The Heart of Revenge (25 page)

I pressed the redial button with hard force.
His phone rang. The tip of my nose grew some tiny marbles of
sweat.

(((Rrring. Rrring.)))

I’m going to be blistering cold with him for
dealing with me like crap.

(((Rrring. Rrring.)))

It rang right out. He didn't answer.

I called seven more times. One right behind
the other without break. The scum didn’t answer. How can he be so
disrespectful? The small fire in me blazed into a big flame of
rage. My brother situation in the middle of my thought and with
time running out, it was overbearing on me. And now Mr. Douglas
disrespect? Just when I desperately needed his help? I was being
pushed pass anger. Some nerve! Some fucking nerves! I’ve dirt on
you and you know this and you gonna disrespect me? Disrespect me?
Fuck, I wanted to hurt him. Hurt him real bad. Real bad. I’ll show
him.

I try icing my temper. Went to the fridge,
poured myself some Dole pineapple juice, sliced a piece of
cosmopolitan cheese cake. I couldn’t finish the juice. My mind was
stomping too much. I was so pissed I must have had a weak bladder.
I didn’t know what to do to diffuse my anger, my thin legs was
making a heavy thud noise every time my heel hit the floor as I
walked over to the dresser. Picked up the brown furniture-color
comb, combed my hair, combed my hair straight through, harder,
rough, more like raking it than combing. Dragging the teeth of the
comb through, the comb tugged my scalp when it encountered any
tangling of my hair. I didn’t stop, I dragged it, ripping, brute
force, breaking my hair, tearing out some of my hair from the root,
hurting my scalp but I didn’t seem to feel anything. I continued
raking, raking, raking through my hair. I dropped the brown comb
back on the dresser, a tear fell. My eyes murky with tears. Why?
Why? Why?

I looked at me in the mirror. My tears
flowing freely down my face. Why must this happen to Vance? Why
God? Why? I won’t give up. I won’t give up. Lord give me the
strength to fight on. I know there is a way.

An hour passed. I privated my number, called
Mr. Douglas. His phone rang twice. On the third ring I successfully
got through to his voicemail, not him. I dialled again, and
speaking loud to myself, like I was a mad woman, as if he could
hear me threatening him ‘Answer the phone nuh, you little wretch!’
Nothing. No answer. Waited five more minutes. Called back. This
time was different. His phone was off. I vexedly hoofed off into
the kitchen. Lord, I’m not giving up. I just won’t. If Mr. Douglas
want to play hardball, well damn-well hardball it will be. Back to
my dresser, looked in the mirror, picked up the brush, brushed my
hair. Again. Again. Planning.

My mind’s all over the place. I really needed
to talk, so I dialled Pinky.

Pinky picked up and I went straight into
venting,

“Pinky I don’t know what to do again, it’s
like everywhere mi turn mi get dial-tone. I really want help Vance
but nothing’s working. I feel like giving up. The whole drama thing
with the wedding, now this.”

“Give up? Just have faith in God sis, mi
tired to tell you, you can’t control things, just leave it to God.
And stop fret ’bout the wedding. God know what him doing, even mi
did know that is never Qwan you was to married. From six years
aback mi always think Vybz was the right man for you.”

“Ajrien? Hsst, him get too bad, he got all
his subjects and throw them away to go run up and down with gun
like an idiot. Childish love. He’s just in the past. I got over him
longtime.”

“Hmm. So you say.”

"What? Him tell you him still like me?”

"Not really but you sure you over him
Lee?”

I stopped brushing my hair, froze with the
brush midway the length of my hair.

“Of course I’m sure.” I got back in action,
finished pulling the brush down the length of my hair slowly in
thought while I answered. “We living in two different worlds right
now, it would never work ... I think you should be with him. Both
of you really compatible and look good together, plus, both of you
live so close already like husband and wife. I think you should
leave Finaral and be with someone who you’re compatible with like
Ajrien since you always complaining about how much you don’t like
Finaral.”

"You sure you over him Lee?”

“Pinky don’t add to mi stress! I said yes ...
Sound like is you who like him?”

"Mi kind of like him yes, but mi couldn’t
sleep with him because mi never sleep with a younger man than me
yet, plus mi wouldn’t comfortable sleeping with my sister one time
man, is dirty life that.”

“Look how long that pass and gone Pinky, from
I was thirteen, fourteen. Try it. Perry and Dushawn love him.
What’s stopping you?”

I forced my voice to sound like I really
wanted her to be with him. I couldn’t admit to Pinky that I was
still madly in love with Ajrien. It wasn’t right for a girl like me
to like a guy like him. Well not anymore. What would people say
about me? I know people gossiping and chatting about us wouldn’t
hurt me literally, but come on, what’s the benefit of being with
Ajrien? What good will I take all the prosecuting and chatting
behind my back for? And how would things work with me and him if he
doesn’t have any money? He has a daughter. Sigh. It would never
work.

But what if in some strange magical way it
could work? What if he stopped the night prowling? What if ...
aahh, this was just wishful thinking. It would never work. It would
work better with Pinky. Sigh. But could I live with that though.
Jesus mi would dead inside if Ajrien ever married Pinky. I know
Pinky good enough, she’d never go to bed with my ex-boyfriend.
Ajrien. You know, Ajrien thuggish ways kind of turns me on. I
wonder if, naah, no, no, it wouldn’t ... sigh ...

“LEE. You listening to mi?”

“Yeah man, I’m listening. What you say
again?”

"Mi say, it look like a big hood man your
thing at, Vybz things suppose to long like a church tie when it
pull out. Don't?”

Pinky paused for me to answer. What she took
me for? I didn’t answer. She didn’t stop,

“It bigger than Nathan own?”

"How mi must know that?”

“Talk nuh man, whose cocky longer, for Nathan
or Vybz. Vybz own. Don’t?”

“Stop call him Vybz nuh Pinky, his name is
Ajrien. Anytime you call him Vybz I think of bleach-out,
good-for-nothing Vybz Kartel, and Ajrien don’t look anything like
him, they just tall alike.”

"Don't diss the Gaza Don. World! ... Boss! Is
mi artist and mi don't care ’bout what anybody want to say. Mi
artist don’t bleach out, him just tone. And it fit him too.”

"Stop it. You don’t see that Vybz Kartel turn
white, till people start mistake him for Justin Bieber?”

Pinky exploded into laughter. She tried to
stop laughing but couldn’t. I didn’t know it was so funny,
especially that Kartel is her artist, but she was laughing away and
gasping. She repeated

“Justin Bieber ... hahaha ... Raaaements!
.... Justin Bieberrr! ... No sir. Big man thing, Kartel don't cute
so... Wwooiiee, mi can’t stop laugh to rass! ... Tun upp! Mi tight
hole a squeeze mi to rawtid clawt!”

Pinky’s laughing was contagious, I had a
mighty big smile on my face. I rested my hand with the brush on the
dresser before me. Ran my other hand over my now neat and relaxed
hair, looking in the mirror to see if it was looking all good and
neatly in place.

I chuckled harder at the joke. At the same
time it crossed my mind if Kartel will get charged. Pinky continued
to talk, asking,

“So whose cocky bigger?”

"How would I know Pinky? I was thirteen, I
never had sex with Ajrien.”

Though I think about it everyday of my life
since Mommy sent me away to Stony Hill.

I wondered if I should open up to Ajrien.
Wondered if Pinky took what I said serious. Wondered if I should
make a move before she tried to make a move. Wondered if Vybz ever
advanced at Pinky before.

“Pinky?”

“Yow.”

“If Ajrien tried kissing you would you kiss
him back?”

"How you say you don’t like him?”

“Just answer nuh, or him try make a move at
you already?”

Pinky lips were quieted. I knew what that
silence meant, I asked her,

“So what you did? You kissed him back?”

"Mi say, how you say you don’t like him
again?”

“Hear what, forget it, just forget it.
Bye!”

I hung up. Threw my phone on the dresser. I
felt uneasy inside my heart. Damn, it hit me. I know what to do
now.

Mr. Douglas can’t escape.

by: Leelia Lexings

I knew Mr. Douglas managed all of his
businesses from his office at Douglas Arms’ Security. So, I
chartered a taxi there in the evening, at about five thirty. That’s
the time I knew he usually leaves the office. Let’s see what he
would say to me now, in person. That prick!

At his office, the receptionist was standing
and searching through the slots of a crammed accordion folder. She
greeted me with a courteous and over-processed smile, her mouth
speaking through the headpiece that she wore, it reminded me of the
attendants at the KFC drive-through.

“Hi welcome to Douglas Arms Security,” There
are sometimes in life when you just see someone and your spirit
doesn’t take on to them, you just don’t like them especially if
you’re upset, and this was one of the moment. The receptionist
teeth was a bright beautiful yellow, like that of a sunflower. The
red lipstick was applied unevenly to her thin lips. She strained
another stiff smile, just as she was trained to greet. I didn’t
smile back. I nodded. The air conditioner was blowing cool air on
me but I was still hot and tempered.

“How may I help you?”

“Here to see Mr. Douglas.” I was looking
beyond the receptionist desk and down the cream corridor. I could
barely see through the lightly tinted glass door, but I saw that
there were persons moving about in the office, walking, maybe
getting ready to leave, it was about that time anyway. Two females
came out wearing identical navy blue blazer and skirt. And a guy in
a Dockers khaki pants trailing behind them wore thick lenses and
struggled with both of the ladies handbag as well as his laptop
bag. The ladies held their head straight, conversing with each
other as they passed by me, the nerd nodded at me and politely
greeted ‘evening’. I didn’t reply not even nod. I was angry with
everyone in the building.

I strained my eye in concentration trying to
see through the door that they just came through to see if I could
spot the son of a swine. The receptionist toyed on the collar of
her navy blue jacket, close to where the Douglas Arms Security
round white logo with D.A.S. in the center was embroidered. She
took up a long black hardcover book, the spine skirted with a thin
strip of red. She leafed through the old written pages to the
fresher pages until she reached a page with only half of it written
up. Her index finger slid down the page as she read. Not finding
what she sought, she clammed it close. Almost pleased and
definitely feisty, said

“Sorry, you have to have an appointment.” As
she talked, she rocked pressed her lips together, opened her eyes
full and then asked, “You want to make one, lady?”

“Listen. Ms. Spotty-Spotty-Pudding-Face, this
important.” Her fake smile evaporated, her face became blank,
measuring me up with shaky eyes.

“Well, we close off dealing with cheques from
four thirty. So you would’ve to come back in the morning
anyway.”

“Mi don’t come here ’bout any frigging
cheque. Tell him Leelia is out here. Do that NOW!”

The receptionist went down slow in her black
chair, her eyes never leaving mine. I could see the black hair glue
in her weave and the black chord used to sew down the weave at the
edges of the part in the center-front. It looked awful. The part in
her hair was too wide, and looked like when Moses parted the Red
Sea, in the Jesus movie. She dialled an extension, then stand up
straight from out her chair, one hand with a black Papermate pen
just doodling on the desk like she was writing something but not
actually writing because the pen still had on the cover. Her other
hand held the office telephone at her ear. Three seconds later, she
stopped swirling the pen around and spoke through the phone,

“There’s a Leelia ..” She stopped and cupped
her hand over the phone’s receiver, turned her head to me and asked
quietly,

“What’s your surname Ma’am?” Her tone was
more impolite than helpful, before I answered her she added “Give
me you full name, just in case ...” I swear to God this bitch
testing my faith,

“Lexings. Leelia Lexings.”

“I’m sorry pretty Miss, is that Sexings?” I
knew she heard me the first time and was just being disrespectful.
I gritted my teeth,

“No, academically unattained dunce-bat!
Lexings. ‘L’. Lexings. Can you frigging hear me now?”

She narrowed her eyes at me, I return the
narrowed eyes, she cut her eyes, I remained narrowed and staring.
She removed her hand off the receiver and continued to speak.

“Yes there’s a Leelia LEX—ings here to see
Mr. Douglas.” She glanced up at me as if she could feel my stare
was burning into her, then added, “She said it’s very
important.”

She waited some more time. Tapping the desk
counter with her black pen. Waited longer. Patted the side of her
weave with her flat open palm. Her head was more than itching her
from how powerfully she was beating her own head. Her un-cared
weave was digging her. Or maybe it had a bad case of lice. She
slipped the head of her pen through her weave and scratched her
head, shaking the pen rigorously. Furiously. Viciously. The entire
weave on her head shook as she bored through the weave scratching.
It must be scratching her worse than leprosy. The pen wasn’t
enough. She began pulverizing the side of her head with her hand
again, battering, winking only one eye shut with every clap that
her strong man-ish hand clobbered upside her dry head. Gosh, her
head must smelt funky. She needs to wash her hair with some strong
shampoo and disinfectant.