Playing With Fire (4 page)

Romeo smiled back as she shimmied over, the white of her teeth gleaming under the lights in the room. Odetta had worked for him since he'd opened six years ago. She was a gregarious, big-boned, voluptuous woman with a chocolate-kissed complexion. Short jet black hair framed a full face resplendent with large nutbrown eyes and a full pout. Brusque in her manners, she was loudly expressive and the customers loved her. Most times Romeo found her unencumbered style and curt mannerisms refreshing.

“What's up, sweetheart?” she asked, popping her signature piece of chewing gum in his face. “Sam being his usual pain in the ass?”

“I need you to take over table six for me, Odetta. Mr. Jenkins is giving poor Sharon here a rough time. She'll take over table twelve.”

“No problem, sweetie. I'll put old Sam in his place. Thinks he can cop a feel whenever he wants. Break them fingers one by one if he don't sit down and behave his self.”

Romeo laughed. “I knew I could depend on you, Miss Brown.”

Odetta smiled her biggest smile. She adored Romeo, her affection for him bordering on hero worship. Many women did. All he had to do was smile that dimpled smile of his, and fix his gaze with just a hint of seduction, and the female sex would melt in the palms of his hands. Sharon also stared up at him, adoration upon her face. Romeo had learned early in life how to work his good looks, and although he'd profess not be vain, he readily admitted that his chiseled features were more of an asset than they had ever been a hindrance. It also hadn't hurt that he had a heart of gold and the spirit of an angel in training.

“All right, ladies, let's make these alcoholics happy,” he said, sending them back to work. He moved behind the bar, helping Malcolm to deliver the promised drinks.

He and Malcolm Cobb had been friends since pledging Alpha Phi Alpha. They'd been line brothers, their bond irrefutable. After college both had gone in different directions, his friend building a successful architectural design business in the Maryland area, which was his ex-wife's hometown. They'd maintained contact and after his divorce Malcolm had come back home to Raleigh, North Carolina.

They'd been working the bar together almost since Romeo had gotten the bright idea to throw caution to the wind and step out on faith. Initially Romeo hadn't wanted a partner, but he had afforded Malcolm the opportunity when the coal black man had cued him to the thieving actions of the club's first bartender.

A loyal customer from day one, Malcolm had occupied the third stool on a regular basis, never nursing anything stronger than a glass of tonic with a twist of lime. His passion had been for the atmosphere, not the alcohol.

One day he'd pulled Romeo aside and whispered in his ear. “Lose Pete,” he said. “Every fourth drink is a no sale for you, cash in the pocket for him.”

Afterward Romeo had watched Pete in action. His routines had run the gamut from palming the cash from every other diluted sale, to overcharging the number of drinks served to a large group running up a tab. Pete had skimmed a sizable fortune from Romeo before he'd been caught. The same day Romeo had kicked Pete's butt out Malcolm had agreed to be Romeo's cohort in crime. Going against the grain of everything else they both knew, neither could fathom any reason why running a juke joint together wouldn't work for them. And once it had, the association afforded them both something they'd been missing.

Sharon was relatively new to their little family. She had much to learn, but she worked hard and Romeo liked her. She was a small young woman standing just over five feet tall. Copper-colored hair pulled tightly back into a full bun set off her peach-toned skin, and dark freckles danced lightly across her pug nose.

Malcolm had brought her in one day and had implored Romeo to give her a chance. He had found her singing in a small, storefront Baptist church one crisp Sunday afternoon. According to Malcolm, she had called out to him with the voice of an angel sent from heaven above. He had sat in the rear pew of that old church every Sunday for over a month. It had taken two weeks before he'd discovered her name. By the third week, he knew that the closest thing to home for her was the West Creedmoor Women's Shelter and that she had no family and no job to speak of. At the end of the month, he'd taken her under his wing and into his heart and was hell-bent on delivering her from her miseries.

Last week, when the crowd was sparse, Sharon had leaned across the piano and sung. The melodic tones had been indicative of too many good times as she caressed the audience with the clear, lyrical strokes of her deep voice. She and Piano Man had fed upon one another, the melodies stirring their insatiable appetites, and whetting their need for the music. Theirs had been a sensual, spirited passion devoured by the hungry eyes and lustful ears of those fortunate to be present. Tonight, when the crowd thinned out, Romeo had promised he would allow her to sing again. For now though, he needed her to wait tables.

Romeo tossed his friend a quick look. “Hey, did you see when she took off?”

“Who?”

“Taryn. The woman who was sitting over there by herself.”

Malcolm nodded. “I told you to go say hello.”

Romeo rolled his eyes skyward. “I was trying. By the time I found a quick moment she was gone. She left early!”

“She'll be back.”

“How do you know?”

“She told Odetta that she planned to bring some friends with her so they can hear Piano Man play.”

Nodding his head, Romeo fell into thought, quietly kicking himself for not getting the woman's number before she left. He hoped she would come back but he wasn't willing to place any bets on it. People came and went all the time, sometimes returning, sometimes not. There'd be other women, he thought, trying to shake thoughts of
that
woman from his mind.

He watched as Malcolm placed a round of drinks down on the table in front of Jenkins and his cronies, enlisting a hearty round of laughter with one of his racy jokes. The old boys were in high spirits and Romeo knew cutting off their flow would not be an easy feat to accomplish. The three were on a binge and would settle for no less than going home as shitfaced, cockeyed drunk as they could. They would crawl home reeking of stale swill, vomit, and tobacco, waking obese wives from their sound sleep just so they could proclaim promises they'd not remember when sobriety once again reclaimed their bodies. He knew Odetta would keep them entertained for a period, but he'd have to send them packing sooner than they were prepared to leave. He sighed, lightly shrugging his shoulders.

The room had filled quickly. The nights were always too busy, but that came with the territory. Across the way, Sharon had finally stopped shaking. She was busy taking orders from a party of six women who had not long ago entered. Romeo recognized four of them and made a mental note to swing by the table to say hello. He would kiss their rubescent cheeks, squeeze a strapless shoulder, and flirt teasingly. They'd swoon under the attention as Romeo would revel in the beauty, a part of the territory he enjoyed most.

Glancing at his watch, he rose from his seat. It was past time for him to continue his rounds and be host at the door. He nodded at Odetta, who was perched coyly on Jenkins's knee, and smiled.

Racing to the ladies room, Odetta pushed her way into a vacant stall. “Damn, I'm tired,” she said to no one, and to everyone.

“Romeo working you too hard, Odetta?” a familiar voice responded.

“Hey, Sarah. How you doing, sweetheart?” Odetta called back.

“Doing real good, girlfriend. Real good.”

“Wish I could say the same,” a second voice piped in. “I got me the three no's.”

“The three no's?” Sarah questioned.

“Yes, girl. No man, no money, and no ride.”

“Oh, I hear that,” Sarah said, laughing.

Flushing the commode, Odetta exited the small cubicle, lit a cigarette, and then leaned against the sink. “You ladies having a good time tonight?” she asked, taking a long slow drag off the cigarette.

Sarah nodded, brushing the hair from her brow. “Be better if I could get me some Romeo tonight,” she said, primping in front of the mirror, adjusting the length of her skirt.

“You and everyone else,” a long-legged, brown-skinned girl said, a tight yellow dress clinging to her narrow hips.

“Yes, Lord!” Sarah chimed in. “Romeo is one fine brother.”

Odetta laughed, nodding her head in agreement. “My Romeo's special too, but he's not looking at the moment.”

“The best ones never are,” Sarah's friend chimed in as she inspected a small run threatening to creep eagerly up her thick leg.

“Odetta, how's your friend Carol?” Sarah interjected, lighting a cigarette of her own, blowing small smoke rings past tangerine glossed lips.

“Pitiful girl. Still chasing that piece a trash she got pregnant for.”

“When she get pregnant?”

“Honey, girlfriend had a baby boy last year. Ugly child, too. Nothing but head and ears. Took right after his daddy!”

“Damn shame,” Sarah said, flicking the ashes into the sink. “'Cause she sure 'nuff had herself a good man. This girl used to go with Big Ben. Then she messed up. Got caught with this no account brother,” Sarah said, addressing her tall friend, who had carefully painted a thin coat of bright red nail polish across a chipped nail.

“Ben White? Big Ben White?” the other woman sputtered, blowing warm air across her wet fingertips.

“Yes, girl.” Odetta nodded. “He treated her real good too, but she kept complaining that she needed a man who could do the nasty without sweating all over her.”

“As big as Ben is, brother can't do nothing but sweat,” Sarah said. “But as long as he's helping to pay the bills, who cares? Just give the man a towel!”

The women around her laughed.

“Brothers are all dogs. All of 'em,” Sarah's friend stated matter-of-factly.

“She just got dumped,” Sarah said to the others. “Her man moved back in with some tramp he used to go out with before he met her. And she ain't nothing but a high yella' bitch with a two-dollar weave down her back. That ho's young enough to be his granddaughter!”

“Bitch, just tell all my business!”

“Girlfriend, I ain't telling all your business. Shoot! Ain't telling nothing people don't see with their own eyes. It's etched so deep in them bloodshot eyes of yours, it plays out like a big screen movie.”

The girl rolled her eyes, fighting back tears. “Son of a bitch. He'll get his. Didn't know what he had, but bet you when that tramp start working some stank root on his tired ass he'll find out.”

The women in the room nodded their heads sympathetically. A pregnant pause filled the space as each fell into the memories of their own lost relationships.

“Still could use me some Romeo though,” Sarah repeated wistfully.

“Y'all see that fine thing sitting at the bar?” a short, heavy-chested woman in a red silk top questioned, changing the subject. “The tall brother, reddish hair, in that Brooks Brothers suit?”

“See him? Did him, baby,” a tall, rusty girl chimed in. “Trust me though, brother may dress sharp and he can smooth-talk a nun into his pants, but he ain't packing nothing another eight inches wouldn't help. Brother . . . ain't . . . got . . . no . . . dick,” she said, punctuating each word slowly.

Odetta slapped her hand against her thigh, laughing. “Whoa, girl, you a mess!” she said. Taking the last drag off her cigarette butt, she tossed it into the commode and flushed. “Well, I've got to go,” Odetta said, running her soaped up hands under a warm stream of water. “Romeo's gonna kick my butt if I don't get back to work.”

“Ask him if he got any openings,” the unemployed woman, with too much makeup and a too-tight dress, called after her. Then to the women in the room, “Better yet, tell him I need a good man with some money.”

As the ladies room door closed slowly behind her, laughter spilled out into the hallway. Grabbing a clean towel and a tray from the bar, Odetta returned to her station, brushing against Romeo's back as she went by. “The ladies is happy tonight, Romeo,” she called over her shoulder.

Romeo nodded, a smile tugging gingerly at the side of his mouth. “Then so am I, Odetta girl. So am I.”

Walking through the crowd, Romeo continued kissing upturned cheeks and shaking outstretched hands. As he made his way back to the bar Malcolm greeted him with a cup of rich coffee, the dark aroma pungently sweet. Taking a cautious sip from the hot liquid, he savored the deep flavor cradled in a bath of warm cream. “This is good, Malcolm. Real good,” he said, nodding his head slightly.

“You look like you needed it,” Malcolm said, passing a gin and tonic and a glass of white wine to a couple perched at the other end of the bar. Picking up the money passed to him in exchange, Malcolm rang up the sale. When he had finished, he strolled back over to where Romeo stood. “Good crowd tonight. The register's filling up nicely.”

“Can't complain then, can we?” Romeo said, taking another sip from his coffee. “How are my three friends holding up?” he asked, nodding in the direction of Jenkins's table.

“Nothing to worry about. I've gotten a cup of coffee into each of them already. The big guy with them was starting to look a little green around the edges. I think he was kind of glad to be cut off. Meant he didn't have to try to keep up with Jenkins and that other boozer they're with. Besides, he's been rubbing on Odetta for the last hour. That's kept him occupied. I think she's just about ready to send him home to his wife.”

Romeo nodded. Turning his back to the bar, he looked out over the crowd. Most were focused intently on the band, a few dancing cheek to cheek, some shimmying at their tables. Others huddled close in conversation and all looked happy to be where they were. Turning back to Malcolm and his cup of coffee, he sat himself on a bar stool, content. “Can't get any better than this, Malcolm,” he said, nodding his head into the ivory cup.

A wave of quiet passed between them as both sat in deep contemplation, absorbing the sounds and sights around them. Romeo was grateful for the moment, taking a quick second to give thanks for the blessings. Malcolm met his gaze and nodded as if reading the man's mind.

“So, how are your girls, Malcolm?” Romeo asked his friend. “You haven't brought them by in a while,” he said, referring to Malcolm's twelve-year-old twins.

“They're good, I guess. My ex-wife has visitation this week and she took them to Maryland to visit with their grandmother. They're supposed to come back next week.”

Romeo nodded his head. “Things any better between you and Shanelle?”

Malcolm shrugged, drying rings of water from some freshly washed glasses. “No better, no worse. She doesn't have any time for me and I've got even less for her,” he said, his tone dry.

Understanding that Malcolm's relationship with his ex-wife was a source of consternation to him, Romeo changed the subject. “I heard Odetta say you had a date the other night. How'd that go?”

Breaking into a wide grin, Malcolm danced a slight two-step behind the bar. “I had a good time. A really good time. I don't know if you remember the cute little redhead who's been here hanging at the bar every Tuesday? Her name's Vanessa. She's actually very sweet,” he said, grinning even wider.

“I hear she's a church-going girl, too,” Sharon piped in, having joined them. “Who knows, maybe she can even get you to go more often.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, his lips still stretched across his teeth. “Stranger things have been known to happen,” he said with a shrug. “What do you need, darling?”

“One whiskey sour, a double shot of tequila, and two black Russians,” she said, rolling off her order. “Nice crowd tonight, huh, Mr. Marshall?” She turned her attention to Romeo.

“How are you doing now, sweetheart?”

“I'm doing much better, and thank you again for before.”

“That's what I'm here for, Sharon,” he said, patting her lightly on the shoulder.

As Sharon stood waiting for Malcolm to finish mixing the drinks, she pressed anxiously at Romeo's elbow. He could sense that she, like the crowd, was in the mood for something more. “Okay, Sharon, what's up?” he asked, finally prompting her to ask whatever it was that had her so antsy.

“Do you think I might be able to sing now, Mr. Marshall? I know it's still kind of early, but Odetta said she'd cover for me and I promise I'll make sure all my tables are served before I start,” she whispered timidly, searching his face for approval.

Pausing, Romeo smiled, studying Sharon closely. She was a pretty girl, but still very much a girl. Although Romeo knew she was twenty-four, about most things she had the innocence and the naïveté of a child half her age. Not wanting to disappoint her, and longing to hear her sing himself, he finally nodded his head yes.

“Just keep the crowd happy, Sharon,” he answered, brushing his fingers lightly along the length of her blushing face.

“Thank you,” Sharon gushed, jumping up and down. “I promise I'll do good.”

Turning to Malcolm, Romeo laughed. “I think Piano Man has created a monster,” he said, both men shaking their heads in unison as the young woman raced from their side.

“What do you think about him?” Romeo asked, shifting in his seat.

Malcolm glanced toward the stage. “Nice old guy. Bullheaded though.”

Romeo nodded his head. “He's definitely stubborn.”

“I don't get the impression he's very well either, do you?”

Romeo shrugged. “His age is definitely catching up with him, there's no doubt about that.” He nodded pensively.

Malcolm stared where Romeo stared, the two men watching Piano Man in action.

“That old bird has got to be well over seventy by now. He's probably pushing eighty, if I'm not mistaken. I imagine at that age something's bound to catch up with you sooner or later.”

Romeo smiled as he turned back to meet the other's man's gaze. “Do me a favor and just keep an eye on him. Let me know if you see anything unusual,” he said.

“Anything in particular?”

“No. Just anything, and no more booze while he's playing. He can have what he wants after we close, but not while he's on stage. If he asks, tell him to come see me. Make sure Odetta and Sharon know also.”

“Sure. What is it about him that's eating at you?”

Romeo looked toward the stage, shrugging his shoulders. “Can't put my finger on it. There's just something about him.”

Malcolm smiled. “I understand. You see someone like that, and they remind you of something or someone else, and you know you have to give them a hand or you just don't feel right about yourself.” Malcolm's head bobbed up and down as he passed a damp cloth across the bar top. “Yes, sir, I know exactly how you feel,” he finished.

Romeo spun about in his seat to scan the room just as Sharon brushed past him grinning from ear to ear. After rushing to deliver her last round of drinks, she passed her apron to Malcolm, then approached the stage, eagerly taking the microphone Piano Man handed to her. She beamed out into the crowd, her self-assurance blossoming beneath the spotlights.

The crowd leaned toward the stage, enthusiastically waiting for the first note to roll off her tongue and glide past her lips. A quiet lull fell over the room, teasing the sounds from the piano. A low throaty trill rose from the depths of Sharon's insides and surged out into the room. As Sharon kissed the patrons with a fierce, passionate embrace of lyrics and music, a chill crept up Romeo's spine.
“. . . If you want my lovin', if you really do . . . don't be afraid, baby, just ask me. . . .”
Not since Aretha Franklin had Romeo heard that song sung with so much energy and passion.

“Damn, that girl can sing,” he said out loud, agreement echoing across everyone else's face.
I'm going to have to make her a featured performer and hire a new waitress,
he thought to himself, the business potential racing through his mind.

As if reading his thoughts, Malcolm spoke the words aloud. “We need to rethink her position,” he said, meeting his friend's stare. “That girl's a gold mine!”

Fingers tapped easily along tabletops, as toes rapped across the floor. The music felt good, bringing people to their feet to swing wide hips, gyrate pelvises, and snap their fingers to the beat. Romeo scanned the smiling faces, heads bopping from side to side, then nodded in Sharon's direction. From where she stood on stage, she could see that he and Malcolm were pleased and so she sang for them both, a wide grin spreading across her face.
“. . . I love you, I love you, I love you, baby, I love you. . . .”