Novelette available at HUSH`s eBook Stores
a red Rose is the least of a Child`s interest
only that it`s the main color
in a box of crayons next to black; and
the color of their favorite toy car; and
the color of a little girl`s dress
that isn`t quite a Sunday best
if it has laces and bows
and shows above the knees;
Violet is a flower
and has no memory of being blue
if it`s blue it`s due
to the children stepping and
stomping on their whimsical petals
as children can be so quite cruel;
no unusual punishment there …
children don’t know
that they are succulent sweet
they only know how to eat the Sugar
then they think you`re a perv
for using such a dirty word
to describe them;
to an Adult there is nothing
rosey about red that
it only brings dread on Valentine`s Day
if she doesn`t receive her dozen Roses
all vibrant, long stemmed, un`thorny
if you`re expected to be loved by her at all;
lovers do not think of Violets of blue
they are not botanists just civilians
trying to survive the headaches of
fashioning a garden to entertain the sane;
bring color to life in an obvious ashen world;
and what of the Sugar
as we are all obviously not as sweet
like the treats found in a drug store;
we are sour and sore and we want more
than what our cavities can endure …
I took a seat at the edge of the unmade bed and caught a glimpse of someone resembling me through the mirror suspended over a three tier dresser sitting directly to my left, at the same time, noticing her tired reflection; nowhere near the vicinity of nineteen but more along the lines of an aging angst teen: drugged out, partied out, and fucked out of her mind. It was an unnerving sight the more and more I slipped into her reflection and shattered the windows to her soul with my fists further destroying whatever underlying beauty remained.
Just then Carlos stepped into the mirror thus choking my reflection with his in which I took as a sign of intimidation; intimidation to forcing me back on the level of our organization’s thinking.
“You do remember what we’re after here right, esa?” I lowered my gaze from the mirror and merely nodded; not in regards to Carlos’s intimidation but to the fact that this was about Bree; about my father; about controlling Hollywood and perhaps all of L.A. “Good,” Carlos applauded verbally, stepping back from me. “So. . .Tammy,” he then probed casually, yet curiously. “Did you make her understand?”
“Somewhat. . .but I’m not sure I did,” I retorted honestly, yet there was doubt clinging to my response.
“You can’t be second guessing yourself in this business, esa. Either you’re right or you’re right; there’s no in between or reasons for conscience. As a Jefe, it’s up to you to set rules, to discipline, to have total control of every aspect of their life. If they have habits, you support them, and only by giving them enough that way their forced to stay loyal. If they need food, clothes, a place to live, then it’s you who provides. Pimping rucas is like a game of chess, esa, it’s all strategic. The only thing you have to worry about is either losing your rucas to drugas, the law or another pimp. Now Tammy,” Carlos said abruptly switching the conversation back to her. “She’s gotta be dealt with, and severely.”
“C’mon, Carlos,” I began to argue.
“Nah-ah, esa!” Carlos interjected brusquely, shaking his head unsympathetically. “It’s one thing to get high to motivate you; it’s another when you become addicted. Then stealing to support that habit. . .that shit can get bitches killed. Knowing that, you can’t have a conscience. You wanted this remember. . .back at the chante, in your room? You said you wanted to take care of it. So now, take care of it,” Carlos said comically, calling my bluff.
Suddenly the room started to spin with my emotions being swept up in its current thus fucking with my insides, my gut, my fear. I mean, I genuinely did not have the heart to discipline any of these Hollywood hos but I did realize that I had the drive which was pretty fucked-up to admit. It was like having the Devil occupying one shoulder with the Angel occupying the other; both whispering to my conscience; both weighing my options when all along I felt like Lady Liberty bounded in her blind scales of justice: I had to make a choice to choosing the most logical form of discipline.
And what went through my head was not a pretty sight considering there was theft and a habit to break.
I got up from the edge of the bed and crossed to the dresser and studied my reflection in the mirror with my eyes slowly trailing that valley crafted from my throat down to my cleavage then down toward the center of my jeans where the bulge of my gun protruded like the erection of a man aching to escape and conquer the whole-fucking-world with a simple blow of his cock. It was quite exhilarating and disturbing to think of my gun in that explicit and vile sense. But I guess one just had to be there to understand such power.
“Listo?” Carlos said pulling me from my thoughts. I nodded with Carlos opening the bedroom door and me walking on ahead of him.