Atavus (23 page)

She didn’t care where he took her. The thrill was traveling somewhere unknown. When he raced the bike to a deserted farmhouse, she smirked. The rear wheels turned in a smooth rotation to stop against the side of the main house overgrown by weeds and vines. His foot, kicked down after easing off the clutch. He didn’t say anything, but she could sense his fire before he removed his helmet, hung it from a handlebar and then lifted her off.

Nico moved in lightning speed to unlatch her protective headgear, tossing it down and working loose the snap and zipper to her jeans as Ari worked loose his. They laughed at themselves for being coordinated and horny.

Nico had to do a hop removal of his boots and his weapon spilled out. He kicked it aside before getting out of the denim restriction. Ari was far more graceful, a tilt of the toes and dainty lift of her heel is how she removed her sneakers, smiling at the sexy biker and wanting to eat him.

A woman wiggles out of her jeans, a shimmy action tease act that when done correctly will have a lover diving in to help. Nico assisted all right, spinning her around over the seat of his bike and going in from the saddle. Ari came so fast he slapped her ass for her lack of control before giving him a shower. Ari laughed pressing her ass to his pelvis, bouncing his bike like a ball when he inserted in deep and her twitching pussy kissed his snake.

“
Vous aimez ce
?” she asked in French.

“Oui,” he answered, because he liked her being naughty very much.

“
Étiez-vous un bon garçon aujourd'hui
?” she asked, swirling around his penis, massaging him with her lubricants and sending him deeper.

He didn’t lie. He wasn’t a good boy; in fact, he was bad as fuck and confessed the statement in French. “
J'étais mauvais comme de la baise, Ari
.”

She moaned unable to answer with a reply when he took hold of her stomach and slid warm hands up her top to hold her breasts and fucked her standing making her scream his name during the ‘all'aperto’ orgasm.

Nico smirked. He would say alfresco, but only Americans would use such a term and believe it meant outdoors, when the literal term translated from Italian means in jail. Italians don't say that. Heck, many terms are lost in translation or take on new meaning for English speakers, but sex is universal.

He sucked on Ari’s neck and gave his woman a hickey letting loose with a hose of liquid heat that she suctioned in with such greed he slapped her ass for her to release she held on so damn tight.

“Shit sweetheart, I’m going to need a splint,” he said when he withdrew and wind served as an air-conditioner to cool the wet heat on his throbbing skin.

Ari leaned to him laughing. “Umm, that was good Mario, can we do that again?”

He slapped her bottom harder. “Don’t get greedy Frenchie, I’m hungry.” The aroma of jambalaya remained in his brain. He should’ve eaten and not allowed the food to burn.

Dannazione
!

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Alfonzo had the rental car checked out thoroughly before he and his wife settled in for the ride. A black hybrid isn’t anything flashy, nor was his attire. No tailored suit, custom leather shoes, Indian cotton shirts that breathed or specialty pieces with monograms to hold with jewels a tie or sleeve. The wedding ring was the bling, his wife the precious jewel and the tattoos on his flesh the stories outlined similar to hieroglyphics on a warrior-lover’s body.

He wore aviator shades, Yankee cap, a casual T-shirt quality pullover, black jeans and retro Jordans. Regular gear for the streets, except Alfonzo made urban wear look fashionably good.

His wife was checking him out, and he was similarly thinking how fly she looked when dressed down. That’s the girl from back in the day, simple and sexy without trying. Clad in khaki pants, Polo sneakers and a girly T that said
;
DON’T LOOK AT ME, I’M WITH MY PAP
I
!

The matching Yankee cap had been inscribed with their private joke and it covered her hair
:
HONEY
.

Selange wasn’t the girl in the baseball hat type, she only agreed because he gave her the T-Shirt and gear as a disguise. If she had her way, she’d wear a dress and heels to display shapely brown legs that he eagerly parted to eat honey delights.

A finger pushed the female aviators up more on the bridge of her nose, the little bling on the side sparkled in the sun and he wished he could pull over and bang her on the street because of the dainty gesture. Little things turned him on about his wife. He never wanted to hide those affections.

Nah, never.

Treating her good is what she deserved for holding him down over the years through crap that without a good woman might’ve been a perpetual hell.

He tried not to think about his mom. He had to let that go for a while. All he could do is hope; she hadn’t meant what she said and would eventually phone when she wanted to talk. Until then, he put his energy into his family and that’s what he was doing now.

Selange was his queen and he treated her like that because she made him feel like a king…on top of the world love…sappy and corny shit…but real. She came to his aid the other night and somehow he did feel better knowing she’d stand at his side, no matter what.

“Loving the jeans mami,” he said, patting her thigh and then rubbing her knee while driving up to the tollbooth. “Damn, when did they increase the fare?” he asked aloud before digging in his wallet.

Selange leaned back, checking the side mirror. The guards had stayed tight on their tail from JFK. The Capo didn’t look happy, nope, but her husband insisted on the rental and being alone with her during their visit. He said he wanted to feel the street again, not in luxury, but normalcy.

He slapped bills in the clerk’s hand and kept his palm up for the change.

“Have a nice one,” the clerk said politely.

“Y tú, tambien,” Alfonzo replied, tossing the quarters in the cup holder.

The security bar went up and they rolled through. Selange laughed and Alfonzo asked, “What’s so funny babe?”

“Remember the time the cops chased us on this bridge?”

“The putos were going hard but you handled that car without killing us.” Alfonzo snickered. He’d thought they were dead for sure. Selange wasn’t the best driver; however, she managed to hold her own. Man, she shocked him at every turn and he knew he’d chosen the right woman. He didn’t have any second thoughts about his decision anymore; no arguments about letting her go because he couldn’t. The woman sitting on his right who mothered his children and gave lightness to his soul was his eternity love, plain as rain.

Alfonzo exited the Triborough Bridge renamed the RFK Bridge at One Hundred and Twenty-Fifth Street. He always wondered why the city changed the name of a well-known bridge and confused the travelers. However, politicians did a lot of ‘so-called’ sentimental shit at the taxpayer’s expense.

“You know what I remember?” he asked. 

The red turned green and he drove for a few more blocks down the main street, passing the famed Apollo Theatre to the west side.

“What?”

He glanced lovingly at his wife after the light quickly changed color. Then he surveyed the streets where old buildings were painted, with refurbished fancy signs and coming out of them were people who wouldn’t have stepped a foot in Harlem when the area was predominately dark skinned people.

The ‘urban renewal’ projects were a slick form of gentrification. The wealthy were buying buildings in the ‘hood, doing renovations, driving up the rents, and basically pushing out low-income people. He recalled a discussion in school about the practice. The students were asked to give their opinions on the article written by sociologist Ruth Glass, in 1964. In 1964, London the practice was happening.  Can you believe that? History keeps repeating and if the lottery did that, many who paid attention would become rich.

"
One by one, many of the working class quarters of London have been invaded by the middle-classes—upper and lower. Shabby, modest mews and cottages—two rooms up and two down—have been taken over, when their leases have expired, and have become elegant, expensive residences.... Once these processes of ‘gentrification’ starts in a district it goes on rapidly until all or most of the original working-class occupiers are displaced and the whole social character of the district is changed."

Oh, he had opinions galore.

Reflecting, he wished he had cursed more at that smug professor who said gentrification is good for everybody. How so?

He looked hard for something great to say, but what’s there to talk about when home isn’t a place you remember and the landmarks are fading and the prices just to eat, natives can’t afford?

Soon, his ‘hood would become unrecognizable faces, and those bodegas and mom and pop spots would find an expensive coffee chain in its place. Thank goodness, his wife had the foresight to maintain his link to Harlem by keeping his brownstone.

The ancient conquerors cared only about land. Stealing and killing for something nobody owns. To fathom, caring about dirt over people gave him a damn headache. This desire of theft had gone on so long; thieves were given praise over honest hard-working people.  Alfonzo never understood the warped history of America. He found too many holes. America was 'inhabited', yet history books praised a lost explorer for its 'discovery.' Then there’s the use of the country as a punishment for debtors, convicts, and poor from Europe and the entire building of a nation on the bones of slaughtered Indians, Africans, Irish, Chinese and others. Then people claim to want independence, yet model after Britain with streets and many other such things, down to the styles of the homes. Man, America had a long way to go before trying to rule over anybody, but he loved it to the bone. He always argued with the professors in college. Truthfully, he was always angry at what he thought was obvious injustices colored by flowery gunk. Yet, if he had cooled down, he may have seen, history repeats because the next generations always think they know better and don’t have a clue about progression, everything’s about religion, money, color and when it’s really about survival of the fittest.

An epiphany occurred. Many of those Italian Old G’s were ancient and established. They saw youth staking claim and dominion over something that was there long before he came and ready to use violence to protect their culture.

Shit, he was America, a young and disrespectful person of his elders and their culture, but thought he knew what was best for the majority when he didn’t live long enough to govern himself.

“I’m waiting,” Selange said, removing her shades to clean the lens with the hem of her shirt.

He scoffed. He’d lost his train of thought. Oh, yeah. “I remember the first time we made love. Babe, you don’t know how tense I was trying to hold back from fucking that sweetness hard.”

She smiled. “You haven’t held back since.”

He took her hand, driving with her fingers interlocked. “And I don’t plan to. Una Vida! One life babe, that’s all we have. You were a series of firsts for me.” He smiled. “You took me to my first live opera, you’re the first chica who quoted poetry to me in bed, you’re the first who had a car that I said ‘holy shit’ when I saw it.”

She giggled. “You’re crazy.”

He leaned over when another stop light sent his foot to the brake. After the amorous glances, he decided to kiss his wife’s sexy mouth, and he did. He leaned back into his seat, holding his dick because the damn thing took a stance. Compressed by material that wouldn’t give, his penis pointed sideways, straight and thick, like a human arm on a clock telling the time. “You’re the first to ever give me a heart attack at the thought of living without you. Look, what you can still do to me neña after muchos años de matrimonio.”

She gave him the Selange smile reserved only for him, a side grin promising pleasures to come. “You were definitely my first of many things, too. Even now, I have goosebumps.” She rubbed between his legs and he did a humping to her hand that made her laugh.

“I gave you goosebumps, yeah –what?”

She laughed and cars began honking for them to move.

“Ah fuck yourselves pendejos!” Alfonzo shouted out the window like a typical brass New Yorker.

~

“Ah man, Alfonzo, que paso?” Manuel greeted when his cousin appeared on the doorstep of the brownstone with his wife. The pair had on urban gear and resembled a teenage couple.

Alfonzo was a cool dude. Many of the people around his cousin’s age had already begun to sport beer bellies in their thirties, but not Alfonzo, he was as fit as if he played ball every day.

“Yo Manny, damn you look like your brother more and more. What’s up primo? Good to see you,” Alfonzo said stepping in after exchanging a fist pump and shoulder contact.

“Hi Selange,” Manuel said, stepping forward for a hug, his chest burning from contact with her breasts. He always thought she was nice. Having a sister with a potty mouth and being around girls on the block who acted rough like the dudes turned him off. When he was younger, he acted shy around Selange because she made him nervous and whatnot. He wasn’t timid anymore and went after the chicas that were sweet and pretty. The chicas with class brought out his best qualities.

“Hi there, wow, you’re more handsome than ever love,” she said to his cheek and then kissed it.

Alfonzo smirked when Manuel blushed. See, that’s his babe, she can make people feel good with a simple compliment but man watch out if she’s pissy drunk, she turns loca and can smack talk your ass into a violent coma, Alfonzo mused. He tried to make certain if she drank, he was right there. Selange could stab somebody with her words. Watch out Manny, he thought.

“You too,” Manuel said releasing Selange after Alfonzo peeped he had held the embrace too long. Alfonzo’s expression issued a stern warning and Manuel backed off respectfully. “I’ll tell ma you’re here.”

The young adult bounded up the stairs to the second floor, calling his madre instead of knocking on the door. Alfonzo could hear the TV playing. Tia Carmen enjoyed her novella, that’s for sure.

Alfonzo nodded an assent. He had to; sometimes reminding himself that he wasn’t always bad eased his guilt. Many things he’d done right. He purchased the brownstone with clean money from legal business transactions. Every dime he gave his mom and Tia hadn’t touched blood.

His head inclined at a joyful squeal at the top of the stairs and his eyes clutched his auntie tight. He loved that woman and his mother more than they would ever know.

It felt strange standing in the vestibule that once felt huge and impressive. Actually, it wasn’t as big as a closet in many affluent houses. That didn’t matter when everything’s said and done, what’s important is whether the inhabitants are happy.

Carmen’s smile was the hug before her feet in the soft shoes touched the foyer floor. She went on her tiptoes to embrace him, kissing his cheeks, telling him how much she missed him so.

An inhalation of Goya spices and warmth entered his soul. His arms went around softness, chin touched Latina skin, Borikén love.

“Lo siento Tia, I missed the memorial, lo siento.” He apologized profusely.

She leaned out of his embrace, caressed Selange’s arm in acknowledgment before speaking kindly to her nephew. “Domingo was like your brother. Sometimes I would think, he was, you two were so tight. You do not have to apologize for missing a remembrance ceremony when you were there with him as a brother in life. I know you grieve.” She placed her hand to her heart. “Yo sé, I see the sadness in your eyes.” She kissed him again. “Domingo, I would say after you moved away, go visit, talk with your primo, stop the drugs and beating your wife, but he would curse and tell me to mind my business. A month before he died he and Manny fought because he wanted me to co-sign on a loan and I refused. I could tell he was using the drugs Alfonzo. A mother can tell when her son is gone bad.” She held Alfonzo’s cheeks between loving palms. “I saw him die in my dreams many times. My heartaches are not for the Domingo who beat on family, I mourn that my son did not seek help or see how much we all loved him. His soul is at peace, and it is time for us to find the same in our hearts, comprende?”

Alfonzo shook his head. “Tia, why didn’t you call and tell me how bad he got? I asked you Tia was everything all right and you never said he was wilding out.”

“Because I knew you would come and fight. I did not think my son would see the primo he loved. I feared for you Alfonzo.” Her brown eyes were speaking without a filter over the sad truth. “My sons were afraid of their brother and they are men. I will always love Domingo, I am a mother, but with his passing my younger sons do not have to intervene on my behalf and fight their older brother changed by the drugs.”

Selange’s eyes bulged. Well dang!

Carmen patted Alfonzo’s cheek. “¡Ven! I am cooking.” She pointed to the door leading to his mother’s former apartment. “I considered moving downstairs, but I allowed Manny and Rafael to occupy your mama’s place.” She held her ears as she ascended the stairs talking now in Spanish. “But then I said no…they would drive me crazy with the noise above my head. They are not boys anymore and aye when they walk it sounds like giants are in the house. Thump-thump!” she said and then laughed.

Alfonzo and Selange followed Tia Carmen’s backside upstairs, somewhat in shock at her revelation about Domingo. When they entered the apartment, they found Rafael reclining with his feet on the sofa until Alfonzo knocked them to the floor.

“Yo, where’s your manners primo?” Alfonzo asked as his aunt scurried to the kitchen to check on her food.

“Nada, que paso Al, Sela?” Rafael replied as Manny laughed from the sidelines when Alfonzo put his brother who thought he was tough in a mock chokehold.

“Hey none of that, you and Domingo have knocked over too many lamps Al in my home and never replaced them!” Tia Carmen shouted without leaving the kitchen.

Selange smiled, flopping in the space Rafael vacated as Manny joined in the craziness to answer a text from Ari about the surprise party and if she’d made a decision yet about her illegal proposal. Selange text, the answer remained no. Then Jessica called, all while the guys were rolling around and making a racket.

“Hi Jess, how are you?”

“No bueno, I needed someone to talk to.”

Selange removed her shades, stuck them in her purse and the sporty hat went to the sofa. Ugh, she massaged her hair. The curls were flat. “What’s wrong? If you hear the noise in the background it’s because I’m at your mom’s and the boys are rolling on the floor.”

“That’s all you got…that’s all you got primo?” Alfonzo asked when Manny tried to pin him and Alfonzo evaded. He tossed his hat and glasses next to his wife and went at his cousins, instructing them on how to take down a person. Letting them practice on him one at a time. Selange observed with a smirk, she had a front row seat of Al’s ass in jeans. She tucked her feet beneath her tush to admire Al's butt the way boys do to girls.