Monet'
“Stop at terminal B.” After crying the entire 40 minute ride, the driver looked relived to be letting me out. I carry my bag into the airport. One bag because I left all the shoes, clothes and jewelry he bought me. Just sweats, a few dresses and a pair of Stan Smiths.
His words repeat, slicing through my mind.
“Take care of it. And don’t come back.” It being our baby.
“I had to make sure he that he was ok, that’s it,” I told him.
“That wasn’t your first time seeing him, I heard your phone calls. You want to go back to that life so bad? Good I don’t want you anymore.”
I walked to the door, to give him a minute to calm down, but he snatched my keys. The keys he gave me to the car he bought me and his house that I’m living in. I followed him upstairs. I walked into our bedroom and he was throwing my clothes in a luggage bag. I grabbed my belly.
“Monet that baby is not mine!” he yelled.
My real name is Monique. I changed it to Monet’ because it sounded more regal, less ghetto, like I take trips to Paris, drink expensive white wine and know what art is.
“It— its our baby!”
His cold look of indifference was the only response I got.
“Monet, its over.”
I hated my name, I hated where I came from, I hated the twang in my voice so I removed it. I hated my parents, a dope fiend and a dead drug dealer. I didn’t want to live a mediocre life in the hood. I wanted to live like the women who go to the ballet. I didn’t want to be like the girls I went to school with who scammed and got with drug dealers, or did hair to get money and buy designer clothes. I didn’t want to fake it. I needed to actually be someone else, someone with money and class. So I researched and learned rich people lingo, and got money from boys to buy shoes and bracelets that were inconspicuous unless you knew money, real money. I kept my hair in weave with different curls patterns so I could look exotic, less like a black girl and more like a “what are you?” Always with colors like the sunset, golds and reddish oranges. I moved to the city and found jobs at country clubs and corporate offices, frequented bars where the 1% swallowed their Scotch and Gin.
Three years ago it paid off and I met Santiago, an airline owner from Argentina.
I spotted him the instant he walked in, he was gorgeous. I had to pick up my jaw. Four sections of seating spread across the floor but I willed him a couple spots down from me. I love when you're patient and focused enough you can coax the universe into bringing you exactly what you want.
His black trousers stretched over his athletic legs, rolled up sleeves of his collar shirt exposed his muscular forearms braced over the bar. My legs stretched out over themselves at 10 o’clock, my back hit the back of the bar stool; a sigh escaped my lips, forcing my breasts to thrust forward.
His eyes found me, I know they like what they see. Smooth glowing skin, curvy legs, a perky chest and sad pouty lips. One thing to know is that a man will always be drawn to a sad, pretty package. The good guys want to help you and the bad guys think you’re easy prey, either way, you got him.
I pick up my drink spilling it on the way down.
Santiago grabs a napkin and helps me wipe my thighs. Jackpot, I had him. When he manages to pull his attention away from my body I smile sadly. “Thank you.”
“No problem at all. Hey, are you ok?” I nod then turn my face away from him as if I’m going to cry.
“Noo. Don’t cry beautiful.”
“I’m sorry I just—” Hmmm what lie will work best on him? “There was a plane crash.”
“Dios, mio! Which airline was it? I haven’t checked the news today!”
Fuck!
“No, it was a private plane, I don’t think it even made headlines. My friend she was on it, it crashed yesterday and they still haven’t found her. I didn’t want to be alone tonight so I came to this bar. But obviously I should’ve stayed home. I’m embarrassing myself.”
He kissed my hand, we talked all night, then took me to his house. But that night is not what solidified us. I worked hard to keep him, I did things.
The first incident was 2 months after the night we met.
“Make sure you give 500$ to your grandmother, I’ll send you more next week.”
“Monet!” Santiago calls from downstairs. “Get off the phone, I’m taking your gorgeous ass to dinner. And I’m starving.”
“Damon, I gotta go.”
“Who the fuck is that,” Damon questions on the line.
“Thats none of your business anymore, and you know it.”
“Whatever, Mo.”
“Bye Damon.”
“Monique, I miss you.”
I hang up without responding.
I walk down the plush staircase catching the city lights in the ceiling high windows.
“Who were you on the phone wit, bella?”
“Just my girlfirend. She’s having relationship drama.”
“Oh I’m sorry.” He kisses my cheek.
“You ready to go?”
He takes my hand, leading me to the elevator.
The night offers a cool breeze, he holds me close me close on the way to the car.
He holds my door open and rubs his thumb across my cheek.
“I love when I get to see you Monet. Our time apart debilitates me.”
“I’m sure your busy work keeps you from missing me too much.”
“But I’d always rather be with you…siempre.”
When we are together he’s in love with me. But when we are apart I barely get a text. I see him once every 2 weeks. I need to reel him in. I’m ready for a trophy wife lifestyle of business soirees and art museums. I’m tired of working and chasing, I just want a comfortable, indulgent life where I can love Santiago and our 2 future kids.
But I had to be careful, showing my true goal would look needy and push him away.
He turns right onto the main street as I finally figure out how to get onto his next business trip.
I opened my mouth to lay on my charm when—
“Baby, we have to make a stop.”
He pulls up to a 3 story brick building with large windows on the first floor. It looked decrepit. Not that I haven’t been in worse, all the homes in my old neighborhood were run down or boarded up. But Santiago had soft hands and a sheltered life. I wouldn’t expect him to have any business in a place like this.
“What time is our reservation?” I ask. I didn’t want him to go in, I had a bad feeling.
“Its in 20 minutes, this’ll only take 5, I’ll be right back.”
I study the inside as he walks to the door. There are 5 men, 3 at a square table, one in the back hitting a punching bag and one sits at a table on the left cleaning something, maybe tools but I can’t tell from my point of view.
A burly man in a suit answers the door.
I get the impression Santiago is here to give these men something. What that is, I don’t know, but Santiago can’t handle himself with these dudes and I’m growing more nervous. I’ve seen men’s eyes like this before too often when I grew up and I know Santiago is not cut from this cloth.
Santiago approaches the 3 men at the table and they began talking. The middle aged man at the head looks angry, Santiago is smiling but I see fear in his eyes. The boxer and the man in the back come forward slowly surrounding Santiago.
Oh no.
Before I can think too much more I see what the man was cleaning. He lifts what looks like a Glock to Santiago and I scream as he hits it over his head. Santiago grabs his head and gets no time to recover as a punch from one of the 3 lackeys knocks him to the ground. They all kick and punch him as the older guy watches.
I think it might stop after a few seconds until one of them picks up a pipe and reels back striking him with substantial force. The beating continues and if they keep going they may kill him.
I fly out of the car almost tripping over my heels and bust through the door.
“STOP PLEASE!”
I hold up my hands in surrender then dive onto the ground covering him.
“Please stop hurting him!”
I don’t know what business is going on between them and Santiago must have really messed up to be receiving this treatment but I can’t stand by and watch them hurt him.
Someone grabs my arm and yanks me off the ground.
“And who are you,” the leader smiles. My stomach jerks. How can he smile at me like that after what he just did to Santiago.
“I’m. Uh—“ I don’t know what to say. I’m not his girlfriend. Tears fall from my eyes.
“Please, just let him go.”
“You’re so beautiful I almost want to say yes.” They all laugh.
I slowly look around, they stare at me and I feel like a gazelle in a field of lions. They lick their lips and rub their necks. I imagine I look like every monsters fantasy. Crying, afraid, helpless and wearing a barely there silk dress with a fur coat falling off my body.
“KC,” the leader says.
KC, the man with the gun clicks off the safety and aims it at Santiago’s head. I catch a good look at him laid out on the floor. His face is completely swollen and unrecognizable covered in blood, his breathing is labored and the white of his left wrist bone sticks out of his skin.
All I can think to do is drop to my knees in front of the leader. I grab his legs and hands and beg.
I take every drop of energy and hope I have to beg and plead desperately for his life.
Everybody in this world has a vice. It could be greed, money, sex…
One of the lackeys stands me up, strokes my face and says, “you can save his life baby, lets go upstairs.”
Terror courses through me.
The leader grabs his arm. I look at him with pleading eyes. Then, a small flicker of relief calms me because I can see this man’s vice.
Power.
Remember what I said about sad, pretty packages? Well, the most desperate, sad, beautiful package just got on her knees and let him know that he had the power over her whole world and begged him for mercy. He was satiated.
“Please,” I whimper once more.
“Dump them both outside.”
Santiago never told me what exactly happened. He promised me it would never happen again, begged for my forgiveness and I never had to ask to go out of town with him. He brought me along every other week and I quit my job.
The second incident was a year later; its how I got invited to move in.
A college student, about 19 was showing up everywhere, Santiago’s company, his apartment, causing a scene claiming she was pregnant and in love with him.
He was embarrassed, overwhelmed and too soft to address the confrontation himself.
One morning I instructed him to give me 500$ in cash. I had a long conversation with the girl and the matter was over.
Well he certainly has the balls now, I think as I sit alone inside of the airport. I should have known. If he pushed his baby aside then why would he have a problem now. And according to him its not even his baby. I went to see Damon twice in the past 3 years, but I never cheated on Santiago.
I think of everything thing I did to win a spot next to him, parts of myself I gave. For him to literally just throw me away, throw our baby away. I fought so hard, so that I would never have to fight again. I stuck with him through everything to keep my place but all it did was depreciate me. No wonder he let me go so easily.
Now, instead of fighting, I will love. I will love my baby so much that they will never have to fight for value and love elsewhere. They will never have to become someone else to have a place in the world. They will grow up and be beautiful with his gorgeous features. The will be firm and sure like the earth. Intelligent and confident like I never was.
Eventually they will meet their father. He will see our amazing child and feel pain and soul searing regret that he missed out on raising the greatest little human in the world.
I will not ask him for money, or seek child support. My child will care nothing for money other than the food and shelter it provides. I do not want them to be a slave to it like I me.
My whole life I’ve been looking for someone to save me. I found them. Its little soul is growing inside me and the love I feel, supersedes all of my fears.