The Deviant

by Tiana Laveen

  “What statement?”

  “I have attacked men in the same or worse fashion for flirting with whoever I had my eye on at any given time. And rightfully so. I was intentionally disrespectful with you this afternoon, not because I genuinely wanted to steal your girlfriend. I would never do something like that to you.” He stopped pacing and held his gaze. His brows dipped as if in reassurance that he would never cross that line. “It was because I wanted to see your reaction. An experiment, so to speak. Regardless, I was sincere about my assessment of her. Okay, back to business.” The man glanced at his Rolex. “Lincoln will be here in ten minutes.”

  “Why would you need to know what triggers me and Lincoln who?”

  “Because you’ll know too much about me after all of this is over. You already know too much as things stand, King, and I need something to put over your head in case you get out of pocket. I’ve lived far too long to go into anything blindly. One minute ya think you can trust someone, and come to find out, they’ve stolen your money, trashed your reputation, and fucked your woman. People are scum. Including me at times. Lincoln Davis.” He casually glanced at his phone.

  King’s mouth dropped open. Ricky nodded, puffed out his chest then burst out laughing.

  “You set up a meeting for me to meet with Lincoln Davis?!” King knew of Mr. Davis since the time he’d worked at the shirt shop. His old boss spoke of certain designers all the time. Davis worked the city style and wardrobe circuits and was one of the most influential Black designers in New York. People paid big money to work with the likes of him.

  “I know, right? The Lincoln Davis. Told you, you son of a bitch, I don’t trust many people. But you’re authentic, King.” Ricky’s eyes narrowed on him. “You react only when your money or your woman is in potential peril. Like when you took your friend aside for acting a buffoon in my store.” King briefly averted his gaze, holding a laugh. “Yeah, I didn’t hear what you said to him but I saw your body language. You were upset, and rightfully so. That wasn’t necessarily a trigger, but something that got you animated because it would have affected your income, which is tied to your survival and comfort. And then, today, of course, you decided that I needed to be put in my place. Don’t ever speak to me that way again though, King.” The man smiled, but that gesture was far from sincere.

  “No. don’t you threaten me, and don’t you ever speak to me the way you did again, Ricky. Test or no test. I’m of course happy to have the opportunity to meet with Lincoln Davis, but nothing has changed. I’m still not your doormat, ass-kisser, flunky, brownnoser, puppet, none of that shit.” The two stared each other down. Then, Ricky laughed.

  “King, check this out. I had already heard of you before I saw your resume. I lied a little.” He shrugged. “I knew exactly what I wanted from you once I saw you applied for the job, but first, I had to see if you could handle basic business 101, and see if I even liked you as a person. I do. You remind me a lot of myself at your age, as I’ve told you multiple times. I simply didn’t have your height and build. That would have helped me greatly, but I suppose I would just have to take that up with God.”

  “Just so you know, Ricky, you’re not the only one who can play games, test people, and do research.” King was sure his words sounded like a threat. Maybe they were. Ricky said nothing, simply shot him a glance, then looked down at his phone. “What you found out about me happened when I was a child.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “You haven’t said exactly what “it” was, or how you found out, but you’ve made it completely clear that you know.”

  “I do know. I have to be able to have faith in you, for what I have planned.”

  “Don’t you think that’s crossing the line? You’ve invaded my privacy.”

  “Think about it, King. My actions show that I hold you in high regard. I have trusted you with my cars. I’ve had you deliver expensive jewelry to clients from my accessory business that I told you about. You have my bank account information should an emergency arise. My own fucking daughter doesn’t have that information. You have the combination to the Alpha store safe. You have my home address and quite a bit of personal information that, if given to the wrong person, could put me in harm’s way. I’m a multi-millionaire who happens to keep a low profile. Most people think I just have that nice little store in Manhattan, ‘Oh yeah, Ricky owns Alpha,’ but my roots go much, much deeper. I am partner in name brand clothing lines. I help fund young fashion entrepreneurs, strike deals with some important people, and I am involved in many vital projects I keep under lock and key.”

  King was developing a love-hate feeling for Ricky, but damn if he didn’t respect him. This discussion was long overdue. Clarity was made, and the exchange would never be forgotten.

  “There are people who would shoot me directly in my fuckin’ head, in broad daylight in front of ten cops, if they got the slightest opportunity. The fashion industry is cutthroat. Some people laugh when I say that; they think of Victoria’s Secret models, shit like that, but they’re outsiders to this world and don’t get it. They have no clue how this shit works. Do you have any idea how many designers, models, and the like have been murdered but it was called an overdose, King? Homes set ablaze, families busted up, blackmail, prison terms and lives destroyed… all over money? Power?

  “You have to become a monster just to survive. You have to be a demon. A deviant. To play by your own damn rules. This is no walk in the park, my friend. Lincoln, whom you obviously have heard of, as well as the rest of the world, is a friend of mine. As you know, he’s worked with many of the greats. He is launching a new urban design line and expressed a desire for an artistic approach. No one knows about this except for me and him, and now, you.

  “He is going after a younger demographic than usual, but not teenagers – men and women in their twenties and thirties, perhaps early forties. He has looked at hundreds of designs, and still isn’t satisfied. He is extremely picky, way more than me. When I heard of his dilemma, I realized he and I were interested in a similar venture and we should join forces. This was discussed way before I had even met you. It was put on the back burner until he brought it up to me again in passing. I told him I had hired a locally famous fine artist, who also has a graphic design background and went to Pratt, an exceptionally good art school. I also mentioned you have experience with casualwear and urban design, an added bonus. I showed him several of your pieces that I had found online. It was art, not clothing work, but he could see the vision. He was not only impressed, he felt this meeting was necessary.

  “I have been wanting to delve into this area as well, away from the suits for a bit, and see how it goes. Though this type of clothing is unfortunately force-fed from trends, which I don’t care for, it does however offer lucrative benefits and prospects. He wants something new. Fresh. Something no one has seen before. YOU.”

  Just then, the doors open and in walked a tall, light-complexioned Black man wearing the shit out of a camel suit paired with a chocolate silk tie. His lips curled in a smile as he made his way across the room.

  “If isn’t my good friend, Ricky!” the guy’s voice boomed.

  Ricky raised his glass in the air in greeting. King placed his glass down on a chair, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, and waited as the two men engaged in conversation. Then, both turned to him as if needing answers to a riddle, ASAP.

  “Well, you must be thee King Chrysalis. What an amazing, regal name. I love it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m the infamous Lincoln Davis, the best damn designer in New York City. Bar none.” The man gave a heartfelt chuckle. They shook hands. “King, you’re one talented son of a bitch. Even if I don’t use you for my venture, I know you’re going to make waves in the art world.”

  “Thank you, again.” King grinned, already enjoying Lincoln’s banter. “I appreciate that.”

  “Now, I want to see what type of eye you have, your vision. You better have more than a
nice butt and a smile.”

  Ricky made a quick call, asking for someone to come meet them. Within seconds, five people appeared, pushing long tables on wheels and placing them in the center of the vast room. Wardrobe hangers were placed in various locations, some with jumpsuits and jackets hanging from them.

  “As you see, on the tables are assorted shirts with different designs. My designs,” Davis said. “Ricky assisted me in getting vendors for the material I wanted, a more quality cotton-blend for the right price, and yet, even with this great material, something is missing. I need a set of fresh eyes. You may possess that missing piece, King. I’ve been dealing with this ordeal for almost a year. Walk around, and tell me what you think, okay? Your honest opinion, please.”

  King slid his hands into his pants pockets and took his time studying the shirts, while Ricky and Lincoln spoke in hushed tones. He cleared his throat to garner their attention when he was finished.

  “I’m not a fashion expert. I’ve explained this to Ricky already.” He scratched the tip of his nose, then continued. “But, I know what grabs people’s eyes, especially those around my age group. The blending of certain colors, or lack thereof, for example. Everyone has different tastes, but the key is to get them to at least stop and look. Study.” Both men nodded in agreement. “For these shirts on the ladies’ table, it isn’t a graphics issue, it’s just a style issue with urban clothing. Predilection. You want to go with V-necks. Women gravitate more towards V-necks, regardless of age, because that cut is seen as more sensual. Not necessarily low cut, but the scoop cut in any case is seen as more athletic or kid-like. Both can be flattering on either sex, but this is about getting them to look.

  “Secondly, these designs have been done before.” he pointed at one of the shirts. “They’re too similar to others. Too safe. I understand you want to steer away from a “childish” feel, such as cartoonish looking people, a bunch of cheap rhinestones, things like that, but you can incorporate more oomph, more originality without compromising the integrity of the point you want to get across. It looks like you are going for more organic designs that mimic nature. I’m good at that. So, how about we try this…” King asked for a piece of paper and a pen.

  He made a couple fast sketches and the three men spent some time discussing them in detail. Both Ricky and Lincoln were at times hard to read, so he couldn’t figure out if they were interested in hearing and seeing more. King continued regardless, making his points clear until he had nothing further to contribute. Both men were on their second glass of wine when they stopped talking. They glanced at each other, then at him, both smiling.

  Davis had decided.

  “King, you’re legit. I want you to design my entire new shirt line. Welcome to the House of Lincoln Davis…”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Artist and His Past

  King pushed past several metal slate boards and partitions that were attached to rods and beams in the ceiling, serving as dividers. They made a loud, banging noise that rattled him to the bones. He’d built them himself to utilize this rudimentary space in the old building, which comprised a bar and restaurant on the first floor, rented offices on the second floor, and the vacant top floor that was now his space. It barely held heat in the winters, and often when he worked in the space he’d bring two space heaters from his apartment, along with large bottles of water and a bucket since there was no running water. It was definitely not fit to be lived in, but it suited his purposes fine.

  The cement walls had light gray paint peeling off them, but the ceilings were high, reminding him of an old ballroom with intricate molding and design, including several floor-to-ceiling columns. The owner had allowed King to place new specialty blinds in order to preserve his work, and they worked out a deal for him to rent short term for six months. The rent was quite high, but worth every dime, a studio he could be proud of. He rarely let any guests into this space. Until now.

  Suri stood a great distance away, her white sneakers almost glowing in the dim area. Several of the large floor to ceiling windows didn’t have the blinds pulled all the way down, but the sun was setting, offering little natural illumination. Suddenly, his phone buzzed.

  “It’s Shane. It might be a lead to another modeling gig.”

  Suri leaned against one of the windows, her nose practically touching the glass. Long legs crossed, a gentle bend of her neck, he could see her reflection through the glass. She looked so damn pretty, even in just a gray oversized hoodie.

  “Sup,” King answered.

  “Hey, man, first things first. How’s that shit with your brother?”

  “Fucked.” He laughed dismally.

  “King, last you told me, he was outta the hospital, got a restraining order on yo’ ass, and has the nerve to be takin’ you to court. He deserved every piece of that beatdown. Disrespectin’ y’alls mama like that, then fuckin’ up, and tryna start some shit. I wish I would’ve been there. We coulda tag teamed his ass like we used to do in high school. In thiiiis corner is Shane the mothafuckin’ Great, with his sidekick, the Albino King Kong!”

  “How am I gonna be the sidekick when it’s my brother?”

  “Shut up, man, and let me be great! In tha otha corner is a half Greek Pita bread cocaine sniffin’ dumb ass junkie who needs his back caved in!”

  “Thank you for that visual, Drew McIntyre. Anyway, so…” Rubbing a hand along the back of his neck, he paced. “Yeah, we’ve got a court date.” King sighed as he folded a cloth.

  “Ain’t that some shit? Tomas is a busta. He’s supposed to be the one in jail, not you.”

  “If I go down, I’m taking him down with me, believe me.” King shook his head. “He’s got my mother and stepfather at each other’s throats. My dad threatened my stepfather and cursed out my mother over this shit. Lucas is probably popping anxiety pills like they’re candy, and I can’t go over to my mom’s house when Tomas is over there because of the restraining order. Needless to say, outta spite, he is over there often. Son of a bitch.”

  “You want me to have someone take care of him?”

  “Shane.”

  His friend burst out laughing.

  “I’m just sayin’, man. He’s on some goofy shit. Where the hell is the whip?”

  “Still M.I.A. He claims he parked it but someone took off with it. More damn lies.”

  “That car was dope, man. Fuckin’ shame. Okay, second thing I need to ask you. Did my agent call you back yesterday? Tye said he was, but sometimes he forgets to follow up with stuff.”

  “Yeah, he did. Our second meeting went fine. We’re all set. I’m doing some print ad work and an online photo shoot. It’s all scheduled.”

  “See? I told you, man. I knew he’d love you.”

  “Oh shut up, Shane. I know you get a piece of the pie. A finder’s fee. That’s what you’re really calling about. Just to make sure your check will be rollin’ in.” King walked past stacks of blank canvas boards in assorted sizes and began to flip through them.

  “Ya damn straight. It’s not like you don’t get paid. I just get a bit of it too, is all. Yo! I almost forgot to tell you. Guess who I saw yesterday, G?”

  “Who?”

  “Kevin!”

  “Kevin? Kevin who?”

  “You know, man! Kevin Peele! He lived over there near 125th Street ’nd Lexington.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot about his ass.”

  “Man, I was on the 6, right? And he was sittin’ across from me. He was like, ‘Yo, don’t I know you from somewhere?’ I said nah, figuring it was somebody gearing up to beg for money, but then he brought up some shit from high school. I didn’t even know it was him, man. Life beat the living shit outta him. His clothes were all fucked up, shoes a mess. We got to talkin’ and yeah, it was definitely ol’ Kevin’s mark ass.”

  “You say he didn’t look the same. I mean, do you think he’s using or something?”

  “I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He’s definitely not using a hair brush o
r a tooth brush. I can promise ya that. He looked crazy, man. Face all smooshed in on one side like somebody was kneadin’ that mothafucka tryna make dough, some Tollhouse cookies or some shit. Anyway, then he got up to leave, right? We do the goodbye shit. King… this dude was mustier than a mothafucka!”

  “Shane, I’m tryna—”

  “How you gonna be musty in the fall?! This ain’t the Bahamas. We like one degree away from being inside a full-blown snow globe right about now. It’s brick out here! Cold as fuck. King. He had that kinda mustiness that make ya eyes water and ya nose hairs curl. I was almost blind in that son of uh bitch. It’s a damn shame when the smell of the subway is better than someone’s funk.”

  King burst out laughing and shook his head.

  “Shane, stop. Maybe he had a rough day or fell on hard times. Yeah, none of us liked him, but come on. You’re doin’ too much.”

  “Oh, fuck that onion, cheese, and garlic bread smellin’ mothafucka. You must’ve forgotten all the shit he got me in the middle of.” Truly, Kevin had kept a lot of crap going. Instigating fights, for one. “Starting trouble ’nd shit, putting my name in the middle of some bullshit, and he thought he was better than us, with his one move dancin’ ass. That’s all he could do was that contortion shit. I mean, it’s cool. I could do it, too, and still can, but you gotta be more versatile than that. He was a one trick pony. I have no idea how he even got in our school. His mama was fine, though. Remember her? Had a big ol’ ass. She used to flirt with me, too. I shoulda tried to be his stepfather, at least for one night. He woulda heard me up in there tearin’ that old ass pussy up!”

  King had heard enough, though he was highly amused by his friend’s antics.