Playing With Fire (13 page)

It didn't take too long before Piano Man returned, his arms laden with bags that smelled of heavy cooking oil and spicy sauces. Romeo rushed to give him a hand as he struggled with the door.

“Thanks,” Piano Man sputtered, resting against a wall. “Thought I was gon' have to stop and eat my half back at the corner. Dem bags is heavy.”

“I told you to let them deliver.”

Piano Man shrugged, pulling a stool up to the bar and his sandwich out of the bag. “Ain't no never mind. What done is done.”

Romeo shook his head, rolling his eyes upward. “My fish is probably cold.”

“You got a microwave back dere in that office. What you complaining for?”

Romeo laughed as Piano Man clamped down on the corner of his sandwich, his thick lips locked tightly against the bread and meat.

“You weren't hungry, were you?”

Piano Man flipped his hand at Romeo, responding only with the smack of his lips. Swiping his tongue across his mouth, he laid a trail of spittle and bread crumbs over his top lip, which was quickly brushed along the back of his hand, then wiped against his pant leg. Romeo rolled his eyes again, shuddering ever so slightly.

Drawing up a stool to sit beside the old man, Romeo proceeded to eat his own lunch. The fish was good, filling the emptiness in his midsection nicely. Every so often he'd look over at Piano Man gnashing his teeth and smacking his lips. He smiled a faint smile as the elderly figure pushed a forkful of flaky crust and syrupy fruit past his lips.

“Good pie, huh?”

Piano Man nodded. “Uh-huh. Taste 'bout good as my granny used to make. Apple pie was her favorite though.”

“My mother's favorite dish was sweet potato biscuits. They would melt in your mouth they were so good.”

Piano Man smiled, nodding his head vigorously. “Sweet potato biscuits. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Now that brings back some memories.”

Romeo smiled with him. “Women don't cook like that anymore. At least Taryn doesn't.”

“Aleta can still burn a pan, but you right. Ain't like it was.”

They sat in silence, quietly reflecting back on memories that had not surfaced in a very long time. Retrospections of sweet kitchen smells that wrapped you in warm aromas of cinnamon and vanilla. Romeo was mystified at how quickly remembrances, stashed away years before, could suddenly dance across your senses, rousing sensations and impressions long laid to rest.

Thinking of his mother's biscuits brought a warmth across his brow and down his back that he'd not felt for a very long time. He could almost feel his mother's fingertips as they tiptoed against the nape of his neck, could almost smell her faint perfume and feel the brush of her lips sliding down his cheeks. He could even hear the soft lilt of her voice calling his name as she admonished him to finish the plate of food and not just the sweet potato biscuits he was so fond of.

Piano Man sat beside him, lost in similar memories. Then shaking the daze from his head, he cleared his mess from the counter and headed for the piano. Tapping lightly at a string of keys, he shook his head again and said, “Piano needs tuning.”

Romeo stared as Piano Man pointed at the large black instrument.

Piano Man continued. “I'd do it myself, but my ear ain't as good as it used to be. I knows a boy who'll do it for real cheap and he'll do it good too.”

Romeo nodded up and down. “I trust you. Take care of it and let me know what I owe.”

Piano Man pulled at his pants, the waistline hanging off his hips. “I needs me some sleep. Gon' go lay down on your sofa in dere, if you don't mind?”

“You know you don't need to ask. Make yourself comfortable.”

Piano Man slowly eased his way toward the office, then stopped abruptly, turning to face Romeo. “Your mama ever make you cheese eggs and homemade sausage to go with them biscuits?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. In fact, that was her favorite breakfast. Only thing I didn't like was the sautéed okra and tomatoes she'd make to go with the sausage and eggs.” Romeo shuddered. “I hated the okra.”

Piano Man laughed. “Me too. Couldn't never stomach no okra no matter how it was cooked.” Turning back to continue his slow stroll, his whole body nodded in agreement and you could see the kitchen smells pulling him toward his dreams.

The crowd was boisterous, reeling from one side of the room to the other. Piano Man held command over the masses, holding court from his throne up on the stage. Women in black, black, and more black swayed lean hips in soft shimmies and wide behinds in hard-core gyrations. It was almost too good a time for any one individual to absorb.

Romeo mingled with the clientele, strutting back and forth like a proud peacock. The women were excited by his presence, wanting to at least brush a soft breast or firm behind against him, feigning innocence at such brazenness. Laughter clung to the edges of full, wide lips that held promises of wet, wicked kisses. The vibe hanging in the air promised them it was going to be a night of unholy decadence, not suitable for the faint of heart or those with a Christian calling.

“Whoa,” Odetta called out over Romeo's shoulder, bouncing up and down. “There's a party in here tonight!”

Romeo nodded, pearl white ivories shining brightly behind his wide smile. “I'm having me a good time,” he exclaimed.

“Everybody having a good time,” Odetta said, laughing. “Damn good time!”

Malcolm nodded behind the bar, passing a tray of drinks toward Odetta. “Piano Man is hot tonight. He's playing like the devil done got hold of him.”

Odetta and Romeo nodded in unison. Romeo looked down at his watch. “Miss Sharon almost ready to go on?”

Malcolm pointed toward the dressing room door and they all looked over just as Sharon sauntered out. An expensive silk dress, the color of yellow mist, clung hungrily to her thin body; against her porcelain complexion it looked stunning. Romeo smiled, nodding his head ever so slightly, as Odetta poked him in the side.

“I done her hair. It look nice, don't it?”

“Very nice,” he answered.

Sharon blushed as she caught them all staring in her direction. Her hands raced quickly down the front of the dress, smoothing the fabric against her thighs. She looked briefly over her right shoulder, her eyes darting about behind her. Her friends laughed.

“You look incredible,” Romeo said, smiling and reaching out to hug her.

Sharon blushed again. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Odetta giggled. “You go girl. You looking hot.”

“These brothers in here aren't going to know what to do with themselves,” Malcolm chimed, each of them lauding her with support and encouragement.

Sharon shook her head with disbelief, wringing her hands nervously.

“Go sing for these people and sing sweet. This crowd wants a lot tonight.” Romeo kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Sing real sweet.”

Sharon smiled. “Yes, sir.”

Romeo placed her hand in the bend of his arm and escorted her to the stage. Pulling the black microphone from its thin metal stand, he brought it to his lips and raised his hand for the crowd's attention. Piano Man rippled a line up the piano keys, then dropped his hands into his lap. He grinned broadly, reaching to caress Sharon's manicured fingers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the Playground's very own diva, the stunning and talented Miss Sharon Wallace.”

Romeo passed Sharon the microphone, leaning to kiss her one last time. Thick applause filled the air. As Romeo stepped off the stage, Piano Man started his dance atop the piano keys, pulling Sharon onto his dance floor. The crowd went wild. Romeo inched his way back toward the bar, stepping past hands and bodies reaching out for partners to swing and shuffle.

Malcolm and Odetta raced to keep glasses from being empty for too long, passing liquid spirits in every conceivable direction. Romeo picked up a tray to give them a hand. Up on the stage Piano Man and Sharon wove a heavy blanket of chords and lyrics, wrapping it around everyone present. Pausing briefly, Romeo stopped to stare up at the entertainment. The sight before him caused his breath to catch tight in his throat. Sitting in front of the piano was a man possessed.

There was madness in the old man's eyes, an all-consuming vengeance that had taken him above and beyond the wrinkled, decaying flesh that housed his spirit. His fingers raged deliriously, a bittersweet battle with Sharon as his supporting troop. He effortlessly fought against the silence, filling the room with his own personal battle cry, and as Romeo stood watching, his eyes transfixed upon Piano Man's face, he found the man's expression almost frightening. Romeo couldn't help thinking that it was as if the old man had made a pact with the devil and Satan himself had come to lay his claim.

 

 

The club was finally still. Malcolm had escorted Odetta and Sharon home an hour earlier and only Romeo and Piano Man remained. Romeo had closed himself away in his office, whispering over the telephone with Taryn. Piano Man smiled. It pleased him to know Romeo was as happy as he was, that life had blessed the young man with much love.

The old man lifted himself up from the piano bench. He'd not left the seat since he'd first sat down earlier in the evening and it had only been a brief minute or two since the Naugahyde-upholstered bench had begun to press uncomfortably against the back of his weary legs. Standing beside the instrument, he ran his palm across the wood, tracing the lines of the sleek design.

It was a Baldwin, their grand model, and it was a beautiful specimen. The craftsmanship of the polished ebony was impeccable. It had an elegant presence, reminding him of a sensuous, well-dressed woman who fit into a man's arms as if they'd been molded especially for her. And the tone was pure power, its sound extraordinary. Piano Man likened it to a musician's wet dream when it was played perfectly. He couldn't have chosen a better model if he'd picked it out personally, he thought to himself as he peered under the lid, examining every square inch of the instrument with his index finger.

Years ago he'd told a woman that he only loved two things, her and the piano. There was nothing in him that could have chosen one over the other, and his honesty about such had sent her running as fast and as far from him as she could manage, taking with her the only other thing in his life that he would ever love as deeply. His love though, had increased tenfold and he couldn't help but marvel at the capacity of the thoracic muscle pounding its own beat in his chest. It was expansive, filling him whole as he'd opened himself to the possibility of loving someone or something else, as well. Piano Man had discovered an abundance of love for Romeo and this new family of friends that had welcomed him with open arms, asking for nothing in return. It was great love.

Taking a slow stroll across the room, Piano Man stood at the entrance to Romeo's office, his ear pressed against the door. On the other side, the man was still laughing heartily, lost in the moment with his woman, and Piano Man smiled again. Pulling on his jacket, he eased his way to the rear exit and outside, then headed in the direction of home.

Hours later, Piano Man tossed and turned about, trying to find some comfort atop the soft mattress. Aleta had not found her way home yet and he was lonely. He'd grown used to her company. He now sought out companionship, wanting to spend each waking moment in someone's company.

As he pulled a pillow close to his chest, twisting his body around the soft cushion, he exhaled heavily, blowing stale breath past his dry lips. Anxiety swept through his veins, feeding the tension across his brow. The darkness was beginning to close in around him.

It was a curious chain of events, this growing old. He remembered as a young boy thinking that it would never happen to him. He had always insisted that he would beat the dark monster that lay waiting for everyone else. The obscene creature looking for the ideal moment to sneak past the door of good times and besiege one's youthful flesh with poison and decay. Piano Man chuckled to himself, staring at the backs of his hands.

Old age had not only crept in, but had clearly jumped on his back, taken control, and was riding him like he was a wild horse needing to be broken in. He now did old age's bidding, no longer able to maneuver and control like he had some twenty-odd years ago.

His heavy fingers shook, an uncontrollable quiver of chocolate pudding. The ripened flesh was dotted with brown spots much like dark chocolate chips pressed into chocolate cookie dough. You could play connect the dots if you were so inclined, easily able to create a myriad of patterns.

Rubbing his hands together gently, Piano Man feared the day they'd no longer allow him to play the piano. The mere thought that the swelling in his joints would soon take away his one and only pleasure wrapped the tissue of his heart with a desperate sadness that he found too unbearable to even consider. He was nothing when he could not play the piano. Nothing that anyone could possibly want to care about. He twisted his body in the opposite direction.

Everything hurt. He'd not known it possible to experience so much pain for so long a time. “Lord, Lord, Lord,” Piano Man cried out loud. “How much longer, Lord? How much longer?” Piano Man knew the answer though, knew it as surely as though he'd picked the date and time himself. He had one more thing left to do, one more goal that needed to be met. Then and only then could he close his eyes and sleep in peace.

 

 

The party was still going on at Amber House. Aleta swayed from table to table making conversation with old friends who were more family than acquaintances. She looked up briefly to see Romeo enter the small room and take a seat at the bar. Making her way to his side, she wrapped her arms about his waist, giving him a swift hug.

“Now, I know you're lost, baby boy! What in the world has brought you here this time of the morning?”

Romeo smiled. “Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd come by and hear the old man play.” Romeo looked toward the stage and the empty piano bench. “Where is he? On break?”

Aleta shook her head. “No. He hasn't looked well lately, so I told him to go straight home tonight. I told him if he showed up here I was going to have him thrown right out. He's wearing himself out not getting any kind of rest, and the alcohol isn't helping much.”

“I'm glad you could get him to slow up a bit. He doesn't listen to me at all.”

“Trust me. James doesn't listen to anyone. He does exactly what he wants to do. No more, no less. He went home because he was tired and it had finally caught up to him.”

Romeo nodded, his eyes drifting off into the distance.

Aleta watched him for a quick moment, marveling at the reflection of familiar faces painted in his eyes. He was a wonderful blend of both his parents, having claimed the very best of both of them. Romeo caught her staring and raised his eyebrows as if to ask why.

“You okay?” Aleta asked, concern kissing the edge of her words.

Romeo nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Missing Taryn is all.”

Aleta hugged him again, not needing to say anything else. Her attention was diverted to the other side of the room and she politely excused herself to go resolve an arising problem. Romeo sat quietly, waiting for her return. Every so often a familiar face would wave a hand in his direction and he would respond politely but with little enthusiasm. His heart was not in it.

Aleta pulled up a stool and sat down beside him. “So, you and James have been spending quite a bit of time together lately. He's really enjoyed it.”

Romeo twisted a paper cocktail napkin between his fingers, his head dipped ever so low. “So have I. He's a nice guy.”

“Well, he thinks you're something special too.”

Romeo looked up, studying Aleta's expression. Gulping the shot of alcohol before him, he wiped his lips, then turned about in his seat. “Who is he, Aunt Aleta?”

“Who?” Aleta's body stiffened slightly.

“Piano Man. Who is he?”

“Just an old man who has no idea how much people care about him. He's special and he doesn't even realize it.”

Romeo shrugged. “Do you know anything about his history, his family? Anything?”

“We are his family, Romeo. Everyone who has ever gotten anything out of his music, we are his history. Anything else doesn't make much difference.” Aleta rose to her feet, her gaze flitting back and forth to avoid Romeo's. “But why are you going on like this? It's late and you should be home getting some rest.”

Sighing, Romeo laid a crisp twenty-dollar bill alongside his empty glass.

Aleta swatted her hand at him. “What do you think you're doing? You know your money is no good here.”

Romeo smiled. “You are not going to turn a profit if you keep giving it away.”

“Trust me, baby boy. I can count on one hand the number of people I give it away to, and you two won't break me.”

Romeo nodded. “Well, tell your bartender it's his tip.”

Aleta shook her head as Romeo reached back into his wallet and said, “Do me a favor please?”

“Anything,” Aleta responded.

Romeo counted off a row of green bills. “Slip this into Piano Man's pocket when you get home. He hasn't asked for anything, but I know he could probably use some money.”

Aleta rolled the cash into the palm of her hand, nodding her head. “I'm sure he'll thank you personally tomorrow.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Stop fretting so much,” she whispered into his ear. “You are too young to be worrying as much as you do.”

Romeo kissed her back. “Good night, Aunt Aleta.”

“Sweet dreams, baby boy. Sweet dreams.”

As Romeo swung about, heading for the door, Aleta called after him. “Baby boy.”

Romeo looked back over his shoulder.

“He's someone who needs us now more than ever. He's not used to staying in one place for any length of time, and I imagine he'll be leaving us real soon. Just let him know you're here if he needs you.”