24
He lived in a studio apartment in the basement of a brownstone in Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn. It had wood paneled floors and in certain areas would scream bloody murder when stepped on. It had an old fashioned radiator that sounded like you were across from a construction site on cold winter nights and a toilet that ran for ten minutes after you flushed it. Beyond that it was adequate. It had adequate space for one man; adequate furniture, a queen sized bed, a futon, an entertainment unit with a forty inch flat screen and a desk with a computer. He sat by his desk and the only light was the light from his monitor. The rapper Souljah Boy’s Booty Meat was playing and a fitting tribute to the song was on the screen.
It was a video clip of a Girl, who he imagined to be no older than nineteen though he couldn’t be certain because he couldn’t see her face, dancing in her underwear. It was something of a rage these days. Booty Dancing, or rather Twerking, was what they called it; young girls recording themselves dancing in varying degrees of undress and putting it on the internet.
Ian believed the internet was the greatest invention in human history if only for what it had done to revolutionize the distribution of porn. He remembered when he first started liking girls and how monumental and elusive a thing it was to see a naked woman. He remembered being in sixth grade and a friend of his brought a Playboy to school and how at lunch all the boys gathered round flipping through it. They all got a day in detention after a Teacher reported them—and it was worth it.
He remembered going into newsstands and having to sneak a glimpse of the magazines in the back, and if he was lucky the Arab working the counter would let him buy a copy, and hopefully there wouldn’t be any women or girls in the store, because if there were they would look at him and whisper pervert under their breath.
These kids nowadays didn’t know how lucky they had it. At any moment a naked woman was only a Google search and a mouse click away. He supposed he was lucky as well. How else would he be able to see this gorgeous creature dancing on his screen as if she was in his room performing just for him? “Ohh look at that. So firm, so perfectly round, and you’re shaking it just for me, aren’t you? Go ahead girl, shake it for Daddy.”
Youth is beauty in and of itself.
His hand slid into his pants. The clip was ending and the Girl was finishing her dance. She had been dancing with her back to the camera, only now she began to motion as if she might turn around. “Oh, you’re going to let me see you.” Then she teased as if she might not. “Oh c’mon baby girl don’t do me like that.” But at the last second she did, “Yes, yes, come to—” and blew a kiss to the camera, and his pupils shrunk to dots.
25
Looking as if he got dressed in the dark, with his shirt buttoned out of order, Ian rushed up the steps of his basement apartment and got in his eleven year old Acura parked outside. As soon as he turned the ignition his feet hit the gas and the car sped off catching the beginning of a red light and almost causing an accident.
Thirty minutes later he screeched to a halt in front of a house in Jamaica, Queens. This neighborhood would be described as lower middle class but decent. It wasn’t the projects. Your kids could feel relatively safe walking home from school and playing on the street but it certainly wasn’t the suburbs. There weren’t any drug dealers on this block but they were five blocks over and those five blocks made a difference.
Ian got out the car and hurried up the steps to the front door. He rang the bell three times in succession and when no one came after thirty seconds he started banging. A few seconds later the partial face of a nine year old girl peered through the curtain blocking the window. When Kyra saw that it was Ian she opened the door. “Hey—” she began but before she could say another word, Ian had entered, brushed by her and was on his way up the stairs to the second level. “Well hello to you too.”
Ian approached a closed bedroom door and thought about knocking. Then he heard the Booty Meat song playing and an extra gear of anger came over him and he barged in. The music was too loud for them to notice he had entered the room, so Tyrone, a boy—no a man who looked to be in his early twenties—kept on videotaping and Tiana in her underwear with her back to the camera kept on dancing. “Yeah shake that ass, girl,” Tyrone said. Ian became so incensed he rushed Tyrone and tackled him to the floor. “Yo, what the fuh—” Hearing the commotion Tiana stopped dancing and turned around.
“Oh my God.”
Ian was on top of Tyrone trying to strangle him but Tyrone was the stronger of the two and he overpowered Ian, turned him around and got on top. “Yo, what the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted.
“I’m going to kill you,” Ian strained to say. He tried to punch Tyrone but Tyrone blocked his blow and punched him. Tiana ran over and tried pulling Tyrone off.
“Tyrone, stop it. Get off of him.”
Tyrone listened and backed off.
“Yo, what the hell is going on? Who the hell is this guy?”
Catching his breath, Ian propped himself on his elbow and looked directly at Tiana.
She was the same girl from the video clip.
“He’s my Father.”
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