One Safe Place (20 page)

“Velvet, there are no man-eating sharks in Lake Washington, and the diving suit keeps you warm. Both Gabrielle and I are good swimmers. I didn't know Mintfurd had changed up his groove with having sex with escorts. He had been tight-lipped for some time.”

“He's making an effort. He tells me he's horny almost daily, but he's trying to maintain.”

“Well, if you and Mintfurd are that deep in to his situation about
his lifestyle, why are you talking to me about hooking up your friend Darcelle with him?”

“I can set the wheels in motion for her, but you need to help him.”

“Help him do what?”

“Come on, PB! You know he don't know how to…you know he don't know to make a move on a woman. He is so used to every woman being a play date, so to speak.”

“Play date?” Psalms started laughing and stood to go out to the workshop area where Mintfurd was working on either something mechanical or electronic. During the whole conversation, Velvet was scanning the news and came upon something.

“PB, PB, PB, a black woman working as a maid was found dead just outside of Vegas city limits. It appears she was brutally tortured. She's identified as a forty-year-old woman with a green card from Martinique.

“You know that's too much of a coincidence.”

“Yes, it is. That had to be the kids' mother. She had to be in Vegas the whole time, just not staying where the kids were.”

Psalms pulled out his phone and texted both Suzie Q and Tylowe:

Alert: the great-aunt may know more than she has let on. Can't confirm. Proceed with caution.

Suzie Q, in her dramatic fashion, responded:

10-4 Smokey.

“T
his is your Oakland North Bay Oldies Soul radio station. We're stepping back in time and bringing you a twin spin of Otis Redding. First, the classic ‘(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay.' Then I suggest you hug up, or at least think about loving arms around you when we play ‘Try a Little Tenderness.' Only here on your Oakland North Bay Oldies Soul radio station.”

I've been enjoying my morning—relaxing and catching up on some reading. I'm being a little lazy, with my legs still sore from my recent late-night swim. I mean early morning. I can smile as I look out at the sun shining over the Bay Area. I'm reliving how my legs and insides became sore, from having a thick dick sliding in and out of me, while the cold lake water tangled with my own natural juices. It felt good and painful. I can't wipe this smile off my face.

The Bat phone is ringing—my private line that Psalms has set up to electronically scrub the signal to keep anyone from recording my phone conversations.

Damn, it's my former boss, the ex-president of the United States. I'm listening to him talk about something that is touching my nerves. He knows how I feel about domestic issues. I support the common man and not big business. I don't think like his good ole boys, but yet he is asking me for my support. He's about to get an earful of
attitude. I am my own woman now, and I'm not bowing down to my former boss on any subject I do not agree with.

• • •

“Look GB—Mr. President, they want federal assistance for a state problem created by a private sector company that was not required to have adequate bonding insurance.

“I need my name removed from anything that ties me to them. I'm not their lap dog! I'm not a roll of toilet paper to wipe their shit up. I know as your former Secretary of State you expect me to be loyal though all endeavors, but I'm sorry I can't support you on this. I will not!

“I'm in the private sector now, and I pick and choose who in the hell I want to support. No disrespect to you as the former President, Mr. President, but I'm not sorry about how I feel. I don't support them blowing up a little town in Texas. And then, they want me to represent them by using my good name to solicit federal funds?

“Think about this; many Texas politicians in Texas voted against giving the Northern states funding when a natural disaster, Hurricane Sandy, hit hard. That was purely immoral. Now, in the face of this non-natural disaster created by a company that thrived under a pro-corporate tax structure and deregulation, they want rescue funds? No. I will not be a part of that …”

“Mr. President, I don't give a damn about how much money they gave us in the past. The administration gave them a pass on too many things. As I said, deregulation led to this problem. In my estimation, we gave them all they should have, and more. What did they give us in return? As of now, fourteen dead and hundreds of injured. I feel sorry for a devastated town that we let down with another failed domestic policy. The sad part, blame and real answers will be spun like sewage down a flushing toilet …”

“I understand that for you as a former president, it's not kosher for you to ask or represent them in such affairs, but I'm not in office anymore, either. I handled your foreign affairs. The other part of your administration made the domestic decisions about who to get in bed with. Your administration dropped governmental oversight and inspections on workplaces that can be as dangerous as we see. I was never in agreement with any part of the administration on many of the domestic decisions such as this. Mr. President, I'm sorry, but I must go. We must pray over all this, shouldn't we?”

I need another glass of wine. I cannot believe GB would even ask me to be a part of domestic situations. He knows I have never believed in supporting certain deregulation when American lives are in the balance. I'm glad that asshole, The Duck, didn't call me. I severely dislike his manipulative ass. He and I never did get along. He ran things as if he was the president.

Yes, I'm a conservative, but I'm a realist more than anything. Because I'm aligned with certain people, it's assumed that I share the same views of people who were about using the American people for pure profit. NO! Of course I could never speak out when I was in the mix of all the things that were going on, but now I am a private citizen. I belong to me!

I'm pissed right now. I'm glad I have my wine to help me deal with the craziness, but I need some Psalms loving to help me through . . .hmph.

I love this Cabernet Sauvignon wine. It's from Black Coyote Wines in Napa Valley, an African-American winery. I have invested in several cases of wines from black-owned wineries. Despite what many may think of me, it has always been my personal policy to support black businesses. I support my people. I knew, and know, where my heart lies at the end of the day.

That is the reason I spoke loudly in support of the black United
Nations ambassador when the Republicans ganged up on my sister-friend. They knew she was doing her job. Some of them good ol' boys in the House and the Senate attacked her because they thought it would light a fire under their base. Truth be told, their base is a dying breed of old, tired white men.

I was their shining, token black woman. I knew that. They really didn't understand me, or the psychology of the spook who sat behind the door. The idea is that when I am in the mud with you, you cannot see the real me. I may be dark, even if you think my mind is white. You may think you know what I'm thinking and doing, but you know nothing. Meanwhile, I see everything that you're doing.

So few know the real me, and that's fine. I enjoy who I am. I'm not trying to fit into a box that someone else tries to fit me into. My ass is well rounded. I desire to stand alone to help bring about a positive, lasting culture. People have become consumed by pop culture instead of creating a positive culture that lasts.

Looking out over the Oakland Bay makes me want to get out of my condo for the day, but I have so much work to do. I guess I can go down to that café on the wharf and work on my computer. Let me see if I can get a security detail.

So many times I wish I could walk around like most people, but I know better. I have pulled off the big hat and sunglasses, looking like the eccentric out-of-place woman in public, but Psalms does not like me to do that. He once set it up to have me followed without my knowledge for two hours, and I never made out who was following me. That taught me I'm never safe in public.

I have a speech to give in Washington, D.C. tomorrow night. It's about how limited we are in our ability to make significant changes due to our limited mindsets. We're so focused on
stopping other people from achieving their goals, when our real goals should be to make the world a better place, and not waste so much time and resources channeling negativity. My conservative base dislikes such talk as they construct change through so much negativity.

Most people want momentous changes for the world, country, city or town that benefit them personally. My speech will be about changing our relationships with neighbors, family members, and changes within one's own life. How can we change the world when we harbor resentments, and lack forgiveness for those closest to us?

Sadly, all the tuxes and evening dresses will pay to hear me with their generous tax break money. They will clap and smile plastic smiles, and never hear a word I'll say. Even sadder, those people are acting no different from most people whether they are rich or poor. Many people believe that genuine relationships are like friends on social networks—click “delete,” and it's over; click “block,” and find somebody else to accept as a friend.

I'm flying back to Seattle for the weekend. I was going mid-week, but I need to prepare some work for my students at Berkeley.

Psalms is preoccupied with something profoundly troubling. Not sure what it is. He takes on some security tasks that are full of risks around the world. In many ways, I think it makes him feel whole—saving and protecting. He asked me to secure a few things for him from some sources and connections I only use sparingly. I never ask why. He never asks me for anything that I would question.

I decided long ago that if I found a man I wanted to be with, I would trust that man. I could pay a dreadful price if I'm wrong about the man I love, but I stand to reap the glory of love that a woman seeks.

Lois Mae, who was on the boat the other night, is an incredible
poet. From what I understand, she and Velvet are best friends. At one time they shared a man whom Lois Mae was married to. I think my situation with Psalms, and his strange relationship with Evita, is near a collision course. I'm thinking of how I can change it, but I can't force him to do anything different. Lois Mae and Velvet are friends, and I have to hand it to them. Lois Mae and I are both from Texas and grew up only about forty miles apart, so we get along well. She is an African American literary professor at East Seattle City University and has written a book of poetry about the love of a good man. One of her poems feels as if she had read my mind about how I feel about Psalms. I asked her could she write some personal lines for me within that poem and send me a copy to print. I wanted to put a picture of Psalms and me on my wall, and the poem next to the picture.

My life can be so impersonal. At my condo here in Oakland, so few ever walk through my door, but I try to make it a home. When Lois Mae sent me the personalized version of her poem, I wanted to die, and I wanted it to be buried in Psalms' grave when he dies.

There Is Something About His Love

His smile is the grace of a beautiful day

His eyes are the golden lights in the night

His wine-stain birthmark is like a piece of my heart resting near his eyes so he can see inside my heart day or night

I strive to be the most beautiful woman I can be for my shining Black Knight

I want to protect him with my mind, offering knowledge for his choosing to use me as he pleases…knowing he won't abuse me

I'm content feeling he is the one safe place

His soulful ways, I ride throughout the day

And love every part of him through any and all darkness

There is something about his love

His love lifts me to the heavens, and he makes hells for those who would oppose our love

He is a slow dance, skin-to-skin, mind-to-mind, soul-to-soul

He is a slow kiss deep kiss

He is a slow but raging powerful beat in my heart

He fits me high and tight, and universally deep

He is not science

He is logic to my soul

He is the prescription my soul survives on

He makes me weak to submit

He feeds me strength to be secure

He is the scent of arousal

He is my urban groove

The man is jazzy in many time signatures at the same time he is perpetual arrangements

He is a country love ballad of finding the perfect love

He is velvet to my rough edges

The man is the grace of a beautiful day

He knocks me off my feet when he whispers in my ear that I am his queen

There is something about his love

The touch of his hand makes me rise to the highest heights others will never reach

I rise with him to see the sunrise and to love him as the sun slides past the end of the ocean

His calm makes me float like a bottle in the ocean carrying a fraternal letter of sweet emotion

The thought of him makes my blood hotter than the desert heat

He is a desert flower of beauty that only I can touch

The view of his sensual physique is a treasure that I'd dig the abyss of his soul to keep

Throughout my day or days away from him

I live off the moments I want to spend with him