prose, he continued on…

  Mr. Paxton Starr performing for yet another sold out crowd at the LINQ Hotel and Casino.

  The man behind the curtain this time is truly a wizard. He is moving the world with a sleight of hand into a place filled with fantasy, passion, and elation. I was honored to receive access into bits and pieces of Paxton Starr’s mind, his life and philosophy on all that is magic.

  Starr making a deck of cards levitate amongst a group of strangers on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas.

  During our initial meeting, Starr sat at the end of a long, oval-shaped glass table with a light blue tint, his long muscular swimmer’s legs crossed and his eyes hooded, his face devoid of a smile. Despite the look of total resistance, this man had welcomed me into his home and placed a fresh home-made drink before me. He blended in with his surroundings like some fixture that belonged on a wall. So different from the loud, rambunctious man who commanded our attention on the smoke-filled stage…

  Two hours later, I had learned that Mr. Starr was the youngest of five brothers born to Peggy and Nathan Savelli—Major (his manager), Jacob, Gabe, Michael and finally, Paxton, all birthed in Lowell, Massachusetts.

  Starr with two of his brothers at his brother Gabe’s little league baseball game. Left to Right – Major, Paxton, and Jacob. Michael, the second to last, was home with a cold.

  Starr’s parents, Peggy and Nathan Savelli, as newlyweds.

  Starr and his four brothers and two cousins in Cancun for a family boys’ weekend in 2014.

  His brother Gabe decided to do a back flip…

  Starr grew up in many ways like your typical New England teenager. In other ways, he was not the norm, such as his affinity for collecting fireflies, his obsession with “The Davinci Code”, and his fascination with flavored cognacs he’d stolen from his deceased grandfather’s cellar. He collected brand new decks of cards, never opened, some still in his possession today with the original receipt, weathered and barely legible, attached to the package with a rubber band
. He spent much of his free time reading about doves, whales, bats, and vultures while his peers played ball and talked about girls and ways to convince their parents to let them borrow the car for an evening spin.

  Starr’s preoccupation with magic came as organically as the birth of a sparrow; in fact, he made it clear he could not recall a period in his life when he wasn’t fascinated by the unexplainable. This is a man who was accepted and began a collegiate life at Harvard University. He is also the same man who spent two months in a mental institution at age seventeen, not uttering a word. This is a man who, on one hand, is unnervingly honest, yet on the other hand manages to lie to himself and sometimes to others, to prevent them from penetrating deep enough to uncover the truth. Aren’t magic displays merely lies, after all? Starr is in the business of double-dealing and deception… or so I thought.

  Nothing could be further from the truth… And here’s that word again. An honest portrayal of the man can be explained through the typical Q&A banter of a news reporter and her subject, and sure, I will get that as well. But, before I go into that arena of what dipping sauces he prefers, I want everyone reading this article to know that Starr is as much Vegas as he is Boston. With his natural swag, jet black hair that often tumbles in his face, partially hiding a haughty smirk, he is walking a tightrope between truth and lies. He demands honesty from all those around him, despite his at times sensitive nature. For him, the truth that delivers pain goes with the territory. And he relishes the hurt.

  Paxton Savelli – 10 months old

  I spent a little over two months interviewing a man who has been in the tabloids for over a decade. A slew of women had paraded in and out of his home, a fact that has attracted the press’ attention for years. Starr has earned a reputation for freaky acts and promiscuity, and for temper tantrums that would rival those of an R&B Diva missing her customary glass of wine. The duality in his character causes perplexity, apprehension, and endearment. It’s not that Starr tries to be morose; he simply blends into the energy that surrounds him. Some ARE what they eat. He IS what he discovers. The man is truly empathetic, a sponge that adopts the emotions and feelings of those who surround him. This, I have come to realize, is one of the main reasons he retreats, not only from the public to guard his privacy, but to recharge. He requires ample downtime. He has to recuperate.