Power & Beauty (9 page)
The apartment was huge. Long hallways and lots of bedrooms. Wood walls and heavy carpets. Old furniture. Paintings of flowers and fruits on the wall. His bedroom was at the end of the longest hallway. Mackey knocked.
“You don’t have to knock!” Irv shouted behind closed doors. “Come on in!”
Mackey opened the door. He went in first.
“Did you bring me the meat?” Irv asked. Wearing a pair of black silk pajamas, he was sitting up in bed.
“What meat?” Mackey asked.
“The butcher doesn’t know what meat? What good is the butcher if he can’t bring the best cut of meat?”
Mackey’s eyes were shot through with concern. I could feel him suffering. This shit was so sad.
“Is this your son?” he said, looking at me. “Is this the butcher’s son I’ve heard so much about? I can’t tell you what I’ve heard, but I know it wasn’t good. He’s supposed to be a good boy, but he’s not. You can’t trust this boy—not for a fuckin’ minute. Come over, kid. Come right over here.”
I went to stand by Irv’s side.
“Lean your head this way,” he said.
He took my head in his hands and whispered in my ear. “Go home. Get the fuck out of here and go home. It’s time for you to go home.”
I kept quiet. So did Mackey. A few seconds later, Irv closed his eyes and began to snore. We waited awhile before quietly walking out of the room. When we got to the foyer, Dottie was waiting for us.
“Judy’s mother just called,” she said. “Judy went out again. She went out on the wild. She’s back in the hospital. Her mama doesn’t know what to do. I told her that Mr. Wasserman wasn’t no good to hear any of this. She said I had to tell him. But how can I tell him?”
“You can’t,” said Mackey. “Just leave it all to me.”
“How do you lose your mind?” asked Dottie. “How do you have your mind one day and lose it the next?”
Mackey mentioned his brother. He told Dottie that he had seen this happen before. He told Dottie that, no matter what, she would be taken care of. Everyone would be taken care of.
“And what do you think I should do?” I asked.
“What did he tell you when he was whispering in your ear?” asked Mackey.
“He said to go home.”
“Then go home. That’s probably the last sensible thing he’ll ever say.”
I
saw the words written on a medical report that Slim had put in the garbage. I was looking for a receipt that I thought I had thrown away by mistake when I noticed “premature ejaculation” on a piece of paper. Don’t ask me why, but it jumped out at me. The report was from a Dr. Tavis Harrison. I googled “premature ejaculation” and it didn’t take long to learn that’s what they call it when a dude cums too soon. “For some men,” I read, “the very sight of a naked woman can excite them to the point of orgasm.” Another posting said, “There are serious psychological consequences for men whose inability to sustain sexual intercourse results in a perpetual inability to satisfy their partners. The result is often frustration, shame, and even violent rage.”
I went back to the report and saw that Slim’s real name—Charles Simmons—was typed out as the patient. And underneath was all this stuff about premature ejaculation—how “the patient has complained of this disorder,” how “this disorder has apparently plagued the patient for much of his life,” how “repeated psychopharmacological medicines had yielded no positive results,” and how “the patient has refused clinical psychiatric remedies.”
After reading it four or five times, I tore up the report in tiny pieces and took it out to the trash. I felt like it was something I shouldn’t have read, something I shouldn’t know. I did read it and now I knew. Slim couldn’t fuck right. It was like Slim couldn’t fuck at all. I didn’t want to, but I had to think about my mother. I’d done a good job all this time since her death of not thinking about her at all, but this was different. I knew she had been Slim’s girlfriend. Or at least I figured she had. Why else would he be treating me like I was his son? Maybe sex wasn’t important to my mother. Maybe sex wasn’t important to Slim. But if it wasn’t important, he sure did act like it was. Ever since I got back from Chicago, it seemed like Slim was showing off his women. Every night he had a different one at the house. He liked them big and busty. He liked them ten or fifteen or twenty years younger than him. He liked them all made up with lots of blue eye shadow and long eyelashes and ruby-red lipstick. He liked dark black women and pale white women and sometimes women from Mexico. There was a Chinese woman he brought home who couldn’t speak English.
The morning after, if he saw me in the kitchen eating a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast or a cheese sandwich for lunch, he liked to say, “See that bitch who ran through here last night?”
“I saw her.”
“What’d you think?”
“She was pretty,” I’d always say.
“Man, that heifer couldn’t get enough. It’s one thing to bone a bitch twice in a night. I’m used to that. But three or four times, I mean, give a brotha a break. I ain’t complaining, though, boy. You do what you gotta do. Besides, fucking overtime keeps me young. No, sir, ain’t complaining at all. Matter of fact, got another one coming over tonight who’s fine enough to make you wanna slap your mama.”
When Slim talked this way, I never paid much attention. In a smooth way, Slim liked to brag about lots of stuff—his money, all the people who worked for him, all the smart moves he made. Hard as I tried, he still beat me at chess on a regular basis and loved to brag about that. I let him. I saw it made him feel good and that was fine with me. But now I had to wonder about his women.
The night after I tore up the report he was giving a party. Mo Turner, a dude Slim had known his whole life, was turning fifty. Mo owned a fleet of taxis—I think Slim might have bankrolled him—and Mo liked to party. He was a short squat cat, no taller than five feet three, with a full head of hair glistening with gel and a Bluetooth stuck in his left ear. The Bluetooth was studded with diamonds. Mo also loved cigars, the longer the better. A cigar was always sticking out of his mouth. He was a happy-go-lucky man who’d been married six or seven times. Slim would always say, “Some ho throws a hot fuck on Mo and Mo thinks it’s forever. Mo thinks good pussy equals true love. Mo’s a fuckin’ fool when it comes to the bitches, but Mo’s my man. You wanna have a good time, you wanna have a good laugh, you call Mo.”
Usually I skipped these parties. The guests were the older crowd and I felt out of place. To Slim’s credit, though, he always let me know I was welcome. “Boy,” he’d say, “this is your house as much as mine. You part of everything I do, the good and the bad. And tonight, we gonna be bad.” I’d drop in to say hi to Slim’s guests. I’d make a quick appearance so as not to offend Slim. But then, when the old-school jams started and everyone started dancing like old-school fools, I’d skip out.
This time, though, I paid a little more attention to the guests. There were some friends and even married couples from back in the day, but there were more single women than usual. It looked to me like Slim had hired some professionals as birthday gifts to Mo. What made them seem like pros was that they didn’t act like pros. They dressed cool and spoke well and acted like they could be managers at the local bank. I knew, though, by the way they made a beeline for Mo that Slim had arranged this special birthday treat. It was funny to see these gorgeous ladies, some of them nearly six feet tall, tower over Mo. “Mo likes to mountain-climb up those long-legged bitches,” Slim whispered to me. “Look at the smile on that motherfucker’s face.”
I was just about to go out to the garage apartment when Wanda arrived along with Dre and his wife, Gloria.
“Br-br-br-br-brother Power,” said Dre. “Haven’t s-s-s-seen you since you g-g-g-g-got back from Chicago. Everything cool?”
“Everything’s cool.”
“How’s my m-m-m-m-man I-I-I-I-I-I-Irv?”
“Having some health problems.”
“Hate to h-h-h-h-h-hear that. H-h-h-h-h-he’s beautiful people, ain’t he?”
“Beautiful,” I agreed. “And talking about beautiful, here’s your beautiful wife and the beautiful Wanda.”
“Boy,” said Wanda, “last time I saw you in Chicago you were working in a beauty salon. I didn’t know you were running a charm school as well.”
I smiled and gave Wanda a hug. She had on a blond wig with black bangs where the sides flipped out in opposite directions like the wings of a bird. In her green satin dress, Wanda looked like she was about to fly. Not to be outdone, Dre was done up in a mustard-colored sharkskin suit and matching gator shoes.
“Are those d-d-d-d-d-diamonds Mo has in his Bluetooth?” asked Dre.
“You best believe his ice is cold,” said Slim, who came over to greet the guests.
Wanda took me aside. “You on your way out?” she asked.
“Figured I better get some rest.”
“Everything turn out okay in Chicago?”
“The old man isn’t exactly seeing things right.”
“Old age will do that to you. Besides, men are funny,” she said.
There was something about Wanda that always made me feel good. I knew I could trust her. Her spirit was warm and loving. And even when she didn’t tell me things—like how Beauty was doing up in New York—I got the sense she wanted to. She genuinely cared.
“Can we walk outside for a second?” I asked her.
“Sure thing.”
We strolled over to a little patio area to the right of the big house. The night air was warm and the half-moon looked close enough to touch.
“I wanna ask you something that I know you’ll keep to yourself,” I said.
“Naturally, sugar. Everyone knows Wanda can be trusted. Wanda knows how to keep a secret.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly a secret. It’s a question. Do you think Slim’s a normal man?”
Wanda laughed. “Baby doll, ain’t no man who’s normal.”
“I mean, normal in the physical way. In the sexual way.”
“Do you mean is he a sissy? Oh, no, Power, Slim ain’t no sissy.”
“I know he’s not gay. I wasn’t wondering about that. I was just wondering whether he had some problems in doing it with women.”
“What makes you think something like that?” Wanda asked.
“I saw a medical report.”
“What you doing pokin’ in Slim’s private papers?”
“I found it in the garbage.”
“Then leave it in the garbage. Ain’t none of your concern.”
“It just made me curious and I was wondering—”
“Look, Power, there’s a lot about Slim that makes folks wonder. But I know the man. Been knowing him a good part of my life. Been working for him a good part of my life. Been praying for him a good part of my life. There’s a lot to him. He got lots of sides, lots of angles, lots of good points and some points that ain’t so good. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. So my advice is to do what you been doing. Let the Lord lead you. The Lord put this man in your life, and the Lord is protecting you. Slim’s protecting you. That’s a beautiful thing, so keep it beautiful, child, but stay out of his garbage. And I do mean garbage. You feel me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Next thing we heard was Slim calling everyone into the dining room to sing Mo “Happy Birthday.” A huge cake, covered with five diamonds carved of frosting, was carried out of the kitchen and placed on the table.
“Before we start singing,” said Slim, “I want to ask Dre, one of Mo’s closest friends, to say a few words on his behalf. Dre . . .”
I could see Dre’s body react nervously.
“I-I-I-I-I j-j-j-j-j-just w-w-w-w-w-w—”
“Spit it out, boy!” Slim cried.
By now everyone, even those who tried to stop themselves, was laughing at Dre. Naturally the one laughing hardest was Slim.
That night I didn’t sleep well. The noise from the party was loud enough to keep me up. I kept falling in and out of a dream about Beauty. The dream kept changing. In one dream, she was living in a high-rise in Chicago. In the next dream, she was sitting in the back of a taxi and I was following her on a Harley. I never could catch her. In the last dream, she was water-skiing on a lake surrounded by snowcapped mountains. She was wearing a black bikini and her hair was blowing in the breeze. A big storm came up. Lightning was everywhere. She got washed away, and the last thing I remembered before waking up was frantically swimming in the middle of the sea, looking everywhere for Beauty and not being able to find her.
I was still looking for her when a loud knock snapped my dream.
“Hey, boy, you alone in there?”
It was Slim. “I’m alone,” I said. “Come on in.”
He walked in and sat in a chair across from my bed. Even early in the morning, he was clean. He was rocking a yellow Gucci tracksuit and fresh white Prada sneakers. His matching diamond wristbands caught the rays of the sun streaming in the window. His cologne was so strong I almost choked.
“Sleeping in, boy?” he asked.
“Bad dreams.”
“I don’t ever dream,” said Slim. “Don’t need to. I’m living my dream. And last night was like a wet dream come true. You see that tall bitch with them crazy cornrows?”
“Not sure I noticed.”
“You had to notice. She was the one with the wiggle and walk that had every head turning. I’m telling you, last night she was the finest thing in the state of Georgia. Last night she was Georgia on my mind and Georgia in my bed. I nearly broke that bad girl in half, that’s what I did. Power, I should be slowing down. Man my age shouldn’t be rocking it hard as I’m rocking it. But what can I do? If it’s in you, it’s got to come out.”
“I guess so,” I said.
“Where’s your board?” Slim asked, meaning the chessboard.
“In the closet,” I said. “You wanna play?”
“Only if you wanna lose.”
Slim had a habit of waking me up early to play chess. He knew I wasn’t a morning person. Just after waking, my head’s foggy and my mind’s not too sharp.
“Can’t wait till this afternoon?” I asked.
“You’ll be gone this afternoon.”
“I will be?”
“You got a plane to catch.”
“Where am I going?”
“I’ll tell you after I whip your ass.”
Slim did whip my ass. It took him a little longer than he wanted it to, but he cornered me. He outthought me. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the cobwebs from my sleepy eyes.
“Don’t wanna hear no excuses from you,” he said. “Good chess player is ready to get it on, morning, noon, and night. And, boy, you got a ways to go.”
“You gonna tell me where I’m going today?”
Slim walked over to my kitchenette and opened the refrigerator.
“You don’t got shit to eat in here, boy.”
“Try to stay lean and mean,” I said.
Slim patted his stomach. He was vain about getting fat. “Never had this problem before,” he said. “But I’m gonna cut out that sweet stuff and be back in shape in no time. Just a question of will. Never had no problems with willpower before and don’t see no reason why I should have any problems now. If I can satisfy the bitches, that should be enough. I get me all the sweet pussy I need. I don’t need to be eating like a youngblood. I can push back the bread and the potatoes. You watch, Power. When you get back, I’m gonna be leaner and meaner than you.”
“Where am I going?”
“Like I keep telling you, youngbloods need schooling. I’ve told you that before, haven’t I, boy?”
“You have.”
“Irv was a righteous teacher, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” I said.
“Well, time for the next lesson. You ready?”
“I am.”
“Had enough of that ass-freezing Chicago weather?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then how does Miami Beach sound to you?”
“Real good, Slim. Sounds real good.”
Slim didn’t say another word. In his ultra-cool way, he just smiled, reached deep into his pocket, fished out a boarding pass, and handed it to me.
“Your plane leaves at eight tonight. You’re gonna love Sugar. And Sugar’s gonna love you, especially when Sugar sees what you got for him.”