Rock Star (31 page)

“Callie, I know you madams have gone high-tech these days. They tell me y’all even take credit cards. I figure I’ll find the evidence in your trash. Besides, I know you people are big on practicing safe sex. If I find condoms out there, I can use our high-tech techniques to collect DNA evidence,” he blustered self-importantly.

Callie wondered if Scooter even knew what DNA was. She knew for sure that he couldn’t spell it. How high-tech could his collection methods be? After all, this man had bragged continuously for three weeks when he got a new bug zapper. He’d ceased his crowing only when the mayor threatened to put him in the contraption. Callie shook her head and led Scooter to the back of the store where they disposed of their garbage. Trash was picked up only once per week, so the dumpsters were quite full. She stood there and watched for a while as he and his deputy began pulling out the large trash bags. He had been so smug and superior she refused to tell him that she shredded all her documents, especially credit card receipts. With all the identity theft going on, she couldn’t be too careful.

She was occasionally surprised however, at comments from people she would previously never have thought to be racist. Made self-conscious by the South’s dismal racial history, the white people tried diligently to couch their opposition to her relationship with Bryan in inoffensive terms. The blacks were much more direct in their approach. The warning shot had come from the extremely Afro-centric leader of the African tribal dance class they had bi-weekly at the store. Their confrontation had been very heated, and the instructor threatened to cease teaching at the store. Deeply wounded, Callie had calmly told her to do what she felt was right. Thus far, the classes had continued on schedule, but the atmosphere was noticeably frigid between them. On more than one occasion she had been heard to ask how such a conscious-appearing sister had turned into such a monumental sell-out. Quite a few black people had protested losing another one of their best and brightest to “the white man.” As one of the church sisters put it, “It’s bad enough that the first thing black men do when they get a little money is get a white woman. Now black women are doing the same thing. What’s going to happen to the community?” Callie didn’t know what to make of that. Would folks have been less concerned if she had been unattractive and less successful?

Attending church or any church activities had become almost impossible. Though the pastor of her church remained above the fray, his parishioners had not and some had even spouted the same vitriolic rhetoric she’d heard in other places. They could not be dissuaded, even when Callie protested that she would not be leaving the community for any reason. Dating a white man did not obviate the fact that she’d been black for twenty-nine years and was unlikely to change anytime soon. Most wounding was her eventual realization that all her activism on behalf of the black community apparently meant nothing if she dared violate the most crucial taboo for a black woman: dating a white man. Some of the women she sang with in the choir had been especially hateful. It had been unbearably painful when they whispered “white man’s whore” under their breath as she entered the choir stand. Much to their dismay, Granny heard them and called them on it.

“Hmmmph, I can’t believe all these supposed-to-be-sanctified folks are up in this church picking on Callie for loving somebody. If the church isn’t about love, what is it about? And y’all know the only reason you got something to say is because you ain’t got no man at all!”

Callie smiled as she recalled Granny’s strong support. The women had slunk away; nobody dared talk back to Granny.

Much to her surprise, many of the comments were positive and the town was absolutely abuzz with interest in her love life. Of course, it didn’t take long to realize that a great deal of that support came from people who had an eye towards capitalizing on the situation for their own benefit. Thus far, she had fielded dozens of requests for an entrée into the music industry. That had provided a great deal of comic relief, as people had taken to coming into the store to demonstrate their various talents. At any moment a seemingly normal customer would break into song or dance and sometimes most impressively, both. Their repertoire included everything from spirituals to operatic arias to hip-hop.

The butcher had entertained them all with a soliloquy from Hamlet. Callie wasn’t sure exactly what his intentions were because she doubted that Bryan could get him into television or film, and the fact that he was pushing fifty made him an unlikely Hamlet, anyway. She was careful not to mention that to him, though. After all, the man had unlimited access to some very large knives. Not to mention his pride and joy, a brand-spanking-new meat grinder with which to dispose of any grisly remains.

Through all the insanity, though, Bryan still had not called. It was almost surreal. He’d been calling continually for days but now that she actually wanted to talk to him, nothing. She could only conclude that it was just as Tonya had said. He’d put the ball in her court, and the next move was hers. Of course, she didn’t even begin to know what she wanted. Actually, that wasn’t completely true. She knew without a doubt that she wanted Bryan, but was she willing to risk having something like this happen again? There was no way she was going to become like those sad creatures she’d seen in California, mere appendages of whatever celebrity they managed to pull cover with. Callie had every intention of continuing her own life, and to the degree that it was possible, putting every aspect of her five-year plan into place. Could she do that while married to a superstar rocker? And who had mentioned marriage anyway? Bryan had said that he wanted to be with her, but there had been no proposal in the offing. After all, what did ‘it’s going to be all about us’ really mean? At the time she’d thought it meant marriage and long-term commitment. Now she wasn’t so sure. For all she knew, he didn’t even believe in marriage. They’d never really discussed it, and given his background, it wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t.

Callie was saved from her confused musings when Granny came bustling into the store. She stood and glowered down at Callie from her impressive height for a long spell, then asked the question that seemed to be in the forefront of everybody’s mind.

“Granny, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Callie responded resignedly.

“You do know that boy isn’t going to wait for you forever? Many a woman’s missed out on a good man on account of listening to other folks,” Granny lectured her insistently.

“I know that, Granny.”

Granny pursed her lips, shaking her head decisively. “No, I don’t think you do. I think you’re letting all this foolishness folks are talking keep you from doing what’s right for you. I’ve always thought you were a right smart young’un, Callie, but in this you’re acting like a dumb missy.”

Having Granny’s respect was very important to Callie, and she tried to explain. “But Granny…”

Granny held up her massive hand to cut off any comment from Callie. “You listen to me. I don’t want to hear nothing you’ve got to say because frankly right now you’re not operating in your right mind, and it’s bound to be stupid.”

Callie’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she didn’t dare open her mouth.

“You young folks think you know everything, and you haven’t lived long enough to know nothing. But I tell you what I’m going to do. I’m not opening the restaurant until you do the right thing. I’m not feeding people who don’t deserve feeding.” With that, she turned with all the grace and dignity of the Queen Mary under a full head of steam and stalked out the store.

Callie choked back the urge to scream. Oh hell, this was all she needed. If Granny went on strike, people would probably picket her store. She’d just gotten rid of the reporters and now she’d have a whole new gang of crazy folks at her door. The whole damned town would be at her throat if they were cut off from their soup! Not for the first time Callie wondered if she wouldn’t be better off just seeking another zip code. She’d heard that Fiji was wondrous this time of year.

After Granny departed, Callie moved slowly over to the bench in front of the magazine rack and gingerly lowered her body to the seat, both hands tenderly holding her head as if afraid that it might fall off otherwise. Her mind whirled as she came to what had previously been an untenable conclusion. The butcher, the baker, and now the official soup maker. How had she lived in this town her entire life and never noticed that it was inhabited by full-fledged lunatics?

The knock on the door was loud and insistent. Callie bolted straight up in bed, startled from a restless slumber. Her abrupt movement almost knocked Bartholomew to the floor, and she righted him from his precarious perch on the edge of the bed. Disoriented for a moment, she looked around trying identify the source of the disturbance. “What in the world…” But all she heard was the insistent rain, unusual for late spring, that had lingered all day. Just as she glanced over at her bedside clock, the knock sounded again. “Who on earth is knocking at one o’clock in the morning?” She jumped out of bed, hastily donning her bathrobe to cover her short cotton nightgown.

She met Tonya on the landing. After contemplating for a moment who the caller could be, they moved cautiously down the stairs, Tonya at Callie’s back, carrying her upraised baseball bat. Callie hoped it wasn’t Sheriff Scooter. At this point she’d have no qualms about introducing him to the business end of that bat. The knocking continued as they very hesitantly approached the door. It was unlikely that anything good was showing up at this hour. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Callie called out from the safe distance. The reply gave her a start and she turned to give Tonya a disbelieving glance, then rushed to unlock the dead bolts.

“Bryan, what are you doing here…” Bryan cut off that question by immediately pulling Callie to him in an all-encompassing hug. She relaxed against him for a moment, just absorbing the wonder of his presence, but abruptly backed away when she realized he was soaking wet.

Bryan pulled her back up against him, closing his eyes as an intense wave of pleasure washed over him. “God, baby,” he murmured against her neck. “God, just give me a minute.”

Tonya put her bat down, then leaned casually against the stair rail. Crossing her arms over her emerald green velvet robe, she drolly commented, “Damn boy, what took you so long? I was seriously starting to wonder about you.”

Callie and Bryan were too absorbed in each other to respond. Finally giving a sardonic snort, Tonya turned and made her way back up the stairs.

Callie finally broke their embrace. “Bryan, you’re soaking wet. Did you bring a change of clothes? I know you’ve had a bad cold; you’re going to catch pneumonia.” She took his chilled hand, leading him up the stairs to her apartment. Bryan nodded his affirmation to her question, and hoisted a disreputable-looking duffel bag onto his shoulder. Once they reached her apartment, Callie directed him into her bedroom to change clothes while she went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Apparently Tonya had already beat her to the task and stood leaning against the counter looking at Callie expectantly. Callie shrugged. She didn’t have any idea what she was going to say or do.

Tonya gave her another significant look. “Callie, I haven’t said anything all this time while I watched both of you wallow in your own misery.” She paused, then gave Callie a sheepish grin. “Besides, I have to admit I felt a little bit guilty because I pushed you to hook up with him, and all this stuff happened. But he’s come to you now. Don’t mess this up.”

“Tonya, nothing’s changed. He’s still famous. I can’t live with that. I just can’t,” she whispered disconsolately.

Tonya threw up her arms in disgust and then left the kitchen to return to her bed. Callie moved to pour coffee for herself and Bryan, then took the mugs into the living room. As she sat down, Bryan came out of bedroom, toweling his hair dry. His black jeans and dark gray vintage Led Zeppelin T-shirt hung on his spare frame, telling the story of his recent weight loss. Bryan, like many other rock stars, had a fondness for vintage rock-and-roll T-shirts. Naysa had told Callie that she found them at Lo-Fi, a vintage clothing store in L.A., and for all its casual appearance, that T-shirt had probably cost a fortune. According to Naysa, the shirts were one of the few sources of sartorial excitement within the band, and the only truly fashionable thing she had little difficulty getting them to wear. Little wonder then that she had standing orders for them as they came in, even though the prices sometimes topped out at better than five hundred dollars as competing stylists drove the prices up.

Of course, none of this was on Bryan’s mind at the present. Feet bare except for a pair of athletic socks, he padded over to Callie and took the mug she offered before sitting down on the sofa next to her.

Bryan took a few appreciative sips. The rain had left him more chilled than he’d realized. Then he said, “I know you know why I’m here. Since you won’t talk to me on the phone, could you please be so kind as to tell me what the hell’s been going on?”

Callie shifted restlessly under the intensity of his dark-blue gaze and moved over into the corner of the sofa, resting her head against the sofa’s high back. She had never thought that Bryan would just show up like this, and was totally unprepared to deal with him. She had gone to great pains to avoid just this confrontation and his tone made it clear that this was going to be as tough as she’d expected.

“I don’t know, Bryan. All of this has been so confusing. I just didn’t know what to say to you.”

“Did you have to just cut me off like that? I had no idea what the hell was going on with you!”