by Tiana Laveen
“Okay. Thank you.”
“So, tell me about your brother.”
“Charles. He was my best… friend.” A tear streaked the man’s face. “He died of an overdose and… I tried to help him… but he was…was… Son of a bitch. Asshole! Hairy butt! Bitches! Fuck her good! Today is bad… It’s not… usually like this. Lesbos! I’m so sorry! Usually it’s not this bad,” he kept saying, desperation in his eyes.
“I told you to stop apologizing, and I mean it. I know you have a disability, and you’re doing just fine. Now, take a deep breath.” The man smiled hesitantly, then exhaled.
“Oh… was… was that Gutter who came in?” The man’s lips curled as he pointed in the musician’s direction, who now had his back turned and appeared to be speaking to someone. The nosy ass crowd was still there, surrounding him.
“Yes, that’s Gutter, the entertainer. Now, tell me something good about your brother.” She took his hand and squeezed it. The man seemed to become more comfortable. Calmer. His ticking relaxed, his outbursts lessened, and within ten minutes, she was helping him gather the information needed by just making a few calls.
“…And that’s it.” She ended her phone call with his brother’s hospital. “They’ve provided the information I need and will be emailing me, too. So, I want you to come back tomorrow, okay? Your brother will arrive tonight, and we will take care of the rest. By tomorrow, we’ll have everything we need to get started, and like I told you a moment ago, we have payment plans. You said your mother and some of your cousins are going to come in with you, so just know, there are options that can fit your budget. We’ll work with you.”
“You’re so nice. Damn. You must… be an angel. Thank you.” Sadness swam in the man’s eyes.
“I’m definitely no angel, but I love helping people, so I want to thank you too, for coming through those doors and trusting me. I want to apologize on behalf of any of the staff here who may have made you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m used to it.” He shrugged, then barked, “People don’t… know. Understand. They think… I’m… acting. Making… it up. It is… what it is.” He’d more than likely experienced a lifetime of stress, exhaustion, and perhaps bullying.
“Well, just because you’re used to it and people are ignorant still doesn’t make it right. A little empathy never hurt anyone. Call me, okay?” She began to walk towards the crowd as she pointed to her business card in his hand.
“I will, Promise. I promise.” He chuckled as he headed out the door, his arm ticking along the way. She’d heard that joke a million times but smiled all the same. When she drew closer to the crowd, Gutter was signing autographs and answering a barrage of questions.
“I can’t believe this. This isn’t showtime at the Apollo. Leave him alone!”
“Promise, it’s okay.” He cut his eyes in her direction, then turned to sign yet another piece of paper, this time on company stationery.
“No, it’s not okay. This isn’t how we conduct business here. We treat everyone the same, with dignity and respect, regardless of status, disability or lot in life,” she yelled, losing control of herself. After the call with her mother, arguing with Daniel earlier that morning over his extravagant expense report that was submitted to her from the accounting department, the way they gawked at poor Miguel as he stood there clearly grieving, and then finding out that Rebecca would be out for another week on some secret excursion, she was at her wit’s end.
“He’s here for business regarding a loved one, and all y’all can think to do is ask for his autograph and harass him with a bunch of questions about music and if he’s dating anyone!” She glared at the two women from HR who were practically shoving their tits in his face. “What is wrong with y’all? You should all be ashamed.” She shooed her colleagues away, not deaf to hearing their curses as they sauntered away. When everyone was finally gone, she found those intense, dark brown eyes of his, flecked with strokes of honey, spearing her very soul.
He slipped his hand in his pocket and removed his wallet from which he retrieved a gold and black card. Without a word, he handed it to her. She took a deep breath and walked to the computer at the front desk. The receptionist sat there, pretending to be busy, but she knew better. Promise ran his credit card, updated the statement, then handed the card back to him, along with a receipt. The man reminded her of a beautiful giant. His piercings and tattoos couldn’t hide his beauty; in fact, they enhanced it. He was rough and scary, yet lovely to observe at the same time. A gorgeous, crazy hulk of a man with a sultry, smooth, panty-dropping voice. His aura alone let her know that this man could do anything he put his mind to. He was self-made, but something older than time, something spiritual, a God of Gods had touched this man and given him something few others had.
He didn’t sing love songs. He sung about horrible things people could relate to, explicit sex, the joys of youth, and an unbalanced life. He was approachable, and yet, so aloof. Still, she could see how people felt comfortable around him. His confidence was contagious. A modern-day Renaissance man, she’d read about him in magazines, radio and vlog interviews. Last night, she’d searched for him online because her curiosity was piqued. She could lie to others about this, but not to herself. She listened to an interview he’d done in Italy two years prior. The man was smart. No doubt about it.
He could be articulate when he wanted to and had swag for days, months and years. Add to that, he knew how to play the damn piano and the violin, too. He’d been to jail several times for God only knew what, the same man who’d held benefit concerts for children with terminal diseases. There was a story about him popping up at a dying fan’s birthday party. He’d seen her on social media talking about a party she was having, tagging him when she’d mentioned her favorite performer and songs. Just like that, he’d bought a plane ticket to Florida and showed up at her door to crash her celebration. Incredible.
And now, here they were. Meeting under the worst of circumstances…
She felt so small standing in front of him in the magnificent lobby that constantly smells like fresh lavender, freshly printed textbooks, and the remnants of chicken soup. He just kept staring at her, then inched a little closer, as if he wanted to kiss her. No smile. No jokes. No urns to break. No sick mother by his side with her tresses wrapped in silk. No song to sing, instrument to strum, or dance to perform. Just Gutter… just Zake. They had a strange connection, and she didn’t even know the man. Reaching for her hair, he gently brushed it away from her face. She instinctively leaned into his touch when his rough palm traced her chin.
“Looks like we’re both havin’ a crazy day. I’ll be back Friday night.” He slipped his hand away, and she hated that.
“The urn is paid for now.”
“Not back for that… Back for you.”
Reaching into his shirt, he pulled out a gold chain with a ‘G’ diamond pendant and let it rest on the front of his shirt. Then, he headed to the front doors. “I’ll pick you up from here at six-thirty.”
With those words, he was gone…
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Big Pot Talk
“It’s up to you.” Dad placed the big metal pot on the gas stove, then positioned a package of cubed steak, and a few potatoes and onions on the countertop. Dad’s thick salt-and-pepper brows furrowed over an aged face framed by short, silver-streaked hair brushed away from his face. Despite how tired he looked, the man was still big and strong. Dad was a simple man who loved to cook probably since his firefighter days, so he planned meals a day in advance. The man had nobody to keep him company now though as he puttered in the kitchen, for he lived by himself. He’s going to turn into a hermit if he’s not careful.
“In here cooking enough food for an entire family, like when we all still lived at home. You should be cookin’ for somebody… a woman.”
Dad shrugged.
“If it happens, it happens; if it doesn’t, it doesn’t. If ya ask me, they’re more trouble than they’re worth. And you’r
e one to talk.”
“What?” Gutter burst out laughing, feigning ignorance.
“Son, the only time I find out about who you’re seeing is when someone asks me.” The old guy sprinkled black pepper into the pot. “It’s in the tabloids, they say. Ya runnin’ around with this chick, you’re spotted at this party lip-locked with some singer, on and on.” Dad rolled his eyes, grinned, then placed the lid back on the pot. “You’re still young. Thirty-two. A guy in your position has to be careful.”
Gutter tapped his fingers against the dark wooden table.
Dad never kept the same lady around for long. It had become a running joke between him and Zachary: ‘Who the hell is Pop poking now?’
His father had never been the same after he and Jenny split. He’d loved their mother hard—maybe too much. Still, he’d worn the pain well and Gutter had never seen him breaking down. What resulted however was Dad’s distrust for women in general despite the fact women found him attractive. Gutter took after him, body wise, although Dad didn’t have a good image and perfect appearance to uphold in the public eye, so he could afford a couple extra pounds around his midsection.
“What happened to that one chick? Eve I think ya said her name was?” Gutter asked while his father stared at the pin-up poster calendar in the kitchen. Dad was old school. Tits, tomatoes, and toast all in the same room.
“Evelyn? Geesh… That was over months ago. Her kid is like, twenty-seven, but still milkin’ her, asking for money all the time. The guy doesn’t have a job and won’t get one. She started asking me for money for him. First, it was for a down payment on an apartment. I helped with that, but then she came back a second time for somethin’ else. That was it. I didn’t want to be a part of that. Nice lady, but not worth the hassle.” He turned and grabbed another can of beer from the refrigerator.
Every now and again, Dad would warn Gutter and Zachary about the ‘crazy women’ in New York. He’d go on tirades about some lady he went out with, and something she’d done or said that had ticked him off.
Zachary had been dating the same woman for five years, and recently married. Some lady named Sandra who taught at UCLA, and Gutter made it no secret that he was enjoying his single life and tasting the candies around him with vigor. Dad had warned him to watch out for the gold diggers who’d claim a pregnancy just to get a slice of his fortune. That very thing had already happened, although he hadn’t told his father. He’d met the woman at a party thrown in Ed Sheeran’s honor. She’d been full of shit, a groupie, but he’d gone on and had the paternity test, which came back negative. I was drunk that night, but not THAT drunk. He’d worn protection, like he always did with one-night stands.
Not all women were like that though. In truth, women were the best fucking thing on the planet. His father was just paranoid and getting worse as he aged.
The old guy’s light blue eyes shifted to his. “What’s she look like?” the old man finally asked.
Gutter shifted in his chair, knowing who the man was talking about.
“What’s Jenny look like?” Gutter grimaced and shrugged. “She looks like what she is. Fuckin’ Sick.”
Dad placed the meat inside of the pot with a slotted spoon. Plop, plop, plop went the lumps falling into the broth.
“I haven’t seen her, like really seen her with my own two eyes, in over fifteen years, Zake. Your sister was friends with her on that social media shit some time ago. She seemed to be doing okay back then, but Zina says they don’t talk much anymore. Breast cancer came back… She had a mastectomy. Reconstructive surgery. Zina thought that would be the end of it. Weird how that happened.”
“Jenny said she doesn’t know how she got it, either. No one else had breast cancer in her family that she’s aware of.”
Dad sighed, then sat on the chair across from him.
“I don’t remember anything about any of that.” He waved his hand casually about. “I just know her mother, your grandma, hated me. Said I took her daughter away from her. She was nuts. Anyway, she died three years before your mother left.”
As they went quiet for a bit, the sound of the television playing in the living room drifted to them.
“You never told me Jenny was an artist. I saw some of her paintings.”
Dad scratched his nose. “I didn’t think about it, I guess. Yeah, she was pretty good. She would go years without drawin’ or painting, then suddenly spend months doing it every day. Inconsistent. Your mother just kinda went where the wind carried her.”
“She’s got a bunch of art in storage, too. She told me to sell them after she dies. I told her I want nothin’ to do with that. They’ll go to the Salvation Army or the trash I guess.” He paused, locking gazes with his father. “Jenny said Zachary can’t come right now. Too much work.”
Dad nodded in understanding.
“Yeah, he told me. I got her number from him, and called her when ya got here, by the way. I let her have it.” He downed some of his beer. “I believed she put a guilt trip on ya. I was assuming, I guess, but I was pissed. This is your career we’re talkin’ about. Something she didn’t lift a finger to help you pursue, and now she pops up to muck it all up.”
“I know you two shared words. She told me.”
“I’m not angry about what she did to me, Zake. I wanna make that clear.” He pointed to himself. “I’ve been over that shit long ago. I’m pissed about what she did to my damn kids.” Dad blinked several times, as if holding back emotion. “Now, here you are, grown, and she’s still messin’ up your life.”
“She didn’t choose to get cancer.”
“But she chose to fucking call you…”
“She can’t mess up my life. I haven’t given her that power.”
“You know what I mean. You guys needed your mother, all kids do, but sometimes I think maybe you were better off without her.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know sometimes, Zake.”
Dad got up once again, grabbed a bunch of carrots and chopped them up into chunky pieces. The food was starting to smell good as it simmered in that big pot.
This conversation was a surprise. Gutter and his siblings hadn’t spoken to Dad or to each other about Jennifer in years. His conversations with his father were usually mundane, but they helped to keep him grounded. This was… different.
“Let me ask you something,” Dad said as he searched a few cabinets.
“Yeah.”
Grabbing a cigarette from a pack on the counter, the old man lit it then leaned against the kitchen counter, comfortable in checkered blue and gray pants and a white wifebeater. Dad had always been a casual smoker. He could smoke a few cigarettes a day, or none at all. Gutter found it strange and amusing at the same time.
“Why’d you come?”
Gutter hesitated. “I came because she called.”
“She’s called you before.”
“Not to tell me she was dyin’.”
“Why do you care so much? She’s been dead in her own way, in your life since she decided to desert her family. That’s what you said. You canceled your tour for this.”
Gutter got the sense that Pops was testing him. Something felt off, as if there were right and wrong answers to this shit, and if he selected the wrong choice, he’d be lectured about it. Gutter leaned back in the chair, crossed his arms, and stared up at the ceiling. One of the bulbs was out in the recessed lights.
“I have to force myself to care.”
Dad turned away, stirred the food, then placed the lid back on the pot. It made a clattering noise, one that Gutter used to relish when he was a kid because that meant Dad was cooking something he loved, like his favorite chili. or perhaps a steak and potato soup, like tonight.
“What the hell does that mean, Zake?” Smoke eddied from Pop’s mouth.
“I have to force myself to do what I would do if I actually loved her.”
“You don’t love her?”
“I love her as a person who gave birth to me. Another person on the damn planet, li
ke… I wouldn’t want the mailman to get run over by a truck, ya know? I love him as a human being here living amongst us. That’s it. Ya know it’s mad strange. It’s not like giving zero fucks. It’s just bland. No salt and pepper. No seasoning to the emotions. It’s not the type of love that a kid, grown or not, should feel for a parent. I know the difference ’cause I’ve got you.”
Gutter swallowed, then continued. “I have real love for you, but with her, it’s like… it’s like empty space. Like a white room with blinding light, but it’s not pretty. It’s excessive yet empty at the same time. It hurts your eyes. It’s nothingness, but that nothingness feels scratchy like a wool scarf wrapped around your neck. When she opened her front door and I saw her, Dad, I didn’t feel love. I didn’t feel pity. I didn’t feel shit. I sound high.” He chuckled.
His father offered a sad smile and shook his head.
“Nah, you don’t sound high… Are you?” Dad grinned.
“You know my rule.”
“Only on tour!” they said at the same time, laughing.
Gutter sobered fast. “Yeah… But that’s the best way I can explain it. I don’t hate her. I don’t feel anything at all, so I’m going through the motions.”
“But why? What’s your reasoning? To keep up appearances? Would it look bad for you? Ya never cared about what anyone thought about you before, so I doubt you’d care now. Not that I ever told ya to hate the lady, but you went through so many years filled with disgust and rage about it. I wanted to get you into counseling, figured maybe that’s why you kept getting in trouble, but that didn’t work out, either. I woulda bet money, my last dollar, that out of all my children, you wouldn’t lift a finger if she needed help. You were the angriest of all. I was wrong. You’re the one here… and I’m just tryna wrap my brain around this, ya know? Tryna understand why you changed your mind?”
Gutter grabbed the beer his father had served him earlier and took a long, slow gulp. He placed the can back on the table.
