What Mother Never Told Me (3 page)

P
arris was lifted from sleep and carried into consciousness on a distant bluesy melody. The dim light of the winter morning cast shadows across things that she didn’t recognize. It took her a moment to realize where she was and why.

By degrees the sense of unfamiliarity lessened. She tossed the sheet and blanket aside and sat up. This was Nick’s apartment. She’d come here to stay after leaving Mississippi. Her grandmother was dead. Her mother was alive. Her reality took shape as the song beckoned her. She reached for her robe at the foot of the bed and tiptoed to the door. She cracked it open and the highs and lows guided her to its origin.

Parris stood in the archway of the living room. Nick was perched on the edge of the windowsill. His eyes were closed as he raised and lowered the sax in time to the rhythm that moved through his soul. The song strolled to its conclusion.
And as if rising from the depths of unspeakable pleasure, his eyes slowly opened. A look of ecstasy haloed his face, and when his gaze rested on her it stroked her.

A shiver moved through her limbs.

“Mornin’.” He hopped down from the sill and placed the sax on its stand.

He came toward her in that slow easy way that reminded her of a prowling panther. Sensual to watch, but deadly.

“Sleep okay?”

Parris could only nod as her eyes clung to the sky-blue T-shirt that outlined his chest.

“You can hang out here today if you want. I have some business to take care of. A friend of mine located a space for me.”

“A space?”

He grinned. “For my new club. I have to meet her at ten. She says it’s perfect for what I want.”

“I didn’t realize you were actively looking.”

“When I said I cut ties with Percy Davis, I meant it. This will be all mine, no strings. I’ll be in hock up to my eyeballs for a while but I think I’ll be okay.”

“Wow,” she said on a breath. “That is so exciting.” Her eyes widened in delight. “Mind if I tag along? I mean…if you don’t mind.”

“Since you’re going to be my headliner I guess you should see where you’re going to perform.”

“Headliner? You’re kidding, right?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” He chuckled at the open look of awe on her face. “You did say you needed a job,” he teased.

“Sure…” Her body shifted, adjusting to the news. “I guess I never thought…”

“What, that you were star material? The contract that’s
burning a hole in my briefcase says different. The way you packed the house at Downbeat says different.” He leaned against the frame of the wall, inches away from her. “I know you haven’t had time to think about it, but you need to. Deals like that don’t come often.”

“I know.” She thought about what her grandfather had said about the hole in her music that would remain there until she got the answers she needed to fill it. She looked into Nick’s eyes, seeing nothing but promise and possibility there. “I’ll need some time.” She drew in a breath. “I’m going to see my mother.”

Suddenly she found herself wrapped in a gentle embrace.

“It’s the right decision,” he said into the softness of her hair. “And I’ll be here when you return.”

She was imbued with anticipation now that she’d said the words out loud.

Nick kissed her lightly on the lips. “When are you planning on going?”

“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” she said, her voice tremulous. “But soon. I need to look into flights.”

Nick took a breath. “No time like the present. You can use my computer and see what kinds of deals are out there.”

Now that the decision was made she felt a sense of calmness and control reenter her spirit. For weeks she’d been adrift, at the mercy of events. It was time for her to take back her life, twist and reshape it into something that was recognizable, albeit new. “Let me get cleaned up and then you can show me the way.”

Nick’s computer was on a small wooden desk next to his bed. The room resembled him. That was her immediate impression. Strong, decisive, dark and comforting. His scent lingered in the air. She inhaled him.

He went to the desk and pushed on the power button. “All yours.”

The screen lit up with a picture of Dizzy Gillespie, cheeks full blown and his horn at its trademark askew angle.

“I use Firefox.”

She glanced up over her shoulder as he leaned across her to move the mouse. Blue cotton met caramel skin for an electric instant. The charge splashed on the screen in a burst of musical notes. But of course it wasn’t the almost-there contact between them that caused the Fourth of July to arrive four months early, she thought.

“Like my screensaver?” he asked, moving back.

Of course it wasn’t the Fourth of July. Screensaver
. “It’s definitely you.” The thrill lingered on her arm, trembling her fingers. She placed her hands on the keys to steady them.

“See what you can find. I’ll be back in a few. Need to make a couple of calls.”

“Okay.”

His leaving cooled the air around her, as if his presence was the life force that flowed through her veins. When did that happen? Better, why had she not realized it until now? Perhaps she did, she thought as her fingers found their way, but refused to acknowledge it because, of course, if she did she would have been forced to accept an emotion that was unavailable to her.

The Web site to the airline reservations opened and she keyed in Kennedy airport as her starting point. The tips of her fingers hovered over the keys. The hide-and-seek game that the cursor played dared her to stop its frivolity. She could do it. She could make it stop and the game would end. But if she did her future would line up in front of her in perfect formation of date, time, aisle or window. Pick one. Any one.

She blinked to clear her head and vision.

Paris, France.

Her heart thumped. The screen filled. Her questions could be answered in a week or tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Too soon. Not soon enough. March 15. The Ides of March. Caesar met his fate.

“Find anything?”

Parris jumped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Nick sat on the edge of the desk. He draped his long fingers loosely on his lap.

“There’s a flight leaving next week.”

“Next week?” The immediacy of it set him back. Of course she’d want to leave as soon as possible, once she’d made up her mind. But she wasn’t ready. How could she be when she’d only just arrived? There’d been no time to prepare.

“If I book it now the fare is manageable,” she said, her declaration filtering through the twists and turns of his thoughts.

Nick’s fingers entwined. “How long?”

Parris stared at the screen. “A week, maybe two.” Perhaps she’d never come back. Of course, when her mother saw her for the first time she’d want her daughter to stay with her forever, make up for all the years they’d missed. She refused to accept that Emma wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t want to open her arms and beg to be forgiven. “I thought I’d stay with…my mother…if she has room,” she added quickly. “But I can always stay in a hotel, if not.”

Nick squeezed the words between his fingers, hoping to crush them. But they were coming so fast. He couldn’t stop them and they began to slip through his fingers and spread across the screen. “Confirmation.”

There, she’d done it, and in response every nerve in her body
shook and danced, thankful to be freed from the captivity of her indecision.

Parris pushed back from the desk. Her gaze became tangled up with Nick’s, both asking questions that couldn’t be answered, saying so much that couldn’t be heard. Not now anyway.

Nick stretched out his hand and she put hers in it. His fingers, slender but strong, wrapped around hers. She felt a wave of comforting warmth, a sense that whatever it was, it would be all right. It simply would.

“Probably should call your grandfather…”

“He must be worried.”

“Use the phone in the kitchen.”

“Thanks.” She stood. He didn’t give her any space.

She smelled of softness and morning, her hair a tumble of tight abstract spirals that framed promise, hope and trepidation. His body barely teased hers, yet he could feel every dip, curve and swell. He wanted her to stay but understood her need to leave, to find what she believed she was missing. He understood all too well being half of a whole, his own life a picture of missing pieces.

“Don’t stay too long.”

She wanted to tell him she knew what he meant, but instead she said, “I won’t. Granddad hates phones.”

Nick stepped aside to let her pass then glanced at the screen that still held her key to the answers she sought. He only hoped that they were kind.

Nick and Parris pulled up in front of a storefront tucked between a boarded-up used bookstore to the left and a thriving liquor store to the right. Across the street was the Church of the Everlasting. At least that’s what the makeshift sign said on
the stark white door that looked totally out of place among the grayness. The corner bodega had the usual assemblage of “not sure where my life is going” black men huddled together for comfort as much as warmth. Holding on to their manhood and a patch of concrete they called their own, shooting the breeze and filling the air with puffs from Kools and Newports.

Young women dragged reluctant toddlers with one hand and pushed strollers with the other, heading toward the hope of something better, immune to the “hey, babies” that trailed their sashays, having heard it far too often and knowing that no one called them
baby
and meant it. Only their own daddies, who were more hope than reality.

Two ree Movies with Membership
flashed obscenely in the window of the video store, hoping to entice the passersby. But these people who bartered for their daily existence knew that nothing in life was free and continued on their way.

Nick put the Navigator in Park, and peered through the passenger window at his possible future.

“Plenty of foot traffic,” Parris said, trying to sound hopeful over the rumble of a delivery truck that banged down the tattered blacktop.

Just then a burgundy Jaguar pulled up and parked in front of them. The driver stepped out. Assurance and a sense of entitlement dressed the woman, who clearly was not of the neighborhood. Honey-blond hair framed a peaches-and-cream complexion, her cheeks a pale red from the slap of cold air. She looked neither left nor right as she walked straight to the storefront and stood sentinel. Her bearing and oversized Kate Spade purse were her only weapons against the odd looks tossed her way. The platinum of her watch caught the rays of the sun. Her lips pinched into a thin line that dared someone
to cross them. But her green eyes belied the outward confidence. They jumped and darted at every puff of smoke, burst of laughter and flow of curses.

“That must be her,” Nick said. He hopped out and came around to open Parris’s door then set the alarm. They approached and the wary eyes took on an almost feral glare, fingers clutching her purse a little tighter.

“’Morning. I’m Nick Hunter. And this is Parris McKay.”

He extended his hand and the tight lines around her mouth slowly dissolved. A smile of welcome relief stretched across her mouth, revealing perfect off-white teeth.

“So glad to meet you. I’m Celeste Shaw.” She shook each of their hands and registered the look of apprehension in their eyes. She needed this sale, this way of proving herself separate from her socialite mother and money broker father. Corrine and Ellis Shaw deplored the notion that their Ivy League daughter, who they’d spent a fortune educating and grooming, had reduced her potential to this lowly lifestyle. And Celeste relished their disdain. “Before you say anything, I know the neighborhood isn’t the best. But the entire area is slated for revitalization. The developers have already begun buying up the vacant property. In another five years you won’t recognize the place.”

As if that’s a good thing, Nick thought but didn’t say. Just like you couldn’t recognize most of Harlem these days. The verve and vitality, the thing that gave Harlem its rhythm, had been replaced with superstores and condos, and people who made more money than most black folk ever dreamed of. What she meant, but didn’t dare say, was a
new
Harlem. A Harlem that was safe for folks who looked like her, who could take over the historic brownstones, add outdoor cafés and coffee shops, get rid of mom-and-pop stores and replace them
with stores where no one knew your name and didn’t care to find out. Nick had other plans. “Let’s take a look.”

“Great,” Celeste answered, beaming. She dug into her overpriced purse to retrieve the keys. “So how do you know Leslie?” she asked into the depths of her bag.

“Leslie and I met about a year ago when I managed a club called Downbeat. She did some renovations for us.”

“Leslie is a doll.”

“How do
you
know Leslie?” he asked, curious about the odd-couple combination. Leslie Evans was a product of the notorious Red Hook projects in Brooklyn, raised by a single mother, and the polar opposite of this ultrathin, Upper East Side pampered diva who slummed in her off hours to rid herself of echelon guilt.

“Leslie and I met during a theater class in the Village about ten years ago and we clicked.” She looked up with the most endearing smile on her face, holding up the keys like a prize. “Sometimes you meet people that change your life. That’s what Leslie did for me.” She turned, fumbled with the rusty lock and finally got it open.

“Here, let me do that.”

Nick came around her to lift the heavy metal gate. He pushed it up above their heads and Celeste opened what used to be a glass door. She went in first.

“I know it’s not much to look at but it has plenty of potential.”

Celeste crossed the open space of the entryway into the dusty dankness of the interior, knocking a cobweb out of her way without flinching. That earned points with Nick.

Big black garbage bags of refuse sat like brooding Buddas along a peeling wall that might have been tan at one time. A horseshoe-
shaped bar held countless stories of days gone by. Wobbly wooden tables that were once draped with revelers sat forlorn, surrounded by empty seats filled now with the ghosts of the past.