by Dr. Xyz
During the late afternoon, it was he and Nicola in the guest room. Carlos had the master bedroom in the evening. Everybody was happy. Everything was going to be all right for everybody.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Put that thing away.” Tarik walked into Carlos’s bed-room, shocked to find him cleaning a .22-caliber gun. Carlos didn’t blink.
“I know how to use this. Remember Pops showed me how on those hunting trips?” Carlos held the gun up, marveling at how shiny it looked. He pointed it toward the window as if aiming it at an unfortunate victim. “Anybody comes up to one of us at a concert or an event, KAPOW, right between the eyes.”
“I never liked those trips with Pops; only went that one time.”
“Yeah, you cried like a pussy when they shot the deer.”
“I’m a lover, not a killer.”
“Don’t let Sherry hear you say that.”
“She feels the same way I do about guns—they’re dangerous and you only wind up usually hurting your own damn self…so get rid of it, Carlos.”
“Check this out…a gun in the right hands protects. Look, you’re getting up in the world. What if one of those wannabe gangster rappers trying to make a name for themselves by getting cheap publicity wants to pull up on you?”
“I’m not a gun man. Put it away, Carlos. It makes me nervous, knowing you have it.”
“Since I’ve been with Nicola, I feel a lot better with this at my side.”
Tarik looked at his brother and shook his head. So, the real reason for the piece of steel was the new girl in his life. With the memory of her “attack” still fresh on his mind, Tarik knew Nicola, Carlos and the gun were a lethal combination. There would be trouble.
“Oh, so the gun’s not really for me; it’s for Nicola. Carlos, I tried to warn you ’bout her. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I’ll give you that, but…”
Carlos threw up his hands. “Hey, I get enough of this ‘Nicola’s a big bad witch’ advice from Mother. Don’t need it from you, too. I know who she really is. She’s a woman who really loves me, and only me. Get it?”
“Whatever you say. If you like her, that’s your problem. Your big problem! But remember, ain’t no good ever gonna come from a gun. But you grown; over twenty-one.”
“And this gun and me is all legal and shit. Don’t worry ’bout the gun and don’t worry ’bout my woman. I can handle both.” Carlos slipped the gun into a shoulder holster and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He struck several Hollywood-style poses, pulling his gun out swiftly for effect.
“I’ll probably never use it, but I got to have it near me.”
Frustrated and unable to fight Carlos’s twisted logic, Tarik turned and walked out the room. Carlos slammed the door behind him.
Returning to the mirror, he kept posing with the gun. Carlos’s thoughts raced back to Nicola’s side. There was rarely a moment he didn’t have her on his mind. He wanted to be with her every free moment he got. Much to his disappointment, she resisted his attempts to get closer.
When he suggested that he move in to her home, without explanation, she blurted out, “Hell no!” He thought it was about money. She laughed in his face when he volunteered to pay all the expenses. He couldn’t figure her out.
She never said the words, but he knew that she loved him. He could feel it.
Or did he need to feel it? For the past few weeks, Old Satan played with his mind. All night long, whenever she brushed him offrefusing to see himexplicit scenes of her fucking some other man would taunt him. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t concentrate during the day. He snapped at everyone around him.
And the dreams he had. Dreams of his father beating his mother. Accusing her of cheating on him. Hector Salinas tortured his poor mother. Afterward, he would always take little Carlos to the ice cream parlor. He could order any flavor he wanted.
And as he ate his favorite strawberry cone with multi-colored sprinkles, his father would try to explain why he’d beat his mother. She was bad, he would tell him. She had other men. He would always declare how much he loved her. All Carlos would do as he listened to his crazy father was lick his ice cream as it dripped all over his clothes.
Later that night, the dreams of his childhood revisited him. This time, Hector beat his mother with his police baton. She pleaded with him to stop. Little Carlos stood in his bedroom, petrified. Only six years old at that time, he went into his parents’ master bathroom. He looked up at his father, tugged at his pants leg, and begged, “Poppi, please, don’t hit Mommy. Take me to get ice cream.”
It was that pleading child’s voice that reverberated in his mind. It made the adult Carlos scream, as if screaming could change the past. Make everything right. Ophelia, who was downstairs reading in the living room, heard his scream. Jumping up from her chair, she flew up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Banging on his door, she yelled, “Carlos, baby, are you all right? Open this door!”
Carlos woke up, drenched in sweat. He opened the door and saw Mama Ophelia staring at him with a concerned look. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
“Boy, you were in there yelling like somebody was killing you.”
Carlos got back in bed. The memory of the nightmare still clung to him.
“I just…had…I just had a bad dream…that’s all.” Ophelia sat down on the bed next to him and pulled him close to her like she had done when he was younger. Carlos needed her comfort and did not resist. Never telling her what was on his mind, he let Mama Ophelia rock him back to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Nicola took a long, luxurious bubble bath. The weekend had been particularly entertaining. Carlos and Jonathan were just what the doctor ordered. The therapist she visited immediately after the breakup with Harrison had advised long-term counseling and pills for depression to help her deal with her wicked childhood and the shock of Harrison’s betrayal.
After one visit, she never returned. She intuitively knew following their advice meant she’d never wean herself off their “couches.” No, she had chosen a different “couch.” One of her own design. Sex was the best medicine. And the more the better. Throw in a couple of vodka martinis and hot bubble baths, and she could feel real psychological progress.
First off, she no longer felt like a victim. After dealing with all the men she had had in the past three or four months, she now knew how the world worked. There are the users and the used. Unfortunately, when she was young and couldn’t protect herself, she was used. Though he denied it, and swore that he truly loved her, she was convinced Harrison used her to cover his alternative lifestyle.
Nicola now knew that by living a life driven by lustful needs, where she chose her mates and discarded them at will, she was in the coveted role of the user. Somehow, she didn’t think a goal of traditional therapy would lead her to that conclusion. The therapists wanted her to spend years and years in self-analysis where one day she could claim to be a whole person who had no guilt about what had happened to her.
Well, she took a speedier course through the therapeutic melée. Very shortly, after her past revealed itself to her, she figured out that she didn’t commit the crime of abusing a child—her adopted parents preyed on her. She was the victim. There was no need for her to take a guilt trip. Burning those bastards was justifiable.
She looked at the time. Nicola jumped out of the tub and prepared for her trip out of town. If she was going to make her evening flight, she had to speed it up. The Williams Brothers had called her earlier that day to let her know they were doing shows in the Miami area. Nicola missed the three diminutive men who had brought her so much joy and pleasure.
Driving in the backseat of a limousine, en route to JFK International Airport, she remembered that she was supposed to spend time with Carlos. He wanted to do something “special” with her. She hadn’t even paid attention when he told her about his plans. She cancelled her date with Carlos. Sent him a text message. She never even considered his feelings when sh
e invited three of the naughtiest, sexiest little men in the world to spend three days with her at her South Beach home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lincoln Powell was a successful, fifty-five-year-old corporate attorney, who stepped in after Pops had died and had helped guide Tarik’s career. Carlos and Tarik were grateful for his counsel. Thanks to his expertise, Tarik had received more than the usual percentage of profits. This was highly unusual for a new artist. Fortunately, they had planned very cleverly from the beginning, and were presenting the record company a complete package. All they really needed a label for was distribution and a broader promotional campaign.
To celebrate closing the deal, Uncle Link, as the young men called the man that had been Pops’ best friend, took them all out for lunch at Ava’s Place, the famous soul food restaurant in Harlem. A favorite haunt of celebrities and political powerbrokers, Link usually took his high-profile clients there after he won their cases.
Waiting for their meal, Tarik sat at one end of the table, doodling abstract stick figures on a pad. His mind was a gazillion miles away. The irony of discovering that his absentee father was “lurking around” and dying was just a bit much on his plate.
He’d wished him dead so many times and now that it was a real possibility, he didn’t know what to make of things. Here he sat at the top of the world. His career was slammin’, he had found his soul mate in Sherry, but still, just hearing about Eli Griffith made everything null and void. Instead of extreme joy, he was experiencing painful anxiety.
Carlos, sitting on the opposite end of the table, was just as cheerless as Tarik. Nicola had left for an out-of-town business trip. She sent him a text message. Not even a phone call. When he tried to call her back to suggest that he tag along…he could only reach her voicemail. It killed him to realize that he had done the very same heartless thing to the women he had dated.
Uncle Link was at a loss. He thought the two young men would be in a great mood after their successful business negotiations. “Tarik…Carlos…is everything okay? You both look like someone died. This is supposed to be a celebration. You two have worked so hard for this moment. Why the gloomy faces? Is everything okay at home? Is…is Ophelia alright?” asked Link with sincere concern in his voice.
“It’s okay. I got a little something nagging me on the brain, that’s all.” Tarik stared at both Carlos and Link. Realizing how his mood was freaking them out, he switched back into his usual jovial self to reduce the growing tension. “But, it’s alright, everybody. It’s all good. I’m here listening. You know I’m down with whatever you guys say. ”
Tarik changed his mood, but not Carlos. He kept calling on his phone…trying to reach Nicola. Link, disturbed by the young man’s behavior, asked, “Carlos, who on God’s earth are you trying to reach on that phone?”
“His girlfriend, Nicola. Good luck with that one.” Tarik’s eyes widened as the waitress placed huge plates of smothered chicken, macaroni and cheese, and collard greens with corn bread on their table.
“Nicola? I met her at the party at your mom’s. Beautiful girl. How is your mother doing, by the way? I heard she had met with, what’s his name, Eli Griffith, her first husband?” He was obviously trying to get into Ophelia’s business. He had waited so long to make his move on her that he was pissed at the thought that some other man had beat him to it.
Carlos smiled for the first time that day. Since Pops’ death, his mother had never looked at another man…that is until Eli came back on the scene…and with his diagnosis, he knew nothing was happening there. Mama Ophelia needed the company of a good man, and Uncle Link fit that description.
Trying to encourage the six-foot, ruggedly handsome man from Pops’ hometown in Florida, he said, “Don’t worry, Uncle Link. The dude’s dyin’. You still have a chance with our mother.”
Upset that he’d been caught, the lawyer who was never at a loss for words, started babbling like an idiot and slipped back into a thick Southern dialect that only surfaced when he was upset. He blurted, “But…but…I…I…I wasn’t trying to…you know…get with your mother…that was…uh…never my intention. Um…um…help me out here, boys, please!”
Both Tarik and Carlos started laughing. Everybody liked Uncle Link. Having him for a stepfather would not be the worst thing to happen to the family.
“Chill out, Uncle Link. By the way, the dude, Eli Griffith? He’s my father. Pass me the hot sauce, Carlos. Would you, please?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The thin, curvaceous model wore a G-string, diamond-studded pasties, and a pair of “fuck me so hard I go into a coma” pearl-lined stiletto pumps. She lured Tarik into a tiny room where there was only a bed inside. A long-stemmed rose lay on top of a white satin comforter.
Looking at her with wanton lust and desire, he held her tightly in his arms and kissed her red, plump, juicy lips. He then lifted her up, threw her down on the bed, and crawled on top of her writhing body. His song, “Don’t Say No to Me Tonight,” the first single from his debut album, played loudly in the background.
“Cut…cut…cut…Tarik…baby…I ain’t buying it!” Kevin Rivers, the director, got out of his chair and stormed on the stage. He headed straight for Tarik. “You’re holding the girl like she was a head of cabbage! You threw her down on the bed like she was a sack of fuckin’ potatoes! LOOK AT HER…SHE’S GORGEOUS! You don’t treat a woman who looks like that that way!” Frustrated, he threw his hands up in the air. This was the thirtieth take for a scene that should’ve been finished two hours ago.
Tarik rolled off of the girl, happy to be away from her. It wasn’t natural, being with a woman other than Sherry. He hated making the music video. Why couldn’t he just perform on stage? That’s what he loved doing. Not this Hollywood fake stuff.
The video director was frustrated. He could not make Tarik relax. At his wit’s end, he finally turned to Sherry for help. She had tried her best to run the shoot all day with her suggestions. Just to get some peace on the shoot, he made an ultimatum that either she zip it up or get off the set. She chose to be quiet. For the past two hours, she had not made a single comment.
Begging her now for help was a tad ego deflating for the award-winning film director. He was pissed that he had to do the shoot at all. Unfortunately, his nasty little cocaine addiction had gotten him tossed off the coveted “A” list and on to the “I better do music videos if I want to pay the mortgage” roster.
“Okay… okay… Ms. Sherry…what do you think I should do? Your man is eating up precious money. I can’t shoot this shit and make it look right. I ain’t that good.”
Sherry triumphantly rolled her eyes at the director and jumped off of her seat. She grabbed Tarik’s hand and pulled him over to a private corner of the set.
In a quiet but serious voice, Sherry looked at her husband and begged him, “Honey, these kind of videos are part of the process of making you a star.”
Tarik interrupted, “But, baby, I can’t wrap my mind around it, and I’ve been distracted with the Eli thing. My mama is hanging out with him and…”
“Sweetie, we’ll deal with that Eli issue after the video. For now, this is the only thing we need to think about. You need to know that I want you…no… skip that. I need you to be sexy as hell with that woman in that video, just as if it were me.”
“Huh?” Tarik couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Baby, the girl is gorgeous. And she’s nice, too. I had a lovely little conversation with her earlier.” Sherry embellished the “nice” and the “lovely” part. What she actually did was to inform the little video-hussy with the perfectly chiseled face, that if she messed with her husband, the next person she would need to see would be a plastic surgeon.
“And, Tarik, just in case I’m making you nervous, I’m leaving right now. I trust you, baby. This is just a video. Ain’t nothing real about it.” She pulled Tarik closer to her and kissed him on the cheek. “See you later tonight.”
As she walked out
the stage door, he could not help but admire how good she looked from behind. He loved big asses and Sherry was well endowed. He wanted to tear it up right then and there. He couldn’t wait to get home and make love. He looked for the director and told him he was ready to continue. Completely relaxed, he gave Kevin Rivers exactly what he asked for. It turned out to be an excellent video.
Riding home alone that night, Tarik thought about the song choice for the video: “Don’t Say No to Me Tonight.” He had written it the night he’d begged Sherry to make love to him. His mind drifted back to that moment.
“You mean you want us to do what?” Sherry stopped preparing their lunch, and came out from behind the counter in what Tarik thought was a threatening manner. He loved the girl for her fiercely strong personality, but he hated to admit that sometimes the five-foot-two little giant intimidated him. Sherry flopped down next to him on the couch and stared up at him in a defiant gaze.
“Well, we’ve been together for almost a year now, and I was just wondering when—”
Sherry cut him off. “Six months ain’t a year. I told you before, Tarik, ain’t no punk in me. Don’t play me for stupid, baby!”
“Goodness, woman. Okay, six months. Look… I…I love you and I want to make love to you. Why won’t you let me make love to you, baby?” Tarik tried to pull Sherry closer to him, but she jerked away and started laughing at him.
“Who does that crap work on? You sound like a broke-down old blues record. I hope you’re not putting stuff like that on your CD.”
“But…but, baby—”
