Playing With Fire (10 page)

“As well as can be expected,” Romeo responded. Piano Man nodded his head in agreement.

“Do we need to do anything special?” Malcolm asked, concern rising in his voice. “To protect the place against the storm, I mean.”

“I want to board up the office windows out back,” Romeo said, nodding his head. “We should be fine though. Are you prepared at home?”

Malcolm nodded his head. “Stopped to get batteries and extra supplies before I came in. Hit the twenty-four-hour supermarket last night before the crowds. Folks were starting to race through the doors as I was leaving.”

“Well, if any of you want to bunk here, feel free. This old brick building should fair well.”

“I may do that,” Piano Man responded, dropping down against the piano bench. “Don't figure I need to go no place anytime soon. Besides, that boardinghouse has way too many trees on the place for my liking. Don't need to take no chances. Know what I mean?”

The duo behind the bar chuckled and agreed.

“What about you, Romeo? Is your house secure?” Malcolm asked.

The man shrugged. “It should be okay. I taped the glass this morning before I took Taryn to the airport.”

“Your woman gone already?” Piano Man asked, a look of surprise crossing his face.

“She caught the early flight to New York. She was afraid that if the storm is as bad as they're predicting, she might not be able to get out later in the week, and she has some major meetings to attend in Europe. Figured she'd head to London later today, before the storm got too far up north and she couldn't get out at all.”

Malcolm cut an eye in Romeo's direction, both he and Piano Man noting the sad tone that had risen in Romeo's voice. Piano Man's hands ran scales up and down the piano keys, his gray head nodding slowly up and down. Outside the thick rain seemed to grow thicker, the first signs of Irene's diaphanous greeting flooding the air with a veil of harsh wind.

 

 

The weather outside was horrendous at best, but for the grace of God, the damage appeared to be minimal. As Aleta peered through the curtained window, watching as the wind whipped debris back and forth, from corner to corner, she thought about Piano Man. She could feel that he was safe, a sixth sense she had only when it came to that man. No other had ever touched her heart the way he had, not even the two husbands she'd married and buried so many years before. She smiled, pushing herself away from the window and dropping down onto the sofa.

The electrical power had gone with the first wave of wind that had blown in their direction. Darkness was starting to fill the outside sky and so she lit the candles that Piano Man had left in a neat row along the top of the coffee table. The flickering flames danced much like her mind, flitting easily from one memory to the other.

It had taken some fifty plus years to get Piano Man into her bed. She had beckoned a silent invitation, the proposal etched in the lines of her face. And he had come. Of his own volition. Time had done that for her. Time, and her best friend's passing, for both she and Piano Man knew, had Irene still been alive, it would not have been her bed he'd have crawled home to. She smiled again, amused that the storm outside came bearing the name Irene, causing Piano Man to run away faster than lightning itself.

She couldn't help but wonder what he'd thought about when he'd touched her, dropping his callused hand against her skin. He had gently stroked the folds of flesh that covered her stomach. His hands had flitted across the breasts that had long since rushed to meet her knees. He had touched her, and his hands had seemed content to hold on, had seemed to enjoy dwelling atop the curves that were no longer girlish. Curves she saw being more matronly than womanly. Curves that had long since been transformed toward another realm. Piano Man had not seemed put off by the changes maturity had made to her body. He had stayed, allowing her to linger beneath his touch, until the rise of Irene had sent him fleeing.

 

 

Taryn sat alone at the John F. Kennedy Airport. With the chaos of southbound flights being canceled left and right, she had sought sanctuary in the British Airways executive lounge. After checking her in, an attendant had brought her a refreshing blend of pineapple juice and champagne, and had pointed her in the direction of a well-laid buffet table piled high with fresh fruit, warm baked breads, and other foods.

With access to an electrical outlet, she plugged in her laptop computer, waited for the software to load, then checked her incoming message box. Problems popped up tenfold as she typed quick responses back to the original senders, promising to follow up the moment she arrived back at her London office. Taryn heaved a heavy sigh.

Staring across the room, she took in the plush luxury afforded those with first class tickets and enough mileage points to fly free for a lifetime. The ambience was relaxing, the rich woods and cool fabric tones easy on the eyes. Closing the computer, she decided she couldn't be bothered. They could all wait until she was back, or at least until her physical self presented itself at the next required meeting. Her mind would be elsewhere though, still in North Carolina, lying close to Romeo. The thought of him brought a smile to her face and Taryn became flush with embarrassment at the perverse thoughts that danced through her mind.

Bringing her cell phone to her ear, she hit the speed dial, calling his number. After four rings, the answering machine picked up and she left a message, telling him she had arrived in New York safely, that she missed him, and she would try to be back as soon as she could. She heaved another heavy sigh as the line disconnected. She thought of calling him at the club, knowing that was probably where he was. She then figured if she heard his voice, she might not be able to will herself onto the airplane to go do what she knew she had to. She would only want to turn around and go back home. She dropped the cell phone back into her leather purse.

Lifting the drink to her mouth, she sipped at it slowly, relishing the taste of the sweet fruit. It was good and she was glad to have asked for it. The attendant stopped to ask if she desired a refill, and with the nod of her head, another sat at her elbow. Across the way, CNN was tracking the progress of the storm on an overhead television that played softly for those passengers who were interested. Two businessmen, both in dark gray suits, sipped their own cocktails as they stared intently at the screen.

Leaving Romeo had been different this time. Something about their parting had actually hurt. Taryn imagined it had something to do with the look in the man's eyes. It had seemed as if he'd been pleading with her to stay, not able to find the words to say as much out loud. The dynamics of their relationship had changed. Not only could she could feel it, she could taste it, the sweetness of what they brought to each other, brimming with new energy. As she'd left him standing in the airport waiting area, that energy had surged and now she missed it. She missed him and her wanting hurt. With the announcement of her flight's pending departure, Taryn brushed the feelings aside, gathered her carry-on luggage, and headed toward the gate.

The weather on the other side of the Playground's brick walls was cruel at best, blowing bitter air in massive swells that shook the structure of the building. Malcolm stood peeking out the window, commenting on the large debris that blew past and down the length of the street. Piano Man sat propped on two chairs pushed together, dozing on and off as the feeling moved him. When the telephone rang, they all jumped in surprise.

Romeo brought the receiver to his ear. “The Playground.”

“Romeo? Is that you?”

“Yes, Aunt Aleta. Are you all right?”

“I am. Power's out, but otherwise everything is fine. I just wanted to make sure someone knew where James was, in case the telephones go out. It's bad outside.”

Romeo smiled. “He's fine, Aunt Aleta. He's right here. Do you want to speak with him?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, baby.”

Romeo passed the receiver to Piano Man, who looked at him with annoyance for being disturbed from his sleep.

“Hello?”

“Why'd you leave?”

He dropped his voice to a whisper, glancing over his shoulder to insure Romeo didn't hear him. “Irene,” he said matter-of-factly.

Aleta laughed. “You a fool, James. You could still be in this warm bed with me. Instead you let that storm run you out into the streets.”

Piano Man laughed with her. “I saw it as a sign, Aleta. Someone trying to tell us something.”

“As long as you're okay. I was worried.”

“I'm fine. Everything all right there? House still in one piece?”

“As if you care. You should be here in case I blow away.”

“You ain't going nowhere. Who else is going to give me a hard time?”

“You got that right. Don't you leave until Romeo says it's safe. You hear me, James?”

Piano Man nodded his head as if the woman could see through the telephone line, then he dropped the receiver back onto the hook. On the other end, Aleta hung up, still shaking her head from side to side.

“Is Aleta okay?” Romeo asked.

Piano Man grunted. “Ain't nothing wrong with Aleta that I can't fix when this here storm gets finished.”

“It's like that, is it?” Romeo said, smiling at the man.

Piano Man rolled his eyes in Romeo's direction. “Woman just need to be checking up on somebody.”

In the corner, Malcolm laughed, his gaze catching Romeo's as the two men exchanged a look between them.

The telephone rang for a second time. Piano Man answered it. “Hello? This is the Playground.”

“Mr. Burdett, hello. It's Taryn. Is Romeo there?”

“Yes, precious. How are you?”

“I'm fine, thank you. I just wanted to check that you guys were all right.”

Piano Man's head bobbed up and down. “We is just fine. Storm blowing up outside. We sittin' here inside. No need for you to be worrying your pretty self.”

Taryn chuckled. “You are so sweet. Where's that man of mine?”

“Hold on,” Piano Man said, gesturing for Romeo to come take the phone. “Your woman just as bad,” he said to the younger man as he passed him the receiver. “They just need to be checking up on somebody.”

Romeo laughed as he put the receiver to his ear. “Hey, darling. Where are you?”

“London. We just landed. I'm waiting for my luggage, then I'm headed to the hotel.”

“Good flight?”

“Long flight. How's everything there? It looks bad on the television.”

Romeo shrugged. “It's nasty out. From what we can tell, the damage will probably be pretty severe.”

“Don't forget to check my house, please. Call me if there's anything wrong.”

“I'll do that. As soon as it's safe to travel, I'm headed home. I'll swing by your place on the way.”

“I miss you.”

Romeo's voice dropped an octave. “I miss you too.”

“Call me later, when you're by yourself.”

“I promise. I love you, Taryn.”

The woman on the other end grinned broadly, gesturing toward a skycap to take her luggage. “I love you too, Romeo. Call me soon.”

“Bye, baby.”

Malcolm chuckled as Romeo hung up. “Lordy! Lordy!” he said with a wide smile. “Must be something in the water you two been drinking.”

Piano Man rolled his eyes as Romeo shook his head and the three men laughed warmly together.

Hours later the men sat huddled over a small card table, rank cigar smoke permeating the room. Piano Man clutched his hand close to his chest, the thin cards brushing against his chin. Reaching for the small stack of quarters on the table in front of him, he picked up two dollars' worth and tossed them atop the large mound of coins stacked in the center.

“I see your dollar and raise you a dollar.”

Romeo eyed him suspiciously, a deadpan expression masking his thoughts. Studying his hand one last time, he knew that there was no point in his continuing to bluff his way through. He seriously doubted a pair of eights was going to take him far. “I fold,” he said, dropping the cards in his hand down to the table.

Piano Man chuckled as he swept the small pile of coins toward him. “Told you don't come play with the big boys if you ain't ready to get your butt whipped.”

The men gathered around the table all laughed. Malcolm rose from where he sat, stretching his limbs toward the ceiling. He yawned deeply, throwing his head back against his shoulders. “I'm done. I got to go get me some sleep. It sounds like the weather has finally calmed down out there.”

Jenkins, who had braved the last of the wind and rain to join them, nodded his head, collecting the deck of cards neatly into one pile. “Me too. I guess I need to go home to my wife.” He shuddered. “Then again, maybe I should stay here and get me some more to drink first.”

Piano Man laughed. “Man, you better take your ass on home. You know you spend too much time away from your woman and she gonna find someone else who'll gladly take your place.”

Jenkins shrugged as he slipped on his coat. “You got that man's number so I can call him? Hell, I wish someone would take my old lady off my hands! My woman is a pain in the ass. I'd leave her if it won't gonna cost me a whole lotta money.”

Romeo shook his head, tilting his eyes skyward. “Lord, I pray I don't ever feel that way about Taryn.”

Malcolm slapped him across the back. “Keep praying. I used to feel that way 'bout my ex-wife too. Now, I just wish the trick would drop in a hole someplace.”

“Now, don't be calling no woman out of her name. Ain't right,” Piano Man chimed in. He cut a mean eye toward the young man.

“I apologize. You're right, but that's how I feel sometimes,” Malcom said. A sudden sadness passed over his expression. Only Romeo knew the hurt Malcolm had endured that had him wishing ill will on all the female sex. The two men exchanged a quick look.

Oblivious, Piano Man continued. “No problem feeling that way, but any woman done give birth to your children don't deserve to be called out of her name. She won't no trick when you was loving her good and making them babies. Means she ain't no trick now.”

Malcolm nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry for that. It's just difficult sometimes, especially when my girls are being hurt by her bad behavior.”

Piano Man cut his eyes at Malcolm, then toward Romeo, his look still chastising. “Young boys today spend too much time disrespecting our women. And it ain't right. Who birthed you?” Piano Man gazed from one to the other before continuing. “That's right. A woman, and a black woman at that. How you gonna disrespect the creature who done brought you into this world? Don't make no good sense. No, it don't.” The old man shook his head from side to side.

Romeo smiled faintly. He tossed Malcolm a look. “You done got him started.”

Jenkins buttoned his tattered gray overcoat. “I know I needs me a drink now,” he said. “Piano Man up in here preaching.”

Piano Man flipped his hand in the man's direction, then swiped his palm across his brow. “Ain't nobody preaching nothin'. Just telling it like it should be.”

Malcolm and Piano Man had gone toe to toe on more than one occasion, and Malcolm knew the old man would not back down. He was as opinionated as he was elderly and firmly set in his beliefs. He reached out to shake Piano Man's hand. “I'll see you tomorrow, my friend, and I'll think twice before making that mistake again.”

Piano Man grinned a semitoothless grin. “I got too many years on you boys. You two still got stuff to learn yet. Looks like it gon' take an ass whipping or two from me for it to get through to your hard heads.”

With a low chuckle Malcolm wrapped his coat around his shoulders and headed for the door. “See you two tomorrow,” he called back, pulling the door closed behind them as Jenkins followed closely on his heels.

Romeo lifted his hand to wave good-bye.

Piano Man grunted, lifting his legs to rest his feet up on the table. “So, boy, where your woman done fly off to now?”

“London.”

“That little girl sho' spend a lotta time on the road.”

Romeo nodded. “Yes, she does.”

“You likes having her travel so much?”

Leaning back in his chair, Romeo clasped his hands behind his head. “It's not really my decision. She's got a great career and it's not my place to say whether or not she should travel. She seems to enjoy it well enough though, so I guess that's all that matters.”

“Dat don't answer whether or not
you
likes it.”

Romeo shrugged. “No. I don't like having her gone so much. I'd prefer to have her home here with me. But what can I do?”

“You ever tell her that?”

“No. It's not my place.”

“Your place if you love her and she loves you.”

“What's love got to do with it?”

“Everything. Why would you think it don't?”

Romeo shrugged again, not bothering to answer. The echo of Piano Man's breathing filled the room. His heavy breath was clouded thick with exhaustion and a hint of sickness. Romeo studied his dark features. The hardened lines appeared masklike, harboring far too many stories for any one man to remember, let alone share. Piano Man looked up to stare into Romeo's own dark brown eyes.

“What the hell are you staring at, boy?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Damn, you a pain in the ass. Can't you let an old man rest?”

Romeo chuckled lightly. “I do believe you are getting paranoid.”

“No. Just tired of you staring at my black ass. You about to look the color right off me.”

“Well, ain't no worry about that. You got more than enough color to spare.”

“Now, ain't that some mess!” Piano Man said, sitting upright. “You a piece of work!”

“Me?” Romeo asked with surprise. “What did I do?”

“I think you're color struck!”

“Now, you really don't believe that, do you?”

“Hell no, but I knew it would get a rise out of you,” Piano Man said, lifting his legs back up onto the table as he chuckled under his breath.

Romeo tossed a poker chip at Piano Man's head, hitting the cushion behind the man. Piano Man laughed again, then went quiet for a brief minute.

“Color's a funny thing, boy,” he said finally. “It scares people.”

Romeo leaned forward, listening with a curious ear as the man continued.

“I done lived through it all. Jim Crow, the Black Power Movement, all of it. Even got to see me a first black president of the United States. But trust me, nothing ever changes. Whether we colored, black, Afro-Americans, whatever, there will always be someone out here who gonna have a problem with us black folks. They may come at you wearing white sheets or pin-striped suits, but their feelings will always be the same.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Piano Man nodded. “Romeo, there will always be someone who can't be happy unless they can make others unhappy, and I'm not just talking 'bout white folks either. Black folks can be just as bad. Damn, you either got to be light skinned and have good hair to be okay one day or dark skinned and nappy headed the next.”

Romeo smiled. “I can remember these two old sisters who used to live upstairs from me and my mother. They spent all of their time rocking on the porch, gossiping about who was better than who. I will never forget the day Miss Ruby said I shouldn't hang around with my friend Otis because ‘tar babies don't go nowhere but jail.' When I asked my mother what a ‘tar baby' was, she practically knocked my teeth down my throat.”

Piano Man laughed.

“Wasn't funny,” Romeo said, breaking into a grin.

“You ever play the dozens when you was a boy?” Piano Man asked.

Romeo nodded yes, thinking back to the few times he'd tried to outdo his friends with the streetwise insults.

“Well, what's the first thing a good dozens roller hit you with?”

Romeo smiled.

“That's right. ‘You so black—, your mama so black—, your head so nappy—!'”

Romeo laughed, clapping his hands together as Piano Man shook his head from side to side.

“Like I said, people get funny 'bout things that's different, and when they can't find fault with your color, they find fault with your religion, or your sex, or whatever else ain't like theirs. But color crosses both sides 'cause black folks might not care if you pray to God, Allah, Buddha, or the king of Egypt, but if you too light, too dark, or your hair ain't just so, somebody ain't gon' like you.”