Poison: Poison, #1

By Dimē

True love can come at any cost, but how much is one willing to pay? He never apologizes. She never asks...

 

The world is on the verge of a new millennium. Vedren is fresh out of high school and hurtling toward potential stardom and all that life has to offer her. When a casting call for a daytime soap brings Vedren from Rhode Island to the Big Apple, she sees not just a chance for stardom but a chance for love in the form of Liño, a cool, alpha mestizo with an icy exterior. Vedren soon finds herself falling deeper and deeper into the mystery that is his heart.

The Poison series takes you back to where it all started.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dimē
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798887229430

Dimē

As an artist of many things, the Poison series has been in the making for over a decade. Poison is among several other books by the author, some in the making and others awaiting its publishing date. Dimē  is also a musician and photographer with a fiancée and very young son.

Book preview

Prologue

Debra Kaminski observed how comfortably he sat in his seat just five feet across from her. Finally interviewing, in less than two minutes, Forbes’s Most Powerful Male Celebrity. She squirmed in her seat. He was the sun in the eyes of Hollywood, and by far, the greatest to have ever appeared on their show.

The director connected the microphone to her collar. Debra peeked at Aulin’s constant staring towards the ground, chin resting between the hook of his index finger and thumb. With each glance, she’d ID another characteristic emphasized by the media, and it was exact.

A classic mestizo with trophy-gold skin, with a hazy tint cast about the shadows. Tight murky lips. The glow of his champagne eyes projected in rays. Any captured light crystalized them and carved into you with his cutting stares. Stares, from which Debra shied away. The luminance of chunky black braids draped about his shoulders. And vague dimples set shy within the jawline of a chiseled face.

Her tiny fingers feathered through the thin strands of her lengthy strawberry–blonde hair. She narrowed her beady blue eyes to check on him. When he glanced up in unison, his shuttered eyes gave no trace of surprise at her staring. A giggle left her mashed paper-thin lips.

I’m such an ass, she said. Can someone get me a Diet Coke? Geesh. There’s no question, I’m on cloud nine. It should totally be against the rules… She snickered lightly with some of her colleagues. …to have a ghastly, weird white woman gaping at yoohoo’hooo!

Her face was pink throughout her confined laughter.

Okey-doke, said the director.

The stage lights beamed and illuminated the conference area, blackening the outskirts of the room and supporting the title of the One–on–One show.

We are on in 5…4…3… His voice faded along with himself into the darkness.

Good morning, America! Thank you for joining us. I am Debra Kaminski, and welcome to the One–on–One show here on VH1, where we interview only the most powerful people in the American entertainment industry about their past up to their present.

Her announcement was isolated by the camera lens.

Today, as promised, we have one of the most honorable celebrity guests this show has yet to encounter.

Red matted her cheeks. Debra dramatically went on.

"He started his career in the late 90s as a struggling freestyle artist, which landed him a highly successful role on the acclaimed soap opera of all times, SOA. Over the years this phenomenal icon managed to build—on his own native soil—an entertainment resort complex, Marisol’s Castle. This resort consists of exhibitions, all sorts of theme park attractions, lodging, dining, and even personal tours inside the remote village in which his seven castles dwell. Castles which he and his family occupy.

"He’s one of Hollywood’s most desirable and demanded male celebrities, and he doesn’t stop there. He is also a lucrative investor of all forms in the financial markets…"

Aulin sat, a brick. The praise, honor, and exaltations lavish on him, a mirror impression of perfection, were like ocean waves crashing against rock. He lifted as the introduction approached its end. Sat up. The camera was soon to swivel his way, bringing light to his currently shadowed face.

He’s won over twenty-eight Grammys in his music career, guys, and is the CEO, and sole founder of APO Corporations. He is a record-breaking multibillionaire…making him one of the wealthiest young celebrities in history.

Debra uncrossed her legs and followed the camera with sparkling eyes. She swung her hair back.

He’s continually growing and doesn’t intend on stopping! What an extraordinary pleasure we have today to be meeting with brilliance at its finest. He says what keeps him going is knowing that—listen to this one, guys—you are your greatest investor…and greatest investment." Just brilliant.

America, this is a man who needs absolutely no introduction. We have the privilege of welcoming Hollywood icon, Mr. Auliño Yuar.

Chapter One

His reflection was hazy in the bedroom mirror. He ascended from the lone diamond stud in his ear and snapped into real time.

At the door, there was a light knock. He licked his thumb and glazed over the thickness of his coal-black eyebrows. The knock switched into a thud. He stumbled. Lurched over the bed and snatched the fitted white cap to match his snowy FUBU hoodie.

Madre clenched her teeth and grunted; her face flushed ruby-red. She balled her fist, swung her arm up, and pitched for the door the second Aulin yanked it open. She slapped her hands to the hips. The tangy smell of her body odor rushed into her nostrils along with the woodsy citrus escaping him. His face was submerged behind the hoodie he had cloaked over his hat. He scanned her up and down. Madre reared back with pretzeled arms and eyes agape.

"Buenos dias," she spat, storming away toward the stairs. A quake trailed every step.

Aulin bunched his shoulders. Filtered an effortless ‘Morning’ in a swift twist to lock his door, in consideration of the eight additional occupants with whom he shared residency.

He strode several feet behind. Madre’s lips mashed. Heat inflamed her body. She stopped and spiraled, colliding with Aulin. He tripped back a step.

The great walls that surrounded them harbored an echoic reverb. The split of Madre’s lips was that of a candy wrapper. Her English, that of a child.

Juuw missed dinner last night.

I told you what happened, he said.

Madre advanced into the shadow of him and blended with his baking stare. One hand a razor, the other a chopping board, she sliced every word.

Sunday dinner is a requirement in thees house. For seven jears, it’s been that way. I tell you and all juw brothers every time, I grew up that way and all I have left of my family is tradition! And someday that’s all juw will have left. If juw have a—

She squeezed her eyes shut in harmony with a slow inhale. They mooned open with an exhale. Many inches below his lofty stature, she raised her small wrinkly hands to cuff both sides of his face. He pitched back out of her grasp. Instead, she held her hands out an inch shy of his clenched jaws. Tears thrust through the chambers of her eyes.

Liño… she said, frailly. Papi, I know I’m not jur mother. And God knows I know juw don’t want me to be. She gazed through his snickering eyes. "But still, I love juw like juw my own. I can’t help it. I love juw too much like my own. Tu eres mi hijo especial."

He pulled away.

She spanked her mouth. Casper-wide eyes. The hand slipping into his pocket she clamped onto.

"No, Auliño. Todo lo que quiero un día es que me ames…un poquito."

Madre’s agony. The liquified plea in the creases of her words pulled the trigger that discharged his "I do love you" at force. He took his hand back. Placed it back in his pocket.

She hadn’t prepared for hearing that set of words from her most modest son. The ringing silence stretched like the aftermath of church bells. She swallowed hard. Flutters in her chest rumbled beneath her flesh. His eyes tracing around, and his chin jacked back to his neck, she couldn’t imagine what he felt. There was no need to continue the discomfort. A beam dawned in the depths of her eyes. Pinched lips disclosed the smirk. She stepped back.

I know, papi. So…juw going to gym today?

It’s wheh I’m headed.

And juw have to work, huh?

She coasted behind his casual stride, shooting his keys from one hand to the next.

Yes.

She did her best to make small talk the remaining way, but roadblocks and dead ends were the usual outcomes.

Her hand rode down his back as they approached the top of the steps. She felt the adrenaline in his pace, even with slow gears, so she helped him along.

Okay, guapo. I love you. Dinner will be in the oven tonight.

Aulin shot a head up and skated down the steps. He paid no mind to the busy living room a few of his brothers occupied—shouts and howls overlapping each other at breakfast.

Chapter Two

Bronx, NY 1998

The gushing wind sang in the ears of New Yorkers. A few chased their flying hats, and others squeezed their bitter red faces away from the gust. The newspapers that escaped the hands of those with loose grips capered down the streets, often blanketing windshields of automobiles. Horns could be heard at a distance.

Other than the shifting of September weather, it was a typical Monday morning. Typical for those who wished to embark on new ventures…to open new doors, take on new challenges, or even make life-changing decisions. Today, Monday, September of 1998 would become a Monday that Lisette would never forget.

Not only would Lisette execute a living organism that was shared between her and her boyfriend, but she would also obliterate the very last intricate piece of his heart. The man for whom Lisette, according to all accounts, had fallen head first. Her mind replayed the words of her parents:

‘If you have a child now, do you think he will be around in two years? Does he have money to support you and your child? Does he support you now, other than buying you little lunches and dinners on Happy Day? Has he ever bought you a pair of sneakers? Do you think he will be able to provide for your child working at a damn diner? He’s what—eighteen? You’re kids. You don’t know what life is’

---

I know you’re scared, but before you know it, it’ll be all ova’, Mrs. Alverez said to her daughter, as they drove to the abortion clinic.

Lisette flipped her eyes away and gazed out the window. There had been no time to accept the fact she was pregnant and now she had to face two challenges at once, being pregnant and a murderer. So holy of my parents, she thought.

What are you thinking about, chiquita?

Ma, can I say something. What you think? Like, you think I wanna be pregnant to be all up in this situation like this? How about everything’s on my mind?

Her mother influenced the decision. To her surprise, her father had kept a lid on it the entire time.

Pulling up to the clinic, tears rushed down her face. She snatched out of her crossed arms and slung her hands across her face. This pregnancy seemed to have wheeled in a new-aged boyfriend who was eager and charismatic. The glittering in his eyes kept her tamed and behaved. No memory in her seventeen years had had her this wide open. This was the rainbow that left her stargazed. However, the looks she endured from her parents—the way her father wrenched away each time they’d connect eyes—curled her stomach and shrunk her into a shell.

Ok, chiquita. We’ve gotta go. Her mother opened her door.

(9:12 a.m)

Aulin arrived at work to find a new manager in town. Cory Tiles met him slam-dunk at the door. A big, hunky fella with tattoos painted about his neck.

You Auliño?

Leaning back on one leg, both thumbs placed in his pockets, Aulin smirked, propping up.

Ok buddy. Tell ya what. I’m no fool, and you don’t look like one ya’self, but if ya think ya coming back hea’ to work, ya got anotha thang coming––cawllin’ in every day for ten days. C’mon, pal—

Yo! Ay-ay! All I need is my things from my locka, dazzit—ah ain’t coming to get no apron fitted or… or…yna’mean?

Aulin’s tough native Bronx accent warped into a faint Spanish tongue that targeted the enunciation of his vowels.

Well, wait hea’! Cory said. I’ll grab that for ya!

Aulin flipped around and plunged against the diner window in front of a white woman and a black male at a table.

He tapped a rhythm on the glass, gazing into the storm drain ahead. Moments later, he rose from his pose, spun around to look inside for this Akebono. Nothing yet.

The interracial couple curved around the door and marched directly for him. Their feet clapped the cement like hoofs. Aulin eased from the window, switching between both of them. The woman’s purse flapped off her hips, and the man’s gritty briefcase was worn cross-body. Cory’s bright t-shirt grabbed his attention. He glanced over the pair and straight into Cory’s fuss.

I don’t see anything in any locker, and no one else claims to have seen anything eitha, he yelled over the couple. He threw his arms up and turned for the diner. Way’stin my damn time.

Aulin sneered and turned around when a woman’s nasally voice shouted in a deep Italian-Manhattan accent.

Excuse mey, excuse mey!

He did a double take.

Yeah, you honey, excuse mey!

He fished for his keys until they were close enough. Wassup?

"Well hello, Ken doll, she professed. I–I–I don’t mean to throw one at’cha first thang in the mownin, but ya think ya got a sec?"

Aulin took a good look at her partner whose glasses exceeded his face.

Oh, this is my assistant. He’s a nice guy.

The assistant held his hand out with a smile. Calvin, he said with a nod. Calvin Wiley.

Aulin cut back to the woman. What can I help ya’ll with?

She shuffled through her purse for a business card and explained what she could in a limited time.

Well…my name is Tonya Burton. This is my assistant, Calvin Wiley. Crazy as it may sound, we’re starting a soap opera production. A staged, reality-TV soap opera production. Itta be the first eva’ minority-aired soap opera… She finally got a card in good shape. …so we’re beating the streets—recruiting people within the region that fit the profile of what’ll make a good show, primarily to attract our growing minority target audience. That’s it in a nutshell

He released one arm from under his pit to grab the repulsive card she held out and barely could make out the company’s name.

Yeah, I know! It looks like Sasquatch’s turd—

A sudden rumble of joined amusement crept up on all of them.

Conditions of a well-needed comeback, Calvin chimed in.

Yeah! Well, we’ve been really out hea’. Ova’ three months. Our feets are swollen. Our stomachs are shrinking. And we’re running on a short leash hea’. I’m supposed to be in anotha town, but when I saw you…

Her head danced up and down with a thumbs up.

Holy moly. Calvin hea’ had to grab my ass off the chair—I left it.

Her pale face was ecstatic. Her true thrill hid behind the biting breeze that shriveled her up. She squeezed her hands deep in her coat, wondering when or if he would respond. His countenance never changed.

Ssss sooo…ok, run this by me again—what you said—I don’t get eet

Exactly! I apologize. In a nutshell, I’m a film director. Professionally. Quite frankly, up till this point I’ve only directed Broadway plays and musicals. I worked with names like Jerold Lee McCou, Louis Arc McDonald, Amurie, the Norris Band and several more. She took a break. I had the honor of being introduced to two geniuses who came up with the fantastical idea of having a staged reality soap opera. In other words, do as thy will…improvising.

Improvising, Aulin said.

Complete improvising!

Mmhh—yeah, see—naa, cuz—

Hey! Hey, listen…from the horse’s mouth—I ain’t getting in front of a camera if they offered me a second life and two bags of gold to stawt off—fawget about it. That’s why I do what I do and recruit those to do what they do—so I get it, I get it. No quirk, right? Check this one out…—she cleared her throat—they’re tawkin five thousand dolla’s a shoot. Ok? A shoot. That means, come in, say ya peace—bada bing, bada boom! She teased him. Listen to the money. Ya hear it? Ok, now that I think you do, here’s the rhetoric in lieu of the money. ‘Call the numba on the card,’ right? That dopey piece of shit card—I see it now…it’s gonna be something worth a trophy sometime in ya future. You can bet on it. She lifted her wrist to catch sight of the time. Ok, we’re fashionably late. I’ve gotta go. Call me, howeva, and we’ll go ova’ greater details, love. Call me.

Tonya pulled her purse’s strap back above her shoulders while Calvin kept close.

Like the New York Lotto says, ‘Hey, ya neva know.’

---

They made their way into the New York herd. Aulin hopped over the rail into the parking lot that led to his car. He plunged into the seat and glued to the dashboard. It wasn’t long before he switched straight ahead at an elderly woman who fought with the wind that fanned her trench coat, swaying from side to side. Her cane wanded in the air. He twisted the key in the ignition and threw the car into gear.

Chapter Three

Her eyes felt stuffed with pillows. Misty and scorched. The sight of her mother stirred up emotions foreign to what she understood. Her usual soft and creamy complexion was matte and pale. Lisette dragged herself to the stairs. Her father lowered his head. When she passed by, he lifted.

"Tu hambre?"

She squinted. Her mouth bunched together. The soles of her feet spanked the steps.

Come on, baby, you have to eat.

Leave me alone! she burst. Leave me alone! You keepin acting like nuthin’ happened ain’t gonna make it go away! Aaahhhh! All yaw think about is yaw’selves and that’s it! Her voice screeched like nails to a chalkboard.

Wait just a minute. Mrs. Alverez dashed from the kitchen. Now you listen to me—

No, you listen to me. She chucked out her finger. "’Cause everthing you’ve eva’ done, Ma, was to tear Aulin and me apart—"

Mija, that is not true—

"Yes, it is! Yes, it is! Yaw know Aulin ain’t neva’ gonna forgive me. You don’t cayuh! All yaw cayuh about is yaw’selves."

Her father leaped from the couch and trooped to the bottom of the steps. Leeeset!

She trotted to the top and pointed back down at him. Don’t even come to my room. Leave me alone, foreva’! Her stringy hair shuttered her face. I hate yaw right now.

The pillows she hid under failed to drown the roar of her weep. It resonated amid the foundation of the duplex throughout the night.

---

"Carmella lindaaa" shouted a man from his duplex steps.

She strutted down the dark murky streets. Her heels at their distance across the narrow lane reverberated to his ears. She was every piece of fine in his eyes. And from what he’d experienced as a close neighbor, everyone else’s too.

"Ahhh, Papaaa…! Como te va?"

"Oh nada, mi linda, just looking at the entire world right now, mami. Muah!"

She raised an eyebrow, releasing a slim smirk. "Ok! Buenas noches, papi."

---

With a shove, her apartment door eased open. Carmella’s glow simmered. She pinched her hand into her jacket pocket and dug out a wad of cash, heaving it across the tiny dining table in the small South Bronx apartment. It scattered over the wooden table, driving out a full-size cockroach from underneath the commotion.

"Ayi!"

She jumped back into the bookshelf, snatched one of the books, and lobbed it at it. It missed.

I hate my life!

She made her way into the kitchen, and froze before cutting the lights on.

Ooyee, neva’ mind.

After a long, warm shower, Carmella left the bathroom with a towel around her washed hair and another wrapped tight to her body. She grabbed her lotion and plopped onto the bed.

Tuh at the sight of a red scratch on her glossy legs. Fuck! What the fuck happened? The phone rang. She tensed up and carried on, unfazed. Was this him? She picked up, trying to retain her previous interest in this bizarre bruise.

Hello?

You neva’ cawl back when you say, her baby sister said.

She rolled her eyes. I forgot.

"So? Tell me.