The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 24

Go here for the previous chapter.

Garret, Jay, and Adrianna look at the contents of the package now lying upon the kitchen table. The anticipation of what the contents were fell flat when they opened it-- a keychain from a self- storage place with three keys jangling on the end, an address with no city or zip, and a SIM chip.

“What is all this?” Adrianna asks.

The question hangs in the air. Garret is so completely exhausted his joints hurt. His mind tries to make connections with these items but he knows so little about Veronica that he feels like a dog biting the stream of a water hose; grasping nothing. Jay picks up the keys.

“Where is this storage place? Is it around this area?” asks Jay as he passes them to Adrianna.
“Oh no. I have never heard of it before.”

“Well the little key there is a distinguishable Master Lock key. So if we find that storage unit we can open it,” determines Jay.

Adrianna picks out the largest key. “This looks like a car key. Maybe a duplicate since it doesn’t have the make on it?”

Jay sighs and fights the urge to completely wipe the table clean of the items. He is frustrated. For his entire young life he has been able to be in control of everything. He has never felt so completely helpless and this spiraling feeling is making him see red.

He had never let in a girl as far as he has with Veronica. All his other girlfriends had no clue what he was involved in and he liked it that way. They were safe and he was making money. Now here he is. The woman that he has fallen for the hardest has somehow worked her way into his world and he feels completely vulnerable. Garret starts to sob. A deep, convulsing cry that scares him and everyone else in the room.

“Boss? Are you ok?”

Garret rushes to the bathroom and rinses his face in cold bursts of water. He can’t loose her. –splash- She complements him. –splash- He’ll never find anyone like her again. –splash-
Garret looks at his reflection and stares deeply into his swollen red eyes. He needs to focus. He wants to be able to look in the mirror and not be ashamed of the man glaring back at him. Veronica has changed his life.

A gentle knock on the door breaks Garret of his trance. “Mijo? The taxi is here. Are you ready to go?” The door slowly opens and Adrianna invites herself in. She turns him around and gives him a gentle wordless hug.
“Vasquez is a fool. If I were 20 years older…”

Their laughter brightens up the mood. “We have to go, mijo. The taxi is waiting.”

The night before Jay made travel arrangements for them to go to LA to get to Veronica. They gather their things and head out to the cab.

“So while you were having an emotional break down,” says Jay rolling his eyes. “I called information and found out that this storage place is in San Ysidro.”

“That is on the American side of the boarder.”

“Yup. Which makes me believe that this street address is in the same city.”

“Elementary my dear Watson.”

“Don’t be a dick. Sorry Adrianna.”

“Aye mijo. I had men shooting in my house last night and my daughter is in a coma. The word ‘dick’ is the last of my problems.”

The cab driver abruptly makes a left turn.

“This isn’t the way to the airport,” instructs Adrianna.
“There has been a change of plans,” grunts the man.

Confessions of a Pimperella: Don’t Be That Girl

My friend Tom is undeniably my polar opposite. He is Caucasian, conservative, and plays golf. We get into heated debates about politics and racial differences but we always end them with a hug and a “You know I love you, boo.” We have a friendship that I am sure will stand the test of time. Tom and I share three similarities that bond us tighter than Ann Coulter’s ass hole (conservative jab; had to do it Tom). One, we can crack each other up. He is one of the few people that I could be locked a white room with no windows and doors and we could still have fun. Two, we aren’t afraid to be assholes. Feelings need to be hurt sometimes for the better good. Finally three, we concern ourselves with doing the right thing for our friends and family.

Recently, Tom was involved with a stage five cling-on (a girl he dated who just couldn’t come to terms with there well established “just friends” status), that we will call Sa-crazy. The following are a list of crazy things she did after they stopped dating:

-Asking his gym front desk if he had checked in that day.

-Showing up uninvited at his house then having dinner...with his parents.

- Emailing him excessively to apologize, tell him he wasn’t shit, and then apologize to him again.

-Shamelessly seducing Tom while over and over he would say no. Well, he did give in a few times, but say no to me once and I would never beg for it.

-She became buddy-buddy with Tom’s socially awkward friend Rustin (more on him later). Tom wasn’t talking to her and she would post something on Rustin’s wall nearly everyday. I am sure in an attempt to still be visible to Tom.

All of this on top of the crazy things she did while they were dating, which included:
-Calling me to wish me a Happy Birthday—at 3am on Tom’s phone.

-Humoring the abusive text messages from her ex-boyfriend. They had been broken up for 2 years...

…I am sure I have established the intensity of this girl’s crazy. Agreed? Whenever, Tom would tell me they were hanging out again I would wonder what he was thinking but would appreciate that he was capable of taking care of himself.

Fast Forward to Tom’s birthday. I show up at the house of one of Sa-crazy’s friends. Immediately, all the girls start shooting me daggers with there eyes, but I figured it was becasue I was new, and we started taking shots. Perhaps a few too many because the night ended with me being upset and Tom hugging me and telling me I am not an asshole (long story).

A week later I find out from Tom that Sa-crazy&Company thought he and I were dating and that we were being disrespectful to her by hugging at the end of the night. Sa-crazy knows we dated. She knows he and I are just friends. –sigh-

Dilemma: I knew I’d see her again at a comedy show we were all going to go to.
Resolve: I’ll ignore her. She doesn’t like me. I don’t like her. Why waste our energy on fake-ass small talk?

The night comes and I arrive at Tom’s house. First thing out of his mouth: “Oh my god. Why can’t my friends and family have my back?”

“Why what happened?”

“First, Sa-crazy has been emailing my dad. What the fuck? And I found out through my mom that they talked on the phone the other night.”

“Whaaaa…that is creepy.”

“No shit! And now Rustin just called saying that Sa-crazy doesn’t want to drive up there by herself and that he is going to drive her and her friend up. He said he would still drive if I was cool with that. He knows I wouldn’t be cool with that!”

So we drove separately. At the show I ignored her. When her and her friend got up to get drinks, Tom and I let Rustin know that she was crazy and he let us know that he felt he was in the middle. He wanted to maintain their friendship because they were “fun”. We assured him that we weren’t going to make him pick sides and that we still thought he was awesome. We continued with the show. That night Sa-crazy sent Tom a message via Facebook; the next day, I got one too. The following is the exact message (purple=my thoughts)

Fuck, she messaged me.

Sa-crazy Batshit September 20 at 9:34am Report

So I just wanted to clear a few things up for you...Especially since Tom thought it appropriate to email MY good friend (Who Rustin? He and Tom have been friends for years. Now he is YOUR [all caps] good friend?), I figure I should be able to get my words in...

A- I would really appreciate it if you kept your thoughts about me between you and Tom, or at least not to one of MY good friends. If you had something to say to me then I was only sitting two chairs down and would've been nice had you said it to ME and not my friend. (I was trying to warn him about your crazy, fool. I don’t care if you know I don’t like you!)

B- I hear that you had some words to say about my friends as well. (No. Didn’t say anything about your friends. Just that they talked about me.) So I just wanted to let you know that I think it's cute (cute?) that you think we even spent anytime at all talking about you, but we didn't. All that was said was that it would've been nice had you even made an attempt to thank my friends who invited you into their home and drank their alcohol (They were pushing shots on me!) and put on that shindig that you were invited to for YOUR friends bday. So no, not one of my friends disliked you but did mention that did not even say more than a hello to the hosts...but flatter yourself as you may saying that people hated you at that party! I do believe when I showed up to your house for your bday, I did not show up empty handed ($5 bottle of wine…ooooh I am sorry!) and made sure to say a few thank you's, but I guess we do things differently. (You were also text messaging your ex-boyfriend in front of Tom at my birthday “shindig”. You’re right we do “do things differently”.)

You and Tom both wanna sit there and say how you guys are drama free and yet as soon as I walk away for 5 min, you blast one of my friends with all your drama?! Tom can run around telling people he changed his number cause "I'm so crazy" when I didn't even know he changed it cause I've only tried calling him once! (He said you begged him to get back with you for “just a few more months”. You’re pathetic.) Very drama free?? We were just there to have fun and not cause any trouble, so it angered me a little to find out that you needed to talk to my friend about me. When neither of your names were in our mouths up until that point. I wouldn't expect anything less than for you to have Tom's side (That’s right! WEST SIDE! Loc up! I'm from Chula Vista, homes!) and say what you will to him about me (I have. Always thought he could do better then you. He had--with me), I could care less, I just don't like when people become shady. You apparently said how "rustin-you are such a nice guy, how could you take HER side" Well maybe cause it IS the right side...Either way, Tom is leaving to vegas, hopefully sooner than later, and you and I will probably never see each other again. Just thought I should be able to defend myself (why do you care what I think?) at least with a few points since you guys wanted to do all the shit talking while I was not around...Good talk! Thanks! (You’re welcome. Hope you feel better. Cut yourself a little too, crazy.)

She sent this to me at 9:30am. This means after her morning piss and serving of Wheaties, she thought it important to message me. Get a life.

I got this while out with Ike. His response; “Bitch is fuckin’ crazy. Who is this broad?”

So after reading this I didn’t respond back. I know it would have made for more juicy blog material (sorry followers), but I couldn’t give her what she wanted--a reply. I blocked her instead. Which means when she tries to follow it up with more hate mail, she’ll be denied. I think that is even sweeter. I also had to delete Rustin from my friends and block him as well. He had shared details of our conversation with her and I could never trust him again. I’ll miss him though.

When it comes down to it, I haven’t had this sort of drama in my life since high school and it was a splash of cold reality; girls like this still exist. Ladies! Do not be this girl! If a boy breaks up with you, let him go. If you hear people have talked shit about you, let those haters hate. When the negative people around you see you sweat they have won. The truly embrace the pimperella mantra, you have to be as cool as a cucumber, baby boo.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 22

Jay looks at Garret with wonder as he passes the threshold without hesitation. Both Garret and Vasquez look back at Jay when they realize he is not following them in. Garret reads his friend’s apprehension and steps back outside.

“What’s wrong?”

“Seriously, boss? This is fucking stupid. Are you really going to follow the man who just tried to kill you and his daughter into this house?”

“Listen, we are here. If Vasquez wants us dead he’ll kill us if we go inside or not. If you want to stay in the car with Arturo and his sweaty-overweight-wife-beater-wearing ass, go right ahead. I am sure that would be more comfortable.”

Just then they hear a woman’s voice call from inside.

“Estan aqui? El novio? Averlo!”

A small woman with the same breath-taking features as Veronica steps out on to the porch. She smiles at them with pain in her eyes. “Which one of you is Gah-rrr-et?” His harsh English name struggles to escape the smooth sounds her tongue is use to saying. She grabs both of their hands and gently guides them inside as Garret introduces himself and Jay. Her gentle demeanor hypnotizes Jay and he gives way to his anxiety.

They enter into the small living room where Vasquez is seating on the couch and five of his men stand and sit throughout the room; dominating the small space. Sra. Nuñez shoos two men out of the Lazy-Boy chairs that straddle a small table directly across from where Vasquez is seated. The two men reluctantly vacate, surprised by her absolute indifference to whom they are.

“Sit down boys.” Jay and Garret look at Vasquez’s men as they sit down. “You want something to eat? I got some mole cooking. It is Vero’s favorite. I thought it would make me feel better but it has made me more of a nervous wreck.”

Sra. Nuñez doesn’t wait for them to answer. She takes a deep breath and heads to the kitchen. Garret’s line of vision follows Sra. Nuñez into the kitchen and then falls onto Vasquez’s stern glare.

“I read the letter you wrote to Veronica…”

Vasquez pauses like he’ll continue and the awkward silence makes Garret shift his weight in his chair. In a desperate attempt to fill the silence, Jay clears his throat. Sra. Nuñez rushes back into the room and sets up two TV trays in front of Jay and Garret.

“Sra. Nuñez, please. I don’t think I am all that hungry,” explains Garret to deaf ears.

“Don’t be silly. It is Vero’s favorite and you have had quite an adventure,” says Sra. Nuñez as she walks back into the kitchen. They hear her rattling plates as she continues to yell out from the kitchen, “And please call me Adrianna. John, quit glaring at those young men. If it wasn’t for you Vero wouldn’t be in LA. I can’t wait to see her! We’ll let the boys eat and then we’ll go.”

“Wait. Why is Vero…err…Veronica in LA?” asks Garret.

“I know specialist at Cedar Sinai and my daughter deserves the best of care. She deserves the best in all things. Don’t you think?” interrogates Vasquez.

“I couldn’t agree with you more. Do we know her condition?” Sra. Nuñez enters the room with two warm plates of mole.

“Well, she is in a coma,” she informs them, “but we have to stay positive that she’ll wake soon. Positive thoughts and prayers will see her through this.” She sets down the plates and waits for them to take a bite. “Eat!”

Jay and Garret push the food around their plates and begin taking small bites. Jay breaks the silence, “No es por nada Senora—you makes the best mole I have ever tasted!” Sra. Nuñez, satisfied that they like her cooking, leaves to back for her trip.

“Her cooking and the sound of her laughter made me fall in love with her,” laments Vasquez and he continues, “Like I mentioned, I read your letter to Veronica. I heard my younger voice in that letter. I would have done anything for Adrianna and Veronica and I made some big sacrifices. What are you welling to sacrifice Garret?”

Sha-boo-boo is Single: Farmers Hide Your Sons

Sha-boo-boo (aka C-Dawg), my girl of close to 11 years and my best friend is now unattached. Status update: C-dawg is now single. She has recently broken up with her boyfriend of 6 years and to say it was a shock is an understatment.

I received the text on Saturday morning and I was floored. They had been together for so long, and even though they had had their problems I didn’t think she’d actually break up with him. I looked at my phone in a daze: “BK and I broke up yesterday :(.” I blinked twice as my foundation crumbled around me. In a sick and twisted way I looked at their relationship as a model of a what I’d like to have in my couplehood—to a certain extent. They were friends. They had a similar sense of humor and they enjoyed being around eachother. It was lovely to watch them dote on eachother. That all changed.

Without getting into too much detail, C-Dawg had become unhappy. She had clearly expressed the things she wanted from him, but the relationship was not progressing the way she had hoped. It was time to end it, and now she feels great. She feels free. I’ll miss BK (he was my good friend too) but I am so relieved to have my best friend back.

I had noticed a slight change in C-Dawg a couple years ago. She would become pessimestic and negative at times. She would shit all over stuff and then say, “I’ve hit a wall. I am ready to go home.” I’d look at her and wonder, Who are you? Where is my girl? The girl that danced with me on the bar, and when we got down the security guard said, “You better get back up there and show those bitches how it’s done.” The girl that helped me put a rusty exercise bike in Oscar’s jeep. The girl that knows what I mean by, “In front of La Virgen? No respect.”

Well, she is back. We figured on Tuesday during Happy Hour (yes I went to a Happy Hour on a Tuesday. Don’t judge.) that her and I have only been single for about 6 months of our friendship, and those 6 months had been bananas. I am looking forward to that period in my life recycling itself through again.

We are going to Vegas this weekend. We are going to break some hearts. Change some lives. And shatter some worlds. Stay tuned for subsequent posts.

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 20

“Bue…bue…buenos días, Señor Vasquez.”

“Hay una enferma, joven, que se llama Veronica, aqui?”

The front desk receptionists shoot glances at each other. He is asking for the young beauty that came in with the two young men. She was still unconscious and would be defensless against a brute like Vasquez.

“Si, creo que esta aquí.” The receptionist picks up the phone and quickly dials Dr. Jimenez’s extension. After a fe mumbled exchanges, the receptionist says, “El doctor quiere hablar con usted antes que te lleve verla.”

“Bueno. Aquí espero.”

The nurse knows that Dr. Jimenez has done “side” work for Vasquez before. The good doctor had even been flown to the states to tend to a bullet wound El Chulo had gotten from a rival familia while doing business in Juarez. Dr. Jimenez could pacify Vasquez—get on his good side. The last thing she wants is a blood bath in the lobby.

Vasquez takes a seat next to a woman holding a snot-nosed toddler. His heart fills with worry. The last time he had seen Veronica happy was when she was the age of the little one in the seat next to him. He asks the woman how long she has been waiting to be seen. She looks at Vasquez and rolls her eyes. She mutters something under her breath; asking rhetorically why he cares, and stating even louder that he should slum it more often. Vasquez realizes that she must be incredibly poor. Anyone with access to internet, TV, or a newspaper would know not to talk to him like that.

A man in the next row over behind the woman nudges her shoulder and whispers something in her ear.

“Yo si ce quien es! Y a mi que me importa?”

The woman’s eyes pierce into Vasquez. For once, in a long time Vasquez feels intimidated by another person. He respects her for this—her fearlessness. She glances behind him as Dr. Jimenez walks up.

“Hello sir,” interrupts Dr. Jimenez. “The receptionist let me know you were looking for the young woman that just came in?”

“Yes. I’d like to see her.”

The doctor rings his hands. His nervousness makes Vasquez anxious. “Please tell me what wrong Doctor is. I don’t have time to play games.” Vasquez takes a deep breath, “The truth is she is my daughter. I have made a mess of a lot of things and I need to make sure she is safe.”

The doctor looks at Vasquez with shock and fear. His daughter? He knows giving him bad news could mean his life. Stalling won’t work now. Dr. Jimenez motions for them to start walking towards her room, “Sr. Vasquez the head trauma is severe.”

“What is the prognosis?” asks Vasquez has they enter her room. She looks like an angel asleep. Her arm is hooked up to an IV and the room is filled with a chorus of beeps announcing her vitals. Vasquez was not prepared to see her like this and he rushes back out, “let’s talk in the hallway and let her rest. Please, let me know her condition.”

“Well, to be honest, we don’t have the resources to fully assess the extent of her injury. She is in a coma now, but stable. I suggest we air lift her to the United States were they could better treat her.”

Vasquez agrees motions with his hand and one of his men miraculously comes from around the corner. “Ernesto, make arrangements to transport Veronica to Cedars Sinai. Contact Dr. Mollenkopf. He’ll know what preparations need to be made.” Vasquez directs his attention to Dr. Jimenez, “Can you fax her chart to them?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Also Doctor, I want you to personally see that the woman with the small child in the waiting room is cared for next. Send this and any future bills to me. They will be taken care of.”

“Yes I will. Right away,” says Dr. Jimenez confused by the request. “Oh, before I forget. A young man wanted us this to give this to Veronica when she came to.” He hands Vasquez the letter.

Vasquez opens it and reads it.


Dear Veronica,

Jay and I were told we couldn’t see you or get an update on your condition because we aren’t family. We left. I am sorry. I wish I could have protected you from all of this. I failed you as a man.

Jay and I are headed to your mom’s house. I am going to bring her back. If I need a family member to find out that your ok, I’ll move mountains to get one. I wish I was meeting her in happier circumstances but I need to make sure your going to be OK. It is my only focus.

I’ll see you soon—healthy.

Yours,
Garret

The Court Chronicles (A Blog Novella) - Part III, Chapter 18

Garret squints through the dust until the figure begins to take a familiar shape—it’s Jay. Never had the sight of his trusted friend looked so good. Jay approaches cautiously. When he realizes that the jeep he had just witnessed flipping over had Veronica and Garret in it he rushes over and kneels next to Veronica.

“Oh my God! Is she breathing?”

“Yeah. Shit! Jay, what do I do?”

Jay Looks around them and his stomach twists with dread. They are in the middle of no where and Veronica clearly needs medical attention.

“Let’s move her to those trees so that her body doesn’t over heat under the sun.”
Garret obeys mindlessly. The adrenaline that shot through his blood is fading, and his body begins to ache. Under the trees Jay asks if there is any water in the Jeep. Garret shrugs his shoulders.

“You need to pull it together, boss. We need to figure out what our next move is going to be.”

“All we have been doing is reacting and figuring out. We need to plan,” sighs Garret. “For whatever reason Vasquez has stopped chasing us. I don’t think he grew a heart. Even is Veronica is his daughter, he is still a cold hearted son of a bitch. He’ll be back and he’ll be ready to kill us.” Garret looks down at Veronica. Suddenly renewed with a sense of responsibility to Veronica and Jay, Garret stands up and runs to the jeep to survey what resources they have available to them. He looks through the wreckage and finds a flare gun, to jugs of water, the berretta he had found earlier, and a CB radio.

The radio cracks. –beep- Boss, for clarification, we are turning back to head quarters? Over.

-Beep- Yes announces Vasquez’s deep voice. That is an order. It is done. Over.
-Beep- Sir, suggestion to make a sweep of the area. Over.
A long pause makes the silence torturous for Garret. If they come back he’ll have to move Veronica away from the jeep.
-Beep- That will not be necessary. Please let others know that it is a direct order. I’d like for arrangements to be made by the time I return to move on to Juarez. I’d like to leave immediately. That is all. Over.

Garret can’t believe what he is hearing but he’ll accept it. Just then Jay calls out to Garret.
“Hey Garret! She is bleeding from her ear!”

Confessions of A Female Player: A Playa Is Born

Slut, whore, skank, and cum dumpster are terms with such a negative connotation and I don’t feel describe me in the least. I don’t charge for sex. I don’t dress provocatively. Most importantly, I am particular on who dumps their cum on me (safe sex kids). For lack of a better term, I am going to refer to myself as a female player. The fact that women don’t have a better term that expresses they don’t give a damn about these “suckas” is a shame, but that is a blog topic for another time. For the time being, player is the best way to describe my current need for sex and my utter avoidance of commitment. To better understand the root of my “playa status” I should briefly describe my past relationships.

At 17, I moved in with my boyfriend after a long 3 month courtship. After a nearly 4 year abusive relationship, I returned to our little apartment from a work trip only to find a young woman in our bathroom. She was still dewy from the shower she took and her clothes were still in the dryer. Bless her heart. She had laundry to do after fucking my boyfriend. Following frantic apologies and rushed efforts to have her leave without me going ape-shit, we agreed it was over and I moved out.

At 23, I met another young man with a lot of promise. He had a genius IQ, was the executive of a payment option company, and my dad thought he was bright. Two years into our relationship he gave me the “It’s Not Working” speech and we broke up. Three months later I found out that what was not “working” for him was being a two-timing bastard. I found out through lengthy text messages from the “other woman” that they were sleeping together for 8 months of our relationship.

After these two disastrous tramples with cupid I went through a minor playa period. I avoided anything serious and dated casually. I knew I wasn’t ready for another serious relationship but I had faith that since I was a good person that would find a good man.

Then, I met disaster number three; a tall, dark, and handsome man that made me drop all my walls only to break up with me, get back together with me, break up with me again, get back together with me, and then break up with me again. This emotional roller coaster was what officially catapulted me into full on player-hood.

You can say I am suffering major posttraumatic stress disorder of the douche-bag sort. As much as I’d like to say I am not jaded, I can’t help but think every guy is a jerk. I have managed to build fort-quality walls up in an attempt to protect myself, and the “deal-breakers” I discover persistently dwarf any perspective relationships. To say I am a heartbreaker is an understatement and at the same time I wish I could say I care that I hurt them.

-Cue Rick James: “Coooold Blooded.”

So as I chronicle my dating life, know that you are reading the thoughts of an extremely scarred woman. Should I ever say, “This guy is special. He has won me over,” be prepared to RSVP to a miracle wedding. Pigs will fly, the Devil will have frost on his car, and I’ll be wearing white.

PS. Honorable mention will be made to the follower who can create a better term then “female player.”