“Uh, Treasure, come on over here and have a seat.” Sean shot his father ‘the look’, which the man paid no mind to as he took his seat and led the woman beside him, practically sitting on her lap. “What do you think you’d like to eat, baby? We just ordered drinks and soups.”
“Oh, well, I need to look at a menu.”
Sean shot his arm in the air and snapped his fingers, just as his father had moments previously. He’d been to the joint too many times in the past. The food was fucking awesome, but the wait staff would ignore your ass unless you made your presence known. After a few moments, a waiter approached, his black hair parted down the middle and plastered on his head like the damn mustache on the Pringles chips containers.
“I need another menu, please.”
“You want more food?” the man asked, a bewildered expression on his wide face, his tone heavy with an accent and attitude.
“We haven’t even ordered our entrees, nor eaten yet, and my girlfriend just got in here. She needs to see the menu. Is that uh problem?” He eyed him with a raised brow while the waiter looked at Treasure then set his sights back upon him.
“Oh, okay.” The man turned away, disappearing as if he’d never been there.
“Friendly bunch, aren’t they?” His mother chortled.
Treasure grinned, causing a reddened glow to color her cheeks.
“So, Treasure…” The lady pushed her water out of the way, clasped her hands, and grinned like a toothy character from some Disney cartoon. “Are you Catholic?”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Sean slapped his forehead and closed his eyes in disbelief.
“No ma’am,” he heard Treasure answer.
“Sean’s last girlfriend wasn’t either…” His father stirred the pot, making the shit thicken like sludge.
…Thanks Dad! ’Preciate it!
When he opened his eyes, he noted the disappointment on his mother’s face, as if she’d been told it was Christmas on some other floor but once she hurried down the steps to it she discovered she’d been bamboozled. Rather than a beautiful Catholic girl to call her very own daughter-in-law, she’d landed smack dab in front of an evergreen tree with flimsy silver tinsel and there was nothing underneath the damn thing but an old, smelly gym shoe with a broken Christmas ornament jammed inside of it that read, ‘Merry effing Christmas’.
“Ma, religion isn’t really something we should talk about right now,” Sean directed, pissed more than ever now at the old lady who lived in, or in this case, lit a shoe.
Colin could’ve helped prevent this! Damn you old woman with the lighter and rubber soles!
The waiter of few words returned, slid a menu across the table, and disappeared as quickly as he came. Before the woman read it, she offered him a peace offering. Treasure slid her hand around his, cupping it in a soft yet comforting fashion, soothing his inner beast. He took a gander at her once more as their shoulders brushed against one another. Her eyes sparkled, throwing his reflection back at him. But then, like a flash of lightning, his father’s voice jerked him out of the moment.
“She’s a beaut!”
He spun in his father’s direction, shocked at this admission. Kevin Mahoney simply didn’t dish out compliments, only complaints and concerns. Yes, tricky bundles of sarcasm rolled out of the man’s lips faster than toys down an assembly line. He took a quick gander at his mother—the woman blushed a bit, as if her husband were speaking of her, but he knew it was only because she, too, agreed with the man.
“Thank you,” he and Treasure said at the same time.
The older man didn’t make direct eye contact, as if embarrassed by his out of the blue, yet honest declaration.
“Sean, it’s a little late so I think I’ll just get some soup,” Treasure finally stated, sliding her menu away. He nodded, rose from his seat with the menu in tow and whispered the order in the waiter’s ear. He was certain the guy wouldn’t make another appearance to their table in a reasonable amount of time. Once he returned, he discovered his parents enmeshed in a conversation with the woman, one that apparently caused his mother to lean over the table, wearing an engrossed expression.
“That is amazing!” his mother blurted loudly as she cupped her hands and stared into Treasure’s eyes. “Joan Rivers’ daughter, huh? May that poor woman rest in peace. She was kind of mean, though. Some of her jokes I found to be downright mean. I hope she went to Heaven. I’ve been prayin’ for her cruel, little tormented soul.”
Oh, Ma! It was comedy! Let it go!
“Yes, Melissa. She wanted some drapes that she couldn’t find in L.A. and I had a connection. It turned out well.”
“Who else did jah work for, huh?” his father piped in, interrogating her so, his eyes lit with excitement like a damn jack-o-lantern. Sean quickly rounded the table and sat between the two, but the conversation continued on just as it was, as if he were simply a fixture in the damn way. His father strained his neck, veering around him as if he were some eyesore, and concentrated on ‘the girl.’
“Well, let’s see…” Treasure tapped her lip. “I’ve worked with several hip hop artists, not sure if you’d know any of them.”
“Try me!” the man blurted, as if he listened to Wu Tang Clan classics from sun up to sun down.
“Oh, give me a break! Why waste her time? You probably think hip hop music has something to do with rabbits!” Sean joked.
Treasure gave a light chuckle but the older man waited for his answer, ignoring Sean once again.
“Little Wayne, Busta Rhymes, and Nicki Minaj, just to name a few.”
“I know Nicki!” his father yelled as if his ass were on fire, and pointed his long, fat finger in Treasure’s face. The waiter returned and took their dinner orders, then vanished once again like a flash of light.
“Oh,” Sean grimaced. “You know Nicki, huh? I suppose she came over to the house and sat with ya in the kitchen while you ate your curds and whey…fairytales! Did she ask to see your anaconda?!”
“Don’t use that nasty talk around these nice ladies.” His father’s eyes glistened with mischief. “And for your information, I do to know Nicki! That’s that black chick with the annoying voice and pink hair! She’s gotta nice ass though.”
“Her hair is black now…she dresses less flamboyant, too,” his mother chimed in, as if she were the founder of the performer’s fan club.
Sean couldn’t believe his damn ears!
“You DO know Nicki!” He cackled, falling back into his seat. “I guess the T.V. has educated you on this, huh?”
“I watch B.E.T.”
Sean let his head fall to the table; the laughter within him proved too much to squelch. He felt Treasure’s body shaking against his, too.
“What?” his father asked, his tone proof that he hadn’t a clue as to what was so damn hilarious.
Sean lifted his head and looked at the man, barely able to compose himself.
“What’s so funny?” the man repeated. “I do!”
“Why do you do that, huh? Why do you think you have to say shit like that, Dad? You’re fine, no need to try and fit in with Treasure.”
“I don’t watch B.E.T.,” Treasure noted, looking like she was having a tough time stifling her amusement.
“I’m not tryna fit in!” his father protested angrily, throwing his hands up.
“It’s true…” his mother stated, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Your father watches B.E.T. sometimes. He says it keeps him current.”
“Current on what?!” Sean blurted between more guffaws. “The top ten best video hos of all time? What tha hell are you watching on there?”
“The Hip Hop Awards… I’ve been watchin’ annually for about four years now.”
Sean and Treasure burst out laughing. Just then, their food arrived. Even his parents succumbed to the silliness, and though he hated to admit it, he was a bit impressed with his father. He looked at the man as they all began to eat and engage in small talk. Fact of the matter was, there seeme
d to be things about his old man that he didn’t know at all…strange things, funny things. His father was a real live person with desires, needs and dreams that Sean was none the wiser to. Perhaps he’d had a slanted, one-sided view, refrained from giving his father the room within his own mind to take on different angles and forms. It was hard to see Dad as anyone other than Dad—a son to two deceased Irish transplants, a brother to five siblings, a friend to many, and a husband to his mother, long before he ever became a father.
That wonderful slice of surprise pie he’d been served to savor went down surprisingly easy. He felt that much closer to the guy, even through something so insignificant such as identifying certain entertainers, and what he did with his time when he was glued to the tube, for this let him know the man had opened up doors to himself that Sean never thought he’d find interest in entering, let alone walk inside and take a seat. He wasn’t convinced his father actually enjoyed rap music, but that wasn’t the point…
In truth, people, including Kevin Mahoney, were multi-faceted beings and there often was much more to them than met the naked eye. Treasure made him aware of this character flaw within himself, one that had sent her on an enraged one-woman lynch mob after his ass during their heated argument in his car one late evening some time ago…
He was ashamed of his lack of understanding. It had to be through a meeting with the love of his life, then a family get-together with his parents, the people to whom he owed the world to and loved hard on, that he would discover he’d been painting pictures in his head of how his family worked and thought, but come to find out, he’d groomed himself into a lackluster artist. The portraits he produced were all wrong, skewed, painted in shades of dimly lit light, when in fact, the truth burst with vibrancy.
When he’d spoken to his mother earlier in the day, he gave the woman the full 411, anticipating all sorts of ridiculous banter to follow. She was used to Sean being with older women, so he let her know in advance that there was an age difference, not expecting much hoopla. He also let her know that the lady had two kids and was divorced, and he was certain she would throw judgment his way, and his father, too. Much to his surprise, they didn’t. Mom simply said, “Sean, I just want cha to be happy! If she is a good lady and makes ya happy, then I’m all for it.”
Without spreading Treasure’s business all over the place, he informed the woman that there would be no biological grandchildren either; however, should the relationship go to the level he anticipated, she’d get a beautiful and smart granddaughter who adored to dance and cook, and a grandson who would love being doted upon by a woman such as herself.
Leaning in close to him, her expression serious, she’d grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer, saying, “…And I’m just fine with that.”
…And in that moment, he warmed with new understanding. He’d been wrong, so very wrong…
There was no box his parents could be put inside of, so why feel the need to cart and crate others? Treasure surely could not and would not be contained, and apparently, nor would his parents. People were people… nothing more. Nothing less.
As they continued to eat the delicious food and talk loudly over the noise, laughing, enjoying one another’s company, he sunk a bit deeper in his thoughts, almost drowning in the warmth of the cerebral waves.
Who else have I been wrong about?
…I’d imagine way more people than I thought. I like being wrong about this though…
He shot his father a glance as he picked up his glass of water, took a gulp, then smiled with contentment.
Yeah…being wrong in this case feels really right…
‡
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh God…” Treasure lowered her head as she sat in the second row of the coliseum; her nerves raw and exposed like fresh sushi on a platter.
“Sean Maaaaaaahhhhooooonnnnneeeeey!” The announcer screamed the name as if it were part of some happy-go-lucky song. The crowd turned electric! People jumped to their stomping feet in fevered applause, causing the damn steel stadium seats to shake and rattle and roll to the point she was certain she’d lose her balance, tumble over, and wake up in some hospital bed two days later. Peering over the mass of swarming people, straining with all of her might, she finally caught sight of the top of her lover’s head, and couldn’t hold back. Upon seeing him move like the head motherfucker in charge, her face split in an uncontrollable grin…he looked amazing. The brash bastard walked in wearing his silky forest green and white short robe, a self-assured, half-cocked smirk, and a tailored, green-eyed wink just for her as he cast a lazy glance in her direction. He swooped under the thick ropes, entering the ring while Migos belted, ‘Fight Night’. The hardcore, filthy lyrics fit her honey perfectly. He tilted his head from side to side, bouncing about during a quick warm up. His thick calves looked like boulders had been placed under his flesh; the muscles in his legs glistened under the harsh lights. He was a gorgeous mess, but his opponent proved to be an ogre of epic proportions, a maniacal monster fit for the cover of some horror advertisement for an upcoming blockbuster film.
The nightmare on two, thick tree-trunk type legs hunched about; sexy was definitely not a factor. The guy was some big, bald fucker, his head the size of the Superdome Stadium, and his hands and gut equally enormous. ‘It’ was named Vernon AKA Venom, and the creature sported a red and black robe and a body shaped like a tugboat… but she was certain there would be no ‘smooth sailing’ with this son of a bitch.
“Oh my God…” she murmured as the animal pranced around the ring, revving the crowd up, while Sean stayed cool and collected, acting as if the grotesque eyesore in the ring with him was nothing more than Mickey Mouse inviting him to the Clubhouse. Her Love stood there pushing his white boxing gloves together over and over and glaring at his opponent, like a man eyeing meat on a chopping block—and nothing in his expression gave her one indication that Sean was apprehensive, frightened or vexed.
I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stomach this…
She clasped her hands together tightly and swallowed over and over as her body warmed with worry. The man had his game face on, but she stood there wondering what could be going on in his damn mind. Over the last two weeks, Sean had come to her home with an assortment of black and deep purple bruises, reddened flesh, bumps about the head, and ghastly blue swirls, enlarged veins and red lines that circled and framed his green eyes like a kaleidoscope. He donned busted lips and a bloody nose that was more times than not stuffed with a raggedy piece of toilet paper, yet he walked about as if his appearance was perfectly normal, in proper working order. He’d begun rigorous, hardcore training for this very fight, and his strict diet as of late caused him at times bouts of irritability, especially if she dared to bake banana bread, his all time favorite from her kitchen. Nevertheless, for the most part, he remained true blue and in good spirits, so much so, he made a meal of her body every opportunity he got. He’d declare that just because he couldn’t have candy didn’t mean he couldn’t have the sweetness between her thighs, then he’d seal his words with a delightful clit kiss…
She’d seen her fair share of street fights, even enjoyed watching Mike Tyson, a man from her Brooklyn stomping grounds, and saw the icon fight live in Las Vegas many years ago—but this was altogether different! This here was her baby, her boyfriend, her lover, her personal pocket comedian, and beast between the sheets. No…she could never part with Sean, and the idea of him being held up in an emergency room fighting for his life felt like a true possibility.
Before she knew it, the two giants were glaring at each other, with only ten or so inches between their bodies as the referee went over the rules. Her nightmare sundae, sprinkled with worries galore, topped with a tear-filled cherry, caused her to miss crucial lapses in time. Reclaiming her seat, she clasped her hands together, feeling the sweat collecting on her palms in a matter of seconds as her knees bucked against each other.
“Ahhhhhh!” the crowd exclaimed, while s
he drowned in confusion.
“What? What’s going on?” She jumped back up and before she knew it, Sean’s long, muscular leg—with thighs that could crush walnuts, pecans and fucking concrete—rose in the air, and his knee caught the gelatinous bastard beast on the side, making the man moan deep and madly, as if the damn air had been knocked clean out of him. It happened so fast, that she must’ve missed it in a blink of her eye.
He didn’t waste any time…
“Ahhhhhh!!!!” the crowd exclaimed once again when Vernon the Venom got his bearings and gave her baby a knee in the chin and a punch in the gut in swift succession. Seemingly unfazed, Sean moved about the man, and a series of mutual punches and kicks ensued, an even exchange of pounds of flesh.
Oh my God, how long is this going to continue?
“No!” she screamed out through destroyed nerves, losing her semblance of sanity when she witnessed bright red blood pooling from his right nostril, gushing out with no indication of stopping.
“You okay?” A man popped up beside her after navigating the crowd. He held onto a red and cream-colored bag of popcorn, then wedged himself in between her hip and another person’s thigh without a sliver of care as he made himself at home.
“Uh…yeah.” She looked at him inquisitively, realizing his eyes were so damn familiar… Only difference was, his were blue…
“I’m Colin, Sean’s brother.” He smiled wide and extended his hand as he sat beside her.
“Oh! Yes! He said you’d be here. Nice to finally meet you.” She made to shake his hand, but their exchanged greetings simply weren’t meant to be.
“Ahhhhhh!!!!” the crowd roared once again, forcing her to crane her neck back in the direction of the ring.
“Dat’s my booooy!!!” Colin rose from his seat, screaming and yelling, causing his popcorn to fly wildly about like confetti, some of it landing in her hair.
Sean had stepped back and landed a vicious kick to the side of the big, burly man’s stomach. The crowd groaned on the man’s behalf, but there was no chance to fully take in what had taken place, for Sean wasted no time in delivering another blow, this one much worse—for he foot-delivered a vicious right hook to the middle of the bastard’s upper chest, Federal Express. The big fucker literally buckled to his damn, meaty ham-hock-like knees, losing his breath, and he clawed at the air, his mouth hanging agape. Now almost everyone in the stadium was up and about, roaring, chanting and clapping! Amped up in a vehement way, declaring profanity-laced accolades.
The Fight Within Page 35
