A Conversation with the Mann (25 page)

Yeah, there was that. But I also didn't care for Lamont's tailored suit, or the just-polished shine on his expensive not-from-this-country
shoes. I wasn't crazy about the way the roughness of his hands was hidden beneath the soft kick of fine gold jewelry. His
self-confidence, his sureness … What I didn't dig about him was that he had everything I wanted. I didn't care to add Tommy
to the list.

Lamont did what he could to ease me of that fear. “The two of you make a handsome couple. Real fine. You going to marry her?”

“… How did you—”

“If I were you, I'd marry her. If I were you, I'd already be married to her. You're a lucky man, Jackie.” A sip of his coffee.
“Thing is, woman like that, I don't think I could stand to be away from her.”

“I'm not planning on being away from her.”

“You're not going to do road clubs anymore?”

“Sure I am.”

“Sure you are. Need those clubs to get established, to work the act.”

“You going to manage me now?”

Again Lamont smiled. The cat was unfazeable. He had, I noticed, a habit of brushing his thumb back and forth over the tips
of his fingers. Back and forth. He kept it up like he was collecting pay for it. “I'm just saying; you're away working clubs,
you're away from Tommy.”

“She can come with me.”

“She could. She could.” More coffee. “That'd be a shame.”

“A shame for us to be apart, a shame for us to be together …”

“The shame is that it would be the end of her singing career.”

“It's not the end of anything. I'm not asking her to stop singing.”

“You said you were going to take her on the road with you. She's traveling with you, how's she going to sing?”

“That's not the … I'm not saying …”

Same as a by-the-hour lawyer, Lamont was putting me through my paces. What God had held back from him in height and looks,
He'd doubled down on in smarts.

“Look, Jackie, of course Tommy could still sing. Here and there. At least till you have a kid. And even then, maybe, she might
still have a shot at things. Somehow. The point is: There aren't that many opportunities for us.” He said “us” in the way
black people say “us” to each other when we're talking about us. “Not a lot of chances to make it, and make it big. That's
the idea behind Berry's record company.”

“Berry?”

“Berry Gordy. Founded Motown. Founded it on the concept of creating a look and a sound and a style that's so unique that it
can't be ignored, not even if they wanted to.” He said “they” in the way black people say “they” to each other when we're
talking about
them.
“You do that, you make it large, then you don't have to be dependent on some ofay in a high office to give you your due.
Dig my meaning?”

I dug. Lamont was preaching to the converted.

He said: “And Tommy is due. She rates it. She's got the voice, the look. She's got the talent. But you take her away from
her singing now, she may never make it.”

Well, let me tell you: I could've hit him. I'll say it free and plain: I could have reached across the table and hit Lamont
Pearl. If
I
take her away from her singing. I. Me. My fault: Marrying Tommy was no different from flipping the executioner's switch.

I could have hit him, but his words bounced around inside me, bounced around until they landed on the truth: It would be my
fault. I would be the one taking Tommy away from her singing. I would be the one tossing the first shovelful of dirt on her
career. A day earlier I was so sure of myself that the future of me and Tommy was a future together. But after talking with
Lamont, after hearing his slicked-up words, I didn't know what to do.

I said: “… I don't know what to do.”

“When you don't know what to do, sometimes the best thing to do is nothing. Not for the minute anyway. There's time for the
two of you after she's made it. After you've made it.”

I fought logic with pure emotion. “I love her.”

“Hey, man.” Lamont's hands went up in a kind of surrender. “I'm not telling you how to play things. But what kind of love
is that? Taking away everything she could be. No matter you want her to succeed, you know the woman; you know how devoted
she is. You marry her, she'll never leave your side. No more clubs, no more singing. No more nothing.”

“And you know that? You've been around Tommy, what, a hot minute, and you know—”

“Then tell me I'm wrong.” Back and forth, his thumb across his fingertips. A sip of his coffee.

Unfazeable.

Lamont was no longer speaking any known language; he was just making a shrill sound that I could only barely comprehend: Career.
Success. Failure. Marriage. Don't. Understand.

Understand?

“You understand, don't you, Jackie? Don't you?”

At some point I think Lamont offered a few pleasantries and said good-bye to me—must've—then left for Grand Central to hop
his train.

I don't remember that.

What I remember is sitting in that Horn and Hardart a good, Long time.

A
T THE MOMENT
The Village Vanguard was empty. Middle of the afternoon, dark in the daylight, the joint was closed for business. At night,
when the shows were running, The Vanguard was as shoulder-to-shoulder happening as any cabaret in any piece of the city.

At the moment it was empty.

Empty except for Tommy and a piano player who accompanied her in “Speaking of Happiness,” as she worked the song out before
chairs upended on tables and a guy who was pushing a broom around the floor paying more attention to Tommy than to whether
or not he was collecting any dirt.

I slid myself into a corner of the house.

I listened. I'd heard Tommy sing maybe ten dozen times. But this time I
listened.

There are people who sing. Besides just in the shower, there are people who get up onstage before an audience, sing, and get
paid for their singing. Maybe their voice is decent. Maybe they've got some style. Whatever it is, they rate as a singer.

There are people who interpret. Same as if they're changing French into English, they tell you what the song means, translate
lyrics and melodies into a language the listener can understand: Love. Joy Sadness.

Loneliness.

And there are people so gifted, they can make you feel those words, make them hack right through you like a surgeon's brand-new
cutting tool. Those kinds of singers, they're not just giving you a tune for your money. They're injecting themselves into
the song, making naked their emotions, slicing off some of their soul for your consumption. They are giving you a piece of
them. And accordingly, whether you want to or not, you smile, you snap your fingers, you cry… . You do what their voice tells
you to do. That powerful the gifted are. That special.

That's how I felt standing in the back of The Vanguard,
listening
to Tommy. I felt like when she was done with her number the empty chairs and the tables they rested on would jump up and
start applauding the hell out of themselves.

But all that happened was—having heard her for the thousandth time, and for the very first time—without a word I slipped from
the club same as I'd slipped in.

I
NSIDE HER APARTMENT
, in the kitchen, across a table from each other, over coffee, me and Tommy sat. The conversation started a mile away from
the subject. How was I? How was she? The weather. Been strange. Yeah, unseasonable. Hear what the Soviets did? Those Reds
are crazy.

Then we got to what's what.

Tommy asked: “You talked to Lamont?”

I nodded to that. “Before he left town.”

“What did you think?”

Editing myself: “Seemed bright.”

“He is. He's got a lot of good ideas.” Tommy followed up a sizable pause with: “He wants me to go to Detroit, work on some
music out there.”

I didn't say anything to that.

“I don't know how long I would be gone. A few months. Or more. Then I would have to, if I got a record out, I mean, I would
have to, you know, go out. Support it.” That was mumbled.

Beneath the table, out of Tommy's view, I clutched my little box with the very big ring inside.

“And with you gone, you on the road, I don't know when we'd see each other… .” She was climbing a mountain. Tommy had to stop,
take a rest before pushing on. It was as if she knew where she was heading the air would be thin and things would be dizzying
for all involved. “You're always saying how important career is, how important it is to make it. But if there was, you know,
some reason … if you didn't think I should go …”

I sat there. I sat where I was, and if I sat for one second, I sat for a year. That's what you do when you're at a crossroads,
the map you've been carrying is suddenly no good, and your compass is just spinning around no matter somebody's telling you
what direction to head.

I put my hand to my pocket. In my pocket I put the box with the ring. “Of course you should go. Like I said, that Lamont is
a sharp cat. He can do things, do some serious things for you. And hey, just because you're gone and I'm … Nothing's going
to change for us. What do they say? Absence and all that jazz. A little absence, and you and me are going to be so crazy for
each other …” That was all the more talking I could do before the sound of my own voice made me ill.

I looked up. Through all I'd said I hadn't had the guts to look at Tommy while I lied. But then I looked up.

Tommy's eyes were near tears.

“You okay, baby?”

“I don't feel …” Pressing a hand to her head, Tommy fought up out of her chair. “Maybe you should go.”

“You want me to get you something?”

“I don't …” Clutching her head now, fingers trying to work their way inside. “Please, just go.”

Tommy went to her bedroom, closed the door, but not so tight that the sounds of sobs couldn't creep out from behind it. I'd
given Tommy what she needed: the freedom to be the star she deserved to be.

But what Tommy wanted …

What Tommy wanted was tucked away in the pocket of my coat.

A
COUPLE OF DAYS LATER
. Maybe three. Tommy was taking a plane to Detroit. We said our “see-yas,” avoiding good-byes that would make the scene feel
any more final than it needed to. Along those lines I put her in a cab but didn't head to the airport with her. She was just
taking a little trip. No big deal. No need to turn it into some kind of a thing.

Tommy's flight was at two-thirty.

She left for LaGuardia at one. Lamont would be there, back from wherever he'd been, to get Tommy to Detroit. Personally.

When she was gone I did some walking around the city, window-shopping. I liked watches. Nice ones. I'd never owned one. A
nice one. Didn't have the money. Not really. But they were good for looking at. Rolled by a tailor's and checked out some
fronts. Suits I couldn't afford to go with the watches I didn't own. Stopped by a diner to grease myself. Basically I got
back to the business of living my life.

I checked the time.

It was one-eighteen.

No good. It was no good me pretending there was any normal living to be done without Tommy, without at least seeing her off.