Authors: Jennifer Raygoza
“Stay away!” she screamed.
“Wait, you speak English?” I replied as I walked forward to calm her down.
She looked at me like I just offended her. Fuck. That didn’t come out right. Should I apologize? Nope. No time. She’s swiping the air trying to kill me.
“Get away from me!”
“I live here.” I put my hands up and stood on the opposite side of the island from her.
“Liar!” she yelled.
“I live here, I swear. My name is James King. Victoria is my mother—”
She started to walk around the island, and so did I. The girl had a butcher knife for god sakes. Distance was safety in my eyes.
“I don’t believe you. You could be a psycho or something.”
I involuntarily busted out into laughter at that very moment, which just made her more furious. She squinted her green eyes at me. Shit, I fucked up again. She looks really pissed. I couldn’t help it though. She was cute, and tough too. I didn’t even know this chick, but I liked her spirit already.
“Call my mother. Go ahead. She’ll confirm it,” I said. “Go on.”
I watched her whip out her cell phone and dial Victoria. She held the phone up to her ear and kept the knife pointed at me. I stared at her, and noticed how tight her shirt was and how her pants complimented her figure. She was smoking hot. I remembered the knife in her hands, so I forced my eyes back up to hers.
“Mrs. King. I have a man here that let himself into the house. He claims to be your son. His name is James.”
Interesting enough, she answered her phone for the maid, but not for me. I heard an awkward silence. I crossed my arms, licked my lips and waited for it.
“No, Mrs. King. He hasn’t shown me identification yet.”
I rolled my eyes, pulled out my wallet and opened it. I put my free hand up in the air and calmly walked forward to show her my identification.
“Yes, it’s him alright. Sorry to bother you,” she said and hung up.
I grinned and stared at her. She looked embarrassed, as she put the knife on the counter top and looked down.
“Please accept my apologies, Mr. King. I had no idea. I feel stupid. I beg you not to tell your mother about the knife. I really, really need to keep this job, please.”
I examined her face, her eyes, her lips and the curve of her neck. She was young and beautiful. Too beautiful to work here if you ask me. A majority of the house keepers my mother hired were always middle aged, overweight and hardly spoke English. I didn’t mind it though. I loved to hear the Latin language. I still do. I really wished I spoke better Spanish. My Spanish was bad, really bad. My father being Hispanic, tried to teach my brother and me Spanish when we were young, but my mother wouldn’t have it. She didn’t want us to develop accents. She said it would hold us back later when it came to the job market. The funny thing was that even though she was Caucasian, she spoke perfect Spanish, but she refused to use it in public. I called it her staff only language.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, as I winked, grabbed an apple off of the counter and walked away.
I chuckled as I walked to the living room. I couldn’t believe it. I was home for not even an hour and somebody had already tried to kill me. At least she was hot. I grabbed the cordless phone to take up to my old room, that’s where my mother said I could stay once I got out. Upon entering the room, I could see she took the liberty of stocking the closet with new clothes and new shoes. This was more of a benefit to her lifestyle. This was that whole makeover thing I was talking about. She still hadn’t told me where all my old stuff was. I wrinkled my face. The sight of Polo shirts and khakis made me want to pour bleach in my eyes. Country club robot, I refuse. Hell no. I quickly closed the closet doors and looked down at the phone. I’d been dying to make this call to see what was up with Nikki, my girlfriend. I flopped down on the bed and stared at the phone again. My fingers quickly punched in her number and hit the call button, before I had time to hesitate. The line continued to ring, and I was just about to hang up when I heard her sweet voice.
“Hello,” she said.
“It’s me.”
“James, you’re calling me from your mother’s. You’re out already?” She sounded surprised, but not in a good way.
“I am.”
“James…” her voice cracked.
“Where have you been for the last six months?” I cut to the chase.
“You’ve been away so long. It’s been hard.”
“What the fuck does that mean? It’s been hard. I just served sixteen months for a crime I wasn’t even aware that I was committing at the time. Now that’s hard. My whole world has been turned upside down and you just disappear. What the hell, Nikki?”
“I went through some personal issues,” she said, “I’m sorry.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I could feel heat rising from my neck to my ears.
“Who is he? Do I know him?” I hoped she would say something to make me believe differently.
She didn’t respond immediately, and my insides started to ache. That alone confirmed my fear that she had found someone else. I must know this asshole if she can’t even give me a first name.
“Nikki? Who is he?” I repeated louder.
“You have to promise not to do anything, James,” she said.
Is she kidding me? She’s sleeping around with some guy I know, and I’m supposed to keep my cool.
“Name. Give me his name. You owe me that much.”
“Zach. It’s Zach,” she cried out.
I felt sick. My stomach turned over, and my hands started to shake in anger. I gripped the phone tighter.
“You make me sick. The both of you do. I never want to see your face again.”
I ended the call quickly, stood up, and walked over to the door slamming it closed. I leaned both of my hands against the back of the door and dropped my head. This man, Zach, who used to be my best friend, was banging Nikki, who used to be my girlfriend. Zach, was also the person responsible for getting me locked up. It would be a miracle if I made it through today without getting thrown back into prison. I turned around and basically peeled my black T-shirt off and flung it across the room. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, they did. I heard the sound of knocking on my door, and then she spoke.
“James…James. It’s your mother.”
I spun around in a circle, grunted and stared at the door. Maybe she’ll just go away.
“James…I know you’re in there. I didn’t speed race over for nothing.”
I made a slow but steady step over and opened the door. I towered over her with my six foot frame. She greeted me with a forced smile. She stood there in all her glory, dusting her hands off, as if she did some type of manual labor by knocking on my door. Her brown hair was pinned back and held up with so much hairspray, I could have lit that shit on fire, and probably caused fireworks. I remained silent and crossed my arms. I watched her brown eyes almost pop out of her head, as she took in the large tattoo that ran across my upper chest. It read ‘Mi Vida Loca.’
“New tattoo? What happened? Did you join a Mexican gang when you were inside?”
Her eyes jumped over to the old ink on my upper right arm. The tattoo was of the Virgin Mary and rose. She shook her head and let her eyes drift back to my chest.
“I might have,” I sarcastically answered.
“That’s real funny.” She paused. “You look great, James. I see you’ve been working out.”
“There’s nothing else to do in prison.”
“Don’t complain. You did it to yourself.” She cut her eyes at me.
“How can you say that?”
“I told you to stay away from Zach. You didn’t listen.”
“I don’t want to talk about him. Why didn’t you pick me up? You knew today was my release day.”
“Oh, honey, you know I can’t be seen around a prison. Don’t be silly.”
“You could have sent a car and driver by at least.”
“I didn’t want word getting out. Drivers talk. The media would have been all over the place.”
This was my mother. Too busy worrying what everyone thought about her. Too busy to be an actual mom.
“Yeah, you’re right. What a stupid idea. A mother who actually picks up her son from jail. What was I thinking? Gosh. I am such an idiot.”
“Stop it.” She paused and looked at my tattoos again. “Get ready. Your brother is coming home tonight. Put something nice on and cover up all those tattoos. You look like a thug.”
“Get ready for what?” I glared at her.
“I’m having a welcome home dinner party for Chad.”
“Are you serious? I just got home. What about me?”
“Darling, I hardly feel like celebrating your release from prison is a good thing.”
“No, but having your son home is.”
She arched an eyebrow and released a sigh. She rubbed her temple for a brief moment and then started to dig into her purse, before pulling out a wad of money and jamming it into my hand.
“There. Glad your home, James,” she said and walked out of sight.
I stared down at the money in between my fingers. All I could see was a bunch of hundred dollar bills. This was how she showed her love for me. She bought me off. She didn’t even hug me once. She didn’t pull me close and tell me how much she missed me or how much she loved me. I mean, what the hell was wrong with her? The lady was currently planning a dinner party for my brother, on my release day. I shoved the money in my pocket and turned to the closet for a shirt. I quickly turned away when the mental image of Polo’s popped in my head. I looked over at the dresser and silently prayed to the gods that something of my taste would be in there. I yanked open drawer after drawer until I saw the T-shirts. Yes. Fuck yes. I tossed one on as fast as I could. I really needed to get out of this house, and away from her. Did she just say she couldn’t pick me up from prison because it would make her look bad? This is the type of shit I dealt with, when it came to her. That’s why I walked away from her years ago. If it wasn’t for circumstances I wouldn’t be here, and I think she knew it. I guess we would both needed to learn how to play nice with each other, until I got my shit together again. I started to walk out of my room, when I saw the pretty, young thing from earlier. The cleaning girl. She looked at me nervously. I pulled out my keys.
“I didn’t say anything about the knife, or your fine dancing for that matter,” I said, as I locked the door. My tone was clipped.
I watched her swallow the lump in her throat. She looked so innocent standing there, and it appeared as if she wanted to say something, but like an asshole I didn’t give her the chance to. I just turned and walked down the hallway. I felt a little bad for some reason, and part of me wondered what she had to say, but the other part of me was so angry at Nikki and my mother, I didn’t care. I grabbed my mother’s keys off of the table without asking her, and jumped into her black Beamer parked outside.
I knew exactly where to go to cool down. The Blue Moon Bar was the best place around to get a nice stiff drink and forget your troubles. I know, because I used to bartend there. Maybe while I was there, I could talk to Mike, the bar owner, to see if he would let me come on board again. I don’t know how he felt about me, after all the rumors and my case. It’s pretty hard to convince people that what you did, was not really what you did. It’s not going to hurt to ask and the worst thing he could say was no.
I looked down at the speedometer to notice how fast I was driving. I forgot how good it felt to drive a car. The windows were all down and the air against my face felt amazing. I really had missed these simple joys. It’s wasn’t long before I pulled into the parking lot of the bar. I parked, sprang out of the car and sprinted toward the door. As I entered I was hit with the familiar scent of leather seats, hard liquor and cigars. Now this was my type of place. I spotted Mike behind the bar. It was hard to miss him. He was about five feet and eleven inches. He had a stocky build. His brownish, gray hair was a little longer than last time I saw him. It sat messy at his ears. He smiled and his eyes lit up as he saw me. He tossed his hands in the air.
“James, how in the hell are you, my brother?” he said, as he worked his way around the bar so that he could hug me.
“I’m good, man.”
“When did you get out?” he asked, as he pulled away.
“Today. I literally got home about an hour ago.” I smiled.
“Well, shit, man. Have a seat. I’ll pour you a drink or two on the house.” He paused. “Whiskey okay?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect. Thanks.”
He made his way back behind the bar and started grabbing things. He turned around, and instead of a shot glass, he put a normal sized glass in front of me. He placed the whiskey bottle next to it. I looked down at the setup and chuckled. I poured just a little in the glass and then downed it. Immediate liquor burn filled my throat. I tightly, closed my eyes and shook it off.
“So, man, what the hell happened? I heard you got busted for drugs,” Mike said, as he leaned against the bar. “Word on the street had it that somebody else was involved.”
“I let my guard down and trusted a friend I shouldn’t have. The drugs…not my fault,” I replied.
“I knew it. That ain’t you. I told people, that ain’t James. No way.”