by Tiana Laveen
“Yeah… you’re a sick ass weirdo. I raised this monstrosity who sits before me. Jesus.” His dad slapped his thigh and burst out laughing. But the man was serious. “Usually, people are shocked at hearing something like that, but you’re looking at me like you wanna get in on the action.”
Nixon burst out laughing so hard it hurt. Truth was definitely stranger than fiction…
Time went on. They both smoked their cigars while listening to the music, drinking, settling in.
“I’ll put your mind at rest, Dad. Yeah, she’s a Christian,” Nixon admitted, breaking the silence. “She doesn’t go to church every Sunday or anything like that, but yeah, she believes in God and Jesus, and she prays.”
“Hell, I need to be asking if you’re still a Christian!” Dad hooted. “When is the last time you attended Sunday Liturgy? Any time recently?”
Nix scratched his nose. “No.”
“Do you even believe in God anymore, Nix?”
“Dad, I’m not trying to get into this with you. This is one of the reasons why Ma got upset with you. She was exploring her beliefs and all you did was try to bash and shame her. You’re not even a practicing Catholic, and yet, you want everyone around ya to be Bible thumpers or locked up in a cathedral all day. Look, stay outta my business. To me, religious beliefs are personal.”
“And so is who you’re fuckin’, but you let me know that!”
“Okay, fine. Yes! I believe in God! Ya happy, now?”
“Why are you so upset? It’s a simple question.” Dad huffed in resignation. “You act like you’re mad at God, after all these blessings around you. Look at your fuckin’ house, Nix! Fuckin’ tubular fish tank in the middle of the damn floor! Built-in wine cellar and state of the art kitchen and bathrooms. Heated floorboards, granite counters, massive office, and marble floors to boot! Look at your car! It’s like a fucking rocket! Look at the woman on your arm! An attorney with her own shit, career, and just so happens to be drop dead fucking gorgeous! You’ve got it made. What in the hell do you have to be mad about? You’ve got no reason to complain.”
“What do I have to be mad about? Hmmm, let’s see.” He leaned forward and glared at the old man sitting across from him. “Well, for starters, why did God take Sammie away instead of me!” His voice echoed. His father narrowed his eyes in thought. “I’ve got a lot to be mad about. Many questions I would like answered. Dad, material things don’t fix a fucked-up heart!” He pounded his chest with his fist. “I see people coming into my office, some of whom can’t afford me, in serious need. And sometimes I help them even though they may only have five dollars to their name. I have to make those choices. Every. Single. Day. I am bombarded with medical horror stories. And it doesn’t end there. In fact, that’s just the beginning.
“See, it’s my job is to get them compensation. To help right a wrong. To save a drowning man… But no amount of money can bring them peace, take away their PTSD, or make them truly whole again. These aren’t people with a head cold or splinter in their finger. They’ve got life-threatening illnesses and rare cancers that are ravishing their bodies. I see how people treat them, how the companies they worked at for over thirty years turn their backs on them the moment they become ill. I see how their family never comes around to care for them until these clients of mine get a big settlement. Then, all of a sudden, cousin Rudy White from Bedford, Pennsylvania, wants to send a fuckin’ fruit basket and visit her favorite relative in Chicago. That check got cut, but before that, she hadn’t reached out to them in years!
“Dad,” he shook his head vehemently, his body turning into an inferno of pent up rage, “I’m sick of the bullshit, all right? I watched a man die because his company wouldn’t pay for his medication. They were a Fortune 500 company, okay? It woulda been a drop in the bucket for them. He had a bad heart. He died. God did nothing to intervene. No prayers were answered. No illness was cured. No miracle worked. I’ve seen shit that I will never tell anybody, the kind that would give you nightmares. It would happen in some of those hospitals. Deathbeds… that look in some of their eyes, the fear… the last breath. Some of the things said to me I’ll never repeat. I’ll take them to my fuckin’ grave. And with all of that, yes, I still believe in God. And I still believe we’re destined for death from the moment we draw our first breath. We are born to die. That’s why I live my life on the edge! Chasing my next high. I’m angry because I know how this ends! One day, is going to be the last day. My clients get their money, sometimes on their death beds. What good is that, Dad? What good is it?! Sammie’s dead, your marriage with Ma is dead, my heart was dead. I closed out the world. I got control, and made sure to never lose it again…”
He hung his head for a spell, the emotions flooding him. The anger within him gave him a headache, made his skull throb, his brain teeter on the verge of explosion.
“And somehow, Nix, your heart got revived. If that’s not proof that God loves us, I don’t know what is. I love ya, Nixon. You don’t talk to me! It took me gettin’ on a plane after all of these years to hear what’s been eating at you.”
“You had thirty-nine years to find out what was eating at me. Nobody ever listens until someone is screaming, but silence is a language, too. I spoke it fluently. Nobody was listening.”
They stared at one another, the thickness in the air like a fog.
Dad got to his feet, walked around the table, and gathered Nixon in his arms, squeezing tight. Nixon breathed slow and easy, accepting the hug, but his muscles stiffened, wishing this closeness would end soon. He couldn’t recall the last time Dad had held him like this; he couldn’t remember the last time he wanted him to do so. He couldn’t control this. He couldn’t make it stop… At last, the old man slowly let go of him and dabbed at his eyes.
“Now you see why you can’t stay here, why you have to stay at the hotel? Ya make me uncomfortable. We’re at each other’s throats, and now we’ve sat here fighting about Black chicks, God, and crackhead sex.”
They burst out laughing at the exact same time. The old man had tears in his eyes, but also joy in their depths.
“I’m never going to forget this, Nixon. This trumps all the other gifts you have ever given me. The tickets to ball games, the watches, the money… Nothing is more precious than my son’s love. You talked to me. Finally. I hear your screams of silence now, loud and clear…”
CHAPTER TWENTY
From the Grave to the Cradle
“And so, that’s it?” Yasmine glared at Camden, who casually tossed up his hands, then let them fall loosely back down to his new desk.
She stood in his office, his assistant present. The woman with the short, reddish brown hair, oversized designer prescription glasses, and too-short black shirt looked dumbfounded, as if she’d swallowed her own damn tongue. The man’s lip slowly curled at one end, then did the same on the other, as if the muscles were independent of one another. He sat there grinning like a twisted Joker. Her hand shook ever so slightly, resisting the urge to wrap it around his throat and squeeze the breath out of him. His office still smelled of fresh paint, plastic, and leather furniture, it bothered her now.
“What else is there to say, Yasmine? I have my own assistant and paralegal, so I don’t need either of yours, and I have your notes.” He picked up a manila folder and waved it about like some flag.
“I only gave those notes to you because Terrell said we’d be working on this together. I told him from the jump, after I saw how you behaved soon thereafter, that you had no intention of doing such. What you have in that folder are my ideas. My hard work. The case is practically complete, and you are trying to swoop in and take credit by finishing the settlement agreement. You are a sad person, you know that? Pathetic.”
“Sorry you feel that way,” he stated dismissively as he undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “You’re resourceful, right? Surely, there are at least three other cases you could be devoting your time to. Hopefully you won’t screw any of them up. If you think about it, Yas
mine, you should be thanking me.”
Yasmine grabbed her purse from the chair she’d been sitting in, slung the strap across her shoulder, and started to walk to the door.
“I’m calling a meeting with Terrell as soon as he returns from Dubai next week. I am also issuing an ultimatum. You’ve been warned.”
“Hold up, are you actually angry?” He laughed as if what she’d shared was completely asinine or incredible. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Why, honey? Aren’t you happy? You have everything you want, Yasmine. You’ve been given all sorts of opportunities. It’s just greedy, really, for you to try to hold onto a case you aren’t prepared for – one I took off your hands and can wrap up quickly. This Spencer case is complicated, but I’ve dealt with so many like this before that for me, it would be a sure bet. You have nothing to be unhappy about. In fact, I did you a favor.”
“Camden, the only favors that will be needed are the ones you call in after I finish raking you over the coals. You have messed with the wrong woman. The wrong—”
“Bitch. The wrong bitch, right? Or, should I say, Black bitch? I know you’re into that sort of thing… continuously qualifying yourself with divisive measures such as race.” His assistant gasped and looked supremely uncomfortable. “Black art in your office, all these causes you run after… all this ‘Black this,’ ‘Black that.’ We’re all just people, Yasmine. I don’t even see color.” He grinned. “All lives matter. When you do things like this, it hurts you, Ms. Prince. That’s my professional opinion, free of charge.”
Yasmine turned to face him, a full-throttle smile on her face. Cocking her head to the side, she took several steps towards him, her heels clicking along the floor. Every fiber in her being was on fire, twisting and turning like grapevines and weeds gathering into a big, horrendous mass.
“Bitch? I bet you thought that would send me into a rage, spiraling out of control? You wanted me to do something, so it would cause a scene – give you a little show. Perhaps then you would run back and relay the story that I became unhinged… You know, all those Black bitches are so damn emotional. The word ‘bitch’ doesn’t bother me. Do you know why? Because we’re not talking about your mother or the woman you begged to wear a strap and fuck you in the ass.”
The assistant’s face flushed a bright red now.
“Ohhh, Yasmine! The claws have come out, I see!” He laughed his ass off, hitting the table over and over as if the best show on Earth were playing out right before his eyes.
“Your professional opinion is worth about the same as a gnat on a horse’s hairy nutsack. You don’t have shit on me. And that’s what worries you most.” He cackled, though it was clearly forced. “You have to steal this ‘black bitch’s’ work to get a leg up. You have to lie, dodge and manipulate to even get a second glance. I run circles around you. I intimidate you. I think faster than you. Clients trust me more than you and I have the brains to do what you do, ten times better. My Blackness is an asset, your Whiteness is an American privilege that you never lifted one finger to earn. It was given to you simply because of the skin you’re in. You’re lazy, stupid, and not the least bit attractive.” His smile slowly faded. “You have nothing going for you, except your Whiteness, and that means nothing to me.” She took a deep breath, telling herself over and over not to reach out and punch him in the nose. “You can’t make sure I do a damn thing, except show you that I was the wrong one to mess with.”
He began to clap in a sorry attempt to save face. “Bravo! What a lovely performance, Ms. Prince. Perhaps you can do an encore when Terrell returns. In fact, I will make sure that you do.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You want to be me. You want to take my place. I know your game plan, and if Terrell wants to be blind to your devious ways, I will go over his head until this is rectified to my satisfaction. So go ahead and call him for this encore you speak of. In fact, I encourage you to call him ASAP. ‘Cause baby, you’re going to need all the help you can get. Everything I am telling you right now I have told him because unlike you, I stand by everything I say. I don’t throw rocks and hide my hand. I’m not scared of you or anyone else in this whole damn building and best of all, I need no gimmicks, childish tricks, or gaslighting to make a thing go right. You think I’m a bitch? You ain’t seen nothing yet. I am a different breed, like nothing you’ve ever seen before, Camden. Bow wow wow, yippee yo, yippee yeah… Just you wait and see.”
And then she proceeded to exit his office, slamming the door behind her.
As she approached the elevator, the flush of heat that had come over her dissipated. She took several deep breaths, and a soothing sense of relief replaced the anger. She had an idea and this was the time to work it out. Upon reaching her office, she turned on her computer to begin her plan of attack.
He has opened an entire can of worms. He must not know about me! I was made for this shit! Funny lookin’ ass boy coming in here thinking he’s going to eat from my table then smash the plate in my face… Oh no, baby! You’re about to see what Yasmine Prince is REALLY about.
She glanced at the time. Shit. Lunchtime.
Nixon was taking her out to lunch, as he did at least once a week. He was rarely late for anything, especially the two things he loved most: Sex and food. Just then, her desk phone rang.
“Good afternoon, Terri.”
“Good afternoon, Yasmine. There’s a Mr. Rossellini here to see you.”
Her chest tightened with excitement and confusion, all at once. It was unlike Nixon to enter the building for their lunch dates. Typically, he’d just call her and she’d meet him down in front or at the restaurant.
“Okay. Tell him I will be right there.”
“I sure will.” Something was a bit off about Terri’s delivery. It sounded almost as if she were on the verge of laughing, but since someone was in front of her, she had to keep everything professional. Yasmine typed out a quick rough draft email to begin a fight of her life, shut down her computer, grabbed her purse and jacket, and locked her office door. She made her way down the hall where Terri was currently answering calls for the entire firm while the main receptionist took her break. When she arrived, the sound of laughter pierced the air.
Nixon was holding three large, clear balloons filled with gold and silver confetti, flower petals, and what appeared to be small toy fish. The ribbons tied to his wrists, he waved at her, a huge smile on his face. She melted instantly. He looked so dapper in one of his signature Italian suits paired with a silky blood red tie. She launched herself into his arms, needing to hear his heartbeat, feel his body heat, smell his cologne and simply be next to the man she loved. Bitterness filled her mouth, the taste of regret. Worry. Rage. She shook herself out of it, concentrating on the fact that her man had showed up with such gorgeous balloons and looked so amazing, as he always did.
“I can’t believe you did this!” She kissed him. Terri cleared her throat, bringing Yasmine out of the moment.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Nixon, this is Terri, my assistant and one of my paralegals, too. She’s the one I’ve told you so much about. Very sweet, ambitious woman.”
Terri smiled at her words and Nixon approached her desk.
“Yes, we’ve met but I didn’t know your name. Nice to meet you, Terri.” The woman gave a cheeky smile, as if she were in on a little secret. “I’m Yasmine’s boyfriend.”
Terri’s eyes went wide then and she nodded in distinct approval, causing more laughter. She extended her hand for a shake.
“It’s so nice to meet you too, Nixon. You two have a nice lunch.”
“Yeah, we will, nice to meet you too. We better get going. Don’t want to be late.”
At the car, Nixon struggled to place the balloons in the trunk. The wind had got a hold of them and fought him all the way. Yasmine found the sight rather amusing.
“Let me help.”
“No.”
“Nixon, don’t be silly! Let me help you!”
“I got this! I have it. These balloons don’
t know who they are messing with!” Hmmm… sounds familiar. Only I wasn’t talking to a balloon when I said it, but he definitely was full of hot air. “TAKE THAT!” He made a karate chop sound, then slammed the car trunk door closed. By now, Yasmine was certain she was red in the face from laughing so hard, and boy did it feel good. Especially after the day she’d been having.
He opened her door, helped her inside the car, then went to the driver’s side and slid in like hot candle wax on glass. She loved how broad his shoulders were, how he moved, every damn thing about him… every inch of him. She leaned over and planted a kiss on his succulent, full lips. He cupped the back of her neck, bringing her closer, and kissed her back. After a while, he started up the engine and she inhaled the smell of musk, vanilla, and cigars.
Kraftwerk’s ‘Autoban’ played through the speakers. I haven’t heard this song in probably over a decade… She reached for Nixon’s hand and intertwined their fingers. His calloused palms felt comforting, as if she could syphon some of his strength and use it as her own. She crossed her legs, leaned back in the car seat, and closed her eyes. Soon the music transitioned to Kraftwerk’s ‘Trans-Europe Express.’ Nixon did enjoy his club music. Before she knew it, she’d drifted off to sleep. She was awakened by a feathery kiss on her neck, and him whispering in her ear.
“Wake up, baby.”
Her eyes fluttered and she sat up, a bit dazed. He rubbed on her back to soothe her. When she looked out the window, emotions swelled within her, making her chest tight.
“Why are we here at the cemetery?” She looked about, noting all the graves.
“Today is your sister’s birthday,” he stated, looking straight ahead, his hand resting along the steering wheel. Her chest burned, her eyes watered, and she blinked away the tears. She said nothing as he embraced her, squeezed her sorrows and made her feel every bit of them. “That’s what the balloons were for.”
