Becoming the Czar

by Olivia Gaines

  “Eso, Zeta has been given her first assignments and that includes wrangling Tim,” he answered, nodding and getting on with the rest of his day. “We shall see you at dinner.”

  “Only if I must,” Eduardo growled.

  Yuñior rose, the flow of the fabric of the pants dropping gracefully as he stood. His eyes were on his father, and he had words to say that were not normally spoken between men of their caliber. He was going to be different from his father.

  “Papa, I would never permanently leave your side. I would miss you too much,” he said, giving a small smile at the corners of his lips. “Maybe it is understood between us, but for me I must let it be known that I love you and shall honor you in all ways.”

  He nodded his head and left the room. Eduardo was hit with a bevy of emotions he fought hard to sort through, as Andres came to the door, passing Yuñior and grinning.

  “Papa, Yuñior has asked me to teach the poof to ride a horse. I am thinking to start him on one of the Shetland ponies we use for the babies,” Andres said, bursting into laughter.

  Chapter Nine- Eloquence

  The dining room had been converted to a staging area for the week for Tim Central. One of the suitcases the stylist had brought with him held a portable shampoo bowl and enough makeup to outfit a burlesque show. Zeta marveled at the amount of material, along with a sewing machine and twelve different pairs of extremely sharp scissors.

  “Can you tell me where I can find Ed?” Tim asked, setting up all of the tools of his trade.

  “Ed?” Zeta asked, her eyes down.

  “Honey, you need to look me in the eye when you talk to me. Only scared rabbits look down at the ground. You are in charge, Girlfriend, so act like it,” Tim corrected. “Ed. Your boss.”

  “Ah, sí, Yuñior,” she added. “He is changing to go for a visit with the gardener.”

  Zeta paused, trying to force herself out of the habit of not making eye contact with men. It was not their way. Her mother taught her to be modest in the presence of men so they would not mistake her intentions.

  “It is not our way to look men in the eyes,” Zeta said softly.

  “Your way has changed. Ed is a kick ass and ask questions later kind of guy. He doesn’t need to babysit you because you’re scared to look some of these people in the eyes and take down names,” he said, fluffing powder blushes.

  “Says the man with the beard who wears makeup who passed out in the floor when seeing one of those larger men,” she threw back at him. “Tonda is not that large in comparison to some of the men who serve as guardians in the cartel.”

  Tim swallowed hard. “You mean they come bigger than him?”

  “Sí, and mean. They are very mean and cruel. A woman like me, if they choose, they can carry off and keep for their pleasure. I have been raised to be small and not be seen, and you think in a week you can change 16 years of programming,” Zeta explained, looking at her ragged shoes.

  “It takes 21 days to change a habit or create a new one,” Tim answered. “Tell me Zeta, if you fail at this, what happens to you?”

  She raised her head and looked Tim in the eyes. “If I fail, Señor Delgado will make me a match and I shall marry next year. My grades in school were fair, but not enough to enter the science programs and attend university. Mi Mama and hermanos will go back to our small home, and they will grow up to work the fields, or if they are proficient in science, manufacture the coca.”

  “So either you’re going to dig in and learn everything you can from me in a week, or you get to stay in those raggedy ass clothes and marry a man who smells like the back end of a horse.”

  “Pretty much,” she said, looking him square in the face. “Teach me.”

  “First, you need to change. That fabric is making me itch and it’s not even on my skin,” Tim said, pulling out a pink blouse long enough to serve as a shirt dress for Zeta. He would have to work on the shoes, but he needed to see Ed. He turned his back as she changed into the shirt.

  “Where can I find Ed?” he asked again, sashing her waist with a scarf. He pulled her hair high on her head, making a knot of the long black hair. He added color to the cheeks and pop of tint to her lips with couple of flicks of his wrist and blush brushes.

  “Out the side door, down the gravel path...wait, is that me?” Zeta said, looking into the mirror. “Wow!”

  “Wow is the word. Own it Honey,” he said, pointing at the door. Zeta nodded as Tim sashayed across the floor, making his way out the exit in search of the man who’d brought him to Colombia. He also owed Yuñior an apology for embarrassing him in front of his family.

  Yuñior stood, waiting for him outside the door. He was no longer wearing the lightweight suit from earlier, but had changed into black jeans and a long-sleeved green cotton shirt with a black leather vest. The dress shoes Tim carefully selected had been replaced by a pair of worn black boots which had seen better days. A green bandana hung from his back pocket. The faded baseball cap, which had also seen better days, sat low over his eyes.

  “So this is how you look every day,” Tim added to the air to break the ice.

  “Walk with me, Tim,” Yuñior said calmly, stepping off the porch. They walked the gravel pathway, going around the right side of the home and coming to the rear of the homestead where there was a pool. “You are free to use the pool, but there are children present, so modesty is appreciated.”

  “Ed, I wanted to apologize for my behavior in front of your family. I have never seen such a large, virile, and handsome man like that. I swear it felt like Jesus had tapped me on the shoulder and my legs gave way,” Tim confessed.

  Yuñior didn’t respond as they continued down the path, coming to a small building. The door was ajar, and the smell, unfamiliar to Tim, wafted out. His hand went to his nose.

  “That is some kind of funky. What is in there, where you make the cocaine?” Tim asked, peering around Yuñior and looking inside.

  The sound of scales moving and small arrow shaped heads hitting against the glass made Tim shriek and leap into Yuñior’s arms. This time he caught Tim, putting the man back on his feet. He grabbed Tim by the arm and pulled him inside.

  “Aww, hell naw! You ain’t finna pull out some South American puff adder and let it bite me on my carotid. Nope. Not this bitch,” Tim said, pulling away. Yuñior sighed loudly.

  “The drama is annoying. Please stop,” Yuñior commanded, moving to a cage in the back. A small yellow snake sat on a branch staring at the man who bore its likeness inked into his flesh. “This is my champion. I chose this viper when I was 12. At the time, I was small like this, but taught to be deadly. My mother wanted to trade me and my brother Andres for her own life with guerillas who had taken up residence in the forest surrounding our land. I milked a viper like this one, coated a knife in its venom, and slept standing up at my bedroom door, guarding me and Andres.”

  “At 12?”

  “Sí. At the age of 14, I was assigned a paramour to teach me how to control my manly desires so I would not fall prey to women who wanted to bear me children to have access to this land and my father’s pockets,” Yuñior told Tim.

  “Wow, 14 years old and you were assigned a lover to teach you about your body?”

  “Sí. When I was sixteen, I killed a man with a single shot to the center of his forehead in that kitchen in order to save my father’s life,” Yuñior said.

  “You’re scaring me,” Tim said.

  “Don’t be afraid, be aware, Tim the Johnson,” he said slowly, opening the vivarium of the bocaracá. “If I were to stick my hand in this cage, attempting to catch this snake and it bit me, who would you fault, me or the snake?”

  “You, for being a damned fool and sticking your hand in the cage. The snake is only doing what the snake knows how to do, and that is strike out to protect himself,” Tim said, putting his hand on his hip.

  “Exacto,” Yuñior replied. “You are in the cage with the baddest mutherfucking snake on two continents and Central America
. If your pretty hand does not wish to get bitten, then adjust yourself.”

  “Oh, I see what you did there,” Tim said. “But I don’t understand why you didn’t bring the girl to me in the US.”

  “One, she has no passport. Two, I am recovering from a gunshot wound to my shoulder which got infected, and I cannot fly, so I find myself grounded,” he said, “plus, this place is stifling. At times I feel like I can’t breathe here. I’m getting married in thirteen months, and honestly, I don’t know if I love the sexy one who keeps me calm, or if I should marry the crazy one who understands our life.”

  Tim backed out of the venom house. The smell was curdling his stomach, and the sound of the serpents moving were making his flesh crawl. Yuñior closed the lid on the vivarium and followed Tim outside. He continued his walk around the venom house and down the path.

  “Not to be crass, but which one is better in bed? That’s always a good starting point,” Tim said.

  “I know you may find this hard to believe, but I am a one-woman kind of guy,” Yuñior confessed. “How men sleep with several women at a time perplexes me and is not my style. Tim the Johnson, there are really nasty women out there with poor hygiene and bad diets. Connecting on a deeper level requires focus. I have no desire to try to please every woman who will have me, but to please the one who has me, if that makes sense.”

  “Ed, if I looked like you, I would walk around with my cock out waiting for people to fight over who got next,” Tim said, turning up his lip.

  “I would have thought you would cut the ass out of your pants and call for who’s ready to get deep,” Yuñior said, chuckling at the joke.

  Tim pursed his overly glossed lips, placing his hand on his hips, “When did you get to be so damned funny?”

  “It feels good to laugh. My apologies for it being at your expense.”

  “We’re good, but Ed, I can tell you from experience that love is hard. The woman you spoke of earlier, Tempest, I love her, and always will but that woman is a hot mess on two long sexy legs that she liked to throw over my shoulders,” he said. “If you truly want to know somebody for real...travel with them. A week spent in either of their company while on vacation will tell you everything you need to know.”

  “Hmm, I spent a few days with Diadra in Costa Rica. I have a little house there,” Yuñior added.

  “No, Ed. I mean a real vacation. Not some hot spot to make nasty sweaty love. I mean wait staff, five-star dinners, and three diamond resorts, and see how they treat the people waiting on them. How they handle the down time in between you having to run out and kill a bastard before dinner and reading a bedtime story to the kiddies is the real answer,” Tim said. “Then you’ll truly know if you can stand to be with this person for the rest of your life.”

  Yuñior stood still, having reached the gardeners cottage. The vegetables were growing well under Herve’s care. He plucked a tomato from the bush, wiped it on his shirt, and bit into it. He offered one to Tim.

  “Eww, like no... pesticides,” Tim scowled.

  “Lemon oil is used on the tomatoes. We are very green here, all natural, and organic.”

  “Really? All of this is organic?”

  “Down to the cow shit used to fertilize the soil,” he said, “but we are moderately progressive. Every home in all seven villages has a computer and internet access. They can’t access porn sites, though; those are blocked.”

  “This is a peaceful way of life, but I can see how you are bored,” Tim said.

  “Tim the Johnson, this is only half of my life. The other half in Argentina is worse,” he said. “The right wife is crucial to me. I want to have some joy in raising my family.”

  “If your wedding were tomorrow, you know who you’d marry, right? Then alter the situation so the one you don’t want to marry thinks it’s her idea to call it off,” he said. “What would it take to make that happen?”

  The wheels in Yuñior’s had were already in motion, but hearing Tim say it only confirmed what he’d been thinking all along. All he had to do was make a push in the right direction and the train would start to coast. It wouldn’t be hard at all to derail the whole damned system.

  EDUARDO LEANED AGAINST the kitchen sink, staring out the window. He watched his first born laugh and talk with a man very much unlike himself, yet he was more comfortable talking to the guest than he appeared to be with his own family. The body language and demeanor were both relaxed as he walked, pointed, and shared information with the odd little man. Although he was unable to hear the words, the look on Yuñior’s face as he explained their way of life fell on receptive ears.

  Ryanne arrived in the kitchen, coming to stand next to her husband.

  “He is not that relaxed when he talks to us or his siblings,” Eduardo noted.

  “The man seems to be a friend,” Ryanne said. “I’m looking forward to my appointment with him this afternoon. He brought an entire salon. I could use some pampering.”

  “I think my son could use a bit as well,” he said, looking at her. “Did you by chance get the contact information of the woman?”

  “Who Diadra?”

  “Sí?”

  “I have it in my office,” she said.

  “Will you be so kind and reach out to her and see if we can get her here by the weekend for a few days’ stay. I think it would do Yuñior some good,” he told his wife.

  “I can make that happen,” she replied, walking off to make the arrangements.

  “Oh, Cariňa, this is to be a surprise for him, so do not let on, por favor,” he added.

  “Of course, husband,” she said, softly.

  TIM WAS EFFICIENT IF nothing else. In less than three hours, he had washed, lifted, and styled Ryanne’s hair, added soft bangs to her face, and trimmed her eyebrows. He performed a manicure and pedicure while she was under the dryer. Isabella, the three-year-old who was fascinated by all things Tim, didn’t allow the man to move without following him like a lovesick puppy.

  He polished her tiny toes and gave her a quick style, without trimming the hair. Tim did trim, wash, and style Zeta’s hair, providing tips on quick professional styles for when she traveled. The uni-brow which sat on her forehead like an angry caterpillar was gone. Soft highlights framed the round face and Zeta couldn’t stop smiling.

  Tonda walked into the room, and Zeta stood tall, staring the big man in the eyes, asking, “May I help you, Señor Tonda? Your appointment is not until tomorrow.”

  “Looking. Seeing,” he growled, peering around her into the transformed room.

  “We have you down for a shave and haircut, plus we will need to collect your measurements,” she told him. “Tim will interview you on color choices, fabrics and style preferences, and he will shop for you after that.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Sí, Señor.”

  “Very well,” Tonda barked, peering into the space again, trying to see what was happening. Three times he came back, and three times Zeta politely sent him away.

  The lady of the house complete, Tim provided Zeta with ways to enter and leave a room. He taught her to glide over the floor as she walked instead of clomping her feet like a tired old horse. After four tries of teaching the girl to tuck her hips, on the fifth time, she brought it all together.

  “Baby, I have got to get you some decent shoes,” Tim said, before tuckering out, skipping dinner, and retiring for the night.

  THE MORNING BROUGHT a smiling Eduardo Delgado down the stairs with a bit of pep in his step. He was anxious to get in the chair to see what Tim had in store for him as well. If his son trusted him, and his wife, who looked amazing after time in the chair, it would not hurt to give the man a chance.

  “Good morning, Señor,” Tim said. “Before I touch your hair I want an idea of how you’d liked to be styled, whether tough guy appropriate or age appropriate.”

  “Age appropriate? How old do you think I am, Tim the Johnson?”

  “I would say a day or so shy of forty eight, but t
he years in the sun, smoking, and being a father of six and the baddest man on two continents places your appearance at 55,” Tim said. “I can either smooth it out to make you look like an established man of means, or I can tough it up to make you appear like a bad man who likes to kick ass. You tell me which you prefer.”

  Eduardo leaned back in the chair and stared at Tim. The fancy pink man wasn’t as stupid as he looked. “I will leave it to your hands.”

  “And nope. I am not dying in this country over a bad haircut,” Tim replied, “but if you ask me, which you just did, I would like to refine your look, update your color choices in clothing, and put you in some linens and soft cotton blends. You would also look amazing in pastels.”

  “Me in pastels?” Eduardo said, reaching for his knife as Yuñior came through the door and touched his father’s hands. He shook his head no at his father, letting him know that cutting Tim was not an option.

  “Not pinks or anything like that, but a lavender, maybe a coral, soft yellow, almost like a butter cream. Those shades against that dark skin would really stand out. I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Tim said, leaning Eduardo back in the chair.

  An hour later Eduardo looked in the mirror, almost shocked at what he saw. His skin, after a deep cleansing mask, was radiant. His beard, often scraggly, was neatly trimmed around his jaw line connecting to the hair around his mouth in a Van Dyke. The sides of his hair, which were often hanging haphazardly, were cut down low, showing his scalp with the weight of the hair on top of his head lowered. The high and tight cut took ten years off his face.

  His eyes were wide as he stared in the mirror, looking at the person looking back at him. Surprised by the change, Eduardo turned and asked, “Pastels? Yuñior, take him in my helicopter to Bogota to shop later today.”

  “Sí, Papa,” Yuñior said, looking at Tim with approval.

  “I shall call ahead and open a line of credit for your Tim at the stores so he can shop freely. The stores will deliver all of the items you purchase the following day,” Eduardo said, looking in the mirror again.