by Tiana Laveen
“Hiiiii Brent!” She batted her lashes, causing the other girls around her to giggle and playfully push one another. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. “I know you’re going to be at Kurt’s party tonight, right?” the ringleader asked, her light brown eyes reminding him of dripping honey.
“I’ll try,” he said coolly and turned away.
Carl paused, seemingly dumbfounded by the entire scene. The girl nodded and kept moving.
“I want to know how a country ass like you from No-Where-Ville, Ohio is getting all these women?!” He chuckled, while the girls continued to look over their shoulders back at them, batting their eyelashes flirtatiously. “You’ve got to tell me your secret.”
Brent shrugged. “I don’t know. They just like me, I guess.”
“Mr. Modesty, where art thou?!” Carl teased.
The duo walked down the steps of the building, the front area of the school that teemed with students talking and carrying on.
“I’m serious, not trying to be conceited or anything. It’s been going on my entire life.”
“Tell me something, Brent.”
“Yeah…” he said nonchalantly as he pulled his Honda car keys out of his pocket.
“How many girls have you slept with?”
Brent unlocked the car, paused and shrugged. “I don’t know.” He yawned. “Like, twenty-six, maybe twenty-eight, something like that.”
…And that was the truth.
Some were from his father’s fleet, on loan for his pleasure. Some were girls he simply ran into while out and about. Something inside of him, something buried like the foulest of nemeses, had been awakened. He became a beast, but he fought himself every day. He struggled with wanting to be just like his father, and hating the fact that his mother, in fits of occasional rage, would tell him he already was. He had self esteem now though—surely that was a viable trade off? He possessed newfound courage, expounding upon his God given, natural appeal. It wasn’t his fault women took to him, sometimes in places he least expected. One sexual conquest even came from his job at the deli before he quit to go somewhere with better pay and conducive hours for his school schedule. On their fifteen-minute lunch break, they snuck into the bathroom and he fucked the daylights out of her on the damn sink, almost breaking it from the wall.
It became so much a part of his lifestyle; he didn’t pay it special attention any longer. He was more interested in the business side of it, than the sex itself. The sex was fine, and if he said so himself, he was getting better and better, but he couldn’t get his dad to open up, give him the 411 on how it all worked. He figured over time he could break him down. Besides, he had no intentions of driving that Honda for the rest of his life and making pizzas all damn day, either. He was grateful, but these were only stepping-stones.
No, he longed for more…
But where could he find the inspiration? Feelings of inadequacy still haunted him from time to sneaky time. It all began a long ass time ago, an emotion that felt ancient like the dinosaurs that roamed the Earth, yet it remained so overpowering, as if it had just happened a minute or two ago. One morning Dad had been in his life, and then he was gone, left him all alone with that woman… That was the story of his life, until he finally got to California.
What did I do?
Mama has been lying, playing me. I don’t even know who she is anymore…
What did I do?
Yes…what did he do?
“Mama took money for me. She was paid off… She never really wanted me, either. She wanted my father…”
What did I do?
“…I hate myself.”
He sank his teeth into his lip, tasting the saltiness of his thin flesh wrapped around a small bundle of nerves.
“Over twenty?!” Carl, the Seinfeld doppelganger brought him out of his thoughts with the sudden outburst. He looked at him dumbfounded, in utter disbelief. “You’ve fucked over twenty girls, Brent?!”
“Yeah…so what? It’s no biggie. Get in.”
Today, he was taking his friend home. It was Friday night, and his peers were gearing up to go to one of the biggest parties of the year. Some rich guy who’d also taken a liking to him had invited him earlier in the week and told him to bring Carl, and anyone else he wanted, along. It appeared to Brent that due to his natural magnetism, some guys hated him while others wanted him around, as if he were some good luck charm.
“Hey, why don’t you play basketball?” Carl asked, looking at him curiously as if he just noticed he was tall. “You’re like a damn tree.”
“Because I don’t like it. It’s not my thing.”
“If I had your height, I’d play basketball so I could get the girls.” Carl stood 5’7 and would undoubtedly stay that height. He wasn’t a bad looking fella; matter of fact, he was rather handsome and he was also charming, gregarious and had his own unique vibe. Brent liked Carl quite a bit, and would even consider him, at that point in time, his best friend. The guy appeared comfortable in his own skin. Carl’s only issue was, he didn’t know how to get the pretty girls to like him, so he made it clear from time to time that he wanted to rub elbows with him, find out his secrets.
“All the chicks like basketball players, man. The football players, too! Not that you need help or anything. Obviously you’re fine in that department!” The boy guffawed and threw up his hands.
“Hmmm, I guess I don’t really care about getting girls.”
Carl was quiet for a long while. “Uh, how could you not care?” he finally asked, as if Brent had uttered a definite ‘no-no.’
Brent shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just not something I think about all the time. They’re just girls. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say! You’re getting laid every other day!”
Brent grinned; he couldn’t quite argue with that.
“You know, a long time ago when you and I were assigned to that Math team together, I didn’t think we’d click, but you’re cool, especially for being from Ohio. You seem particularly old for your age, wise… like what my Bubbe would call an old soul.”
Brent’s face cracked in a crooked grin. “Is that so?” He turned the corner.
“Yeah, and I like how you stayed late to finish the assignments when others were slacking off, and we met up at study hall. I knew then that you weren’t only popular, but gave a shit about your grades. I can’t stand some of these slackers! I want to get into an Ivy League school!” the guy said seriously. “You’re a good student. You could be a great student if you stopped daydreaming so much in class. What the fuck are you sitting there thinking about?!”
Brent burst out laughing. “Man, I’m just thinking is all. I like to just sit and think about stuff, plot and plan. It’s important. Trust me, my daydreaming habit has actually improved. It used to be ten times worse. Anyway, what type of alcohol do these people like?” He shot Carl a glance. “I don’t really drink much, so I have no fucking clue what someone would want to have.”
“Well, it depends on your budget. I’ve got thirty dollars in my pocket right this instant, but I look my age.” He gave him a ‘Grouch Marx’ eyebrow shrug, causing him to laugh a bit. “You, on the other hand, my friend, could pass for twenty-one.” He handed Brent the money.
“Hmmm, well, we will see. Maybe I can use my dad’s driver’s license or something. Everyone thinks we look alike anyway. I’ll round up some more money. When is your car going to be out the shop, man?” Brent asked as he pulled up to Carl’s home. The lawn was perfect, with a little white baseball jockey in the front. “Shit, like another day or two. I can give you gas money.” The guy dug vigorously into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled five dollar bill.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll give you a call later, okay? Let you know what’s up.”
“Alright!” Carl got out the car, turned on his heels and walked swiftly up the sidewalk.
Brent sat there for a long while, looking at the ranch house surrounded by palm trees. He
imagined Carl washing his face and hands for supper; yeah supper… He bet that was what his mom and dad called it, and his cute little sister, too. They probably had a little white dog named Sugar, and listened to classical music while discussing their day around a big round table with a white table cloth over it. Then after they ate, they possibly gathered around the television and watched a PG movie, with a big bowl of buttery popcorn along with diet cokes and well-placed guffaws.
Yeah…he bet Carl had a good life. The man’s father was top chef at some fancy kosher restaurant, and his mother a part time librarian. She probably read to his little sister every night, stories about frogs that turned into princes, then tucked her in before singing a lullaby.
Nobody read shit to me when I was a kid, except the Wanted Ads…
He chuckled to himself as he started his car up and pulled away from the curb.
I think I’ll go to that party after all…besides, I’ m wanted there. People like me and I don’t even have to pretend to be someone I’m not. Yeah, I could get used to this…
That night, he met Cheryl. She was standing against the wall holding a red plastic cup and laughing shyly with a couple of friends. One of the cutest little things he’d ever seen—and she seemed taken aback that he’d shown an interest in her. He spoke to her all evening, and realized not only was she easy on the eye, she was intelligent, and quirky…and witty, too. A friendship began, and then just like that, they began to date exclusively.
He was drawn to the green-eyed brunette because of her sweetness, her innocence. She was such a good girl, but she wanted him, acted like she needed him. Cheryl was his sparkling, golden key to normalcy, just like Carl, his last ditch effort to escape his demons that just itched to emerge, to get out and wreck havoc on the world. She was his ticket away from himself; only, things just didn’t quite pan out… He realized soon thereafter that he wasn’t supposed to be upstanding and good natured like Carl, date sweet girls like Cheryl, and live in a ranch home surrounded by palm trees with a little white dog named Sugar.
No, he was supposed to be a motherfucking west coast pimp with new age flair and old school protocol—and the idea of normalcy for a hillbilly bastard like him should simply go up in smoke…
*
‘HE HAS MARKED me inside and out,’ Paris wrote in the small silver and black hardbound journal. As of late, she’d begun to keep one in which to compose her innermost thoughts. Her world had completely changed, she was enraptured, and her heart beat differently when the man pressed his lips against her own. She was finally one of the characters in her secret stash of romance books…the ones no one knew about except Smoke. She had to get the words out. It was a therapy of sorts. As a child, she used to keep a journal, and it would help calm her nerves. Now, she did it to express her gratitude, to lay it all out on the blue lines on off-white sheets. She was head over heels in love with the man. Every time he called her, she’d feel her stomach tighten in anticipation, like a first crush. He sent her swingin’… When she heard that deep voice on the other end of the phone, she’d lose her damn mind. When he’d say, “Pussycat, I love you…” her heart would pause and take it all in. He did something to her, changed her a bit more, each and every day.
Smoke fascinated her. He was a smart businessman, good looking, and funny, though at times prone to emotional withdrawal. She figured nine out of ten wasn’t bad; besides, he had a right to his private sanctuary of thoughts. She closed her journal and sighed, then startled when her cell phone rang. She looked down and read the number…
My Smoke Baby: 310-542-2431
“Ahhhhh, yes!” She smiled down at the phone, surprised that the man was calling her at that time. He had a jam-packed day, so this was rather unexpected. She grabbed the phone, unable to mask her delight. “Hi, baby!”
“I can tell you’re smiling.” He chuckled lightly. “You make a man feel good, always happy to hear from me.”
“Of course I am. How are you doing, honey?”
“I’d be better if you’d open the door.”
“Huh?!” Jumping up from her chair in her living room, she rushed to the front door and opened it to see the dashing man standing there in cream pants, a V-neck black shirt and his customary smirk on his face. His slightly damp hair appeared jet black and those amazing blue eyes gleamed under her porch light. He removed his hand from behind his back, and shook a cup of her favorite caramel cappuccino in her direction.
“No you didn’t! Get in here!” She laughed as she took the warm cup from his hand and moved out of the way, allowing the tall god to enter. He waltzed inside like he paid bills in that motherfucker, and in a way, he did. She closed and locked the door behind him, set the coffee down on a decorative table, then clasped her hands together as he looked around. His gaze fell on her journal lying precariously on the white marble table, and like the damn road runner, she scurried over as fast as her bare feet could carry her, plucked it from the thing and pressed it to her light pink robe covered bosom.
“What do you have there?” He drew closer to her.
Damn that smirk. “None of your business.”
He flashed a grin, one that made her sick, for she knew what it meant—he wasn’t going to drop the damn inquisition.
“Come on, tell me.” He put his hands on his hips and halted his advance. His eyes never left hers.
“I keep a journal, okay? I just started, actually.”
“Whatever you do, don’t write anything incriminating in it,” he warned as he plopped down in one of her over-stuffed white love seats. The man was so long, he looked like he’d just dropped into a child’s chair. “Everything I write out on my computer, I save it on a hidden external drive. My computer hard drive is wiped clean by an old high school buddy of mine, uh, Carl. I told you about him. Anyway, he takes care of it every damn month. That’s how they catch up with people like us, Paris, shit like that.” He pointed lazily at her as she clutched her book protectively.
“For your information, Mr. Know-It-All, nothing in here is about the business.”
“Good, very good. Now, I just dropped by to see my Pussycat because I’ve missed you. We’ve been like ships in the night, so to speak, this week.”
“I know.”
She approached him, making herself comfortable across his lap. He held her gently, as if she were some pristine little doll, then leaned forward and pressed his delicious lips to her own. Her stomach knotted a bit as waves of emotion overcame her. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she’d become suddenly dismayed; dare she say it, sullen. Perhaps she should blame the thoughts she’d scribed in her journal a few hours prior—dark thoughts, horrible thoughts, ones that she wished she could simply make go away.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He ran his hand soothingly down her back, sensing her mood.
Damn, he knows me so well …
“I was writing some stuff in my journal, and…some memories came back… things from the past.” She shrugged. “I didn’t reveal everything to you when you asked me. I tried, I really did.”
“I know you didn’t, Pussycat. You weren’t ready.” He smiled sweetly at her. “It’s time, right?” He held her a bit tighter.
“I believe so.” She took his hands into her own, squeezing a bit. “I told you quite a bit, but I left out a part, a big piece…because it’s hard for me to talk about.”
He cocked his head to the side.
“All right,” he said gently. “I understand.” He tapped his leg and leaned back further in the seat.
Her head lowered, as if abashed, humiliated. This was a part of her life she’d rather forget, but she simply couldn’t. It had changed her so; some would say ruined her. Smoke needed to know why, in part, she’d treated him like she had when they met. He deserved to understand that she wasn’t a bitch in a badass pair of heels. She’d been damaged beyond human comprehension, and a man trying to run game on her caused her to seethe…because she was steeped in similar history, and it had destroyed her,
crushed her self esteem, made her fight to simply stay alive.
“Smoke, my life with my parents obviously wasn’t great, I told you a bit about that but I can say this. My father had a bad temper, but I didn’t grow up watching him beat on my mother. I didn’t know my family was messed up, until I got older, much older. Now, my father was verbally and emotionally abusive to my mom though, and that’s just as bad. I didn’t know what motivated him to treat her that way. I just knew I didn’t want to be with someone who would treat me that way.”
Smoke nodded in agreement. “Yeah, verbal and emotional abuse is actually worse to some degree, because that’s the shit that’s long-lasting. A bruise heals and goes away, while the fucked up things people say to us last forever.”
“Very true…Well, my mother, despite being a drug addict, she was as good of a mother as someone in her situation, could be… She actually did take care of me.” She smiled sadly and re-opened her eyes. “I don’t know how she managed, between that and her crack addiction, but she did. I had clothes, I was clean, I was fed, my hair was combed, things like that. I think partially it was because my father made sure she always had her supply so that nothing bad happened, well, you know what I mean.”
She took a deep breath, glanced at him, then looked back down into her lap.
“She instilled in me the importance of an education. Well, I thought I wanted to be a ballerina until one day at school for a field trip, we went way out to some farm where they had big, vibrant, sweet smelling oranges. They went on for miles and miles, those orange trees, Smoke.” At telling that story, she felt a bit of peace. That had been one of the best days of her life and she fell into the memory like a kiss upon a cheek. “The teacher was explaining how they grow orange trees, you know?” He nodded. “And then they took us over to the vineyards, and she talked about how they make grape juice and wine… and a little ways over, I spotted this huuuuuuuge field of wild flowers, Smoke! I mean, I was in complete awe! I’d never seen something so beautiful in all of my life. I felt like, if I could make something beautiful like that, then I’d be beautiful too, you know?”
