4.13 - Father Time
Rent is due, and I need money. Wesley is still acting weird so I don’t think he has any money to help. I guess I need to find some work. I scroll through the contact list in my phone before choosing Angela Bassett 95’. She always seems to have work. I don’t have a license so I take what I can get from people who need dirty jobs handled.
The phone rings for a while, but she finally answers, “Angela Bassett, it’s Kareem I need some cash. You got any work,” she hangs up the phone. I call back, and she answers again. It’s how we work, “Angela, don’t treat me like this. I really need some work.”
“My name isn’t Angela Bassett, you know that,” she sighs.
“I know, but your name is Rita Harris-Mason. That’s super coincidental. Lornette Mason from Strange Days, Benadine Harris, from Waiting to Exhale and of course Rita Veder from Vampire in Brooklyn. Your name is made up of characters played by Angela Bassett in 1995. That’s super cool.”
“Why do I deal with you,” Rita asks. “All you know is movies and breaking things.”
“It’s more that I deal with you, because you’re one of the few people I like.”
“You just like my name because it’s a piece of movie trivia. Whenever you need work, you call me, and you put on that sociopathic happy voice and pretend you’re ecstatic to hear from me.”
“What does ecstatic mean?”
“Overjoyed, super happy. I might have some work for you in a day or two but right now I’ve got nothing.”
“Alright, I’ll call you back later Angela.”
“No, you call me Rita or I’ll never have anything for you,” she complains.
“Whatever you say Rita,” I hang up the phone and resist the urge to throw it against the wall.
I guess I have to go see my dad. I hate going to see my dad. I stop by Wesley’s room to check on him before I leave. Can’t have him trying to kill himself again. He’s currently standing in the mirror, naked shouting at himself about what he can and can’t do. It doesn’t sound like he’s arguing about a suicide, so he’s fine. I’m not going to bother getting involved with this argument.
***
It hurts just turning the key to start my car, every mile I drive out of the city and closer to his stupid mansion I get madder and madder. What is with these old, rich vampires? Are they too good to live in the city? I think it’s because there’s too many people that look like people they would have owned back in the day. I speed up the long driveway not even caring to look at all the stupid plants they spend hours on for decoration. I pull around front, and fight the urge to sideswipe the newest Bently, Rolls Royce or whatever it is sitting out front. I hate coming here, I’d rather be chained up in the basement still. There aren’t any happy memories here. I already know how this is going to go. He’s going to lecture me, try to make me marry someone, then I’ll have to bet him for the money in some stupid game. His servants are going to look at me like trash the whole time. The big white house looks out of place here. It looks like one of the homes you’d see watching Gone with The Wind, or Roots. Stupid ass Django Unchained house.
I don’t knock, I just walk into the home. These people seem to think nobody can hurt them. They don’t bother locking doors or keeping security from the normal people. As if a big enough gun wouldn’t do some real damage. Idiots.
“Young Master Kareem, I shall alert your father to your arrival,” a young woman with blonde hair I’ve never seen before greets me. He just keeps picking younger and younger workers. She can’t be more than seventeen.
“Young Master Kareem, shall I bring you a change of clothes,” an older white man with a large red beard asks me. “You know your father despises modern fashion trends,” he continues when I don’t answer.
“Fuck off,” I try to channel as much bloodlust as I can when looking into his eyes. He backs away in fear, feeling my killing intent.
These old bastards play games. It’s all about putting fear into the others, forcing others to feel your power. I’m only half vampire but I know I’m stronger than anyone here besides my father. He only keeps the weak ones around, it makes him look stronger. These large halls, white walls, and marble floors are filled with a bunch of thralls and yes men. I need to announce my presence to keep them on their toes. If I don’t, they’ll try to test me. Think they can take over the family as my father’s heir if they kill me. I don’t even want to be his heir, they just always assumed I would be. I take a few deep breaths and concentrate on announcing my presence and sensing other vampires in the mansion. It’s completely unnecessary but it’s the type of game they like to play. The heir has returned home, and I want them to tuck their tails and stay out of my way.
“I take it you didn’t want a change of clothes,” Dust Dog greets me.
Dust Dog isn’t like my father’s other servants. He’s a vampire that my father met in Iraq. They’ve been together for years. When I lived here, Dust Dog kept the others from bullying me, he taught me to fight, how to use my power, how to feed and gave me a basic education. I started calling him Dusty a long time ago because it felt better than calling him a dog. I don’t even know his real name. He hasn’t told me in all these years either. Whenever I ask he just tells me he forgot. I can never get a read on Dusty. He doesn’t wear a suit like the other men wear around here. He wears a thawb and keffiyeh instead. Some people would complain about it, but never to his face. I think he might actually be stronger than my father; he’s the only one I can never sense here. Still, I think he is really a friend to my fahter for some reason. Doesn’t matter, Dusty is more of a dad to me than my actual father. One of the few people in my life that never judged me.
“It’s good to see you Dusty,” I shake his hand and he pulls me into a hug. I hate being touched, bust Dusty is okay.
“I’m always excited when you pay us a visit,” we separate and he puts a hand on my shoulder. “If you’re not going to cut your hair, braid it kid. You’re starting to look like a wild animal,” he puts a hand on my chin and turns my head. “Face tattoos? C’mon, I taught you better than that. Face tattoos just mean you’re rich enough to not care what society thinks or you’ve given up on trying. Considering you’re here, you must not be rich yet,” he laughs.
“Ouch,” I clutch my heart as if I’m in pain.
“Glad to see you smile,” he smiles back at me, but I can’t look in his eyes for some reason.
“Hey, there’s no shame in taking help from someone you don’t like. Just, don’t give up on life. I know you’ve had it harder than most. But, for my sake, please stay strong. As long as there are dates on the palm, continue to drink.”
“Yes sir,” I share a nod with Dusty.
“Always shocks me when you show manners,” Dusty laughs again, “you can always come to me,” he winks before walking away.
I’m led down the hall by the same bearded servant that spoke to me earlier. The only thing that ever changes around here is the artwork on the wall. New art is always more expensive than the old art, just a show for visitors. I think about knocking something off the wall but I need to be on my best behavior.
“Ah, my son,” my father greets me as I enter his office.
“Hey.”
“You look so much like me,” he smiles a fake smile. “Well, except those thick lips and that skin almost as dark as your mothers,” he gives a laugh.
“Well, you did rape a Black woman,” I take a seat in leather recliner.
“Touché,” he sits in the arm chair across from me and claps his hands twice. “I was overcome by my primal urges that night.”
“We gonna play,” I ask before two servants enter and set up a chess board in front of us.
“Of course,” he smiles as if we’re bonding or something.
I turn the board so I’m now in control of the black pieces, “white goes first.”
He makes the first move, and presses his button on the time clock. I follow his lead. The first few moves are always fast. I’m better at chess than he is. One of the few things we shared together. I was always forced to play when he wanted to spend time with his little mistake. I got really good at it, really fast. I want to embarrass him. The time clock is supposed to make me move faster, and keep me off balance. It just makes me want to beat him faster each time. I beat him, I get the money, that’s how it always goes.
“Have you considered what we discussed last time,” he’s talking trying to distract me, slow the game. I’ve got him now.
“What was that?”
“A political marriage to The Marson family.”
“Pass.”
“You need to do something with your life.”
“So you want me to marry into some family filled with even more klan robes beneath tuxedos?”
“It’ll be the only way for me to retire and you become the true heir to the house.”
“Your Jim Crow servants won’t like that,” I end my turn.
“Then kill them and choose your own,” he ends his.
“Not big on killing when I don’t have to,” I end mine, we’re back to the starting speed.
“You’re a sloppy eater, yet you’re still alive. You’re not shy about dropping bodies.”
“Maybe, I just don’t like your people.”
“I don’t care. They’re nothing to me.”
“Check.”
“Power is only seized through violence and solidified with political backings,” he’s stalling.
“Check,” I push the pace.
“It would do a great deal to solidify our hold in this region.”
“Check.”
“You wish to remain low class in a crumbling home on the poor side of the city when you could have anything you ever wanted?”
“Check.”
“You’re half animal but you don’t need to behave that way. Clearly you have a brain as shown by your aptitude for the thinking man’s game.”
“Check.”
“Your lack of manners seems to be boundless.”
“Your racism seems to be boundless. Check,” I’ve got him frustrated.
“Racism? There’s been no such things since the shines left the plantations.”
“Check.”
“You continue you act like a child.”
“Check.”
“Perhaps you get a job then. You’re so determined to shun your heritage you could at least get a license and take some real jobs instead of depending on hoodlums.”
“You could just be fatherly for once and give me the money without making jump through hoops,” I smile. “Check.”
“You’re incredibly arrogant for someone who comes to be for funds like a dog every few months.”
“You’re mad,” I laugh. “I’m your one mistake and the one thing you can never control and it pisses you off so much every time you look at me. Check.”
“A child who bites the hand that feeds him. Not knowing the hand could end his life in a matter of seconds.”
“Whatever, check mate, pussy.”
The pieces slam against the wall and drop to the floor as my father slaps the board across the room. It used to scare me, these days I wonder if I can kill him. Stake to the heart, drag him out of his house when the sun rises, decapitation, a lot of options for the old vamps.
“You got my money,” I ask when the thralls arrive to clean the room.
“Money? You expect money from me? You disrespectful abomination. At times I stare into darkness wondering how such an anathema could be born from my own semen.”
I feel Dusty’s energy. He’s sending a warning. I’m not sure if it’s for me or my father, but there’s not going to be a fight. I opt to just leave after an intense stare down. I could kill him, I know I can but I won’t because that’s not what Dusty wants. Maybe I will lead this house one day, after I kill my father and everyone loyal to him.
“You’re a real asshole,” I say as I leave the room.
The bearded servant follows me after ensuring my father I won’t steal anything. I wait until we’re next to a painting. He doesn’t have a chance to stop me as I slam his face into one of the paintings. He slides to the floor his face leaving a trail of blood to the floor. Part of me feels bad about it. Not for this guy or my father, but because I know I just disappointed Dusty again. He won’t judge me, he’ll send me a text in a few days explaining how he wants me to be better. I punch hole through the window of the car in the driveway, I guess it was a Bentley. I speed down the road, before I get the urge to burn that place down.
“Fuck,” I scream at the top of my lungs as I head back to the city.
