by Tiana Laveen
“So nice to meet you.” Tobias took her hand and kissed it. “Lazarist has told me so much about you.” The man’s smile was large and flirty, and his eyes glowed with approval.
“He’s told me about you too, Tobias. It’s nice to put a face to the wonderful tales now.”
“Same here. He treats my son like his own… may as well be his nephew. Great guy you’ve got there!”
Tobias’s cheeks turned rosy as he laid it on thick. He knew they’d have a completely inappropriate discussion about Sky later. Tobias was almost as freaky and dirty-minded as he was.
“Hi, Sky. I’m Lazarist’s favorite sister.”
“She’s my only sister.”
“I’m also responsible for all of his success,” Eliza joked again, causing him to smile. Much to his surprise, his sister draped her arms around Sky and pulled her in for a hug. “So glad that I could finally meet you! I’ve heard nothin’ but good things!”
“Yes, and Lazarist talks about you all the time, too!”
The two ladies held on to one another like they were buddies, chatting it up for a bit. He found it interesting to say the least.
“Eliza, where’s Mom?”
“In the kitchen.” She released Sky’s hand and pointed in that direction. “She said she wasn’t going to even bother trying to greet you at the door and fight your adoring fans.”
He rolled his eyes at the lady’s jabs, wrapped his arm around Sky’s waist, and led her to the galley. The place smelled so good, his stomach flipped in anticipation. Mom stood with her back towards him, a million pots and pans around her, and several of her friends mixing ingredients in bowls or standing nearby drinking and chatting amongst themselves.
“Mom!” he hollered out.
The woman quickly spun around, burst out laughing, and tossed the wooden spoon she was holding onto the counter. Several of her friends yelled his name and waved, their excitement almost on par with his mother’s. With arms open wide, she shimmied towards him, her hair now cut into a shoulder length bob and sporting a camel colored ankle length dress with slits down the sides.
“It’s my Lazarist! Nice you could spare a minute from your adoring aficionados and devotees and come visit the host of this festivity.” He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. The woman peeked over his shoulder, eyeing Sky. “And who do we have here?” She slid her arms from around his neck and he brought his love close to make the formal introduction.
“Mom, this is Sky Jordan… my better half.”
Mom smiled ever so slightly and extended her hand for a shake.
“Hello, Sky. So glad you could come tonight in celebration of my son’s fortieth birthday.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it! I’ve also been looking forward to meeting you.”
Mom seemed slightly apprehensive, and he couldn’t blame her. His history was checkered at best, and though he wouldn’t classify his mother has overly protective, she loved him… and she didn’t want to see him hurt anymore.
“I was just told about you recently.” Mom shot him a look of disapproval before glancing back at Sky. “And my son seems to be quite fond of you.”
“I’m fond of him, too.”
Mom studied Sky for what felt like an eternity. An awkward silence webbed between the two of them, and then he cleared his throat, trying to break it up… whatever ‘it’ was.
“Uh, would you like to help me get the buffet set up?” Mom turned towards an empty table across the room that was covered in a gold and black cloth with a gold, bejeweled crown resting on it as a centerpiece. “We can talk while we do it… get to know each other.”
“Evelyn!” one of her friends called out before Sky could respond. “Which of these is ready?”
Mom pointed to various dishes and bowls—some of his favorite fares, including salads, soups, breads, and the like.
“I would be honored to help,” Sky said.
Lazarist leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I love you… have fun.” He winked at her before releasing her hand, then made his way over to a cluster of friends who were having a good time without him… How dare they!
In no time, his throat was sore from laughing, his belly burning from the nonstop chuckles as stories rolled out from his loved ones regarding many of his fiascoes in life. One thing Lazarist prided himself on was being able to withstand jesting. Besides, as a lover of a good time and a well-timed joke, he was all for it. There was a thin line though. Cruelty and passive aggressive behavior, backhanded compliments, and the like were completely unacceptable. Pokes at his character were practically unforgivable, but if he was the butt of a joke and it was funny, hell, he would even join in on the fun, roasting himself down to the ground. After all, he was the center of attention during such times, and he was able to laugh at himself, even if the tale wasn’t exactly flattering.
There was plenty of this to go around… such as the time he attempted to bake a pie and even told his mother it was child’s play… how hard could it be? An hour later, the fire department had arrived and his place smelled like burnt toast. Disaster.
Or the time when he tried to ride a bike for the first time as a child without having been taught, figuring he knew what to do and just how to do it, too. The resulting trip to the hospital had been no fun whatsoever and the laceration across his face had left a small, tell-tell scar on the side of his forehead.
Then there was the time he decided to get drunk and go off at work about some perceived injustice. He was holding a microphone, but it wasn’t on so no one could hear him; he simply looked like a maniac standing on the stage, flailing his arms about, and ranting and raving. Someone then uploaded the video to YouTube, and they never let him live it down. The jokes had been fired non-stop…
“Flap like a chicken, Laz!”
“I’m angry as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore! You won’t hear it anymore, either…”
“Is this thing on?!”
He’d tried to hide in his office for a week.
And so the tales continued, his face burning red, the times good as could be. Then he felt a warm arm surround his and the scent of a perfume he’d admired for years. He looked down into the hazel eyes of his mother, who coaxed him down the hall in the direction of her bedroom. He looked about, trying to find Sky, and saw a glimpse of her speaking to his cousin, the two around the same age, standing there smiling at one another and discussing something he was certain had to do with him… or at least, he hoped so. Once inside mom’s bedroom, the place dripping with style and class, she closed the door, crossed her arms, and stared at him.
“Damn you.”
“Don’t start.” He pursed his lips together, ready to have an argument if need be.
“Damn you twice! Damn you three times! I like her. I like her a lot.” He burst out laughing, a weight off his shoulder. “I wish I could say otherwise, but I can’t. I just pray to God that Sky doesn’t end up like Mimi or all of your other ex-girlfriends… trash.”
“Mom…” He grimaced as he rested his hand on his hip. “Why must ya go there?”
“Because that’s where all the roads lead, despite me advising you for years to take the ones less travelled. In any case, she’s wonderful. She’s articulate, she’s nice… very good… yes, this is very good.” Her eyes narrowed as if she were calculating the sum of something complicated and had just realized the answer. “Seems to have a good head on her shoulders. I’m still investigating,” She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, her brow arched just so. “But thus far, I don’t pick up anything off-putting.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Let me ask you something that I’ve never asked you before.”
“What? If I have a humble bone in my body?”
Mom shook her head and smiled.
“No… and I already know the answer to that but why bring down the mood by poking fun at my first born? Anywho, and this isn’t a problem—you know me better than that—but have
you ever, and I mean ever, dated a White woman seriously, Laz? I have seen White women you were just usin’ to the pass the time, but I am talking about ones you’ve actually called your girlfriend?”
“Well I had—”
“Because there was Charity.” Mom started to count off her fingers. “And she was multiracial. Then there was Deborah, who was African American, I believe. Then there was Tiffani, who was biracial, and then there was Kimberly… she was that Nigerian model. And then there was Alisha, who was half Japanese and half Kenyan… and then there was—”
“Okay, I get it!” He chuckled. “For your information, yes! I have had several White girlfriends, but it’s obvious that I enjoy the—”
“Melaninated queens, too.” At this, he burst out laughing.
“What?! Mom, where are you gettin’ this stuff? When have you ever used that term?”
“I saw it on Facebook!” she stated emphatically, causing him to laugh even harder.
“Mom, did you know—”
Just then, someone rapped on the bedroom door. Whoever it was kept knocking and knocking.
“Hold that thought,” Mom said as she walked over to the door and opened it. Tobias stood holding a wine cooler, a look of concern on his face.
“Shit.” The man visibly swallowed. “I can’t… fuck it to Hell. Lazarist, I think you better get out here…”
His heart sank. The look in Tobias’ eyes said it all.
Dad is there…
Lazarist could feel it in his bones. As he and Mom made their way out of her bedroom, he walked up the hall and stiffened, his muscles locking up as if instantly frozen.
“Jesus! Are you serious?!” Mom screamed, her voice shattering the otherwise peaceful surroundings. The woman slapped herself on the forehead and marched towards the scene of the crime, a scowl on her face fit for a villain. “You’ve got some nerve!”
“Mom, don’t,” Lazarist called out, stepping out around her, his footsteps echoing.
Everyone stood around quietly and the music was now at an almost undetectable volume. Heat spread from his head to the soles of his feet. Every part of his being was on fire; the anger and hatred married and gave birth to him…
He shot a glance over at Sky, who looked more confused than concerned. He turned back in the direction of the uninvited guest, his jaw and fists clenched.
“Happy birthday, my love…” Mimi said, standing in a short red dress with a plunging neckline, her tits practically spilling out of it. Long black hair flowed down her shoulders and back and four-inch strappy heels sparkled on her feet. She held a huge satiny red package with a big white bow on top.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s your special day, and I wouldn’t miss this for the world…”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Devil on D-Day
HER HEART RACED like wild stallions in a field during a torrential storm—or at least, that’s what horses looked like in the old western movies. Sky was a city girl, Brooklyn born and raised; what the hell did she know about wild horses? Her brain was a whirlwind of perplexity and anguish as she teetered the line between playing it cool and blowing her cool.
Girl, there’s people standing around here… don’t show your ass…
Calm. Cool. Collect a bitch in the elevator and clean her clock!
She stood there gripping a crisp celery stick covered in homemade ranch dipping sauce, playing a role when all she really wanted was to use her fists. She’d never been much of an actress—what you saw was what you got, like it or not. But, with no mother in the home to show her a bit of feminine tenderness, she had to learn the shit on her own. Though, at times such as these, she tended to forget all of that.
She ogled the woman standing half way across the room who was smirking something vicious. Her breast, waist, and thigh ratio mimicked Jessica Rabbit on silicone overload.
What in the plastic surgery hell?
Sky sized the bitch up. She wouldn’t be too hard to take…
Her man was in the throes of a verbal showdown, slinging curse words here, there, and everywhere until he yanked the busty bombshell by the arm and stepped out into the hall, slamming the door behind him and disappearing to Lord knows where.
She has to be an ex… but which one?
The bastard had so many…
My love? That woman called him, ‘my love.’ Bitch, that’s not your love. That’s my man and that just might be your Emergency Room bill, too!
Just then, Lazarist’s best friend, Tobias, approached her.
“Don’t worry,” the man said with a thick European accent, as if reading her mind. “He’ll take care of it.”
“Tobias, who is that?” She jammed the celery in her mouth, though her appetite had been crushed as soon as the woman arrived.
“Malicious Mimi.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Supreme bitch. That’s his second ex-wife… horrible person. Back ’nd fourth to court they go… she just won’t stop. Lazarist will put her in her place. No worries!”
Her heart started to race, but she sported a smile nevertheless as he tossed up his hands, nicked a baked chicken wing from a silver tray, and waltzed away back into the crowd. Her curiosity climbed to record highs as she stole peeks at the closed front door of the lovely apartment, wondering what was going on between the two.
What type of person does that?!
The music was soon turned back up and people began chatting once again, making no mention of the woman, at least the ones within earshot. Lazarist’s mother, however, was sitting on the couch with a friend of hers, her expression tense as she clutched a cup of coffee. Sky cracked her knuckles over and over and debated on slipping into the bathroom and dialing up Scarlet. Hell… maybe even invite her over so they could tag team on a mothafucka…
No… you don’t need to call her. You’ve got this. Keep it PG and classy, Sky. No one needs to see your Angry Black girl thug side. She chuckled to herself, though she struggled to muster up much humor regarding the matter.
She reached for a potato chip and jammed it in her mouth, then chased it with a swallow of something divine. The champagne had been poured into a gold flecked glass, the drink probably costing the same amount as her damn monthly rent.
Great! The ghost from Lazarist’s Birthday Past has arisen…
Mimi, you don’t know me… I will turn into Leslie Jones up in this bitch and Ghostbust your injected, ant-built-bodied ass right into whatever crypt you rose up from!
“IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY. Of course I would be here, baby! Look at you, with your sexy self! Still rockin’ hard, huh? Turned the big four-oh!”
The succubus looked smug, her twisted expression making him all the more infuriated. Entitlement at its best.
There they stood in the hallway a few feet from Mom’s apartment door. He tried to keep his voice down and not attract attention, happy to hear the music start once again and things moving on inside the place. He hated scenes like this. His mind conjured up images of the ceiling caving in and falling in on the bitch, causing her to plummet ten floors down. He delighted at the notion.
“You weren’t invited. Go home.”
“Awww! Is that any way to treat your wife?” She smiled—a forced smile.
“Ex-wife… a mistake for certain. In fact, I would say, besides the time when I bet on the Dodgers when I was seventeen, you were the worst mistake I ever made.”
“Oh, honey.” She reached for him and ran her fingertip along his chin. “I was the best pussy you ever had.”
“Not even worth five dollars… a crack-whore could’ve given better head and for a lot less aggravation.”
“Crack, huh? What about when you snorted a line of cocaine out the crack of my ass, you freaky, narcissistic son of a bitch?”
“That was one time… Never touched the shit again, and I was drunk off my ass… didn’t know what I was doing, pun intended. Let’s not forget that you’re the one who’d purchased the shit and brought it home. Yo
u’re the one on drugs, Mimi, not me.” He coolly crossed his arms over his crotch. “And how many fake pregnancies, dead parent stories, and the like will you hatch up to get what you want? You’ve run out of time, and you don’t even cross my mind.”
Her smile faded, but just by a smidgen.
“Enough of this sweet talk. Look! I brought you a special present. Don’t you want to know what it is?” She smirked as she tilted the gift box from side to side, as if this were a game—a joke he’d get a real big fucking kick out of.
“Cyanide? Rat poison? If so, the best gift you could give to me is for you to stand here and ingest it. If it’s not either of the aforementioned, shove it up your double-fisted, Mimi does Miami ass! I don’t want it! I paid for whatever is in it, anyway. You don’t work anymore, remember?! Lazarist foots your bills, right? Being the opportunist that you are, I should have suspected nothing less. My family and friends tried to talk me outta dealing with you, but I didn’t listen. You have a looong history of this sorta shit! But oh, no, I gave you the benefit of the doubt… thought you were being unfairly judged because of your occupation. You bein’ a whore was the least of my problems.”
“I hate you, Lazarist.” She seethed. “I hate you because you don’t know what love is! I loved you and you know it!” She pointed her blood-red, dagger shaped nail in his face. “Come on.” Her face suddenly morphed into some disturbing joker-like expression. “Don’t you wanna eat this pussy for old time’s sake, baby? Damn, you could eat some pussy! Lick it good like a cat at a milk bowl… purrrrr!”
“I don’t want your pussy or any parts of you, Mimi. Don’t you have any self-worth? Geesh! This is pathetic! How fuckin’ sad!”
She sneered, her lip twitching. They glared at one another until she raised her arm and smacked him across the face. He barely flinched, but he could feel the burn from where her hand had landed. He shook his head.
“Don’t you ever put your goddamn hands on me again. First and last warning.”
