Red Bull Chapter 11
Chapter 11
"I need some money..."
Its Saturday morning and I'm at the House. Grandmama cared about two things. Family and the Marchioness. When it belonged to her she'd have hundreds of people from the neighborhood at the old Marchioness singing and dancing to music played by local artists. "Her extended family"... that's what she called Club Marchioness and the broken poor souls that came there to forget their problems.
At Club Marchioness it didn't matter your religion, your sexuality, your culture or any of the other things that separate us from one another.
When you came to the club you might as well be here. Right in her house and on her porch like I was now.
Detective Westinghouse just came back not too long ago. They were closing the case into the death of Isabella as an accident. It sucks that I'm not even surprised.
Jamison lived here for the most part, but this was the same house that my grandmother passed down to my dad. It's the same house that we grew up in. It's the same goddam house that Isabella was killed in. The porch still has my grandmother's swing on it.
"I need some money...."
When you hear those words it's no doubt that Jamila is around. It's a down day at that. Her hair is disheveled and her eyes a beet red color matching the run-down t-shirt barely clinging to her skinny sculpture.
She's lost weight from what I can see but another thing I know about my little sister is that her weight fluctuates more than other people's moods
"I don't got no money for you, chicken," I tell her, "I live off the money from the club. Same as you. Money starting to slow down. I feel it too."
I called her chicken often. I did it because growing up Jamila was scared of her everything. Not much has changed but now she's found a way to cope with those fears. That way just so happens to be drugs. The shortage had come from all the drama going on in the family. When you aren't in your business making sure it was running smoothly someone else would be. In our case that would be our good for nothing cousins. It's no wonder we were all starting to feel tight when it came to our daily situations.
"That's all you say. You never help me."
"I always help you chicken but you getting so little there won't be much left for you to help."
"You calling me skinny?"
"I'm saying what I see..."
"I don't got an appetite. You know I don't have an appetite without my medicine," she whimpers almost not skipping a beat at how weird it is to call cocaine her medicine, before continuing in a desperate way, "Just let me hold an eight ball."
"Didn't you have a connect?"
"Meek?" she asks, "He stopped selling to me. Said something about respect for you or some bullshit."
For those not familiar with drug lingo in the streets, an eight ball is 3.5 grams. For someone like Jamila, this was nothing more than a starter kit in cocaine. I'd see her spend thousands on drugs like it was nothing. You knew she was really up to when she disappeared. No one ever knew where she went but was always gone.
I pick up my phone ready to make a call for her. I was ready to hook her up but then I see a car roll-up. The car is Meek.
Seeing Meek...just seeing him makes me think about how she said he denied her. And here he was. I guess it's right what they say: Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
"So you going to help me or not?" she asks.
"Not today, chicken."
Jamila always relied on me more than anyone in the family...even Joshua, who'd been a crutch for us for years financially. Jamila knew that when Joshua and Jamison said no, that I'd probably find a way to make it work. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not though.
She looks like she is about to argue the point but Meek has made his way to the porch. He has on a white wifebeater and jeans that fall below his ass. He comes up to the stoop and he has all this swag to him. Truth is he's always had a lot of swag, but this Meek reminds me of the old Meek. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. It's clear that he's definitely back on the streets. It's clear that he is no longer in that lifestyle of the Church.
"Whattup?" he calls out as he approaches the stoop.
I watch him confused about what the hell is happening here with him. There is definitely a gat at his waist. Even though he wasn't to blame for Isabella, I knew that someone was. And I didn't know who that person was. Every gun I see now is suspicion to me. How the hell did my nephew get that gun? Meek was almost a square not too long ago and now he was this gangster.
"Don't what my brother," she states, "Rumor has it that you're a fag, in the streets."
I look at Jamila, with irritation and embarrassment. I can't believe she really said that. She isn't homophobic to my knowledge but the lack of drugs to an addict can do the worst things to people.
"Jamila----be cool, damn," I snap at her.
She doesn't respond. She just stares off into the silence. Jamila knew better than to talk back to me.
"You going to help me out...or not?"
I look at Meek. He was watching me intently as though judging me silently with his eyes. Maybe I needed to be judged for some reason. Maybe at this moment, that was what was most important.
I shrug my shoulders, "Yeah I don't know."
"What's there not to know about?" she asks.
"I was trying to be nice about it, chicken, but the answer's no," I bluntly tell her, "You are going to have to go figure it out."
I feel a bit relieved and still a bit anxious after letting the words out. The truth is I worried about Jamila. I worried about her more than I ever should have. And it hasn't gotten better. It hasn't gotten better at all.
She looks at me. Looks at Meek and then looks at me again.
"You talked to Jamison?" she asks me out of nowhere.
"No. Should I have?"
My sister smiles at me. Something about this is amusing to her and I don't know what. I realize there's something she's hiding and it's usually unlike Jamila to be shady or conniving but then again drugs did a lot of things to normal people that we take for granted.
Her smile is wide, "I bet once you talk to him you won't be feeling all high and mighty then, Joyous."
I had no idea what was happening with Jamison. He wasn't talking to me. So whatever Jamison had to say or do could wait. Jamila on the other hand as she starts walking away I feel a bit of angst towards her even though I know that she is nothing more than a slave to her drugs. That was all she ever would be at this point.
When she leaves it's more awkward than ever. Meek heard the whole conversation.
"What was that about?"
"Club not doing too well," I explain to him, "Think it's got everyone one edge."
Some of my bills were late and Jamila isn't the only one who had to get desperate and ask for financial help. The Club was doing so badly.
"Well let's take the edge off. Come to dinner with me."
"Dinner..."
Is that why he's come all this way? I didn't live around here so it's strange he knew I was here. Still here was this handsome guy asking to go to dinner with me and I'm not sure what to say.
"I don't know about that man..."
"It's too soon. You're nervous. You're scared."
"I ain't never scared nigga," I correct him, "Now let's not get that twisted."
"Dinner. If you don't like it then no obligation to stay. If you do like it, still no obligation to stay."
I can't believe I was doing this.
"Ok. Ok. Fine."
~
The dinner is more like a chicken shack than a dinner restaurant. Half of the place is full of strippers and the other half are drug addicts. There is a bulletproof window that is protecting people from getting shot. The floor is in desperate need of a mopping. The Season Salt is loaded to the brim and Meek is using it to sprinkle on almost everything.
"You gonna catch a heart attack if you keep going like this."
He looks up at the table, "You worried?"
"Nigga I don't know you. Just trying to warn you with all that salt."
"I can stop----if you want to?"
"I don't care what you do. I'm just saying the salt is bad for your health. That's all."
"You sound concerned."
He stops arguing the point, partially because he's lost the argument but also because of his phone rings. I watch him pick up the phone, consider answering it, staring up at me and then putting the phone down.
"Who was that?"
"You know who that is..."
He was selling drugs
I pause. I don't know what to say in this situation. "So you back to the streets?"
"I only had two options. Making drugs or being involved in the church."
"There are many things you can do. Including applying for a new job and who knows, maybe even working at the Marchioness."
He stares at me for a second, "I'm a thug. Who would want me there?"
"The Marchioness is for everyone," I assure him crossing my arms as he talks, "My grandmother knew that when she was young. She fell in love with a man who was a drug addict and a slave to the streets. She gave him a new life and a new purpose in a club for broken people just like them. He died trying to make sure she got her gift..."
Id never really told the story about how my grandparents met and how the legacy of Club Marchioness was passed down but I wanted him to know that the club meant the world to me. I wanted him to know that Club Marchioness was a safe place.
"I get what she's saying but she didn't mean for people like me," he argues shooting his head to the ground.
"Who are people like you?"
"I'm gay so I'm going to hell," he says, "And if God is fine with gay people then I'm going to hell for helping to prosecute them for years. Either way, I'm fucked."
He was honest about his feelings at least. I can see the worry all over his face. Crazy that this boy was so young and yet so preoccupied with the fate of his soul after he dies. I wonder why he's like that but I'm unsure if I should ask or not.
"The Marchioness is for the lost. Back in the day, it was the only light for blocks around Compton."
His face is stuck to the ground. It doesn't move... not even in the slightest.
He speaks slowly as though deep in thought but finally he says, "When you're blind, it doesn't matter if there is a light or not."
He made a good point. A damn good point. I walk over to him. I put my finger underneath his chin and lift it slowly. Our eyes connect to one another when I do that.
It's intimate and slow. His lips just inches away from my finger and both of us staring at one another in the strangest and sexy way.
"You're not blind," I tell him, "You see me and I see you."
I wasn't sure if I could convince him to stop selling drugs. It's an easy lifestyle to get into even if you didn't need the money like me. It was easy and when you had clout. In the hood the business usually just came to you.
"What would your girlfriend think..." he asks.
As soon as he says what he says I pull away. My attraction to this strange boy hasn't really gone anywhere but the memory of how I fucked over Marcella comes in loud and clear.
"Let's not talk about her."
"Funny I thought you said you saw me," he states shrugging off and shaking his head, "I guess you can't hear me though..."
He's walking out at that moment and seeing him walk away almost makes me want to rip my throat out for responding the way so did.
"Wait...Meek...bro I didn't mean it like that."
"I'm not your bro..." he responded shaking his head, "You already have brothers. I'm not your bro or your friend or anything like that. And the problem is even if I wanted to be something to you...you'd never let me be."
"Is that what you want?" I ask, "Do you want to be something ...more to me?"
He pauses and just stares at me. The question was simple but the answer seems to still take some time. Everything he does is so intentional from the look he gives me to the way he answers my questions. It was all so intentional.
"You ready for that answer, Joyous?" He asks me.
I swallow my spit when he takes a step closer to me. He takes another step and another. Soon he was back where he started before he had turned to leave. He's in my space. Our chests are pressed against one another. I can smell his breath up against my lips. His eyes slightly opened and slightly squinting made it seem like he was in deep thought.
And at that moment I can't do it. I wimp out.
"No. No, guess not."
He smiles slightly, "Didn't think so."
With that, I watch as Meek turns around. And I watch him in agony as he does. His round, firm butt fills his jeans as he walks. It moves like billowing clouds as he walks away leaving me with nothing else but a hard dick and a lingering thought that I wanted to see this boy again.
————
I spent hours that night doing anything that could take my mind off of what was going on in my life but I knew sooner or later I'd have to face it. I knew I had to face it and Marcella. So when her car is sitting outside my place I had the idea that the conversation I was dreading was going to happen sooner rather than later.
When I get inside of the house I just take my time. I'm confused about what I should be doing when I walk in and don't see her immediately.
"Marcella?"
"Hey..."
That's when I see her leave the bedroom. She has a box in her hands. A box that is stuffed with her stuff. I'm shocked when I see her already packed up. She had a key... from back when we were a lot closer so it should be no surprise that she was in my house but it is strange that she'd be there now when she knew I'd possibly be home.
"Were you waiting here for me?"
It was a long shot but even I'm surprised when she nods, "Didn't feel right ending things like that."
"We don't have to end things," I assure her, "We can..."
"You really think I am the type of woman to play second fiddle to anyone?"
Marcella pauses giving me time to really contemplate it.
"I care for you too..."
"Like you care for him?" She asks.
I don't answer. I don't know-how. She can sense my hesitation after a while.
"It's not about being gay. It's about you going behind my back. It's about you not telling me."
I pause, "You think it's so easy Marcella? I'm a grown-ass man who all of a sudden started having feelings for a boy and I can't get him out of my head. I never liked guys before him and never after him. It's always been him. And I don't know why."
This time it's her turn to hesitate. After a few seconds, she finally speaks, "Well maybe it's time that you found out."
"Find out what?"
"What you like..." she states... "And that's why he's here..."
I turn and at that moment I notice someone walking out of the room. When I see that it is none other than Meek, I almost fall out.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Meek looks over at Marcella, "She invited me..."
I swallow my spit, "Why?"
That's when I see Marcella remove her clothes. Not just an article or two but she strips naked completely. I'm staring at her body as she is standing there. Her round breasts and thin waistline are like a coke bottle shape. She takes her hair out of the tight bun she sometimes wears it in and lets it fall down to her shoulders. She stands there for a minute staring at me but then turns to Meek and nods.
That's when Meek does the same. He takes off his clothes one article at a time and I watch at that moment completely taken aback by how he does it.
"Wait...wait..." I try to stop him, with my nerves immediately getting bad.
It's pointless because his muscular arms have already taken off his shirt. His body is smooth for the most part. The sexy vibe that surrounds him immediately turns me on. He reaches over and touches me. I feel his hands caress me in a way that drives me crazy.
He is completely shaven even around his dick. As he stands there he places both hands limp to his side and his dick is so long they outreach those hands. His dick is mesmerizing, to say the least.
"We should move closer," Marcella states.
"What? Why?"
"Because you clearly can't figure out what you want by yourself after hearing about you going to conversion therapy so I want to help you figure it out even if that means I'm here to facilitate that."
I pause, "why?"
She shrugs, "Because I care for you..."
It was an easy enough question but when I look at Meek it doesn't seem easy. It seems hard. It seems extremely hard actually.
"I don't know..." I pause, "I don't know what to do."
Marcella walks up to me naked. Her body shimmered with cocoa butter. Normally I'd fuck her crazy but for this moment I just let her take the lead. I let her lead me into a room. I let her walk me over to him.
She pushes me into him and we kiss slowly. Our tongues pressed together as we swap spit. His body is stiff but I notice Marcella placing his hands on the sides of my waist.
"Just like that—you two look so hot," she states, "Now let's try this. Meek lick his nipples."
I get stiff when he bends down licking my nipples as she watches. This was going really far and my nerves started getting to me until she takes my hands and places them on her breasts. I ease up to that natural figure of a woman's body and look down to see Meek. He's still sucking looking up at me to see if I enjoy it.
I moan as a confirmation because it did actually feel good. His tongue was different than hers. It was harder and more intense.
"Play with our dicks ...Joyous..."
"Ours?" I ask.
I look down. Sure enough, Marcella has a strap connected to her. I almost lose my shit but look over at Meek and this time he's the one to calm me down by quickly grabbing a hold of her fake dick and giving it a long haul.
"Almost as big as mine," he jokes which is ridiculous because her strap on is at least 12 inches.
I grab it as well. It was big. Before I know it Meek and I are both jacking it. Our hands meet. And that's when he leans in and kisses me again. I lose myself in him and the kiss forgetting about the dildo until I see my hand being guided to a dick.
I realize it's Marcella. She's guided me to Meeks dick. I hold on tight feeling the difference of skin vs the dildo and damn was there a difference.
"Feels so good when you touch me..." he admits.
He is stiff. It's kind of clear he didn't expect to like this either. It didn't occur to me he may just be as nervous about gay interactions as I was. We were in the same boat.
"You like that?" I ask, "Touch me."
The invitation is all he needs. His hands begin to explore my body. I explore his. We are up against the wall. He fingers me. I finger him. We kiss hard. We jack each other off to the point that every time he touches me I get nervous that I will ejaculate all in his palms and make a huge mess of things and forget that Marcella was even involved.
Marcella...
"Marcella?" I ask out loud.
I ask because she isn't even in the room. Meek and I must have been fooling around for 10 straight minutes not realizing that Marcella wasn't even in the room. When I turn, I see her coming back into the room.
"Come join us..." I tell her, "Finish this with me."
I hadn't even known she was gone. I had gotten so comfortable. But the weird thing is I'm just being polite by asking her to join in. I had been afraid I'd like being intimate with Meek and I was right.
I liked it. I liked it too much.
I notice Marcella's face first and then I realize she is on the phone.
"There's something you need to know," Marcella states, "Something that just happened. I'm so sorry Joyous...I had my phone on silent and missed the call from Joshua."
I'm confused, "What's happened?"
The last time I had a call like this Isabella had died. I finally was feeling happy in my life with understanding my sexuality and now what? What now?
Now was the flood.
"The Marchioness was burnt down..."
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