“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Hurry up, you stink.”
CHAPTER 20
Humble Opinions
Psalms showered and made his way back to the office. The glass front office on the first floor had an enclosed glass office to the left of Velvet’s work area. She could look over to her son, Squire, who was doing school work. Often Psalms took her son out for a jog along Alki Beach for exercise in the middle of the day. Sometimes Mintfurd Big Boy brought her son to the weight room in the building and it showed. The eight-year-old looked ready to play high school football.
When her son looked up from his book, he waved to Psalms who spoke in American Sign Language, “I’ll be over in a while.”
Squire signed back, “I want to box today.”
Squire was not hearing-impaired, but it was an early tool of learning that Psalms shared with the young man. Psalms’ grandmother was hearing-impaired and so his grandfather taught Psalms to sign, although he never really knew his grandmother.
Velvet broke up the conversation with her own sign language by pointing her finger and staring at her son who understood he had school work to do first. He signed, “Yes, Mother.”
“Don’t get my son hurt with all that macho stuff. I admire the warrior that you are, but I don’t want my son thinking with his hands first and brains last.”
“Is that what you think I do? I think you forget I have enough brains to sign your paycheck, and as Q would say, eh?”
“I sign my own paycheck and run this office; you just were simply smart enough to hire me.” Velvet laughed.
“I was smart enough to hire Big Boy back there who teaches your son math and science. I was smart enough to have him design that soundproof glass office to do his school work, so he don’t have to listen to his mother’s smart ass talk all that mess…and I still sign your paycheck, you’re just not smart enough to know, yet.”
“PB, speaking of Mintfurd, we were going to—”
Psalms cut her off, hoping to escape the conversation. “I think your friend is nowhere near being able to handle another man right now, much less Big Boy.”
Velvet had a power over Psalms; she could draw him in to a conversation beyond his control. She had been the only woman who could do that. He added her manipulating potency to one of the lines in a Prince song about some women were for certain things, and not all for sex.
“And you’re a relationship expert how? Look who’s calling the fish smelly, when you’re a shark. You were over there on the beach less than an hour ago beating the hell out of the anger Evita made you feel. I love Gabrielle, as she is a good person. I see she makes you happy, but the girl can drink…she can put the booze away, and you know it, but you ignore it. You got issues too. Your choice in women is a tattle-tale on your choices in life.” Velvet spoke while she multitasked—sending and returning emails and sending out billings.
From time to time, she scanned the Internet for news and hit up her Facebook page. Her eyes avoided Psalms as he sat across the room, staring at the back of her head. She only looked up to see the water and Seattle skyline and when a ferry crossed. Her voice, a cross of Marilyn Monroe and Alicia Keys, melted men, but with Psalms, it allowed her to be sarcastically forthright about how she thought and felt.
Psalms avoided the conversation about the women in his life. Evita, although better with age, still ran over him occasionally with her lifestyle, and although Gabrielle would walk on water for Psalms, he never asked her to slow down or quit her drinking. The woman had damn near ruled the world, and did it good. She was a woman with emotion and in need of love from a man. She made love to him as if she was paid millions to do so, with every possible sexual act, and loved it intensely. Maybe Psalms was oblivious, but the woman never embarrassed him, and her behavior toward him was loving, so what was he to do? He loved the woman.
“No one is ever ready for a relationship—they may say that shit—but the truth is in my humble opinion—”
“You, with a humble opinion?” Psalms laughed and almost spit up his coffee.
“Yeah, in my humble opinion, a relationship develops between two people if it’s meant to be. There is no ‘I’m ready’ or someone having to get ready. If love walks in, and you play the stupid card and say you’re not ready, you’re just dumb ass. And all that has nothing to do with forcing a relationship to work, but if the right person comes around, you’re ready. It’s about the right people crossing in front of you.” Velvet kept on multitasking, scanning the Internet.
“I’m sorry, Velvet. I don’t think your friend is ready for a man. Besides, Big Boy ain’t no joke, and really, can you see them together? One of his arms is bigger than her whole body. If he went to go down on her, his big head would stretch her legs so far apart she’d think she was giving birth.”
“Yeah, I do admit he might hurt me, and I’m not a small woman, but if that’s what she wants, who are we to stand in the way?”
Psalms laughed for the first time since he’d dropped off his dog at the vet.
The visual of Mintfurd and Darcelle had both Psalms and Velvet tripping in imagery.
“We both know Mintfurd Big Boy has his own freakish behavior. He spends a lot of money on escorts because finding a woman on his own just has not happened. He has more women loving him as a friend than there are jellyfish out there in that water.”
“PB, I’m someone that Mintfurd has trusted as he comes to me to get a woman’s perspective…just like you.” Velvet mockingly cleared her throat. “Big Boy has told me his life story. I’ll have you know it’s been over eight months now, I talked him in to not getting his rocks off with prostitutes. Yes, the man has his wants in the freak zone, but who don’t? Your ass should be outlawed with you and Gabrielle out the in the water at two a.m., snorkeling in diving suits. I mean damn, PB, you made a flap in the crotch of your suit so you can pull your dick out, and you put a flap in the back of hers . . .I wonder which opening you slipped into? Was it deep?” Velvet’s eyebrows rounded and meshed with her smirking round face. “Now that’s some shit I want to watch with an underwater camera. Didn’t you get scared out there in that dark water? Oh, what if something had touched you while you was humping, and you couldn’t see what it was?…Ooh-wee. Tell me, just how good could sex be in dark, cold water, with fish swimming around. Don’t they have sharks out there?”
“Velvet, there are no man-eating sharks in Lake Washington, and the diving suit keeps you warm. Both Gabrielle and I are good swimmers. I didn’t know Mintfurd had changed up his groove with having sex with escorts. He had been tight-lipped for some time.”
“He’s making an effort. He tells me he’s horny almost daily, but he’s trying to maintain.”
“Well, if you and Mintfurd are that deep in to his situation about his lifestyle, why are you talking to me about hooking up your friend Darcelle with him?”
“I can set the wheels in motion for her, but you need to help him.”
“Help him do what?”
“Come on, PB! You know he don’t know how to…you know he don’t know to make a move on a woman. He is so used to every woman being a play date, so to speak.”
“Play date?” Psalms started laughing and stood to go out to the workshop area where Mintfurd was working on either something mechanical or electronic. During the whole conversation, Velvet was scanning the news and came upon something.
“PB, PB, PB, a black woman working as a maid was found dead just outside of Vegas city limits. It appears she was brutally tortured. She’s identified as a forty-year-old woman with a green card from Martinique.
“You know that’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Yes, it is. That had to be the kids’ mother. She had to be in Vegas the whole time, just not staying where the kids were.”
Psalms pulled out his phone and texted both Suzie Q and Tylowe:
Alert: the great-aunt may know more than she has let on. Can’t confirm. Proceed with caution.
Suzi
e Q, in her dramatic fashion, responded:
10-4 Smokey.
CHAPTER 21
I Belong to Me
Gabrielle
“This is your Oakland North Bay Oldies Soul radio station. We’re stepping back in time and bringing you a twin spin of Otis Redding. First, the classic ‘(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay.’ Then I suggest you hug up, or at least think about loving arms around you when we play ‘Try a Little Tenderness.’ Only here on your Oakland North Bay Oldies Soul radio station.”
I’ve been enjoying my morning—relaxing and catching up on some reading. I’m being a little lazy, with my legs still sore from my recent late-night swim. I mean early morning. I can smile as I look out at the sun shining over the Bay Area. I’m reliving how my legs and insides became sore, from having a thick dick sliding in and out of me, while the cold lake water tangled with my own natural juices. It felt good and painful. I can’t wipe this smile off my face.
The Bat phone is ringing—my private line that Psalms has set up to electronically scrub the signal to keep anyone from recording my phone conversations.
Damn, it’s my former boss, the ex-president of the United States. I’m listening to him talk about something that is touching my nerves. He knows how I feel about domestic issues. I support the common man and not big business. I don’t think like his good ole boys, but yet he is asking me for my support. He’s about to get an earful of attitude. I am my own woman now, and I’m not bowing down to my former boss on any subject I do not agree with.
• • •
“Look GB—Mr. President, they want federal assistance for a state problem created by a private sector company that was not required to have adequate bonding insurance.
“I need my name removed from anything that ties me to them. I’m not their lap dog! I’m not a roll of toilet paper to wipe their shit up. I know as your former Secretary of State you expect me to be loyal though all endeavors, but I’m sorry I can’t support you on this. I will not!
“I’m in the private sector now, and I pick and choose who in the hell I want to support. No disrespect to you as the former President, Mr. President, but I’m not sorry about how I feel. I don’t support them blowing up a little town in Texas. And then, they want me to represent them by using my good name to solicit federal funds?
“Think about this; many Texas politicians in Texas voted against giving the Northern states funding when a natural disaster, Hurricane Sandy, hit hard. That was purely immoral. Now, in the face of this non-natural disaster created by a company that thrived under a pro-corporate tax structure and deregulation, they want rescue funds? No. I will not be a part of that …”
“Mr. President, I don’t give a damn about how much money they gave us in the past. The administration gave them a pass on too many things. As I said, deregulation led to this problem. In my estimation, we gave them all they should have, and more. What did they give us in return? As of now, fourteen dead and hundreds of injured. I feel sorry for a devastated town that we let down with another failed domestic policy. The sad part, blame and real answers will be spun like sewage down a flushing toilet …”
“I understand that for you as a former president, it’s not kosher for you to ask or represent them in such affairs, but I’m not in office anymore, either. I handled your foreign affairs. The other part of your administration made the domestic decisions about who to get in bed with. Your administration dropped governmental oversight and inspections on workplaces that can be as dangerous as we see. I was never in agreement with any part of the administration on many of the domestic decisions such as this. Mr. President, I’m sorry, but I must go. We must pray over all this, shouldn’t we?”
I need another glass of wine. I cannot believe GB would even ask me to be a part of domestic situations. He knows I have never believed in supporting certain deregulation when American lives are in the balance. I’m glad that asshole, The Duck, didn’t call me. I severely dislike his manipulative ass. He and I never did get along. He ran things as if he was the president.
Yes, I’m a conservative, but I’m a realist more than anything. Because I’m aligned with certain people, it’s assumed that I share the same views of people who were about using the American people for pure profit. NO! Of course I could never speak out when I was in the mix of all the things that were going on, but now I am a private citizen. I belong to me!
I’m pissed right now. I’m glad I have my wine to help me deal with the craziness, but I need some Psalms loving to help me through . . .hmph.
I love this Cabernet Sauvignon wine. It’s from Black Coyote Wines in Napa Valley, an African-American winery. I have invested in several cases of wines from black-owned wineries. Despite what many may think of me, it has always been my personal policy to support black businesses. I support my people. I knew, and know, where my heart lies at the end of the day.
That is the reason I spoke loudly in support of the black United Nations ambassador when the Republicans ganged up on my sister-friend. They knew she was doing her job. Some of them good ol’ boys in the House and the Senate attacked her because they thought it would light a fire under their base. Truth be told, their base is a dying breed of old, tired white men.
I was their shining, token black woman. I knew that. They really didn’t understand me, or the psychology of the spook who sat behind the door. The idea is that when I am in the mud with you, you cannot see the real me. I may be dark, even if you think my mind is white. You may think you know what I’m thinking and doing, but you know nothing. Meanwhile, I see everything that you’re doing.
So few know the real me, and that’s fine. I enjoy who I am. I’m not trying to fit into a box that someone else tries to fit me into. My ass is well rounded. I desire to stand alone to help bring about a positive, lasting culture. People have become consumed by pop culture instead of creating a positive culture that lasts.
Looking out over the Oakland Bay makes me want to get out of my condo for the day, but I have so much work to do. I guess I can go down to that café on the wharf and work on my computer. Let me see if I can get a security detail.
So many times I wish I could walk around like most people, but I know better. I have pulled off the big hat and sunglasses, looking like the eccentric out-of-place woman in public, but Psalms does not like me to do that. He once set it up to have me followed without my knowledge for two hours, and I never made out who was following me. That taught me I’m never safe in public.
I have a speech to give in Washington, D.C. tomorrow night. It’s about how limited we are in our ability to make significant changes due to our limited mindsets. We’re so focused on stopping other people from achieving their goals, when our real goals should be to make the world a better place, and not waste so much time and resources channeling negativity. My conservative base dislikes such talk as they construct change through so much negativity.
Most people want momentous changes for the world, country, city or town that benefit them personally. My speech will be about changing our relationships with neighbors, family members, and changes within one’s own life. How can we change the world when we harbor resentments, and lack forgiveness for those closest to us?
Sadly, all the tuxes and evening dresses will pay to hear me with their generous tax break money. They will clap and smile plastic smiles, and never hear a word I’ll say. Even sadder, those people are acting no different from most people whether they are rich or poor. Many people believe that genuine relationships are like friends on social networks—click “delete,” and it’s over; click “block,” and find somebody else to accept as a friend.
I’m flying back to Seattle for the weekend. I was going mid-week, but I need to prepare some work for my students at Berkeley.
Psalms is preoccupied with something profoundly troubling. Not sure what it is. He takes on some security tasks that are full of risks around the world. In many ways, I think it makes him feel whole—saving and protecting. He asked me to secure a few t
hings for him from some sources and connections I only use sparingly. I never ask why. He never asks me for anything that I would question.
I decided long ago that if I found a man I wanted to be with, I would trust that man. I could pay a dreadful price if I’m wrong about the man I love, but I stand to reap the glory of love that a woman seeks.
Lois Mae, who was on the boat the other night, is an incredible poet. From what I understand, she and Velvet are best friends. At one time they shared a man whom Lois Mae was married to. I think my situation with Psalms, and his strange relationship with Evita, is near a collision course. I’m thinking of how I can change it, but I can’t force him to do anything different. Lois Mae and Velvet are friends, and I have to hand it to them. Lois Mae and I are both from Texas and grew up only about forty miles apart, so we get along well. She is an African American literary professor at East Seattle City University and has written a book of poetry about the love of a good man. One of her poems feels as if she had read my mind about how I feel about Psalms. I asked her could she write some personal lines for me within that poem and send me a copy to print. I wanted to put a picture of Psalms and me on my wall, and the poem next to the picture.
My life can be so impersonal. At my condo here in Oakland, so few ever walk through my door, but I try to make it a home. When Lois Mae sent me the personalized version of her poem, I wanted to die, and I wanted it to be buried in Psalms’ grave when he dies.
There Is Something About His Love
His smile is the grace of a beautiful day
His eyes are the golden lights in the night
His wine-stain birthmark is like a piece of my heart resting near his eyes so he can see inside my heart day or night
One Safe Place Page 15
