by iiKane
“You know, I could’ve killed myself.”
“So,” she spat, not taking her eyes off the screen, exhaling smoke.
“Oh, so you want me to die now? Fuck it, I’ma jump,” he joked, turning back to the balcony.
Skye threw the lit cigarette at him; it hit him and sparks flew everywhere.
“Will you stop playing all the time, Georgie! It’s not funny!” she screamed, jumping off of the bed, eyes red with dried tears.
Georgie sobered up quickly. He knew he had fucked up because he could usually laugh Skye out of her anger. He stepped toward her.
“Skye look, my bad okay, but I got on my Philly shit. The music, the mood and that nigga Alphonse…” he shook his head. “But forreal, I was just dancin’ and I was in a zone; I remember one time in the tenth grade…but you don’t want to hear about that right now. Forreal, I apologize.”
Skye folded her arms, shaking her head—not at him but at herself. She looked him dead in the eyes, and with a look that melted his heart, asked, “Why can’t I be enough?”
She looked so weak, so vulnerable, so unsure that he pulled her into his arms, tears stinging his own eyes, because for the life of him, he didn’t have an answer.
“Skye…Skye, I swear to God, I love you so much…”
“I know,” she sobbed, “I know, that’s why I can’t understand…”
He covered her face with kisses to give his tied tongue something else to do. Skye threw her head back, allowing him to nibble her neck, then her nipples, as he laid her on the bed. He peeled her panties from her body and ran his tongue over her pelvis.
“No,” she whispered, “Just…put it in; I need to feel you inside me.”
Georgie took off his clothes and laid on his back. Skye straddled him, taking the full length of his manhood.
“…don’t move. I just wanna feel you,” she said again, laying her head on his chest.
He wrapped her in intimate embrace, and kissed the top of her head. They laid like that, quietly. The only sound in the room were various videos on the TV, giving an acoustic sound to the silence.
Finally, Skye leaned up, looked in his eyes and said, “Georgie. One day you’re gonna wake up, and I’ll be gone.”
The look she received told her all that’s she needed to know. His pupils dilated, and – somewhere – Sunshine Anderson echoed:
Heard it all before…
Played the fool before…
But your lies ain’t working now…
“No, don’t say that, okay? I’m here; don’t say that. I need you like sunlight; don’t leave me,” he begged, with an urgency that warmed her, and scared her at the same time.
That night, he held her tighter than he ever had, and Skye slept sounder than a newborn in her mother’s arms.
The next day Georgie arrived at the movie studio lot after twelve. Skye had been on the set since seven, a time when he was rolling over.
“How you doin’ today, Georgie?” the security guard—who struck Georgie as a dead ringer for Sammy the Bull—asked.
“Always good on this side of the grass.”
“Hey Georgie, I got one for you,” the guard remarked.
Georgie chuckled. Everyday, he had a joke.
“Let’s hear it.”
“So a guy and his wife are watching TV, one of those relationship shows; the show is about mixed emotions. So the husband says, ‘This is bullshit! There’s no such thing as mixed emotions. I never have mixed emotions. Do you think you can give me mixed emotions?’ The wife says, ‘Sure.’ He says, ‘Okay shoot.’ She shrugged and says, ‘Of all your friends, you’ve got the biggest dick.’”
Georgie laughed, but replied, “Womp, womp, wooomp. Don’t give up your day job, Tony.”
“Why do you think I got a day job?!”
Georgie pulled his black on black Maserati Ghibli into the lot. It was only a week old and he planned to keep it in L.A. to match the other four cars he kept in New York, Philly, Atlanta, and Miami.
He walked onto the set, greeting and joking with the crew as he headed for Skye’s trailer. He noticed Benny pacing in front of Niia’s trailer with his assistant furiously fielding a phone call.
Georgie walked over.
“Benny, you okay? You’re as white as a sheet.”
Benny shook his head.
“On a scale of one to ten, this is a five and escalating. Have you seen Niia?”
Georgie ears perked up.
“No, why? I’m supposed to do her hair. Is she here?”
“In the trailer, but…”
“But what?”
“Makeup’s doing all they can. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
That is all Georgie had to hear. He pushed past Benny, threw open the door and stormed inside. Niia was sitting with her back to him, facing the makeup mirror, but he couldn’t see her reflection because so many people were gathered around her.
“Move. Move. Move!” Georgie barked, scattering the crowd like a flock of seagulls.
He stepped in front of Niia. He looked at her. Blood vessels exploded like a string of firecrackers, all over his body.
Her eye was black and swollen; the rest of her face—still beautiful—was flawless, and timid…and scared.
Rage shot though Georgie, transforming him like there really was such a thing as werewolves, and they howled in his razor grey eyes.
“Where…is he,” he whispered, his adrenaline leaving no extra energy for a louder voice.
“Georgie please, I…”
“Where?!”
“He’s here. Out there, somewhere…”
He was gone before she finished the sentence. He emerged from the trailer like a heat-seeking missile and spotted Alphonse talking to the director. He saw Georgie coming, felt it like the coming rumble of a freight train. He didn’t flinch; he shot straight at Georgie.
As soon as they clashed, with the force of two butting rams, Alphonse made the mistake of missing a haymaker that—if it had connected—would have ended the whole fight.
But he did miss.
He had never been in Philly, so he didn’t know that cheesesteaks aren’t all it’s the home of. It’s also the home of Bernard Hopkins, “Smokin’” Joe Frazier and the boxing gyms that peppered the city. Georgie spent a few summers in one of those gyms, so he ducked the haymaker without trying and caught Alphonse with a bladder ripping kidney shot followed by a sharp, stinging upper cut that struck Alphonse on the chin so hard that he bit his own tongue bloody. He staggered. Georgie wasn’t finished. The next straight right hit Alphonse like a V-8, splashing human tomato juice everywhere.
He fell flat on his ass then Georgie went to work.
He kicked him dead in the face, shattering his jaw and splattering Georgie’s Jordans with blood. The way Alphonse slumped to the ground, he had to be dead. One of the gaffers ran up to try and restrain Georgie, but Georgie turned and blasted him with a left cross so hard, he was asleep before he leaned, but the ground woke him up.
After that, no one else tried to intervene.
Georgie sat on Alphonse’s chest, drew back like a sculptor—Alphonse’s face was the clay—and proceeded to rearrange it with every blow. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much blood flew, he had to do more. If he had a gun, he would have shot him; a knife, he would have stabbed him. But he didn’t. He found a water fountain—the kind you might find in a park with little fishes and into which kids toss coins to make wishes. He grabbed Alphonse by the shirt, dragged him over to the edge and proceeded to drown him.
Alphonse thrashed around with the energy that he had left, but it didn’t even register with Georgie. He had blacked out. He was back in Philly where the only justice for hurting someone he loved was death, pure and simple. Alphonse’s struggle became more lethargic, and nothing was going to stop Georgie from killing this nigga.
Except the softness of the hand that he felt on his shoulder.
“No, Giorgio.”
He let Alphonse go, staggered
back and fell to his knees. Alphonse gulped and gasped for air as he slumped against the fountain wall. He looked at Georgie with the fear of God in the only good eye he could see out of and bellowed, “Police!”
But someone had already called them, though not as loudly, and two security guards ran in, one being Tony. Tony took one look at Alphonse, and he knew exactly what had happened, and agreed wholeheartedly.
“Georgie, you gotta get out of here. I’m supposed to call the police, but I can’t because I left my walkie talkie in the booth,” he lied. “But I’ll find it if you don’t leave now.”
Georgie hardly heard him. He was looking at Alphonse as if from the opposite corner, waiting for the bell for round two.
“Giorgio, you must go. Please. I’ll go with you,” Niia urged.
Only her voice could reach him. He slowly stood, rubbing his head like it was buzzing, then replied, “Let’s go.”
When they reached the Maserati, he handed her the keys.
“You drive.”
She did.
When she started the car, the sound system leaped to live.
I want you and I want you to want me too
Just like I want you.
Marvin Gaye serenaded their silence as they rode, until Niia asked, “Why did you do that?”
“Because he deserved it and you don’t,” Georgie answered, matter-of-factly.
She glanced over at him.
“I mean why? There will be police, there will be trouble.”
“Niia,” he chuckled, “I’m a Black man in America. I’m always in trouble.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, and the sound broke the tension in Georgie.
After the laughter, the question became more obvious. Neither knew what they were doing; neither knew how they got there, or why.
“Where are we going?” she questioned.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
They looked at each other. Both knew that he wasn’t talking about direction.
“You hungry?” Georgie asked.
“Yes.”
“Ever had Roscoe’s?” he smirked.
“Mon dieu, this is delicious,” Niia raved as she dug into the chicken and waffles.
They were sitting at one of the open air benches at the world-famous Roscoe’s House of Chicken and Waffles. Georgie chuckled to himself, watching her eat her food. There was something really sexy about a beautiful woman not afraid to eat.
“Yeah, it ain’t a cheesesteak, but it’ll do,” Georgie quipped, sipping his tea through a straw.
Niia licked her fingers then wiped them with her napkin, all the while looking at Georgie.
“You were going to kill him, weren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he responded casually, but defiantly. “Does that bother you?”
Half a beat.
“No.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I was going to kill your fiancé? Don’t you love him?”
She looked away, as if the answer was somewhere else.
“I did…once…I don’t anymore.”
“Then I don’t understand. Why are you still with him?” Georgie questioned.
Hesitation filtered across her demeanor, but looking into his eyes and seeing deep concern, she answered, “Alphonse comes from a very powerful family in my country, very political. He has done a lot for my career. I am indebted to him.”
“In blood?” Georgie stressed.
Niia blinked back tears and looked away.
“You’re right, you don’t understand.”
Georgie reached across the table and held both her hands.
“Then help me to.”
She looked at him, looking for a reason not to tell him. She couldn’t find one.
“My family depends on me. Everything I do is for them. They are very poor. This movie is my chance to be successful in America, the one place in the world that…” she chuckled lightly, but almost bitterly. “My family thinks that gold lines the streets of this country. They think it is the answer to all their prayers, so I must be the answer as well.”
Georgie dropped his head, blinked back the tears, then lifted his head and said, “Niia…I’ve got six hundred grand in the bank, I’ve got five cars. I’ve got this watch and this ring. I’ll sell it all and dump the account; we can send it all to your family.”
The sincerity in his tone made her tear up.
“No Giorgio…Merci, but it’s more. I have to go back to him,” Niia cried, then stood up and walked away.
“Go back to him?! Are you crazy? Look at your face! I know that ain’t the first time and it damn sure wont be the last,” Georgie fumed.
“What else can I do?” Niia sobbed. “I am not an American citizen! Alphonse is a diplomat. He has connections. He is going to make me a U.S. citizen!” She leaned against the car, crying. Georgie just stood there, numb. He felt responsible for the situation. Regardless of the fact that Alphonse undoubtedly beat her before, this beating was because of the dance. His dance. His ego. His decision. It seemed unfair that she had to suffer. The thought made him feel helpless. Georgie didn’t do helpless. He would rather make a big mistake than do little or nothing. He had to do something. He knew what he had to do.
He pulled her close, tipped up her chin to look into his eyes and said, “Marry me.”
It took a while for his words to sink in, and when they did, her eyes got big and she gasped. “What? No, Giorgio, I don’t want to marry you!”
“What’s wrong with me? What do you mean, you don’t want to?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So you want to marry me?!” he dimpled, playfully.
Niia laughed, out of exasperation.
“No, I don’t mean that either, I mean… This is crazy!”
“Why?”
Because we don’t…”
“Know each other?” he finished her sentence with a smirk. He pulled her close again. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”
The look he received told him that she did.
“This is crazy,” she repeated, in the tone women use when they really mean this is right.
“You know what I thought to myself when I first saw you?”
“No,” she replied, looking at him shyly.
“I thought, she looks like my doll baby. I had a doll baby when I was little, and I loved that doll. I used to wish and wish that God would make her a real little girl, if only for one day. Looking at you now, I feel like my prayer has been answered,” he told her then kissed her gently to seal the deal.
“Do you know what I thought when I saw you?” Niia asked, with the inflection of a little girl with her first crush.
“What?”
She started to say, but then shook her head.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I thought…we could make pretty babies,” she replied, looking at him from under hooded eyes.
He smiled.
“No doubt, and even prettier puppies. That’s an inside joke,” he winked. “So…will you marry me?”
She looked into his eyes for what seemed an eternity, then asked, “What about Skye?”
Giorgio sighed but his gaze didn’t waver.
“Ma, I’ve never been the type of dude to lie to a woman. I love Skye very much and she loves me. But I fell in love with you hard and fast. Believe me, I’m not marrying you to keep you here; I’m marrying you to keep you with me. When I’m with you, I just wanna dance until my feet come off. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She nodded.
“I feel the same way. It’s never happened to me so quickly;
I feel…full. Besides, in my country, it is not uncommon for a man to have several wives,” Niia responded.
“Well shit, we might be doing this all wrong. Maybe I need to move to Camerooooon!” he laughed, howling the word like a wolf.
Niia laughed.
“Giorgio, you are so crazy!”
“Ma, I’m a bad boy and I
sometimes get lost on my way home, but I always make it home, and I swear I’m gonna make you happy, okay?”
She nodded, smiling.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes?” he reiterated.
“Oui.”
“Oui, oui, oui, we gettin’ married!” he exclaimed, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around.
“Georgie, where are you? I’ve been beeping you like crazy! I heard what happened on the set. Do you know that man wants to press charges? But he doesn’t knowyournameyoualmostkilledhim!”
“Skye, Skye hit the space bar, goddamn,” he chuckled.
She exhaled.
“I’m just worried about you; where are you?”
The question echoed in his head as he glanced around the lobby of the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. He wasn’t about to lie, but he knew this was no way to break the truth.
“I’m good Ma, believe me. But listen, I’ll be home tomorrow, okay? Then I’ll explain everything.”
She paused. “Is Niia with you?”
“Skye please, I promise—tomorrow I’ll explain. I love you.”
“You better,” she replied, then hung up.
Georgie sighed and did the same. He spotted a gift shop in the lobby and went inside. The blond girl behind the counter reminded him of Vanna White. She cocked her head to the side, the way blondes do.
“Don’t I know your face from somewhere?”
“Look down and try to imagine it. If you can’t, then no,” he joked, but she was a blonde; she didn’t get it.
“No…you’re somebody famous aren’t you?”
“My mother likes to think so. How much is the ring right there?” he asked, pointing to the biggest and brightest ring on display.
She pulled it out and handed it to him.
“This is by Graziella. It has three-and-a-half carats of G4 color diamonds, set in white, rose and yellow gold,” she explained, with perfect saleswoman diction.
Giorgio eyed the way the ring swirled and crisscrossed in a style that resembled the wrap-twirl of a turban, except that it was covered in diamonds.
“How much?”
“Fourteen thousand, four hundred.
“I’ll take it,” he replied, handing the woman his credit card. “I need a band for me. How much is that one?”
