Chapter 22
The Reptilian Overlords
My hands clutched the letter. I had insisted on reading through it a fifth time, though I knew it by heart at this point. My father had come to my bedroom room to check on me when I did not show up for dinner. He ended up having to yank it out of my sweaty grip to give it a read himself, frowning as he did so. It peeved him enough to cuss out my grandpa in gutter slang Russian.
"You don't have to go, you know." He told me in a concerned voice.
"He will be even more mad if I don't."
Grandfather had never liked being defied.
"That's on him. Parents are responsible for making sure their kids actually want to see them. You don't owe him anything."
That was big coming from him.
He bit his lip. "Yes, I'm aware of the irony. But I did better than him, at least."
"I wouldn't agree. He was there. Through all the boring parts that you decided to skip."
It was true. My father had been like a fun uncle, but my grandfather was my parent.
"Seriously?" He asked perplexed.
I nodded. I was getting a little angry on my grandfather's behalf. How dare this burn-out loser criticise his parenting like that? Did he actually think I was grateful for his neglect?
"I'm so sorry, Kai. I don't think I realised how damaging my absence was."
"A little late for that, isn't it." I scoffed. "You can't just bro talk your way out of this one."
"Okay. I'm coming along then."
"Suit yourself." I spat back, throwing myself onto my bed, pillow over my head.
I had to brew on this, get my thoughts sorted, come up with a reasonable defence. Good God, how could I ever defend what I had done? My grandfather had never been a romantic, all his marriages, even the later ones, had been quid pro quo arrangements. This was quid no quo. Squid no boku no pico. The equivalent of getting catapulted to the bottom of the social ladder and fucked by a tentacle monster.
"You can shift the blame on me, tell him I put you up to it." My father proposed. "In exchange for a lifetime of free airline tickets."
His face was white as a ghost, and despite having suggested it, he was clearly hoping for me to dismiss his proposal. What a coward. Once again I had to come to his rescue.
"I can owe up to my own shit." I told him.
Unlike you, I added in my thoughts.
He breathed a (little too obvious) sigh of relief and made another attempt at parenting by giving me some hollow advice.
"Don't stress."
The pillow muffled my sarcastic laugh.
"I know, I know, easier said than done. But you should know, he always liked you. A lot. You are the Golden Child. He gushes about you to everyone, especially me, mostly to berate me for not doing as well." He smiled. "He thinks it will make me jealous, I haven't let him in on the fact that it makes me proud. I'm have no intention of competing against my own son."
"Of course not, why compete when you can just ride the coattails of my accomplishments?"
He was chewing his lip. Clearly, having a hard time and I was making it worse. I was fully aware. Thing is, I was stressed, and I had to let my frustration out on someone, a habit I had unfortunately picked up from my grandfather. My Dad just happened to be in my line of fire. And for some reason, he hadn't left yet. Not this time around. He was still there.
Maybe he was willing to change?
How long would it last? For now, I was distracting him from confronting his feelings about his divorce, and possibly miscarriage. The thought had occurred to me, that he was just using me. Predicting his behaviour was rather straight forward. He went wherever his emotions let him, avoiding the people and situations that made him upset and dropping everything in order to spend time with those that gave him a brief dopamine high.
The tournament and the press attention kept him entertained for now. I had given him an in but it's not like I was his sole lifeline anymore.
How much time did we have left together before he would trade me in for Judy?
"I will do some research, see how we can spin it in a more positive light. Unless you plan to appeal to him with the power of love?"
"Absolutely not."
"Thought so. Trust me on this, Kiki. This is my job. I'm actually good at it." He winked.
"Media or parenting? Never mind, I don't really need to ask. You are tragically bad at one of them."
He ruffled my hair and kissed the top of my head. "Aw, is that you warming up to me? I was hurling way worse abuse at my father when I was your age."
That presumptuous bastard! Granted, he was helping me calm my nerves. This time.
"What is the other letter?" He asked, curiously.
We both had too much baggage when it came to grandpa, and were all too keen to switch up the topic.
"Some invitation to a garden party. Seems people believe that since I'm a poof I'm into that kind of shit."
"Hey, it's the first time you admit to being gay." He observed.
"Is it really? To you maybe."
Did he think this was some milestone? He was acting much too excited about it.
In all fairness, it was one. I had reached it so gradually that it hadn't even clicked that I was coming to terms with my sexuality. Marrying a guy had made the shame of dating one seem negligible.
So I really am a homo then, I thought. Just my luck!
Though, the more I pondered about it, the less I minded. It wasn't even defined by my lust for men, but rather my utter disinterest in women. And my weakness for Wyatt in particular. It wasn't like I wanted men, I wanted him.
"Don't call yourself that." He advised.
"A poof? Well, I am one, no? Words are just words. I don't give a crap about semantics."
"It gives other people a license to call you that. People who pick their words intentionally."
He had a point actually. Calling myself one did not sting nearly as hard as when I heard Johnny and Enrique drop the word in my proximity. Or when my teammates mocked my style for making me "look like a homo, but that's okay, because you are one".
"Don't say it in front of people who you don't want calling you that. They will try to justify its fair for them because you used it first. It's always is easier to self-deprecate to relieve short term discomfort. It makes it appear like you aren't taking things too seriously and therefore no one can target you. It's a people pleasing habit. One that is damaging in the long run. If you don't respect yourself, people will subconsciously lose respect for you too."
It was a stern warning, which was funny to me, since I rarely saw him act this serious.
"So I should reject the invitation?" I joked.
"Show it to me first."
I pointed him towards my drawer where the beige letter with a cracked wax seal was still lying.
"This is an invitation to Micheline Hubert's Pentecostal Wine Mixer!" He exclaimed, like those words were supposed to mean something to me.
"So?"
"You have to go. Turning down Micheline Hubert's invitation would be social suicide."
"I already committed that, remember why you came here in the first place?" I joked. "Besides, it's mid-tournament season, and I have never even met the lady."
"Kai, you are fucking with a whole other social class here. These aren't merit-based nouveau riche types that you can impress with your business savvy, these are the dusty dynasties to whose only valued currency is appearance. Not sure if you have given it much thought, but when it comes to social ranking, you and Wyatt are leagues apart. The patriarch of our family is loaded, and he has some social standing and influence within Japan. But the Smithwrights, Huberts, Rothschilds and Habsburgs, they rule the world. Reptilian style! You would get yourself and Wyatt blacklisted from high society."
"For turning down an invitation to a wine mixer? I'm not even legal to drink."
"It's not about that. You are a debutant and have been invited to be introduced to the king."
I sneered. What a load of horseshit. Since when did he believe in social standings? Wasn't he supposed to be a proud anarchist?
"You turning Micheline Hubert down would be deemed highly offensive. It will have consequences, not just for you but Wyatt's family also. Are you sure you want to take their scorn on this early on?"
"You sound like Grandpa right now, trying to use other people's shame to guilt me into staying in line."
He froze for a moment, shoulders tensed and gasping. He caught himself soon enough, only to start pacing the room, ferociously clawing the hair at his temples.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He spouted on every exhale. Finally he paused to shake his head in disgust. "Guess we all become like them whether we want to or not. Listen kiddo. Kiki, son, if you want to say screw society, I will back you. Understood. Fuck them! They don't like you, well that's their problem because you're grand!"
I chuckled. He was always trying so hard to come off as hip and trendy, and then he would use Gen X terms like grand.
"I appreciate your pitch but I think you are overestimating the danger here."
He sighed defeatedly.
"Either way it's something you need to discuss with your husband."
His utterance of the word gave me goosebumps. I should have been used to it by now, I had seen and heard it being used in excess by people mocking me, yet it was the fact the meant it seriously that frightened me. That it was him saying it hit even harder. I felt as though I had been rocked out of sheltered childhood and thrown into the solitary adult world.
"That's the thing about getting married, you thought dealing with your own family was hard, now you have to appease two."
He was right. By marrying Wyatt I had taken on the responsibility to act in his family's best interest. No longer did it only matter what I wanted, I now had to award him equal priority. And he came as a package deal.
How immature of me to not even consider? I had gotten entirely swept up in the romance and thought about my feelings alone, not whether our lives would be compatible.
I never wanted to be stuck appeasing the high society. I had always made it my goal to escape the life grandfather had carved out for me. To instead live a regular life. Work a regular job and not worry about what some self-important buffoon thought of me. However, my decision to marry Wyatt had led me on a trajectory to become nothing but a trophy husband, whose sole worth and social standing depended on appeasing said buffoons.
"I know what you're thinking, son. You are freaking out about all the small details in your lives that don't fit. But hey, the greatest advantages of marriage is that you will both try harder to make it work." He said optimistically.
"Do you still have that joint?"
-x-x-x-
Getting a tattoo in the middle of the tournament had been a terrible idea. I cursed my father for talking me into it, and myself for getting so carried away trying to bond with him.
By the end of the first training session, sweat had fused my tank top with the freshly bruised skin. I was forced to carefully unpeel it. Imagine pulling a band aid off a blistering sunburn. I'd love to say the anticipation was worse but that would be a lie, it stung like a thousand bee stings and most certainly busted some capillaries. It was hard to distinguish blood from sweat but it sure felt that way.
Even when contorting myself it was near impossible to inspect my backside in the mirror or do a decent job cleaning the wound. Showering seemed both the safest and easiest method to prevent an infection, which was the last thing I needed, so for the coming days I obsessively rinsed my body after any strenuous exercise and before and after getting in and out of bed. On the plus side, I must have smelled peachy. Takao even told me so.
Despite my efforts, the tattoo did not seem to heal right. It no longer tingled, but my back felt incredibly sore, similar to when I had sprained it from overexercising. It was possible that I had. If the muscles had remained tensed up in the aftermath of getting inked there was a good chance I had created some microtears when performing my repetitive shooter exercises.
Ideally, my father should have provided me with a plethora of advise, having more tattoos than I was even aware of. In all sorts of places, shapes and sizes, surely he would have a treasure chest of knowledge.
But like always, I greeted with little more than disappointment.
"Don't stress, Kiki. I've seen worse." He dismissed me.
"So you admit it's bad?" I nagged him.
"Hey, I got my Chrysler Maserati tattoo done in the backroom of a Margharita club in Curaçao, that one was much more pussy and scabby. You'll be fine."
"Wait, there is pus?" I yelped.
"Pus is not that abnormal."
That meant yes. I was getting irritated with his lack of urgency. On one hand it was comforting he wasn't freaking out when he saw it, but he made me feel emotionally stonewalled.
I was used to him being reliably oblivious, but to my surprise he did notice me panting in distress.
"Just give it some air and it will heal up in no time, I guarantee it!" He said with a cheerful smile, patting my head reassuringly.
"And I'll pick you up some antibacterial ointment from the med point, just to be safe." He mumbled under his breath.
-x-x-x-
Following his advice I decided to trim a few of my training tank tops so that they would give my wound some air to breathe.
It was bliss. The fabric was no longer shaving against my back and I had all the freedom of motion. I should wear crop tops more often, especially now that I had a cool tat to flash, I thought excitedly. Though soon enough Dad punched the wind out of my sails.
"Kiki, did you wear that in public?" Dad asked me when he spotted me and the rest of the team returning from the exercise room.
"What's wrong with it? I'm just following your suggestion."
"I meant for you to go shirtless! Son, you are rocking a sports bra."
"It's not a sports bra, I turned my shirts into crop tops."
"Yes, I can see you intentionally cut them to be that way. And you additionally cut the sleeves of some of them cause that is your look. And I respect that. But you can't do both. You look like a streetwalker."
"Part of the blame is on us." Ray admitted. "Kai has his own unconventional style, this no longer registers as abnormal."
I knew enough English to have figured out that people used the word "unconventional" when they were too polite to say what they actually meant. Bizarre. Not that Ray should be talking. He looked like he picked his robes out of a Hare Krushna donation bin.
"Just go shirtless!" Dad reiterated.
"I can't just wander around the complex shirtless." I protested. I wasn't a tool.
"Yes you can. I do it all the time." Dad boasted. "That way I don't have to tell the ladies I do crossfit, I can show them."
I rest my point.
"It would be weird." I insisted.
"Yes. Less weird." He acknowledged.
Maybe he did have a point but he never got around to making it, since our conversation was cut short by his phone vibrating and dancing across the table to the tune of Eminem's "Shake That".
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Maxie flinch.
"That's Judy. Rain check." He excused himself, before running off.
"I wish he would have kept that to himself." His reluctant step son bemoaned.
I nodded in agreement. The less we knew the better. I awkwardly draped my arm around his shoulders to console him and he leaned in to me, nestling his face in my undeniably fragrant armpit.
"Let's get an early lunch." I proposed.
"Hm." He huffed unenthusiastically.
Even Takao picked up on Maxie's blue mood. He gave me a wink and Maxie a reassuring nudge in the sides.
"I'll catch up with you later." He shouted. Then turned to me and audibly mouthed "You got this!"
I don't think Takao quite understands the concept of subtlety.
-x-x-x-
Empty trays in hand, Max and I strolled through the imposing Colorado Lounge where the buffet was spread out across multiple rows of tables. There was a wide variety of local and domestic specialties, none of which tickled our fancy. The room was decorated enthusiastically though somewhat tastelessly with native American tapestries and stuffed animal heads covering the wood plated walls and a brick faux fireplace lighting up the corner as though it aimed to replicate a cozy homestead. It's most stunning feature however were the large windows taking up almost the entire back wall, that allowed for a charming view of the maroon Mountain peaks and winding saddlebacks that lead adventurous hikers up there. I had never realised how colourful mountains could be. Colorado had crumbling slopes in subtle browns and yellows, metallic green, and both bright and subdued reds, that would come together to form brightly coloured alluvial fans at the foot of the hill. Steep gullies had carved their way downslope, sometimes dragging trees into their path of destruction, most of which were surprisingly flourishing despite their newfound unrealistic 45 degree angle. Nature truly was relentless. If only humans could adapt as easily as her, taking every stressor and seamlessly integrating it into our mental landscape.
We wandered past a table lined with doughy pizzas that had molten cheese oozing over the sides, then a sizzler stand where a grillmaster would broil you a freshly cut T-bone steak, whose peppery, mouth-watering scent crawled up your nostrils and nestled there, we quickly crossed the salad buffet (colourful but pedestrian), but not even the alluring ice cream stand at the apex of the hall, despite its overabundance of gluttonous flavours could excite Max.
It was hard to feel hungry when one's companion could not eat.
"What are you in the mood for?" I inquired even though I anticipated that it wasn't the food that was the issue.
It was intimidating comforting people who were typically happy. Because you knew they had to be properly upset when they no longer bothered hiding it.
"Honestly? Instant Ramen smothered in an unhealthy amount of mayo."
I could make that happen! The sizzler stand had small cups of condiments and I had spotted some packaged noodles in the vending machine.
Before we could leave, we were corned by Michael who was just about to enter the hall, all alone for a change. Strange, I as the American team typically travelled in a pack. My intuition was that he was here to talk about our upcoming beybattle. I soon found out I was very, very wrong.
He skipped the greeting and jumped straight to the point.
"What is your husbands blood type?" He quizzed me, with a dead-serious expression on his face.
I shrugged, confused about his interest in the topic.
I really should find it out. It seemed like a basic martial responsibility. How troubling that Michael cared more about it than I did.
"Is it rhesus negative?"
"Could be."
"Then he might be one of them. The secret ruling class! It's no coincidence the majority of the European Royal bloodline is rhesus negative."
"That's just due to inbreeding." Max chimed in. He gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry, for calling your partner inbred. "
"That's okay. He probably is." I admitted.
Michael, however, could not be distraught by reason.
"You should be careful around that husband of yours. Don't piss off his family, or they will make you disappear. They are part of the freemasons you know. And founding members of the illuminati."
"That is quite the CV." Max teased.
I wanted to laugh but it was all too absurd. I couldn't bring myself to do so.
From what I knew, those organisations were real, so this didn't strike me as batshit crazy as what Michael was about to say next.
"They won't let me talk about this to the reporters."
Yeah, to no one's surprise.
"They are trying to keep their involvement in the New World Order a secret." He continued, moving closer and closer forcing me to take a precautionary step back.
"Who? The PPB?" I inquired.
Michael glared at Max then leaned in and in a hushed voiced said: "The Jews."
"Oh, Jesus Christ." I exclaimed.
What the actual fuck?
"Yes. Only Jesus can help us now." Michael agreed. "And President George W. Bush."
I wasn't overly pious, I just had a habit of using religious language to swear. Which, ironically, was something I had acquired as part of my Christian upbringing.
"Maxie, let's bounce." I decided, taking his hand and dragging him along with me.
"Michael!" What could I even say to him in a situation like this? "Maybe don't stray too far from the hotel for now."
Michael nodded eagerly. "Good call, they could be sending agents after us."
-x-x-x-
Max and I decided to ask our parents for help. Not that either of us had much confidence, I believe we just wanted an excuse to talk to them. We had made a silent agreement to not address each other's mommy/daddy issues directly, choosing to enable each other instead.
My first guess was that they would be hanging out in the hotel bar, and needless to say I was right. There they were in the corner, as though they knew they were a guilty party, slouching on a velvet couch. Judy had her legs draped across my father's knees. I realized in horror that she was barefoot and he was giving her a foot massage.
"Mom. We just ran into Michael in the corridor and he was acting weird. He went off on some fucked up rant."
A giddy smile flashed across his face like every time he said the f-word. Having recently overcome his inhibition, he was set to get full use out of it. To his disappointment, Judy barely reacted.
"Rant about what?" She inquired, sounding very much disinterested.
"The jews, mostly."
That got her attention. Even my Dad raised his eyebrows.
"That's certainly concerning." He said.
"What could have gotten into him?" I asked. "I don't remember him being like this."
Not that we had hung out much in the past, but I think I would have noticed Michael being a full blown Nazi.
"Maybe he got a little caught up in the 9/11 conspiracy theories, a lot of things have changed in the past year for Americans. Some people are afraid and clinging to the word of anyone who can explain the state of world to them."
"Mom, you can't blame 9/11 for everything. He wasn't like this for any of the months I spent training at the PPB base." Max protested.
"He acts like he's having a psychotic break." I observed, recognising the signs of what I had gone through only a year prior.
Judy was clearly not in the mood to deal with the situation. Probably wanting to return to being groped by my father.
"Aren't his parents Argentinian?" she asked, bored.
"He's white." Max pointed out.
"Exactly." Judy said in a matter-of-factly tone.
Dad burst into hysterical laughter, almost spilling his drink as he kept hitting the table in ecstasy. Max and I exchange puzzled looks. Did they have inside jokes now? Good grief.
"You kids might be too young to know. Argentina is where high ranking SS-members fled to." Judy explained.
"Didn't grandpa have pen-pals in Argentina?" I apprehensively asked my Dad.
"He sure did."
Oh, gross!
"I think I'm going to be sick." I said.
"Same." Max agreed, looking in disgust at our parents, who were prodding and tickling each other, giggling as they complimented each other's jokes.
-x-x-x-
I had convinced the team to train out in the mountains for a change. The escape from the concrete cellar did us all well. It allowed us to breathe clean air and get out of our stuffy funk. It was a mystery to me how something as basic as changing of scenery could give you a fresh perspective.
In my case, it brought me back to the conversation I had with my father. Maybe Michael had gotten into my head with his illuminati nonsense. What if the two of them were right about Wyatt's family belonging to some sort of powerful elite? Would I inadvertently make them my enemy by turning down a simple garden party invitation?
"Do you mind if I took a couple of days off?" I asked the lot, quiet enough that I had hoped it would fly under the radar.
Max and Takao were immediately supportive.
"Do you need a breather?"
"We totally understand if you need to take a break from the situation, Kai."
Sure, it was at the back of my mind, but my father was actually doing a swell job keeping the press at bay. For now.
"It's not that. I believe I am expected to attend this Wine Mixer. For Wyatt's family." It sounded even more frivolous saying it out loud.
Ray crossed his arms, thin lines carved into his forehead. His lips formed a tentative frown.
"You already sat out our first match due to injury, and you spent your time in England getting hitched, if you leave now, the question is, what value do you provide to the team?"
I swallowed my pride. He was making a good point.
"Come on Ray, what are you saying? Of course Kai is welcome to stay, we need him." Takao shot in to object.
I did appreciate his enthusiasm. He had reminded me of a golden retriever more than once, I truly believed he was too precious for this world.
"No Takao, he is right." I admitted.
I had to find some other way to handle my personal business.
"Ray has a point, if Kai is not fully committed then we would be wasting our limited resources dragging him along." Kenny acknowledged.
I would be dead weight. It was not a fair position to put them in.
Takao approached the beydish, fist pumped, fiery look of determination in his eyes. "We can't just back out on our teammate." He protested.
"I'm the one who backed out first." I reminded him.
"Are you really saying you're leaving?" Takao cried out. "You're going to ditch us for some posh wine mixer when you can't even drink?"
"Maybe." I conceded.
Would I really have to chose between them?
Takao jerked down the screen of his baseball cap. It covered his eyes though could not hide that he was sniffing. His face was bright red and he was clenching his teeth in anger. Max jumped in diligently, making a conscientious attempt to comfort him, but Takao brushed him off, savagely shoving his arm away.
Shit, I had upset the little guy.
"Being on a team is not about making sacrifices but supporting each other." He pleaded desperately, more to Ray and Kenny than to me.
I had never understood why he always fought so hard to keep me on the team or was willing to put up with so many of my less than favourable qualities. Takao was better than this, he did not deserve to be treated as disposable by people like me.
Ray on the other hand would not tolerate much shit. He was my mineshaft canary, warning me when I had gone too far.