Black Buck

by Mateo Askaripour

  “I know. My bad, man. We jus’ had some trouble and I lost it. You know tha’s not me.”

  “I do know, which is why I’m not beatin’ your ass right now. Servin’ up some street justice like we used to do back in the day. All those reporters runnin’ ’round yesterday. I heard what he said, but you kids can’t always be throwin’ hands like that. It’s what they want,” he said. “You hearin’ me?”

  “Yeah, man. I’m listenin’.”

  “I didn’ ask if you was listenin’ to me, nigga, I asked if you was hearin’ me. The media feeds off of black blood like vampires. They want more of it, and they’ll pit us against each other jus’ to see it fly like firecrackers on the Fourth of July. And you know what? You gave it to ’em. You played into their hands. And now that boy is in the hospital, messed up as a duck.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Woodhull, whatchu think?”

  “Bet,” I said. “I’ll check you later, Wally Cat.”

  “The devil finds work for idle hands, Darren!” he shouted. “Don’ forget that!”

  * * *

  “You can come in now,” a nurse said, scanning her clipboard.

  “I’ll wait here,” Soraya said. She kissed me on the lips and grabbed a magazine in the waiting room.

  I followed the nurse down a series of mazelike hallways and arrived at a closed door. “Bed closest to the window,” she said. “But try to keep it down. He’s not the only one in there and he just woke up.”

  I placed my hand on the doorknob, trembling. Damn, Jason. Of course something like this would happen.

  I turned the knob and walked past beds with curtains wrapped around them, various machines beeping and buzzing like insects in the night. I arrived at his bed and gripped the side rails and just stood there, watching him rest. His lips were busted and swollen like halves of a tomato, and his eyes straight up resembled a raccoon’s: thick black circles that almost looked like they were painted on his face. A thick piece of white tape stretched across his nose.

  “Yo,” I said. He opened his eyes slowly. When he saw me, he just stared, then looked away.

  “Yo, Jason,” I repeated, louder. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, nigga,” he said through a clenched jaw. “I ain’ deaf.”

  Thin strips of metal crisscrossed his teeth like telephone wires. “Damn, son. They got your jaw wired shut like fuckin’ Kanye. You ’bout to spit a verse?”

  “Fuck you, nigga,” he said, exhausted. “Whatchu want?”

  I tapped on his guard rail, internalizing the question. I knew what Soraya wanted and why I felt forced to go there, but what did I want?

  I watched green lines rise and fall like the Dow Jones on a monitor next to his head. “I dunno.”

  “Then why you here?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Then leave before I fuck you up,” he said, wincing.

  “Listen, man. You shouldn’ have gotten up on television and said that shit about me.”

  “It was true though, wasn’ it?” he said, staring at me. Through me, really. “That you been walkin’ all over these streets like you suddenly own them, lookin’ down on me like I wasn’ the same nigga who used to protect you from older niggas tryna steal your bike or makin’ fun of your light skin, that fancy-ass school, and havin’ a Spanish daddy. Nigga, I was even the one who introduced you to Soraya.”

  He squeezed his eyes tightly as he sat up, then eased his lips around a thin straw sticking out of a Styrofoam cup.

  “But you don’ remember any of that, right? So you get a little tight when I speak the truth. Think you big comin’ on the block and sucker punchin’ me? You ain’ even had enough respect to square up like a fuckin’ man. You lucky I don’ fuck you up right now, with all these wires and shit.”

  I grabbed a chair and looked out the windows at cars going by in every direction; doctors on smoke breaks, laughing, puffing, and smiling; trains rumbling over the elevated tracks across Brooklyn and Queens. We used to ride that shit like it was a roller coaster, racing from one end to the other, pushing people out the way, jumping all over like it was a jungle gym to try to earn a few bucks.

  “I didn’ forget,” I said, still staring out the window. “I didn’ forget any of it.”

  He sank back into his bed. “Good.”

  “I’m sorry, Batman. For everything.”

  “Sorry don’ fix my jaw, nigga. Or the fact that Imma be off the corner for a minute now. My momma can’t eat ‘sorry.’”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothin’, son.” He turned toward the window. “When you see me in the street, don’ try dappin’ me up, talkin’ to me, or even lookin’ at me. I meant what I told that white girl on TV. You still over here steady thinkin’ you one of them. But you’ll see. You ain’ shit, and now you less than shit. You dead to me. Now get the fuck up outta here before I tell my nurse to get security on your bitch ass.”

  * * *

  “I guess we have to buzz up,” Soraya said, as she scanned Shangri-La Palace’s directory. The door clicked open and we packed ourselves into a claustrophobic elevator.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “We don’ have to do this if you don’ want to. We can jus’ chill.”

  “I said I’m good, Soraya.”

  The elevator bounced before it came to a stop and opened on a reception area. Sounds of flowing water, birds, and a harp filled the humid air.

  “How may we help you?” a smiling Korean woman asked.

  “Um, we have a reservation. Darren Vender?”

  The woman scrolled through her computer and frowned. “I’m sorry, we have no reservation under that name. We do have one for Buck Vender, though, made by Mr. Daniels?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s me. That’s my, uh, other name.”

  “Okay, perfect. Mr. Daniels put you down for a body scrub, facial, massage, and couples jacuzzi. Does that sound right?”

  I raised an eyebrow at Soraya. Her brown eyes grew larger. She mouthed, Seriously?

  “Yeah, I guess that does.”

  “Okay, follow me, please.” The woman led us down a set of stairs to a changing room with lockers, sinks, and what looked like an operating table.

  “Please place your belongings in the lockers and change into these,” she said, handing us each a white robe and slippers. “You can also freshen up with a warm towel, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” Soraya said.

  We changed in silence, and even though we wore robes, I felt naked under Soraya’s stare.

  Someone knocked on the door. “What would you like to do first?” the smiling woman asked. “Couples jacuzzi, body scrub, facial, or massage?”

  “Massage,” Soraya declared, pushing past the woman into the hallway.

  Getting the hell beaten out of me by an older Korean woman was not relaxing. All I could think about was the front page of the Daily News, how fucked up Jason was, and the fact that I came within an inch of being fired—losing everything I had worked so hard for.

  “Okay,” she whispered after what felt like an hour. “Body scrub time. Please follow us.”

  Soraya silently rose from her table, took a sip of her iced water with orange and apple slices, and left.

  The “body scrub” was more of a “body flay.” The women threw buckets of hot water on us, applied copious amounts of cold gel, then went to work with coarse mitts, scraping off thick pieces of skin that looked like folds of grated cheese.

  After the torture ended, the women moisturized our bodies with yogurt lotion. I cautiously glanced at Soraya, who was admiring her skin. No bullshit, it glowed like brown suede—so slick, it reflected the blue tiles. With her hair wrapped in a towel, face massaged and polished, she was sculpturesque.

  A woman led us to a door and said, winking, to take our time. Without a word, Soraya pushed the door open. In the center of the room was an oversize circular jacuzzi. Across every wall were recessed she
lves that held lit candles. A table next to the jacuzzi bore chocolate-dipped pineapples, strawberries, apricots, a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, and two glass flutes. At the front of the room was a flat-screen TV.

  Soraya dropped her robe as she walked toward the table. She delicately brought a chocolate-dipped strawberry to her mouth and turned on the TV. Her body, thick, smooth, and tight, was irresistible, but I couldn’t even allow myself to enjoy the moment.

  “The TV, really?” I asked, grabbing a piece of pineapple.

  “You obviously have nothin’ to say, so why not?” She poured herself some champagne and settled into the jacuzzi.

  I took a swig straight from the bottle. “Whatever, man.”

  “Whatever is right. Look at you. Since when did you start drinkin’ champagne?”

  I pointed at her hand holding the glass above the water. “Tha’s funny. So what? You can drink and I can’t?”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.” She set her glass down on the jacuzzi’s edge. “You used to be so against drinkin’, sayin’ it wasn’ for you and was never gonna be for you, but once you start workin’ at this company, you suddenly drink. If you ask me, that’s funny.”

  “Yo, what the fuck is your problem? We get this expensive-ass spa day, which, by the way, is from the CEO of my company, and you’re tight the whole time. Shit makes no sense.”

  “You’re right, D. It doesn’ make any sense. You’re the one who’s been all tense. You haven’ said anything about Jason or if you even apologized. It’s like you’re all shut up inside.”

  “I did apologize to him, jus’ like you told me to. And now I got you here ruinin’ my fuckin’ day of relaxation.”

  “Sorry, D,” she said, tapping her forehead. “I forgot you were the only one with problems. Like I don’ have my own worries, tryna get my nursin’ degree, managin’ my dad’s shops, or havin’ to prevent you from killin’ someone. You’re right, D. I’m sorry.”

  I stood there and took large swigs of champagne and stared at her. What happened to her? She used to be my ace, my ride-or-die, and lately she was just getting on my last fucking nerve, like she was blind to all of the shit I was going through. I silently stepped into the jacuzzi and closed my eyes. The champagne lifted me, and I finally relaxed.

  We stayed like that for a while until I felt splashing water on my face. I opened my eyes and she was eating a fig, smiling.

  “Oh, so now you wanna play?” I flicked water back at her.

  She jumped across the jacuzzi and landed on top of me, causing the water to overflow and her flute to shatter on the floor. I grabbed her and held her on top of me. Her hands gripped my face and our tongues rolled over each other to a rhythm only we knew. She moaned, and I was harder than a diamond. I kissed her neck. She bit my lip. I entered her. She thrusted, thrusted, and thrusted on top of me like she was possessed.

  Someone banged on the door, but we didn’t stop. “Is everything okay?” they asked. “We heard glass breaking.”

  “Yes!” Soraya shouted as the water sloshed and spilled over the jacuzzi’s edge.

  I gripped her tighter, going deeper. She threw her head back, screaming toward the ceiling loud enough for the receptionist upstairs and the men selling salty hot dogs and roasted nuts outside to hear. I squeezed my eyes shut, pleasure overtaking my body like an exorcism.

  “Faster,” she said, pushing against my chest. “Faster.”

  I opened my eyes and pushed her off of me.

  “What the hell, D?”

  I jumped out, scrambled toward the flat-screen, and turned the volume up. There was a white man with white hair, pale-blue eyes behind rimless glasses, and translucent skin exposing rivers of blue veins. He exited a black limousine and reporters surrounded him. Words scrolled at the bottom of the screen: “Sumwun’s lead investor, Lucien Quartz, speaks.”

  “Darren, are you serio—”

  “Sh!” I said, glued to the TV.

  “Well, it’s all very troubling, very troubling indeed,” Lucien said in a posh English accent. “Believe it or not, I’ve advised Rhett Daniels to close up shop, just for a bit, in order to respect the dignity and pain of the public. But he refused. I was the lead investor of Sumwun because I saw how much promise it had, but now I not only doubt the direction and overall strategy of the organization but also Rhett Daniels. That will be all, thank you.”

  As he headed up a set of marble stairs somewhere in San Francisco, reporters followed him shouting, “But, wait, one more question, Mr. Quartz!” “Please, Mr. Quartz, tell us about . . .” “Mr. Quartz! Mr. Quartz!” Without another word, he disappeared through a pair of revolving doors.

  “Fuck,” I said, sliding down the wall onto the soaked floor.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me, Darren,” Soraya said, sitting in the jacuzzi.

  “I know.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe any of this. I dunno what we’re gonna do. It’s like—”

  “No,” she said. “You have gotta be kiddin’ me. You can’t think about anything other than that company. Not even while we’re havin’ sex. How do you think that makes me feel? Do you think it makes me feel special?”

  “What are you talkin’ about? Didn’ you jus’ see the TV? Don’ you know what’s goin’ on? This isn’ about you, Soraya, and I frankly don’ know why you’re makin’ it about you.”

  She threw her hands in the air, laughing. “Frankly. Since when did you start sayin’ that? I honestly don’ know who you are, Darren. You and Rhett sayin’ you love each other? You jus’ met the guy three months ago and you don’ even tell me, your girlfriend, that! If you ask me, you need to get the hell away from Sumwun.”

  “Good thing no one asked you,” I mumbled.

  She got out of the jacuzzi and grabbed her robe. “You’re right, Darren. No one did ask me. But if someone did, I’d say that maybe Jason wasn’ so wrong about what he said.”

  I jumped in front of her, water dripping off my body, my face so close that I felt her breath.

  “What?” she asked, looking me up and down, chuckling. “You gonna hit me? Beat me up like you did Jason?”

  I just stared at her, grinding my teeth, my knuckles choking against taut skin.

  “Yeah,” she said, opening the door. “That’s what I thought. If you find the old Darren, gimme a call. I miss that guy.”

  The door slammed behind her. I grabbed the bottle of champagne, sank into the jacuzzi, and chugged until it was empty.

  “Fuck the old Darren,” I announced to the empty room. “I’m Buck.”

  16

  A week later, Rhett ordered us to offer steep discounts to close more deals, but that didn’t work. PSST News aired an interview Bonnie Sauren did with the chief of police of Little Rock, where Donesha Clark was from. In it, the chief revealed that before working for Sumwun, Jiao-long Lee had spent five years in Qincheng Prison, a maximum-security prison in Beijing, for domestic assault, armed robbery, and voluntary manslaughter—which exposed Sumwun’s negligence. If we’d been in deep shit before, we were drowning in it now.

  A bouquet of chocolate, peanuts, and caramel drifted toward me as I entered the kitchen on Friday morning. Brazilian. Likely a robusta from the state of Espírito Santo. Ma was at the table with a cup of it in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

  “Smells good, Ma,” I said, and took a seat across from her. It was early, but she was already dressed for work, which made me happy.

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, reading her paper. She took a slow sip of coffee, struggling to swallow, as if she were drinking liquid concrete.

  “You okay, Ma? You look like you’re about to choke.”

  “I’m okay, Dar. Jus’ a sore throat, that’s all.”

  “I didn’ know sore throats made you choke on coffee.”

  She put the newspaper down and finally looked at me. “Seems like you don’ know a lot these days, baby.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  She went to the sink. “I raised you t
o have more sense, Dar. To stay away from trouble. But all I’m hearin’ nowadays is about your company and the trouble it’s causin’. Maybe it’s time you took a break.”

  “Took a break? Ma, this isn’ somethin’ you jus’ take a break from. You been talkin’ with Soraya?”

  “No, I haven’t, but you need to give that girl a call. I haven’ seen her around here in too long, and Wally Cat tells me you and Jason still aren’ talkin’.”

  I sucked my teeth. “That guy stays runnin’ his mouth, man. Wally Cat needs to mind his own fuckin’ business.”

  The plate fell from Ma’s hands and bounced around the sink. “I don’ wanna hear any of that disrespect in here. Wally Cat is your elder, and I raised you better,” she said, wet hands gripping the sink. “I jus’ know how these people use us. One day they have you on TV defendin’ them, then got you out all hours of the night, comin’ back smellin’ like a whiskey barrel.”

  “No one is usin’ anyone, Ma. Trust me, I got this. Plus, you’re the one who wanted me to do this in the first place. You kept tellin’ me to go and show the world who I was. To not let these people get to me. To be more than who I was before.”

  “I didn’ say be more, Dar. I said give yourself the opportunity to be yourself. That’s all. Who you are has always been enough.”

  “Nah, tha’s not what you said, and you know it. So if you think I’m not who I used to be, it’s because I’m not. Jus’ like you wanted.”

  She turned toward me. “Dar.”

  “Nah, Ma. I gotta go. Have a good day at work.”

  “I love—”

  Down the stairs. Turn the corner. Soraya was walking out of Mr. Aziz’s bodega, but I kept going.

  “D,” she called. I stopped.

  “What up.”

  “Listen, I know things haven’ been good with us, but we gotta work it out.”

  “Why do we gotta work it out? Seems like you worked it out fine when you left the spa.”