Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Red Flags and Eagles Flying High
G enesis couldn’t help but beam. She sat at the little café that served her favorite breads and soups on her lunch break, smiling down at her phone. Roman’s words laced her heart. She looked around the restaurant, falling into a daydream while waiting for her long-time best friend to meet her. Rosalyn—who everyone called Rosie—was a pediatric nurse at the Healthcare Medical Center. The sounds of Lalah Hathaway’s, ‘No Lie,’ featuring Michael McDonald, blended into her thoughts. She glanced back down at her phone and re-read the text message.
Roman had said he wanted to see her soon, punctuating his message with a cute little heart emoji. It had been a few days since they’d spent time together, what with their hectic schedules. But this didn’t stop him from sexting, sending gifts to her job, and calling her to tell her that he was thinking about her. She loved how consistent he was. When he said he was going to do something, by golly, he did it. He was rather sly, too. Every time he’d stop by, she’d find little gifts he’d squirreled in her apartment. He entertained her with magic tricks, funny jokes, and even taught her some remarkable investing tips.
She’d never met anyone like him in her life. She tried to not overthink it, but he was exactly the type of man she didn’t believe existed. It was as if he’d been specifically designed just for her. A part of her enjoyed the surreal romantic journey they were on, while the other knew he kept some things in the dark. Secrets. Although he’d given her some not-so-pretty truths, she did wonder what else he may be hiding.
“Traffic was a damn mess!” Rosie tossed her oversized 1970s style burlap purse onto the table, then plopped down in the chair across from her.
“They’re building more condos out here, and another charter school, too. It’s only going to get worse. Glad you got here safely. You know how they drive over here. Crazy!” Genesis took a taste of her lime spritzer, then smacked her lips. Delicious.
“They drive like they’re blind, and playin’ it by ear, girl. What a day!” Rosie huffed. “I’m on my way over here, right? I called Rico about my schedule change today. I tell him that he needs to pick up Sharmaine from daycare because I’m workin’ late, and he made a big, damn deal about it. Never mind the fact he hasn’t seen his daughter in weeks!”
Rosie was a tall, caramel-colored African American woman with a curvy shape and bedroom eyes. Her wavy hair was currently dyed auburn, and it flowed a few inches past her shoulders. She was a hard worker, and serious about getting her hair and nails done religiously. Although a gorgeous lady, she had always felt self-conscious about the size of her forehead, so she’d often style her tresses with a half or full bang. Today, her half bangs were in full effect.
“Rico is a trip.” Genesis sucked her teeth. “You did him a favor by not putting him on child support.” Genesis had never cared for Rico. He was a good-looking son of a bitch, used to women providing for him. That caused him to be lazy as hell. Rosie divorced him once she found out he’d been cheating yet again. The second time was enough for her to throw in the towel.
“Girl, don’t ever get married,” Rosie snatched the menu from the table, then took a taste of the water that Genesis had ordered for her. “These men ain’t shit. Ain’t been divorced for six months, and his ass is already talkin’ about wanting his family back, but not doing what it takes to get his family back. Out here fucking all of these random bitches and not keeping a job past a few weeks. Nope. Me and my child will be just fine. I’m not going back. That ship has sailed. That bell has been rung. Put a period on that. Life goes on.” She shrugged, flipping angrily through the thick, glossy pages of the culinary selections.
“So,” Genesis picked up her menu, though she already knew what she was going to order, “I take it you won’t be getting dessert?”
“Not if it’s a damn man with a cherry on top.” A waitress came and took their orders. Two chicken Caesar salads, a lobster bisque soup for Rosie, and tortilla chowder for Genesis. An unsweetened iced tea and one strawberry lemonade, too. “Now, who is this investment broker, Bank of America, Goldman Nut-sacks motherfucker you’ve been seeing?” Rosie questioned as she spritzed watermelon-scented hand sanitizer on her hands, then rubbed them together.
“Oh, no ma’am. No thank you. That door is closed and locked. Nix that entire text message conversation I sent to you the other day. I’m not going out like that.” Genesis waved her hands dramatically.
“Why?!” Rosie had the audacity to look mortally wounded.
“If you think I’m about to walk into the line of fire of your firing squad, you’ve got another thing comin’. You’re on an anti-man campaign right now because Rico has not stopped makin’ your life a living hell, and I get it, but I’d be a fool to think a conversation regarding my love life at this moment will go anywhere but in your big trash bin of negativity.”
“Let me tell you somethin, Gen.” Rosie’s voice dropped low, as if she were about to go in.
Made no difference to Genesis. The truth was the truth.
“Tell it to me, tell it to me twice,” Genesis said with a smile as she neatly placed her napkin over her lap.
“I can’t help that as your best friend, I’m protective of you.” Rosie placed her hand across her chest, fingers sprawled, proudly displaying her short French manicure. “All of these years you’ve told me things, and I’ve told you things. Sharing was caring.”
“Mmm hmm,” Genesis bit into a soft, buttery roll she’d grabbed from a basket on the table. It practically melted in her mouth. “Go on.”
“When someone fucks you over, they are dead to me. I don’t care that you’ve forgiven them. I haven’t. And I won’t.”
“Do you solemnly swear?”
“I’m protective of mine . I solemnly swear to not give a single fuck or lose an ounce of sleep over my decision to believe that when someone shows you who they are, you better believe them. Tony, your sexy ass brother, for instance, deserves better. Your sister-in-law, Penny, said you were a Know-It-All, just because you corrected her on pronouncing sushi incorrectly. You did it nicely, too, and she still copped an attitude. She then said that’s why you didn’t have no man. She’s dead to me.”
“Okay, well, we can stop right there because—”
“Naw! Let me cook!” Rosie began counting off her fingers. “Your granny Pearle said you were going to end up alone with fifty cats. Meanwhile, Granny Pearle’s husband cheated on her a million and one times, gave her an STI that thankfully some penicillin cured, and had a whole ’nother family across town.”
“I shouldn’t have told you my families’ business, and especially nothin’ about my step-grandfather, I see. That marriage was short-lived.”
“Yeah, because he died!”
“He’s dead and we’re fine. Nobody liked him anyway.”
“Don’t make excuses for it now. It is what it is. I also happen to like cats. Granny Pearle is dead to me because of how she slick-talked you, like her life as a young woman was better.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but you have to cut her some slack. She’s from an older generation, Rosie, where women put up—”
“I don’t give a damn about her generational curses, experiences, rules and expectations or respecting the elderly. If the elderly are discourteous, their damn selves, they can get this work, too! From age one to one hundred, ain’t nobody ’bout to gaslight me. Folks using their age as an excuse to be vocally combative, emotionally abusive, nasty-nice, and ungodly. Hmph! Bags of bones shufflin’ ’round here throwin’ verbal grenades like gang signs, but we can’t say shit back, or defend ourselves from their antics. Fuck that and the horse drawn Little House on the Prairie wagon they rolled in on. Not all of ’em got dementia. Some of them know full well what they’re doing.”
“You’re a disrespectful wench.” Genesis giggled.
“If you find my words disrespectful, Genesis, that’s unfortunate. The truth is the truth.”
“Oh, I know that, sis, but all I’m saying is that I don’t let nobody turn me ugly unless I’m provoked, and some shit just ain’t worth the time and effort. Sometimes it is worth addressing, but you have to bide your time.”
“You’re definitely a patient plotter,” Rosie chuckled. “Don’t get it twisted though. I can dish it as well as I can take it, but the hell with Granny Pearle, her chicken grease-stained moo-moos, her warped, ‘We’re happy to be on the plantation, Mastuh,’ thinkin’, and the hell with her cat hatred, and male worshipping ways, too.”
Genesis’ stomach rumbled with mirth.
“You went entirely too far. How are you going to talk about my grandmama like that?”
But everything Rosie said was true. The woman ignored her half-hearted question.
“And here’s another one. Your old work friend, Tasha, was talking shit behind your back. Said you were weird, amongst other things.”
“Rosie, that was a long time ago. I don’t give a crap about Tasha’s opinion of me anyway. Then or now. She can shove her opinion where the sun don’t shine far as I’m concerned.”
“I know you don’t care about her or her judgment, but you were nothin’ but nice to her, and she still acted a fool! That’s the point I’m trying to make. I told you that girl wasn’t worth a dime.”
“But you didn’t need to, because I already knew that. I was just playing the game.”
“Well, screw her to infinity and beyond, and her broke ass mammy that she still lives with at her ripe ol’ age of forty-four, too. Dead to me. R.I.P., Tasha, you Kentucky-Derby-horse-faced, Raggedy Ann, red-yarn-haired cheap ass, matted-synthetic-Dollar-Tree-braids-wearin’ heffa!”
“That was over six years ago. You don’t forget SHIT!” Genesis giggled.
“Your ex-boyfriend back in ninth grade, Keith Sanders, said you looked like a retarded rabbit when you wouldn’t let him take your virginity, then cheated on you with that hussy, Liz Marigold.”
“We don’t use the word retarded anymore.”
“HE DID ! I’m just quoting him. He was dead to me then; he is dead to me now. I heard he’s been in and out of jail and got about ten kids. I’ve known you since second grade, Gen, and we’re still rockin’. Don’t tell me shit don’t you don’t want me to remember! ’Cause baby, I remember it all !”
“Rosie, your point is well taken, and I appreciate you for always having my back. Regardless of all of that, you need a therapist, strong medication, and an exorcism.”
“I do, but not for this. Now, all that aside, you can’t say that I’m not fair. I’m intelligent and real. You’re significantly sweeter than me, not na?ve, just on the sunshine and roses side of life. I’m down here with the snakes and mud. Happily.” She spoke in a lighthearted tone. “You were all excited about some man named Greek Yogurt, so tell me about him. Go on!” Rosie snapped, a crooked smile on her face as she reached for a bread roll.
“His name is Roman Wilde, but I know you know that, smartass.” They both cracked up. “Look, I don’t want to hear your shit, but I do want to tell you about him. What a conundrum.” Genesis tapped her lower lip. “Decisions, decisions.”
“I’ll make the decision for you. Yes, to both of those. You will hear my shit, and I want to hear about him. I promise to be on my best behavior, and to give peace a chance. Go on, now. This lunch break can only be extended so long before they start calling my phone.”
“They?”
“Them people under the stairs… Boss lady. Women keep havin’ babies. I’m on break, don’t they know that?”
They burst into laughter again.
“Okay, so for years I’ve heard about this man from Tony. My brother and Roman were in the Marines together. That’s where they met.”
Rosie jumped in her seat, and her mouth dropped. “You’ve been screwin’ your brother’s best friend?! Oh, this is juicy!” Rosie stated excitedly.
“Shhh! You’re talking too loud. Stop interrupting me and let me finish,” Genesis whispered, flustered. She went on and filled her friend in. “…And so, that’s how it is. That’s where we stand.”
When their food arrived, they made quick work of eating during their chat.
“Hmph,” Rosie said around a mouthful of food. “I’m going to have to marinate on this for a while. You’ve been awfully hush-hush about this. Hiding secrets like the CIA. I’m your best friend, and you’re just now telling me about him.” Her tone cooled with disapproval.
“I wanted to be sure that it was something worth reporting in the first place. It could have just ended up as a couple of dates, but now we’re actually together, so… of course I had to fill you in.” Rosie nodded in understanding.
“Gen, you’re blushing. You really like him.” Rosie smiled big and bright.
“I do… I care about him a lot, actually.” She stirred uneasily in her chair.
“Let me see a picture of him.”
Genesis dipped her spoon in her tortilla chowder. “Looks don’t matter.” She didn’t look up.
“Mmmm hmmm, bitch. This mothafucka is White, isn’t he? Give me your phone.” She wagged her fingers, motioning her to hand over the evidence.
Genesis practically spit her food out, laughing so hard with her friend, people began to notice. Genesis conceded, pulled up a couple of selfies of her and Roman, and gave Rose her phone.
“I thought we had an agreement that you were done with the White boys after Rico’s Cuban ass, and the guy from California that tried to make you join his cult.” Rosie giggled as she took the phone. Then her smile slowly faded. “…Damn. Okay. I can see why you made an exception.” Her eyebrow rose in a discerning manner. “This handsome fucker is FINE!” And then more laughter.
“As far as the White thing, we never agreed to that, Rosie. You told me it was more trouble than it was worth. I just didn’t respond.” Rosie shrugged as she returned her phone to her. “You know I’ve always been open. I’ve dated all sorts of men. Race is the least of my worries.”
“I was just teasin’ you. It’s not important. Men are mostly assholes regardless of the color of their skin. Anyway, we better get going. Let me get a to-go container for the rest of this salad.” Rosie started searching for their waitress who hadn’t returned since she’d dropped off their food.
“What? No assumptions or snippy remarks based on his appearance? Playboy? Fuckboy? Cheater?”
“No. From what you described, he’s financially stable, has no children, never been married, but he still has some red flags. I’ll just bide my time and hope that I don’t have to put him on the R.I.P. list, too.”
“Well thank you for being so gracious, and not falling into a Negative Nancy spiral. I’m so honored, Squidward.”
Rosie rolled her eyes as she shoved her phone in her purse. “Ain’t nobody that good lookin’, that good in bed, single, well-off, and kid-less runnin’ around here without some red flags. Don’t get me wrong, you know I think you’re beautiful. Most of the world would probably agree with me. More importantly, you’re a good person, and if anyone deserves a fairytale ending, it’s you, but somethin’ smells rotten in Denmark. That mothafucka either has a rotten past or rotten present. Either way, I’m hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. CHECK PLEASE!”
Roman sat with his leg stretched out as his colleagues passed plates during an early dinner at Prime, a steak and sushi house in Houston. They were celebrating a new contract. Another round of beers was placed on the table. He twirled a toothpick between his teeth as he glared ahead at another table across the room. There sat Grandpa, dripping in jewels. The old man sported a dark red suit jacket, and a matching cowboy hat atop his head with black diamonds all around it. He had six men with him, all dressed in dark suits, guns on hips. Boisterous laughter erupted from their table. Grandpa realized he’d spotted him and was staring at him. The old son of a bitch wanted this.
“And that’s when that gal said, ‘The fan is still on!” Grandpa roared and slapped the table, laughing at his own joke. Of course, all of his ass lickers and professional butt kissers laughed too, howling as if it were the best joke they’d ever been told. Grandpa hooked his gaze with his pair of steely blue demonic crystal balls for eyes. Grandpa tilted his head, and his silky white and silver beard shifted and flowed like a white satin gown. Thick strands of hair streamed from his hat, draping along his shoulders, then disappeared like a shawl made of freshly fallen snow along his back. They stared at one another for a good while, until Grandpa broke the menacing moment with a cheeky grin. He curled his beringed finger in his direction, inviting him to come over.
“That’s my boy over there. Mr. Wallstreet.” The six men all turned to him at the same time. “THAT’S MY ACCOMPLISHED, REVERED, AMAZIN’ GRANDSON, ROMAN WILDE!” Grandpa yelled proudly, as if he were attending some college graduation. Roman’s contemporaries drew quiet and looked over at the table, some appearing rather perplexed.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Roman stood tall from his seat and unbuttoned his suit jacket. “I need to say hello to my grandfather,” a few nodded in understanding, then began talking and laughing again. Roman made his way over to the sounds of Dj Day his shoulders slumped. “You don’t know any better. You come from poor stock. Your father was a fuckup from the moment he was born. Reeves was breech. That was a warning sign if I ever saw one. Your mother is weak and silly in the head. Your brothers are pathetic and fuckups—a perfect blend of their parents. You? Well, you’re a fuckup alright, but you’re redeemed. You’re smarter than every last one of ’em. You’re special.
“My favorite chapter of your autobiography shows just how gotdamn smart and special you are, boy…” Grandpa’s eyes turned to dark slits. “The big reveal! Surprise!” He gleamed, showing pearly whites. Bought and paid for. “All this time people thought you pulled yourself up by your own bootstraps.” Grandpa reached for a glass of red wine, brought it to his lips, and sipped. “…But those bootstraps were never yours. YOU STOLE THEM…” He shot a glance over at the table where Roman’s coworkers gathered. Merry as they were. “Maybe they’d like to know who they really work with, huh?
“The guy behind the mask? You’re a greasy, slick, Ken-doll-faced, failed Marine, conniving, cunning, piece of petrified dog shit passin’ as a sly thief. A bandit in plain sight, wearing swanky clothes and smellin’ like fresh money. You look like Superman… cleft chin, black hair. All that’s missing is a cape with a dollar sign on it. Standin’ tall and proud,” Grandpa mocked. “I just want you to do what you do best… what’s in your blood… for the family .”
“I see you’ve been readin’ some good literature lately.” Roman twirled that toothpick a bit faster, playing tongue tricks with the sharp, tiny stick of wood.
“I have. It’s a New York Times bestseller, if you ask me.”
Roman took a good look around him. His colleagues were deep into their conversations. Grandpa’s back was to them. The music was a bit loud, just enough to drown out a cry for help. No waiters were around, and the tables were so spaced out, there was plenty of room to get down to business.
“I know loads of avid readers at that casino, Roman.”
“Well, that book may be all make believe. Besides, if it were a biography, Grandpa, there’s this little thing called the Statute of limitations.”
“The Statute of limitations are up. You’re absolutely right, boy. I looked into it, but the civil cases could still roll in. The best part of course would be your ruined career which would serve me as a well-deserved penance in exchange for your impunity, and punishment for your abhorrent behavior, and disobedience. What do you think your story will go for? Maybe a lifetime of humiliation and some good old-fashioned cocaine snortin’ like that wasted cum rag I call your sperm donor. The rotten fruit of my loins. You’ll eventually walk in his shoes, Roman… you’re destined for darkness and despair, black sheep, and it’ll serve you right, don’t you think?”
Roman shrugged, then rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mouth.
“GRRRRAHHUUUUUHHHH!”
The table erupted as Roman thrust his right hand through the massive beard, wrapped his long fingers around Grandpa’s long, thick, throat and squeezed it. Grandpa turned red as a tomato—a vein popped on his forehead, and red veins filled the whites of Grandpa’s snakelike eyes. The men at the table hopped out of their seats, patted their hips, and then, their faces turned a million colors… Startled rainbows. Roman released his grandfather’s throat with a nasty shove that almost forced the geezer to topple out of his chair. The assault had only lasted about six or seven seconds, but he was certain that to his grandfather, it felt like an eternity. The color poured back into the old man’s complexion as he coughed and sputtered. Then he laughed as he rubbed his neck.
Roman opened his jacket, flashing what was underneath quickly before closing it again.
“You can close your mouths before you swallow a damn fly,” he chuckled. “When I walked around this table, I took all of your damn guns. Left you with your knives, only because that would’ve taken too long. My grandfather has run out of family to abuse, so he’s had to hire some non-blood related rookies, I see. Your first mistake was trusting him . Your second mistake is thinking you can take on me . Thank your United States government for my knowin’ how to clean the floor with each and every one of y’all if I wanted to. Semper Fi!” He saluted.
“Careful, Roman. Let’s not get too carried away.” Grandpa stated between gritted teeth.
“I can’t get carried away, if I’m the eagle soaring. I could mow all of you motherfuckers down before my next blink, and I could have taken my foul grandpa out tonight with my bare hands,” he grinned, “but I’m not goin’ to prison for no fuckin’ body.” He looked around the table, making eye contact with all of the men who were now getting back into their seats. “That’s what this man wants—for me to either die, get locked up for eternity, or play by his rules. All of y’all sold your souls to the devil.” He pointed around the table. “I ain’t too keen on religion, but I know evil is real, and I know a demon when I see one.
“I know it because I feel that tainted blood runnin’ through my veins. My mama’s blood is the only thing that saved me from becomin’ the same type of man you see sitting here before you today. He says I’ll end up like my daddy. Nah, he knows deep down I could end up just like him . That’s ten times worse. Nobody cares about you, Grandpa.” He sneered at his grandfather, who’d gotten to his feet, his hand gripping a large steak knife that he’d gathered from the table. “They fear you. Nobody loves you. They hate you.”
“Son, you’re gonna pay extra for this stunt you pulled tonight. Life ain’t a magic trick or sleight of hand. There’s consequences to the wrong choices we make in life, no matter how compelling they may be. That aside, I’d rather be hated than be you .”
“I’m so lowly… so inconsequential. And yet, I’m someone that you’ve moved heaven and hell to try and get under your thumb… Strange, huh? Lil’ ol’ me?” Roman pointed to himself. Grandpa’s jaw stiffened. “Sounds like you want to be me alright… difference is, Grandpa, this black sheep is adored. I’m a thief. A crook. A former womanizer. All of that and more. But people fucking like me, and you hate that. Women want me not just because of my bank account balance, but because I’m a clever, suave, entertaining motherfucker, and I stand on business. I could be penniless, still have a crowd around me, and plenty of pussy to choose from. There’s people that actually truly enjoy my company. Call me just to hang out. I’m engaging, outgoing, and even when I was robbin’ motherfuckers blind, they were havin’ fun while I was doing it.
“Nobody gives a fuck about you. People want your wealth. That’s why they want to be around you. It’s all dreamlike bullshit! Folktales and make-believe… you’re the true magician standin’ here. Making people’s hopes and dreams disappear. Problem is, you’ve bought into your own mystic mayhem.”
“I know who I am, deep down inside, Roman. Contrary to this show that you’re performing right now, one day, to prove you wrong, you’ll see millions of people at my funeral, when the Lord finally calls me home.”
“There’ll be millions of people at your funeral all right. On that, we will agree. Not out of sadness, but to get in line to spit on your embalmed corpse and your gotdamn grave. What a sad, pathetic existence. By the way, the Lord doesn’t call malignant spirits home. You’ll be getting a call from a different ruler—the dungeon master that resides way downstairs.”
“Roman, a swollen ego is one hell of a drug. I let these men know with my eyes to stand down. I knew you weren’t tryna kill me. You don’t want to part with your riches. Loss of prestige, reputation and your career means just that. It was another sleight of hand. A bluff. Otherwise, you’d have six knives in your back. A seventh one if you count mine. Roman, your days are numbered. I don’t give—”
“Numbered? That’s good because numbers are my forte… How much do I detest you? Let me count the motherfucking ways. What you see as weakness in folks is love and forgiveness. What you see as a fuckup is human frailty, is a soul in need of grace, mercy, and understandin’. I ain’t God though,” Roman chuckled real easy like. “I ain’t forgiving you for shit. Find somebody else to do it… I don’t do the same dumb shit twice. You’ll only catch me slippin’ once. I won’t even charge you for that bit of info. It’s on the house.” He re-buttoned his suit jacket. “I don’t give any thing away for free, but for you, I’ll make an exception.” Roman winked at his grandfather.
“I’ll leave your toys in the woods when I get good and ready. Whatever this tyrant is paying you, it’s not enough. Oh, and a word of advice. Money might be the root of all evil, but Grandpa here is the rhizosphere. Look that word up if you don’t know what that is. Have a good evening, boys.” He then turned and walked away, rejoining his gathering…