Unedited excerpt. All rights reserved. Copyright by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh
Chapter One
Re’ut Syracusa
Kennesaw-Jones had been a Kennesaw far too long to be embarrassed by the
shenanigans of her family. Watching as her
family piled into the limos and speed off like they were being chased by
Revenuers, she simply said a prayer for anyone in their way…and anyone who
might try and stop them. While they had
acted like an entire Amen corner and cheered for her like they were watching
Tech whip up on Georgia in what Georgians referred to as a little bit of
“Clean, Old-Fashioned Hate,” they didn’t even pretend they were going to linger
after commencement.
Re’ut didn’t
blame them. Southerners could only go so
long without sweet tea. The only reason she was north of the Mason-Dixon Line in
the first place was because that’s where the prestigious Rhode Island School of
Design (RISD)—which was only the best
school of design in the universe—was above the Mason-Dixon Line.
“Gimme,”
her momma demanded right before commandeering Re’ut’s shiny, new MFA in Jewelry
and Metalsmithing.
“I
worked really hard for that,” Re’ut half-heartedly protested knowing there
wasn’t a hope in hell she was ever going to get her hot little hands on that
again.
“Did
you push ten pounds of baby out of your vagina?” her momma asked.
“Really
didn’t need that visual.”
“I
really didn’t need your massive head tearing open my vagina.”
“I
could’ve gone the whole of my life without hearing anything about your vagina,
Momma,” Re’ut protested.
“And I
could’ve gone the whole of my life without ever having experienced an episiotomy
so how about that?”
Re’ut
felt like a character in a Capcom® game and episiotomy was a finishing
move. The only difference was that she
didn’t crumple to the ground as her innards spilled from her body. She was down but not out. Looking her momma in the eye, Re’ut pulled
out her trump card. “I’m telling Dad.”
“Daddy,”
she called, and just like always he was there.
Throwing
herself in his arms, she put on the sad face and then narced. “Momma’s being mean to me.”
“Are
you being mean to my baby girl, Naomi?” her daddy asked in that smooth baritone
that tucked her in each night and woke her up each morning.
“Yeah,
otherwise she’d be a certified shithead since you don’t know any limits when it
comes to spoiling.”
Re’ut
didn’t know what her daddy said with his eyes but she smiled into his chest
knowing from her momma’s sigh that he was telling her momma off. Ha ha, she sang silently.
“I’m so
proud of you, Daughter,” he said as he held her closer.
“You
say that all the time.”
“Because
it’s true all the time.” Stepping back,
he lifted her chin. “You’re the greatest
thing I’ve ever accomplished.”
And
just like that Re’ut crumpled. She’d
never had a moment to doubt that her daddy wanted her. He’d sung “I love you’s” with his lips in all
of the languages that he knew. He’d
showed her his love by giving over his whole life to insure her happiness. But to hear those words from a man who held
two doctorates, four masters and spoke six languages broke her.
“I love
you so much, Daddy,” she cried. While
she wasn’t a hardcore Bible thumper, Re’ut knew there was a God because she’d
been gifted with the Doctor Naomi Kennesaw-Jones as a momma and Doctor Syracuse
Gallant Kennesaw-Jones as a daddy, and the people of Mid-NFW as family.
“What y’all doing to my grandbaby?” Grandmommy
Grace said as she swooped Re’ut up in an all-encompassing hug.
“Spoiling
her,” her momma said.
“Well
good. She deserves it. The inferior grandmommas and I made you some
pound cake, a cobbler, and some banana pudding.”
Re’ut
did an internal cheer. There were
certain perks to being a Kennesaw and high end spoiling was one of them.
“Thank
you, Grandmommy but didn’t we have a talk about referring to the other
grandmommy’s as inferior?”
“Yeah,
but I ignore dumb shit,” she said. “Make
sure you bring our containers back. See
you in a few days. Don’t kill nobody
because we ain’t in a hurry to come back north,” her Grandmommy Grace had said
before jumping on her Cannon Cascade custom chopper and going who knows
where. For someone who proclaimed she
didn’t like being out of the south, Grandmommy Grace sure as shit didn’t stay
put.
After
that, there was a parade of hugs and a chorus of oohing and ahhing. Five minutes after that, her clan threw up two fingers, shouted “deuces”
and hightailed it to Warwick’s T F Green International Airport where they’d
board the private jet of billionaire vampire royal, and fellow Mid NFW
resident, Ianikut Aleksandrovich, who was too fine for his own good, and party
like it was 1999. Of course, since Ms.
Belva and the grandmommas were there, they might be partying like it was the
year 09. As soon as Re’ut tied up a few
loose ends, she was going to join them and spend a month of Sundays getting
good and spoiled.
Right
now, however, she was going to catch her breath. Pushing the big 3-0, Re’ut couldn’t hang out
like she could when she was eighteen.
She’d tried to tell Saratoga that but her self-proclaimed best friend
wasn’t listening to anything that went counter to what she wanted to do. Still, Re’ut couldn’t help but like the
spitfire who reminded her so much of her self-proclaimed favorite cousin,
Halima. Saratoga Brown was one of the
main things that convinced Re’ut that the Rhode Island School of Design was the
place for her.
Five
feet ten inches and two hundred pounds of ‘No Fucking Way’ Saratoga was always searching
for a place to kick off some ish that would land them all on some kind of list. Saratoga was the first person she heard day
one at the open house sponsored by the Division of Graduate Studies. Heard—not
saw.
“Dibs
on the black chick!” echoed all across the hall. Not caring about the fine art of subtlety,
Saratoga bum-rushed her way through the sea of bodies and latched onto her.
“Saratoga,
your new best friend,” she announced. Announced—not said.
“Let’s
ditch this shindig and go somewhere awesome.”
“A, you
could be a serial killer. B, who is
‘Saratoga?’ C, you smell young…like you
still have breast milk on your breath.”
“A,
you’re right…I could be. B, I’m Saratoga. First name: Saratoga. Last name: Brown. Middle name is on a need to know basis. C, I may be one of the youngest peeps in the
senior class but I’m old enough to go to federal prison if I embark on a
killing spree. Wait, that doesn’t sound
all that reassuring about point A, does it?”
Before
she could agree that no it didn’t sound all that reassuring, first name
Saratoga, middle name ‘on a need to know basis,’ last name Brown answered her
own question.
“No, it
doesn’t but I’m not a serial killer although I could be under the right
circumstances.”
“What
proof do I have that you’re not a serial killer right now for no good reason?”
Re’ut asked just because she was accustomed to having these sorts of
conversations with her cousin Jupiter “TRO—Temporary Restraining Order”
Kennesaw-Jones.
“Well,
the fact that I’m walking around all free and whatnot.”
“That
could mean one of two things: A, you’re not a serial killer or B, you’re just a
really good at not getting caught.”
“You’re
right but if I was hypothetically a serial killer, you should be my friend so I
won’t add you to my ‘people to kill’ list.”
Ah,
Saratoga had her at the word ‘hypothetically.’ Re’ut was most definitely going to hang out with
this chick but first she had to yank the young one’s chain a little bit. Starting shit was, after all, the Southern
way. Finishing said shit one started was
the Kennesaw way. “If you killed me
would you eat me with fava beans?”
“No, I
like my pussy alive,” Saratoga said without missing a beat.
Re’ut
couldn’t help herself. She burst out
laughing. Saratoga was a crazy something
but being that she herself was from Middle of No Fucking Where, Georgia—an area
comprised of the cities of Delice-Patrale, Enatavimus, No Trespassing and Kennesaw Territory, Georgia—but
simply referred to as Mid NFW, she was accustomed to crazy.
“Ah,
Saratoga. You’re too cute.”
“I
know. You’re kind of hot yourself though
I don’t do chicks. So, are you coming
with me or not?”
“Being
that you don’t do chicks I guess I won’t be coming anytime soon but if you have
a hot brother or three…I might come with them.” she said.
“Eww
and eww some more.” Saratoga made
choking sounds.
“Remember
that my wit is much more developed than yours next time you want to cross words
with me…or swords.”
“Remind
me of that after I finish vomiting in my mouth at the thought of my
monastery-bound brothers.”
“Are
they hot?”
“Of
course being they look like me but that’s not the point. They’re all going to the monastery.”
“Your
family’s Catholic?” Re’ut asked out of curiosity.
“No, my
family is comprised of kung fu fans so my brothers are off to Tibet to learn
the ways of the fighting monks.”
“Any
particular reason?”
“Because
I need a personal army and yeah, my grandmomma said they had to take care of
me.”
“Ah, so
you’re spoiled.”
“Of
course. Now are you coming or not. People are starting to look. Soon, they’ll try and talk to you thus
horning in on my time,” she said loudly.
Snarling a bit, Saratoga turned to one woman who’d gotten a little too
close for her taste and gave her a warning.
“Hey, get your own black chick.
This one’s mine. I found her
first.”
Grabbing
Saratoga’s elbow, Re’ut steered her away from people (and thus trouble). “Okay, you’re obviously not a serial killer
being you have no clue on how to be low-key, discreet and all that. So where are we going?”
“To get
some real food,” Saratoga said.
“Oh,
we’re going on a road trip to the south?” she asked.
“Um,
no,” Saratoga all but turned up her nose.
“Oh, I
know you’re not acting like something is wrong with the south,” Re’ut said.
“No
acting is involved. Something is
definitely wrong with the south.”
“Like
what?”
“Southerners
primarily. I like my racism with a
little more subtlety and my crazy a tad more refined.”
“I
would expect something that ignorant from people who drink their iced tea
without sugar.”
“Well
at least northern liquor doesn’t all have the word ‘shine’ somewhere in the
title.”
“Northern
liquor also doesn’t have any alcohol anywhere in the ingredients either.”
“There
is nothing wrong with an elegant Pinot Noir,” Saratoga said.
“Nothing
at all if you don’t have taste buds.”
“You’re
lucky I don’t like Pinot Noir or I’d have a whole lot to say about your dogging
it.”
“Mmm
hmm. When you’re about four inches taller, fifty pounds heavier and can buy cigarettes
without getting carded then I might listen to your ‘whole lot to say.’”
“Okay,
I’ll hit the gym and bulk up for a fight, then slide into some stilettos before
I bring it.”
“You’re
going to fight me in stilettos?”
“No, I
wouldn’t fight you in stilettos. I’d
tell you off in stilettos and direct my personal army of soldiers to fight you.”
“The
fact that you are in need of a standing army hasn’t clued you in that you might
need to change your life?”
“All
great leaders need a standing army. Do
you have wheels?”
“Of
course I have wheels. Why?”
“Because
I need to stop by the sports store before I take you to eat.”
“So let
me get this straight: you basically kidnapped me and now you want me to do
errands for you before you take me to
eat?”
“Yep.”
“How
are you planning to convince me to take you to the sports store?” Re’ut asked.
“I’m
going to play the ‘my favoritest grandmomma’s birthday is coming up soon and I
need to get her a present.”
“You’re
getting your grandma something from sporting goods store?”
“Yeah, that’s
where I always get my grandmomma’s presents.”
“Do
they sell orthopedic shoes there?”
“Don’t
know but they have steel-toed boots there and that’s what I’m getting my
grandmomma.”
And
that was the bit that stopped Re’ut in her tracks. Sure, she got her grandmommy Grace Ellen
something from the gun and ammo store each year and Halima got her something
from the adult store, but that was neither here nor there. Regardless of whether or not she got some
decent food was irrelevant…okay not really that irrelevant but seriously Re’ut needed
to see the grandma who rocked Tims…and put her on the watch list that all the
grandmas in Mid NFW were on. Them chicks
was dangerous.
“Get
in,” Re’ut said as she programmed her GPS.
