Knights of Deception (Excerpt)

Excerpt from my first novel: "Knights of Deception"  Available @ http://stores.lulu.com/enlightenment4theheart

Amanda Robinson

The cool autumn breeze that touches the face, high noon on an early autumn day, loves sweet simple…wait…hold up…oh no! This isn’t that type of tale.  All that romantic, young love, bullshit! Amanda, quit being stupid, if you want a man then you’ve got to push the breasts up, poke that ass out, make sure all bodily-equipment is oiled, painted, and smelling sweet. A bitch with a funky pussy needs to have that foul, stinky-ass kicked!     

“You fucked with the wrong bitch Peter Ripley! I told you we were meant to be together, and I will not allow you to go against this man/ woman union.  You see, men and women were designed to be with each other.  When I asked you what a man could do for you sexually, you told me it was the same thing a woman could.  You must be out of your damn mind.”

As she spoke to herself out loud, her voice became elevated, shaky, and a borage of angry tears rolled down her cheeks.  Amanda Robinson was determined to change this black man gone astray.  She knew it was her mission to save Peter Ripley from himself.  “I cannot allow you to shun your manly duties.  We are going to have the baby we are destined to have.  I just know you’re going to look back on this disgusting life you have been living and will be filled with overwhelming spiritual joy.  I’m certain of this.  It will happen when you look into our baby’s eyes for the first time.”

Frustrated, she hurled the black cordless phone sending it across the room and on impact, it broke apart into pieces. “You are one stupid ass bitch, girl! What the hell were you thinking destroying a perfectly good phone? Now dumb ass, you’re going to have to buy another one to replace it.  What if Peter calls?  Shit!  I waste money stupidly sometimes”, she chortled, laughing at herself.  She picked up her car keys from the kitchen counter, put on her coat, and started toward the door when she was stopped by the whimpers of her faithful canine.

“Mama won’t be gone that long, Baby Jane.  Come here,” she beckoned.  Rubbing her gently on the head, she began to sweet talk her, pursing her lips, blowing air kisses to her, never allowing her tongue to touch them.  “As much as mama loves you BJ I can’t have us committing no bestiality act up in here,” she giggled, never taking her eyes off of her faithful dog.

“BITCH!” she screamed in horror after BJ jumped up on her, with muddy paws, which instantly stained the white linen fabric of the pants suit she was wearing. Knowing she had screwed up, BJ scurried away from her master and found a safer spot in a distant corner of the living room.  With her head slumping, she laid down on the shaggy blue throw rug, specifically given to her as a gift by her master at Christmas.

She leered at the dog. “I ought to take your trifling ass to the fucking pound and let them make some glue out of your ass!” It was an idol threat and BJ sure didn’t know what the hell she was saying; however, Amanda’s tone was more than enough reason for her to know that whatever she was saying, it couldn’t be good. Then, as if she had been hit with a bag of bricks, Amanda paused, and silently started thinking, then in a tickled pitch, she retracted what she had just suggested;  “oh no, they do that shit to horses – mama can be so stupid sometimes,” she chuckled at herself for making such a silly remark.  

Amanda’s world twisted into what it had become as a result of a past littered with debris from all the bad relationships she ever had with men – and her father was part of that pile of garbage. She was six years old when she lost her innocence along with her virginity.  “Mommy can’t do as good as daddy’s little angel,” he told her the first time, as well as, all the other times that followed. To keep her quiet, there was nothing she asked for that she didn’t receive.  Her mother thought he was just spoiling his only daughter – little did she know the whore he had turned their child into.      

Toys, bicycles, designer clothes, cell phone, a lap top computer, expensive shoes – no whippings, no punishments, she could do no wrong.  I suppose the guilt he felt he took out on her mother because he’d beat her for breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, and a snack.  One day, after receiving the thousandth black eye, her mother took a baseball bat and crushed his skull as he slept.  

Because she had never reported the abuse, it was her word against a dead man’s and so, they hauled her mother off to prison on a murder conviction.  Well, she was a black woman in white America what did you expect?  Amanda was fifteen at the time so she was forced to live with her surly grandmother – who was crazier than the son who was her father. Since her father was dead, the fabulous gifts she used to get were part of the past.

“He spoiled your nasty ass girl, but all that’s over now.” Her grandmother told her.   “I told him you were a fast ass little bitch, but he wouldn’t listen, and now look, that psycho whore of a mother of yours put his ass beneath a mound of dirt”.   After hearing her father painted as a saint too many times over a two year period, Amanda finally disclosed to her how he had been molesting her since she was six.  “Yes, Granny, your dead son was a damn child molester, so what the fuck do you have to say about it now?” she screamed, through a tear striped face.

She never saw it coming, but she sure as hell did feel the sting of the slap she got.  “I will not let you accuse my son of some sick ass shit like that!  He must be rolling in his grave by now.  I’m glad he will never know what a lying ass piece trash he brought into this world”.  She snarled, staring Amanda in the eye.  “When your ass turns eighteen you are getting out of my fucking house, and I sure hate I’ve got to wait another year for that day to come!” she spit some snuff into a white handkerchief. 

Six months shy of her eighteenth birthday, Amanda ran off with her then boyfriend, Allan Washington, who continued the saga of abuse she had experienced with her father. “No matter how much nice shit I buy you, you just are never satisfied and, until you learn to appreciate it and respect me as a black man, I’m going to beat your monkey ass!” he swore, sucking on his fifth blunt of the day – and he wasn’t lying either, she got beat daily – sometimes more than once.   

One night, while he was in the bedroom screwing one of her supposed friends, Amanda pulled a pre-packed suitcase from the closet closest to the door, and left him, boarding a train to San Francisco.  “Fuck the south,” she thought.  She wanted to get as far away from everything she had known and hoped she could forget the past and start new existence, in a foreign place.  She just knew she could find the perfect man in California; however, after watching an episode of CSI, she decided she had to make an appearance back south, just one more time.   Show her face to ward off suspicion. 

At seventeen she had learned the importance of covering ones tracks, so before she could allow that chapter of her life to be closed for good, she returned back to the south, briefly, to attend the funeral of Brother Adams, a man who had driven her to commit a heinous crime out of fear and repulsion.  She considered it a blessing not running into Allen or her crazy ass grandmother during that one day visit, because she didn’t want to ever see either of them again.  

It had been about a week after her return to the Bay Area when she decided to throw caution to the wind and go out and celebrate her new life.  That was the night she met, Romello Jackson, at a popular jazz club in Oakland, and she just knew he was going to be her husband and the father of her two children – when she got pregnant.  

He was beautiful:  Six foot two, small in the waist, skin the color of a red-honey, sparkling white teeth, he dressed, flashy, like a baller, his voice was soft and soothing, and he was so gentle with her – that was during the first month of the relationship.  His lovemaking was unlike anything she had ever experienced; however, when he asked her for anal sex, it should have been a red flag, but she was too infatuated and in love.  One evening he brought home a childhood friend who turned out to be a bad influence on what they had together. 

“Mandy,” he called out after entering their apartment.  It was his nickname for her.  She melted whenever she heard him call her that.   “Yes, baby, what is it?”  She answered, checking herself in the living room mirror before turning the corner and meeting him in the hallway.  “I’ve got somebody I want you to meet; he’s my road-dog and best friend.  We grew up together, have known one another since we were eight years old.” 

“Danny, this is my girl, Amanda, but I call her Mandy – I’m the only one allowed to call her that because she’s mine.” He pulled her into him, and squeezed her around the waist while standing in back of her.   While still in Romello’s embrace, she extended her hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Danny.  Romello talks about you fondly, welcome to our home.  Are you hungry, I cooked some pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, and made a green salad?” 

“Thanks, that would be nice, cuz a brotha’s stomach is on zero,” he said, removing his coat.   “I’ll take that and hang it up; you two go into the living room and watch some television and I’ll call you after I’ve set the table”.  She said, playing the role of happy house wife. 

“See, dude, what did I tell you, ain’t she pretty and sweet?  Thanks, baby,” he said, kissing her on the neck, giving her one more squeeze before departing into the living room.  

As she was setting the table, she listened to the two of them carry on a conversation, sounding like two little boys.  It made her feel good inside, she was finally meeting his friend’s which meant that he must have really started trusting her.  Danny seemed to be a nice guy, and he was a stunner just like her Romello:  Dark skinned, deep dimples, well kept teeth, sharply dressed, diamond studs in his ears, and he smelled divine.  She made a mental note to ask about the fragrance he was wearing.

But, then, as if he had taken a wicked potion, Romello turned into someone far from the man she fell in love.  He started running the streets with his boy and after one too many inquiries about his constant disappearances, Romello left and never returned.  

It wouldn’t be until much later that she would find out why he dropped her. The only thing odd about the whole set of circumstances was that she wondered why he stopped wearing all of the cologne she bought for him.  He couldn’t have been allergic to fragrances because he sure as hell did seem to like and start smelling just like the one his boy reeked of.

(Mental Note)