The Wedding: Dark Romance Read online

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live,” I try to smile.

  “Were you in an accident?” she asks, but it’s only a customary question. Her fingers graze over the dark footprint bruise at the center of my chest.

  “No, chère, it was no accident. The bastard did this to me on purpose,” I chuckle. The right side of my jaw is swollen as if I had tucked in a large gumball. So my speech is a little slurred.

  “Is this why you said you didn’t want to see me anymore?”

  “Is that why you came to convince me otherwise?” Brick asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I thought we were friends. I’ve been calling you. For two days.”

  I try to smile but I can’t. Smoke told me a strange story about her. It makes me a little leery, I’m not into other peoples drama. Being a Bondurant, I have a truckload of my own. All I’ve wanted for two days was Motrin and dark quietness.

  Coco puts her arm around my waist and helps me walk with less of a strain. “You stink, Brick.”

  “Haven’t bathed in a few days.”

  “I can tell,” she says under a gag. She walks me back to my room and helps me sit on my bed. “The first thing we do is get you a bath. A cool bath to help soothe your muscles.”

  I’m able to open both eyes now but only partly. I watch as she runs from me to the bathroom then out of the room to the living room. Not sure why she is taking the time and care to do so much. She pauses and looks at me and then leaves for the bathroom again. I’m so exhausted I lie back and temporarily close my eyes. It had to be under five minutes before she came for me.

  “C’mon, come, let’s get you in the tub. Have you eaten?” she asks.

  I grunt a reply. It’s the getting up and getting down that does me in. If I’m on my feet or lying down I’m just fine. I don’t get much care from women. My sisters aren’t allowed to see me and my brothers in this state. Pops won’t approve. My mother is dead. Pops new wife is more concerned with running the house and family in the bayou than to care after Pops grown children. It’s not that bad after all. Only myself and Jessup took the worst of the beating. My other brother and the rest of my father’s men got the ambush under control. Right now several bodies of the Van Minh gang are sinking in the swamps being chewed on by the gators.

  “Brick, stand up.”

  I groan and do as she says. Again she helps. We go into the bathroom. She is yanking down my pajama pants before I can reach the tub. I step into the cool water and it does feel good. When I sit and relax against the back of the clawfoot antique tub I’m a goner. Coco’s even put some drops in the water. Something she must have gotten from the bags she brought in from her car. The little gelatin perfume balls dissolve and the water is smelling like her, like a flower.

  She leaves.

  She returns.

  She leaves again.

  I like watching her. She’s moving like some fairy goddess. All flutters and excitement. She’s working her magic on my place too. I hear her ripping the sheets from the bed. I hear her opening the curtains and doing other things. It’s an unfamiliar sound because I like my space. My sisters sneak here at least once a month to clean my place, but never when I’m here. Just a quirk of mine. Not since I have moved out of my family home have I had guests who were granted enough privilege to touch my things, or make themselves comfortable.

  I’m too weak to give a shit. My body feels like giants have been stomping on it. Those fucking Vietnamese! Pops was pissed that the Van Minh were trafficking through the Port of New Orleans. Not sure of what. But me, my brothers and ten of the most ruthless men employed under Pops laid a trap for them and sprung it just as they unloaded at their warehouse. The plan was to seize what they were bringing in and take it as our own to Pops. Then those left standing would be turned over to the police and sheriffs that are paid off by Pops.

  Plans always go to shit. And this one certainly did. Like out of some kind of Ninja kung-fu movie those bastards fought back like assassins. Kicks, gut punches, between bullets spraying. We were overwhelmed. Of course we had more firepower and soon took over the killing spree, but not before I got the shit kicked out of me. Six men were dead, four of theirs and two of our own. I’ve seen dead men before. I’ve seen men killed before. But I never liked it, or agreed with it. I was born into it. And I’m sick of this shit. No matter what I do or how hard I try to prove to Pops I’m going to be a Bondurant until I die, he puts me to the test. Plain and simple.

  “Here, drink this,” she says.

  I open my uninjured eye and jack-knife upright to sitting position. Water splashes on her. She gasps and then groans at being wet.

  “What is wrong with you?” she huffs.

  “Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re here.”

  “Thanks a lot,” she mumbles. Like Little Red Riding Hood trying to heal the Wolf that could not be trusted she brings the straw close to my lips once again. And I can’t be trusted. With me comes the darkness and burden of a lifestyle she should never be exposed too. That’s what Smoke was trying to warn me. And I swore I would listen.

  “Drink silly. Just drink it.”

  I sip from the straw. It’s water. But surprisingly it soothes me. I don’t know when the last time I had a drink of water. I was using rum to heal me. When I’m done I ease back. She sets the water down. She has a rag and she’s dipping it into my cool bath water now murky from the grime, grit, and blood off my body. She lathers the rag with a bar of Irish Spring soap. She washes over me gently. Like a mother does a babe. It feels nice.

  “You’ll have to stand up under the shower when we are done. To rinse off all of this nasty stuff.”

  I ignore the disgust in her voice and focus on the care in her touch.

  “I knew something was wrong. I felt it, I told you I feel things.”

  I peek over at her.

  “I was pissed. I can tell ya that. Nobody dumps me. Ever. I was going to cut you off too. It’s your loss, you know?” She tosses her chin up with superiority. “But something smelled fishy to me. Like I said I felt it. So I ended up driving here and look what I found?”

  I listen.

  “Someone beat you up pretty bad. Looks like they wanted to kill you. Why would anyone want to kill a saxophone player? That’s what I want to know. And is this a foot print on your chest? Strange. You a strange jazz man. Unless you more than that.”

  I don’t reply.

  “Never mind. You don’t have to say it. You got something dark over you Brick. You need to be careful how you move through life. You must be a Scorpio, they’re secretive by nature. The worlds best lovers, but they have a dark side to them. Really good at covering it up too. I’m a Sagittarius. We’re very direct and blunt, but can be a bit too optimistic.”

  She leans in and kisses my swollen jaw. “I got a few days. Gonna take care of you Byran. Make you Brick again. Don’t you worry. I’m good at it. Grew up with brothers. Trust me, I done seen it all. Fights, even with each other had me and my mama cleaning up blood and picking up teeth. They born rough. Though my daddy likes to pretend that they all some golden prodigies. But you know how it is. Don’t you Brick? Money and breeding can mask who we are. But still some things never change.”

  I close my eyes and soak.

  “Who did it to you? Can you tell me that? Who would want to hurt you like this? Are they still mad at you? That’s what I want to know. Are they out there looking to finish what they started?”

  Her lips brush mine.

  “You don’t have to talk Byran. I understand. Silence is like talking, though. It says Coco, mind your business. Just let me lie here and stop meddling into my affairs.”

  And then she drops the rag on my chest and rises. I open my good eye and she’s at the sink. I turn my head to stare at her backside. I like looking at her ass. When she bends at the waist a bit to wash off her hands the hem of her dress inches up and I can see high up the back of her thighs.

  “Have you eaten? Gonna cook for you. What you lik
e?”

  She glances back at me and looks into my eyes. She smiles for me and I swear it makes me feel good. Strange and good. It’s odd how the right woman can smile and make a bad man feel ten foot tall.

  “Never mind it. I see it will be hard to chew and swallow so I’ll see what I can get together for a nice spicy soup. How’s that?”

  I cut my eyes away. She’s right. It’s hard to speak without tasting blood in my mouth even now. Why do these motherfuckers go for my jaw? I swear if it affects my ability to blow I’m going to dig up that kung-fu kicking motherfucker and kill him all over again.

  “Okay, Let’s get you rinsed off.” She returns to stick her hand over into the water and release the plug for the tub. I reach and squeeze her ass. “Get your hand off my butt. You and I both know you can’t handle it.”

  I smile in agreement. She helps me stand. My antique tub is separate from my shower. She helps me step onto the bath rug and gets wet in the process. But she doesn’t mind. And she’s strong too. She shoulders my weight and walks me into the shower as if I’m an invalid. I’m not. But I’ll play one for the attention. She turns on the cold water and it startles me so bad I grunt. She pushes me under it and I’m forced to endure the cool rivulets as the streams rinse me clean.

  “I saw on the news today it’s gonna be a storm moving in tonight. If you don’t have anything I’ll have to go make grocery. But no worries. I seen a Rousses Market not far from here.”

  After a few minutes I step out of the shower. She insists on toweling me off. So I let her. Besides I like to see her breasts and hips shake as she scrubs me dry.

  Smoke said I was bad for her, or she was bad for me, I can’t remember. Either way everything bad always feels good at some point doesn’t it?

  “When was the last time you washed clothes? You live like a slob. It’s cute when I’m drunk but your house when I’m sober is gross….”

  She goes on and on about the things that need to be cared for. I’m more concentrating on breathing through my pain while I try to ease on my robe and boxers. And then she is helping me out of the bathroom to the bed. I pause at my bed. She’s changed my sheets. I get to lay down on fresh linen. She props me up with pillows, tosses me the remote and walks out of the room.

  That little adventure exhausts me. Before I can gather my thoughts I’m sleep again. And this time it’s not so bad.

  Men are pigs. ‘Man Boys’ is what my Mama calls them. My grand-mère is old school and she thinks it’s just a woman’s nature to be a nurturer. Well it’s 2012. Nothing natural at all about a man near thirty living in squalor and driving a hundred-thousand-dollar car. It’s bizarre.

  I spend a solid hour cleaning. Taking out trash, and uncovering more trash. It takes me another hour to haul that away. And then I work to put things in order. Mostly album covers that are missing vinyl. And dishes, glasses left everywhere. I also uncover his secret. He likes marijuana. I despise drugs. I just think it’s stupid to pollute your body with something so artificial. But marijuana is from mother earth, and it’s the new cocktail for young men his age these days. I’ve been around enough men in my life to know it’s not going anywhere. I stack his rolled blunts in the ashtray and set them aside.

  After opening some windows to let the fresh air in I go back to the kitchen, which is now clean, and check the cupboards. They’re bare. Pathetically so. Nothing of use on the shelves to cook with. Just a lot of seasoning with nothing to cook. But thankfully I find some old cans of tomato soup, bread and cheese. For now, it would have to do.

  When I bring him a meal he’s sleep. I almost consider not waking him. Still, two hours is long enough and he needs nourishment.

  “Wake up, Brick,” I say.

  He turns over and I set the plate with the bowl of soup on his lap. He doesn’t have a tray so it’s the best I can do. I hurry and get the cheese sandwich and water I fixed for him. He’s hungry. He’s eating. He barely speaks as he gobbles everything I give him. It’s amazing to see him chew and swallow with a swollen jaw. But I’m glad he’s getting better. I’m still curious and a little pissed that he didn’t even text me to say he didn’t feel well. But I think that conversation is best had later.

  When he’s done I take away the dishes and leave him to it. Brick turns over on his side and goes back to sleep. While I’m in the kitchen thinking over everything the phone rings in his apartment. I glance to it but know better than to answer. We’re not that kind of comfortable, yet. But afterwards, my cellphone rings. Now that is strange. Could it be the same person? I get up and go over to answer. When I find the damn thing I see it’s a missed call from Georgie. I call her back.

  “Are you at Bricks?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had the number to his house?”

  “Huh? I don’t. Marcel was calling to check, and I called you. Are you over there?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Who cares how I know? You need to leave. Marcel said it’s not safe for you to be over there now. Brick got in some trouble. Serious trouble.”

  “I’m fine. He’s sleeping. And I’m well aware of his trouble. He looks like someone ran over him with a tractor. He’s bruised and bloody. I don’t even think he’s been eating. Why wouldn’t Marcel tell us he was hurt?”

  “Coco, it’s not that simple. Brick is, he’s not a good dude. He’s mixed up with some things you don’t need to be close too. That’s what Marcel told me. That’s why I think it best you back off.”

  “He plays the frickin’ saxophone for a living.”

  “Yeah, well his father does other things. Like I said, Marcel wants you to go.”

  “Marcel is your boyfriend. Not mine. I’m staying.”

  “Coco!”

  The call is over. I hang up on her. How dare she? Marcel is a reformed thug. He’s sold everything from drugs to stolen televisions when he was young. So what, he’s cleaned up. He’s still not who she could bring home to her parents. And she’s in love with him. I’m just friends with Brick, and friends help friends. Right? I’m staying.

  I set the dishes in his dishwasher and turn it on. I walk over to my bags and dig inside for something comfortable to change into. I pull out a halter top and some shorts. As I’m changing my attention is drawn by the news report. Looks like some bodies were being pulled out of a swamp. More crappy news. The world sure is one nasty place to live in now.

  “Coco!”

  My eye opens—the one that can. It took a little effort for me to open the other one. I wasn’t sure if I shouted the name or said it in a dream. The room was dark. I had to blink both my injured eye and my good eye to see past the shadows. I felt I wasn’t alone. It was her. She’s lying on her side with her back to me. She’d pulled the covers up over us both. Her hair is tucked into a silk white and lime green bonnet, but I knew it’s her. I vaguely recall her bringing me food and drink. I got up twice to use the bathroom and she was at my side in an instant.

  The worst was over. I felt recharged. Not completely on the physical side. The lucid, drugged-awareness from drinking the past two-day side. I was on the mend Bondurant style. And I had her to thank.

  I turned over and pulled her closer to me. The pain in my arms and chest is more tolerable now. Coco moaned a bit, but she scooted back into my embrace. Then I inhale my Irish Spring soap on her skin. She must have showered and joined me in bed. It smelled good and she felt nice.

  “How do you feel?” she asks.

  I’m shocked. I thought she was sleep. Her head turns and she looks over her shoulder at me. The silk bonnet covers all of her hair and her face is scrubbed free of makeup. I like her this way. I can see the tiny freckles on her nose.

  “You staying the night?” I ask.

  Coco turns all the way over and faces me. I move a bit so we can look at each other.

  “Seems like you need me to stay the rest of the week and take care of you.”

  “I don’t. I can take care of me,” I tease her with a tickle to her side. She
giggles.

  “You want me to go?”

  “Hell no. Just sayin… I’m a grown man.”

  “I guess that’s why you live like a pig? Because you so grown up and mature?”

  I chuckle. It hurts to do so, so I stop. I don’t have broken ribs but sure as hell feels like it. She touches my chest as if she knows exactly where the pain is. And she does. My smile fades and her smile spreads across those plump lips of hers.

  “Want to tell me what really happened?”

  “I was in a fight,” I confess.

  “I gather that, with who, and why?”

  My exhaustion is back, not physically but emotionally. I can’t explain my family and their business to princess. And I’m not really keen on explaining myself either way. It just gives people room to judge me.

  “You’re not going to tell me are you?” she asked.

  I sigh and turn over to my back. “Women are so nosey.”

  “Only when men are secretive,” she counters.

  “I can tell you that what happened to me was no accident. I went looking for a fight and I found one. How’s that?”

  “Grim,” she says.

  I laugh and again it hurts. She moves caresses my chest. She leans in and kisses my shoulder. “Why would a man with your talents and cool need to go looking for a fight? That makes no sense to me.”

  “It’s in my nature.”

  “To be violent?”

  “To be me,” I correct her.

  “Marcel told Georgie that you’re dangerous. I should stay away from you.”

  “Marcel thinks I’m dangerous?” I laugh. That one is rich. Marcel has just as long of a history of violence as anyone I know.

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe? That a problem?”

  “For me? No. For you? Yes. Look at you. I’d say it’s a big problem.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “So you keep saying,” she sighs. “Sounds to me like you like it.”

  “Well I don’t. If I had a choice I’d rather use my jaws to blow on my sax not get pounded under some man’s fist.”