by Tiana Laveen
CHAPTER TEN
A King in Queens
It was midnight and her bare feet, adorned with two simple gold toe rings and a matching anklet, were propped up on the dash of the car. Suri’s throat burned like she’d swallowed razor blades doused in gasoline, then set ablaze on their way down to her cramping gut. The whiskey embalmed her brain and cemented her stomach, mingling with the medium rare Ahi tuna she’d just eaten and triggering a slight nausea. Then, the non-stop laughter she could no longer control made her temples throb. Sebastian Mikael’s, ‘Exit’ played through the speakers of the old silver Ferrari 250 GTO.
“This car is so bad ass. I love it. Where’d you get it?” She bobbed her head to the beat of the music, feeling the moment.
“It’s my father’s. Chris’. He let me borrow it.”
“He’s got great taste. I’ve never owned a car, but I love looking at old classic cars.”
“Can you drive?”
“Yeah, my father taught me and then I took it up in high school. Driver’s education. I have a license that I renew but only use it as an I.D. Speaking of fathers, I notice sometimes you call yours dad, other times stepdad. What’s that about?”
King turned up the volume of the song. How odd. He was ready to respond, right? Why drown out his words? She wiggled her toes.
“I don’t know, actually,” he said. “I mean, I guess it’s because he’s both. He was with me more than my biological father, raised me for most of my life. He adopted me, like I told you, and that really pissed my father off.”
“Why did your biological father agree to it then? Doesn’t he have to give permission?” Maybe I’m asking too many questions? Well hell, I want to know. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, King will damn sure tell me.
“He was in rehab.”
“Oh, I see.” She tilted her head to get a better look at him.
“He went on his own. It wasn’t court mandated or anything like that.” Well, that was smart of him. You don’t hear about that too often. “My father is one of the most honest motherfuckers you’d ever meet. He’s candid with and about himself, too. I respect that about him.”
“Is he one of those brutally honest sorts? Like you?” She winked at the man and smiled.
“Yeah. Like us.” He cut his eyes her way then focused back on the street.
“You got me there.” She slid one leg away from the dash, allowing her foot to slide halfway in her shoe.
“What about your father? Are you two cool?”
“Cool? Yeah, sorta. My father is an absolute trip. But I want you to finish telling me about your dad first. I promise to get into the story of mine.”
“Oh, all right. So, let’s see… Where was I?” He rubbed on his beard. “Oh yeah, he went through a few years of drinkin’ real heavy, pills, shit like that. Thankfully, I don’t believe he’s used in over twenty years, but that whole situation caused him to not think clearly, and so, he signed the papers, thinking it was for the best at the time. Of course, soon afterwards he wanted to contest it, sayin’ he wasn’t in his right mind, but with him having so many legal issues back then, he didn’t want to make the situation worse, fearing my mother would deny him visitation.”
“And that is why he doesn’t like you calling Chris dad, and you have some guilt about it, right? I mean, from what you’re describing you may have felt like you were being pulled in two different directions.”
King drew quiet, the air became denser. Seconds drifted away and his forehead wrinkled as if he were truly thinking hard about it, trying to come up with the proper answer.
“I guess, Suri. I don’t think about it a whole lot, but sometimes, yeah, I felt caught in the middle, between the two of them. Chris never tried to replace my father. He used to always tell me that I have the best of both worlds, but regardless, my biological dad had a little jealousy towards him.”
“Why? Because he was with your mother?”
“Oh, hell no!” They both burst out laughing.
“Well, damn! I guess that bridge was crossed, huh?”
“Yeah, my father has not wanted anything to do with my mother romantically since they officially split up. They used to go back and forth even after the divorce, but once they started dating other people, they both left each other alone. That’s a whole ’nother story. The reason he was jealous was because Chris is a doctor.”
“What kind of doctor?”
“Pediatrician. He has a private practice and also works in the E.R.”
She nodded in understanding.
“My dad never said he was jealous, but we all knew he was. Chris had bought a nice townhouse for us, shit like that. The stuff my father couldn’t do but wished he could. So, I wouldn’t necessarily say I feel guilt, just trying to keep the peace. I care about both of them and always wished they could get along. I had even thought they could all live in the same house together with me and my mother when I was kid.” She couldn’t help but smile. “My father is a bit of a hot head, real opinionated, lots of machismo. My mother would tell me growing up that I was just like him, but I really love my father and I love Chris, too. So, back to what I was sayin’ earlier. Once my dad got sober, he was real pissed about the adoption situation and never got over it, really. Even to this day. He can’t hate Chris, though. Chris is a good guy. He blames my mother for it. Said she took advantage of the situation knowin’ he was feeling sorry for himself and worthless at the time.”
“Isn’t it crazy how our parents do all of this shit, have all of this drama, these roller coaster emotions, and make all of these decisions that sometimes make absolutely no sense, but we’re the ones that get affected the most?”
“There definitely was a lot of drama.” He chuckled dismally. “Way too much at times.”
“And then, they look at us when we’re grown and tell them it wasn’t all peaches and cream, and they’re like, ‘Whaaa?!” She looked about, making exaggerated gestures to play the role and causing him to crack up. “What’s wrong with you, child? You had it good!’” She rolled her eyes and giggled, thoughts of her past spinning like gears in her mind.
“I didn’t have that experience. I mean, there was shit going on, but nothin’ like what you’re describing. My parents tried to keep me shielded from the more sensitive topics, their private conversations, I guess you could say, but I know what you’re talking about.”
He reached for her hand and held it. Perhaps he felt like she needed that. The music poured through her like torrential rain, and she was left there… soaking wet, with her feelings.
“I don’t talk about my family much with people I haven’t known for a real long time. This was different for me.”
“Why? You don’t like to talk about them?”
“No, it’s not that. I just decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to allow resentment and past hurt impede me. I wanted to focus on the positive. When I tried to talk about my mother and father, it would seem that the negative aspects would always rise to the surface, as opposed to the good things they’d taught me and done. In my early twenties, I had made a decision to not end up like some of my friends who either felt entitled, or resentful and bitter. I want to keep the good shit, throw away the bad shit. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not in denial or trying to stick my head in the sand. Trust and believe, I remember some things well, but I didn’t want to harp on them and let the memory of them ruin me. My own mother did that. She hated her mother because of how the woman treated her. My mother did suffer, but she let it influence her life way too often. She wasn’t the captain of her ship – her dead mother was. I didn’t want to be carrying all of that baggage full of bullshit that would weigh me down. It’s easy to fall into that trap. To blame, hold it close to your heart instead of getting some counseling or making a choice to let that shit go. I can only control myself, ya know? Nobody else.”
“That’s something I really like about you.” He smiled ever so slightly.
“What?”
“Th
at you’re just… how can I say this? I guess, a woman about your shit. You have a clear path and you seem to know what you want and need to do. You’re astute. That’s sexy.”
Her cheeks heated.
“I didn’t want to be like my parents. I just wanted to be me.”
“Do you have any brothers and sisters? You know that I have two younger brothers.”
“Yeah, I have a brother and a sister. My father’s kids. I barely know them.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because things were messy.” She shook her head. It still gave her a strange feeling all over to have to relay this information and honestly, she wasn’t certain why. “My father was married to someone else, King, and my parents were having an affair. Only my mother didn’t know it was an affair until it was too late. She was very much pregnant.”
He sighed. “Damn.”
“Yup. Now, in fairness to my father, he did in fact step up to the plate, okay? He acknowledged me, admitted what he did to his wife, and took care of me. I don’t remember this, I was too young, but my mother swears that his wife took things out on me when she’d initially let me visit. My mother said I’d come home with bruises so that was it. They’d even gotten into a physical altercation over it. The bruises could’ve been from me playing or falling, honestly, I don’t know, but she wouldn’t allow me to stay over there anymore after that. I didn’t see my sister and brother any more. We were estranged, and I suspect their mother turned them against me and my mother due to some things I’ve heard and how they’ve never tried to reach out to me when I attempted to reach out to them. My dad ended up divorcing some years later. Maybe his now ex-wife and kids blamed me for that, too. Who the hell knows?” She shrugged. “We were made to be the bad guys. Despite the fact that my mother, with all of her issues and craziness, would never get romantically involved with a man she knew was married, and told his wife that she wasn’t even aware he was married, there was still a lot of animosity.”
“We ought to write a book. That shit would make the New York Times Best Sellers List,” he teased, making her laugh. “It’s just crazy. In fact, the world is crazy… bunch of soulless psychos. People don’t think. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.” His brows rutted and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
She wanted to continue to discuss these sentiments with King but didn’t want to entertain whatever dark place he may have been drifting to, either. At times, King seemed optimistic, full of zest and passion, but then, there were times when he said things like this… just like at the club. Something happened to him. It had to have. I guess we’re all damaged to some degree, but he is struggling with this. His art is so beautiful, and yet, inside, he is so dark sometimes. Deviant.
“Do you have anything to eat in here?” She switched topics and looked around the backseat.
“Didn’t I just feed you, Seymour? Damn.” King laughed loud, obnoxious.
“I’m still hungry. That soup and those little fancy appetizers, though expensive and tasty, weren’t enough.”
“You had an entire entrée, too.” He shook his head. “Glove compartment. I have some chips in there.”
“I knew it!” She snatched it open, grabbed the half-eaten bag of Lays, and had her way with it. Xavier Omär’s, ‘If This Is Love’ came on in that moment. Perfect. They bobbed their head in unison and she smiled wide as they passed the Unisphere in Queens, her thoughts wandering back an hour or so ago to their date…
After they’d finished drinking, smoking, laughing, debating and listening to music, he took her in his arms and asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. Now they were cruising Long Island, the stars twinkling bright in the sky.
“I haven’t been over in Queens for at least a year. Maybe longer.” Feeling full, she rolled up the bag of chips, licked her fingers, and placed the snack back into the glove compartment.
“I come about once or twice a month to visit my father.”
“Does he make it to Harlem?”
“Yeah. He comes to see me, too.”
Outside, Christmas lights were strewn across one street. A bit too early for such a thing, but it looked nice nevertheless. Minutes passed, the music played, and he must’ve kissed her hand several times. There was a level of comfort, yet fresh excitement, that never went away when she was in his company.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m infatuated with you.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. “I’ve had a good time tonight.”
“I like you, too.” He seemed to stiffen a little.
“Let me ask you something else.”
“All right.” He turned down another street, taking his sweet time. People milled about, and a sudden burst of loud Spanish music spilled from an open bar door.
“How do you feel?”
He tossed her a glance, then looked back out the window.
“I feel deeply…” When he said the words, she was stunned, impressed, and disturbed by his answer. He was uncharted territory that she wished to explore.
“I haven’t been out on a date, a real date, in a while. This is a nice change of pace.”
“When was the last time a guy took you out somewhere nice?”
“Hmm, well, probably about three months ago. When was the last time you stole some woman’s panties?” She chuckled, and he burst out laughing, too.
“You just won’t let that go, huh?”
“No. You’re going to give me back my damn underwear. It goes with my bra. It’s a set.”
“Well then, give me the bra, too. Why deprive me of a collection?”
“Give me the sixty dollars I paid for ’em, including an extra twenty percent and we have a deal.”
“Shit. I think you should be paying me with the way you tore those chips up. Where the hell are you putting all of this food at?” He reached over and quickly cupped one of her breasts. “Never mind. They answered.”
“The hell with you, King! Gimme my shit back. I’d make a police report if it weren’t a little embarrassing,” she teased. “You need help!”
They both were laughing hard now, her throat stinging from their mutual silliness. She was a grown ass woman, but felt like a little kid with him. There was something freeing in that, something that made her melt against his soul like an ice cube dropped in a flame. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion in that moment. It felt balmy, lusty, good all fucking over. He cut his eyes towards her; those gorgeous, rich cinnamon spheres caught her and wouldn’t let go. King was love. King was hate. King was everything in between, and she could relate.
“I’m not giving you those panties back, so you might as well stop asking. Oh, check this out,” He pointed outside the window. “We’re in Astoria now. That’s the Museum of Moving Images. Really dope spot some people don’t know about. One day, if you’re still acting right, maybe I’ll take you.”
“If I’m acting right?” She playfully slapped his shoulder and he grinned so pretty… yeah, pretty. King had a beautiful smile. He glowed when he let it take over. When they’d first met he seemed so serious, maybe a little too much so, but as they got to know one another, she discovered such warmth and sincerity. It was a serious turn-on, the duality of the man.
“On the weekends, they show foreign and classic black and white movies.”
She turned to him, excited. She’d lost count of how many times the bastard seemed to tap into her, almost reading her mind.
“How’d you know I like foreign and old movies?”
“Your apartment. You had a framed photo of Greta Garbo. I don’t know many thirty-two-year-olds who would have that on their wall. You’re different. I like that you’re not like everybody else.”
“How’d you notice that picture? It’s practically tucked away.” She ran her fingers along her collarbone. Impressed.
“I notice everything.” They stopped at a red light. She sat there, holding herself, and shudder
ed when he stared deep into her eyes. Leaning in, he grabbed the back of her head, dragged her close, and kissed the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit clear out of her. Her face flushed with heat, a river flowed between her thighs, saturating her panties in an instant, and her nipples hardened in a flash. Then, he slowly pulled away and drove on, as if instinctively knowing when the light had turned green. “Can I take you back to my place?”
She turned away, looking out the window.
“Is that the Let Love Inn bar?” She pointed to it as they zoomed past.
“Yeah.”
“I always wanted to go there. If I go back to your apartment with you, King, what are you going to do?”
“Steal your panties… pilfer your pussy… and nab a little piece of your soul, too…”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hot Wings and Somebody Else’s’ Fries
Crimson leaves blew in a gust of wind just as he reached the brownstone on 133rd street. This particular unit was divided into three separate apartments, one of which was his, on the second floor. He trudged up the chocolate brown painted concrete steps, his hair whipping about and a tingling sensation from the wind coursing through his bones. Suri walked alongside him, garbed in a long black leather trench coat with a red and black striped belt cinched around her waist. When the all-too familiar sweet perfume wafted towards him, he said a quiet ‘thank you’ for the beautiful evening snack by the name of Suri. After slipping his key into the front door lock, he entered and climbed the flight of stairs to his place. The door swung open slowly, with a squeak.
“Come on in. Relax. Take your shoes off.” He locked the door behind them, then tossed his keys into a black and silver tin with a glossy white skull and glowing red eyes decorated on its side. It was a Halloween cookie container from some little pastry shop he’d visited in Brooklyn several years prior. As Suri worked her heels off, he toed out of his Apt. 9 black loafers. They were cheap in cost, but well made, and he loved how they felt against his skin. She shoved her hands in her coat pocket and smiled awkwardly as she rocked back and forth. He swallowed a laugh. She was so damn cute and beautifully bizarre.
