A Love So Deep (29 page)

S
eventy-five
degrees, the weatherman reported, dead in the middle of November and two weeks before Thanksgiving. The Westerners called it Indian summer. The leaves were painted in warm colors, falling across lawns like a blanket of Skittles in lemon-yellow, raspberry-red, and rich-brown fudge. The day started out with a little overcast, but the sun was shining bright in the cloudless sky.

Angie was on pins and needles. Everything had to be perfect for Rita’s visit. Fresh-cut flowers were placed throughout the apartment. A tall, crystal vase full of cala lilies sat on the piano where Rita would sit. The room was warm and bright like the gorgeous day many Oaklanders ordered outside.

She was going to serve heavy hors d’oeuvres consisting of large meatballs in a sweet and sour sauce, fried chicken wings, smoked salmon and crackers, and fresh shrimp surrounding a bowl of cocktail sauce.

It was three o’clock; Rita was due at five. Angie had plenty of time. She had taken off early from work so that she could get everything just the way she wanted it and then be able to relax. Her clothes were laid out on her bed—a white satin blouse with long, sheer sleeves and a row of iridescent buttons running down the front with a bow that tied at the side, and a pair of black slacks.

Angie went to the piano and sat on the stool. She opened the door exposing the keys, running a finger across them. A melodious sound floated in the air, much like that of a harp when its strings are caressed by nimble fingers. With both hands on the keyboard, Angie struck a chord and began playing “Get Here” by Oleta Adams.

As Angie fell deeper into the song, her body began to sway from side to side. The back of her head was drawn back while the length of her back had formed a curve. She looked like a stunning black sailboat ready to take off if caught in a gust of wind. Then the melody that emitted from the piano and the melody that flowed from the hollows of her mouth merged together, taking the listener, if there were one, across the desert sands or up in a hot air balloon. She was lost over hills and mountains, admonishing her lover to get there soon.

She finished playing and opened her eyes. Searching for the clock, she found that only a half-hour had gone by. It was going to be a long hour and a half. If only William would come early. It would take some of her edginess off.

William seemed more nervous than he was about Rita’s visit. He probably wanted the night to be perfect for her. Angie couldn’t put her finger on it, but William’s demeanor changed—almost resentful when she talked about Rita, especially when she mentioned the commonality of their last names. Maybe he was jealous. Basketball was a long time ago, and he was no longer a star.

Angie stopped and took another look at herself in the mirror. She picked her hair with her fingers, ran her tongue across her teeth, and smoothed down a wrinkle in her slacks. A small sigh followed by a smile said she approved. Now she was ready to meet the invincible Rita Long.

Bells were ringing, or so Angie thought. It was the doorbell, and the moment she anticipated had arrived.

Sweaty palms opened the door and before Angie stood a well-manicured Rita. She was smartly dressed in a crème-colored, satin, button-down blouse tucked in a pair of Tommy jeans. A lightweight, blue-linen, double-breasted jacket completed her outfit. Rita’s hair was pulled tightly back on her face, the tension placed on her hair at the temples. Raspberry-plum lipstick was painted on her lips, and a quiet, reserved smile sat seductively on her face. Astonished by her beauty, Angie smiled timidly in return.

“Please come in,” Angie said, her voice anxious.

“Thank you.

Rita followed Angie into the living room. Rita admired the room. Warm colors were her forte, but the baby-grand piano that stood off in the corner made her smile the most.

“You didn’t have a hard time finding me?”

“No, in fact, I took a taxi.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Would you like something to drink? I also have refreshments.”

“Just a glass of water with lemon would be fine for now.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Suddenly alone, Rita hesitated, then rose from her seat. She sashayed to the piano and brushed the fingers along the keyboard. The place was cozy and she admired Angie’s taste in décor. Rita walked to where the calla lilies sat on the piano and slid her graceful finger along the edge of the flower, stopping momentarily to inhale its fragrance. “Uhmm,” she murmured to herself.

“Oh, there you are,” Angie said, handing the water to Rita upon her return.

“Thank you. You have a lovely place.”

“Thank you. Decorating is one of my hobbies.”

“That’s quite evident. So, Angie, tell me a little about yourself, what you like to sing, and what you would like me to do for you.”

“I love to sing. Been singing most of my life but no formal training. I love contemporary jazz and gospel. I love sultry love songs, and Toni Braxton is one of my favorites.”

“We have some of the same loves. I like Toni, too, but the sistah isn’t good when you’re hurting. She’d kill you—will take you slam out!!!”

They shared a laugh. Angie couldn’t contain her smile. She was still in awe that Rita Long was sitting in her living room and letting her hair down.

“You’ve got that right about Toni. But me, I want to perfect my tone and my ability to make fluid transitions when, for instance, I come off a high note to a do-wa-wa or roll from one octave to another. I want to be flawless in my delivery so my listeners believe what I sing—like they do when you sing.”

“Slow down, Angie, girl, one baby step at a time. You know what you want to do, so now you must take each task individually and perfect them one at a time. Perfect one, then move on. Sing repetitions every day. Since you play the piano, sing while you play. Sing while looking in the mirror. Feel your way as you do it. Have you performed anywhere?”

“Just some small hole-in-the walls in Los Angeles and special events like singing at friends’ weddings.”

A distant memory came alive for Rita. She was singing at a friend’s wedding when she met William.

“So, you’re from Los Angeles?”

“Yes, I came to Oakland about a year ago. I’m ashamed to say it, but I left because of a man.”

Rita patted Angie on the leg. “Nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all done something wild, crazy, and stupid because of a man.”

“My man had been down on his luck…couldn’t keep a job and gambled a lot.”

Rita shuddered at the thought, Angie’s life hitting so close to home.

“He stopped contributing to the affairs of the house…we lived together. I was out working every day, hitting the pavement to put a roof over our heads, food on the table and whatever else needed to be done. He was always lying around…no get up and go, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. So, I decided I needed a change and moved lock, stock, and barrel to Oakland. My sister lives here and she was happy to see me out of that situation. She never liked my friend—the way he took advantage of me and all.” Angie held her head down and sighed.

Furrowed brows raised on Rita’s face. “It must be the singer’s curse to have a man who disrespects them and thinks he can get by on your talents. I’ve felt your pain.” And Rita understood all too well. Rita patted Angie’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for rambling on. Didn’t mean to babble on about me like that,” Angie said.

“It’s okay. Everyone has a story.”

“Well, my friend followed me to Oakland.”

Rita looked disgusted. Angie turned her eyes away from Rita and continued.

“My sister wouldn’t tell him where I was living. At the time, I had moved from my sister’s to where I am now. But it was fate, I guess. I ran into my friend at The Water Hole. We have rekindled our relationship, and we are doing great. He’s attentive, buys me flowers, and has grasped life. It must be the Oakland air.”

“Gullible” was the word that came to mind after Rita heard the update on Angie’s dysfunctional relationship. She wasn’t sure if she felt pity or was downright mad at Angie’s vulnerability and how easy she accepted her man back.

“Be careful of wolves in sheep’s clothing,” Rita heard herself say. “I’m not saying that your man is not on the up and up, and I hope he is, just be cautious and watchful in your dealings with him given his past. He may have another agenda and be schmoozing you along.”

Rita looked into Angie’s puzzled face.

“I didn’t mean to sound so cynical, Angie. I want to offer you a valuable piece of information from Rita’s chest of knowledge. Many of us have carried crosses, and we have to be wise the next time out. Now, why don’t you go over to that piano, and let’s get started.”

“Thanks, Rita. If I don’t get anything else out of our session, I thank you for that piece of wisdom. By the way, I’ve asked my friend to come by. He’s a fan,” Angie lied, given William’s attitude of late.

“A fan? I can’t talk bad about my fans. I look forward to meeting him, Angie.”

Rita sipped her water and placed it on the coaster Angie had set on the piano. Rita moved to the piano bench, sat down, and began to play some chords.

“So, what do you play?

“I play classical music, jazz, and gospel. The church I belong to wants me to play for their choir because the current pianist has old ways, and they want to sing more current songs. As much as I would like to play, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or cause any dissension.”

Familiar tunes floated in the air. Rita’s eyes were closed—lost in her own world. Angie wasn’t sure Rita heard a word she was saying.

“Do the right thing, Angie,” Rita said almost in a sing-song voice.

Angie smiled. The woman who sat before her was a testament to elegance and grace.

“Why don’t we warm up your vocal chords by doing a few scales? That way I can listen to you sing and note your range. There’s an art to singing, and much of it is in how you control your breathing and your voice. Let’s warm up.”

Rita took a few more gulps of water and began playing. She stroked the keys so effortlessly. She played a scale in the key of “C.”

“Sing ‘do, re, me, fa, so, la, ti, do’ several times and climb as many octaves as you can.”

After warming up for a few minutes, Rita changed the pace.

“Sing, ‘He has done marvelous, He has done marvelous, things…praise the Lord.’”

Angie sang the familiar hymn over and over until her eyes began to water. She had been singing so intensely that no one heard the knock at the door. At a pause before climbing another octave, Angie stopped abruptly.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes, you have a wonderful voice,” Rita replied.

“No, I mean a knocking sound. Let me check the door. It might be my friend.”

Rita continued to play. She loved the feel of Angie’s piano and she felt right at home.

Cold air entered the room. The sun had gone down and the temperature with it. Rita heard Angie say, “Hi, baby,” after she closed the door, but it wasn’t until Rita turned around and caught a glimpse of him that she became alarmed. She was paralyzed in her seat—a shrill chill moved over her body.

She saw his dreads first. They were slightly covering his face but moved away as he stepped forward. Angie’s face was all aglow and full of excitement as she held a dozen red roses in her arms while another dozen roses lay in William’s arm, apparently for her.

“Rita, I want you to meet my friend. Rita, this is William Long; William, this is Rita Long. I think it’s ironic that you both have the same last name. Aren’t these roses beautiful?”

“Nice to meet you, Rita. And roses for you, too. Angie has talked about nothing else but meeting you.”

“Thank you,” Rita said flatly, trying not to panic.

It was obvious that Angie did not know that William was her ex-husband. Too much of Angie’s description of her boyfriend rang true to Rita’s own unhappy experiences with William, but for him to be the one at this very time and moment repulsed her. And William allowed this charade to take place knowing how she felt about him.

She hated William. She couldn’t tell if he was gloating. She was not going to give him the benefit of her uneasiness. No, he would not see her squirm. She’d play it out tonight and deal with William later.