I Gave Him My Heart (8 page)

I walked into
Escorpión that evening, walking right past security. Saint had some fine-ass, chocolate security guards. I didn’t know their names; I just called one Mocha and the other Latte. They let me into the club, a slight grin growing across Mocha’s face as he held the door open for me. We’d had a quickie or two on a few occasions, so whenever he saw me, he’d hope I’d give his ass a rerun, or at least a preview.

I walked into the club to see Saint behind the bar, cleaning, polishing, dusting and shit, like he didn’t have workers who could do the shit for him. He was behind the counter in a white t-shirt and gray sweats, something you’d never see the nigga in out in public. I didn’t know the muthafucka owned anything that costs less than $500. The fact that he was cleaning and letting his employees sit around, drinking and chillin’, said a lot about him. It said that he wasn’t too proud to get his hands dirty every once in a while.

I watched him polish a glass and sit it down on the counter. Every piece of silverware, glassware, napkin, and piece of furniture had a scorpion on it.

“Boy, did you know that Nina thought that you lied to her about your birthday?” I laughed out loud, walking up to the bar.

Saint made a face, picking up another glass, polishing it.

“She thought when you said that you were a ‘Scorpio’ that you meant you were born in October.” I grinned, sitting down on the stool directly in front of him.

Saint grinned, shaking his head at me. “Sabe usted algo acerca de los escorpiones? Do you know anything about scorpions?”

I shrugged, crossing my legs. “I know the muthafuckas are black, and they’ll sting the fuck out’cha ass if you fuck with ‘em .”

Saint’s employees laughed a little.

I rolled my eyes at them.

“Scorpios are born to protect themselves from invasions. It’s in their blood. It comes naturally to them to protect themselves at all times.” Saint schooled me.

I watched as Saint rolled up his sleeve, showing the intricate scorpion design that Nina inked on his shoulder.

“The scorpion represents self defense—protecting one’s self from outsiders.” Saint caught me eying the brass knuckles on one of his employees and the two 9-mms tucked in his pants. Saint grinned at me. “Un escorpion tiene su aguijon alta. A scorpion holds its stinger high, shifting from left to right, side to side, not allowing its enemy an inch to attack, while always keeping his stinger front and fuckin’ center.” And then, he started talking about his team like they actually were scorpions. “We anticipate every move of our adversary. We move in silence, striking muthafuckas quickly and decisively, when they least expect that shit.”

I eyed another one of his employees, cleaning off of a knife, when I noticed a bloodstain on his shirt. I looked over at Saint. “I see… Did I miss something? Or do I even wanna know?” I looked around the bar. When I thought this nigga was being helpful, he was just helping clean up what was probably a murder scene.

Saint grinned. “Just be glad you weren’t here to see the shit, Ma; that’s all I can say.”

I shook my head at that crazy fool. “Y’all muthafuckas crazy. But I’m tryin’ to be down with y’all crew. How do I become a Scorpio? What I gotta do? Learn to speak Spanish or something? Carry a 9 milli’?”

They all burst out laughing, watching my face form into a frown.

“Are you serious?” Saint laughed so hard, tears were in his eyes. “Ma, you need to just stick to being pretty and leave the dirty work to us. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

I nodded. “Good. That’s more like it. Don’t count me out, Saint. You’ve done so much for us; you already know I’m down to ride for whatever. Just let me know, boo.”

Saint smiled, white teeth and all. That man was crazy, but he was gorgeous. “Aye.” He reached under the counter and then pulled out a package that had to be at least 16 x 20 inches. He handed it to me. “Open it.”

I looked down at the package and then back up at Saint. “Is this the picture? No, I can’t open it; it’s Nina’s.”

Saint sighed. “Yo, just open it. I have wrapping paper in the back, Ma. I want you to see this nigga’s skills.”

I carefully opened up the package and slid the canvas out of the packaging. And there it was. A painting of Nina and I together at Saint’s party, the night that Nina found out that Saint and Ricque were brothers. Though the event was an emotional one, you could never tell by how happy Nina and I looked together on that picture. I’d given Saint the picture once he told me that he could get Nina’s favorite artist to paint it. I knew the dude had skills, but I didn’t know how much of a beast with the paintbrush the dude was until I saw the replica of that night at Saint’s place. I ran my fingers across the textured dried oil paint.

“Tim…” I read the signature that was in the corner of the painting, dated October 25
th
. I looked up at Saint, pursing my lips. “Really? How the fuck is she gonna know that Timothy Knoxberry painted this picture when all the nigga wrote on it was ‘Tim’?”

Saint laughed a little. “That’s all the nigga writes on all of his paintings. Trust me, Nina will know.”

Saint’s homeboy, Marco, came over to me with a roll of wrapping paper, scissors, and tape. And he sat everything on the counter.

I smiled at him and then looked back at the painting, looking it over from corner to corner. I shook my head to myself. “Man, this white dude has skills!”

Saint laughed. “What makes you think this nigga is white?”

I shrugged. “His family is rich, he never shows his face, he’s got art sprinkled all over the fuckin’ country, he designs monumental buildings all over the country, you don’t see the dude on the BET awards, you don’t hear about baby mama drama, you won’t find one magazine with the pictures of him in them, the dude is worth billions of dollars, his whole damn family is muthafuckin’ white—dude, pick one!”

“You wanna meet him? I can hook you up. It’ll be a minute, probably around December of next year before he’s free though.” Saint watched me roll my eyes. “That’ll give you enough time to get your shit together.”

I lifted my left eyebrow at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You have skills, Kourtney, but the only one you allow to shine is Nina. She’s phenomenal, and so are you. You’re more than a got-damn pretty face with legs. Show these muthafuckas, Ma, and quit fuckin’ playin’.” Saint watched my eyes water a little. He seemed to be the only one who believed in me. “I heard that you just got your license to do tattoos. That’s what’s up. Do something with that. Your girl, Pretty, says that you can draw. She even showed me a few paintings you did a few years ago that she has hung up in her room.”

I looked at the fool. “The fuck you doing in Pretty’s room, Saint?”

Saint laughed a little. “Yo, fix your face; don’t look at a nigga like that. Don’t get it twisted. I helped the men lay that carpet in her room a few weeks ago, remember?”

“Yeah, that better be all you’re laying in that bitch’s room, Saint; don’t play.” I watched him and his boys chuckle a little.

“Don’t try and change the topic. You’re gifted and you need to show everyone. I know you’re tired of people saying, ‘Aye, ain’t you Nina’s sister? She inks a badass tattoo, she paints, she draws, she designs landscapes, she’s married to a superstar. What is it that you do? Do you do anything? Shit, can you do anything?’” Saint reached for my hand because he knew I was about to walk away. “What makes you think you don’t deserve a better life, Kourtney. Huh? Why do you continue to live in Nina’s shadow? Where’s
your
life?”

I just sat there on the stool, feet shaking anxiously, not really sure what to say. I really couldn’t deny what the man was saying. I was afraid to fly on my own. I always flew with Nina. We were birds of a feather, though we were nothing alike. Even though I wanted the same things that she had, I wasn’t so sure I could handle the heartbreak if I failed. Nina was good at everything she did. She deserved the spotlight, so I always gave it to her. Everything in life was a fuckin’ competition, and I didn’t want to compete with my sister.

I brushed the man off because I really didn’t wanna cry in front of him and his people. “Boy, bye.” I grabbed the roll of wrapping paper and scissors. “Anyway, boo, thanks for the painting. Nina is going to love this.”

Saint frowned a little before he responded. “No problem, Ma. Anything for my sister-in-laws.” I know he hated to say that.

I felt sorry for him. He really loved Nina. He’d made the mistake of walking in on Nina’s wedding dress fitting, and I made the mistake of walking up on him crying in his car that day. I didn’t even hesitate when I saw the boy crying. I got in the passenger seat of his ride and got close enough to wrap the boy in my arms. As tough and crazy as he was, the fact that Nina was marrying Ricque broke him all the way down.

“How have you been, boo? You okay?” I asked him before cutting through the paper.

“I’m good. As long as I’m busy, keeping my mind occupied, I’m good.” Saint brushed his hurt feelings off.

“Right.” I smirked a little, knowing the nigga was keeping his bed occupied, too. “Hey, let me get some Roscato to take back with me, too. My girls are trying to get fuckin’ drunk tonight.”

***

Man, when I’m telling you them hoes got drunk at Nina’s party, I’m telling you, them hoes got pissy drunk. I let Nina open all of her mediocre gifts that night, knowing in the back of my mind that both Saint and I had the best wedding gifts for her. That nigga had a got-damn custom-made, pearl-colored Porsche waiting for her, parked outside of the honeymoon suite that Ricque’s Uncle Dom was going to surprise them with in Jamaica. The nigga had her a Porsche custom-made to match her wedding dress, from the paint job to the got-damn crystals that were embedded in the chrome rims. He went all out for her. I couldn’t really take credit for my gift to her because he was the one who made sure my gift was even made possible. Yet and still, I held onto my gift until the party was over, making her think that the only gift that I gave to her was making sure all of our girls came to see her.

Once our girls fell into their drunken sleep, knocked the hell out, drooling all over the shop furniture, Nina and I sat outside at one of the umbrella tables in front of our shop. It was around 1:30 that night, and Nina was checking in with her Ricque to see how his party was going.

“What y’all niggas doin’?” Nina took the blunt that I was passing her from my hand. Nina hadn’t smoked loud in years. That night, we got fucked-up for the first time since we were about thirteen. Nina was the good girl. Never really drank or smoked unless she was really stressed out. She was ready to marry Ricque, but I’m sure she was nervous about taking that jump with him. Those two had been apart for seventeen-got-damn years, but the way that they still loved one another, you would have never guessed.

I walked over to my shiny baby parked at the curb of the shop and popped the trunk to get Nina’s gift out of it. I held the package in my arms, closing the trunk.

“I know you’re not at your bachelor’s party, but you did say that your cousin, Nacho, was in town. I remember that nigga, Ricque, from when we were teenagers. Wherever he’s at, there’s a group of hoes with him. Keep on laughing, Ricque—let me find out…” Nina rolled her eyes at me laughing at her irrational jealousy. That nigga could give a fuck about a hoe. And she knew that shit, too.

“Girl, hang up the fuckin’ phone. Let that boy have some fun. Damn.” I walked back over to the table and sat across from her.

Nina stuck her middle finger up at me. “Okay, boo, I’ll see you in the morning. I love you… A’ight, boo.” Nina pressed ‘end’ on her phone, watching me sliding the gift over to her. She looked up into my face, a slight grin growing across hers. “What’s this?”

I took the blunt from her fingers. “Open it and see.”

Nina hesitated before carefully opening up the package. You should have seen the expression on Nina’s face once she finally got the present unwrapped and saw what it was. Her big brown eyes searched the painting to the lower right hand corner of the canvas, where she saw Timothy Knoxberry’s signature. She ran her fingers across it, eyes big as saucers. She looked up at the grin on my face before she burst out in tears.

“Kourtney, do you have any idea how much this painting is worth? How much any painting by anyone in the Knoxberry family is worth?” Nina exclaimed, tears running down her face.

I shrugged, taking a few puffs from my neatly rolled blunt, basking in the glory of getting something for her that no one else bothered to notice she was even interested in. “Nope, but I’m pretty sure it cost a grip,” I replied.

Nina looked back at the painting, running her fingers across the portrait of the two of us together. “Grip isn’t even the word. Kourtney, boo, how did you get this?”

I wanted so bad to tell her that Saint had hooked me up, but he made me promise not to tell her. It was no secret that he loved her, but I’m sure he was feeling some kind of way about being in love with the girl that he had absolutely no chances of ever being with.

“Girl, you know I got the hook up like Master P.” I joked through her awestruck expression.

“Thank you.” Nina cried. “I remember meeting this family at an art exhibit when we were kids. You remember that night because that was the night you went to a party with Geneva.”

I rolled my eyes, not so much at Nina, but at what happened the night of that party.