Exit Strategy (9 page)

“Believe me, he doesn’t have to fear for his net worth on my account.”

“I know that about you, Keisha, but he doesn’t. Old money always fears the women they meet are either going to be gold diggers right off the bat or the lifestyle to which they become accustomed is going to turn them into one.”

“That’s what prenuptial agreements are for.”

“Exactly.”

I let Carmelo entertain this fantasy he’s created about Tristan because I don’t have the energy to refute him. We talk more about old friends from DePaul on the rest of the trip to my place.

When Carmelo parks in front of my stoop, he turns to me. “Keisha, the night is still young. How about I make a liquor run and we hang out a while longer?”

“I don’t know ... that Byron altercation kind of wiped me out.”

“C’mon, that is exactly why you need to let loose and tie one on with me for old time’s sake.” He smirks. “I promise not to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”

Against my better judgment, I say yes. “But you don’t have to make a liquor run. Jada and I keep a stocked bar.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Carmelo says, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He jumps out of the car and is opening my door for me as I get my seatbelt off.

We decide to do tequila shots since the the drinks we consumed at Bordelo contained tequila. Neither of us is interested in mixing liquors and spending the rest of the night hugging the porcelain goddess. Carmelo is just as engaging as he was in college, and after a couple of shots, I’m hanging on his every word as he shares more stories about being on the road. It’s mind-boggling how many celebrities he’s met.

“No fair. You’ve got a head start on me,” I say. I scoot back on the sofa and hug my knees to my chest. I’ve replaced my heels with a pair of soft, furry slippers. “Give me and KSR another year, and I’m going to surpass you. You just hide and watch.”

“What? ‘Hide and watch’?”

I wave him off. “Oh, that’s some southern thing my mama says.”

He laughs. “How is Mama Beale, anyway? I’ll never forget those epic Sunday dinners we had over at her house when we were starving college students.”

“You men always lead with your stomachs,” I say, remembering Tristan’s first reaction to Mama’s cooking. “She’s fine. Or should I say, she’s more than fine. Mama and Pastor Johnson are getting married next month.”

“Not surprising. They always behaved like an old married couple to me, anyway.”

I shake my head and down my drink. I’ve got a strong buzz going. “Am I the only slow-witted fool who didn’t see this coming?”

“It’s the grown child denial syndrome. My dad had it with his mother. We all kept telling him that Deacon Brown liked more than Grandma’s good cooking.”

“I know, right? That’s exactly what I told Mama about Pastor Johnson when she finally decided to let me in on her little secret, but then she had breast cancer, so I couldn’t stay mad at her.” I blame the generation gap for our many misunderstandings over the years, but she says it’s because I’m so much like her. Mama had me during her early menopausal stage at forty-five, so there is a solid four decades that separates us, generation-wise.

When I emerge from my thoughts, Carmelo looks stunned. It has to be from the offhand way I told him about what had been going on with Mama.

“I thought you said Mrs. Beale was fine?”

“Well, she is now. She had surgery just before Thanksgiving last year, and she’s cancer free. For a woman who’ll be seventy this year, that’s pretty damn good. Knock on wood.” I lean over to knock on the cocktail table and almost spill onto the floor. Carmelo is swift. He catches me before I fall.

His eyes lock on my mouth, and a strange sensation comes over me. Unexpectedly, I have an impetuous desire to kiss him. I need to see, once and for all, if it is as I suspect.

I wet my lips, and he gets the signal that I want to taste him. His arms are already around me, so all he has to do is close the few inches between us. His lips brush mine, tentatively at first, and I register that they are softer than Tristan’s. Then he goes for pay dirt, and I abandon caution and let him kiss me full throttle. I’m not sure if it’s the liquor fueling my deprived libido or if Carmelo Rojas has got serious skill. It’s not a Tristan White eyes-wide-open, soul-stealing kiss, but it’s more than decent.

I’m gonna tell Tristan,
Triple-G says. She grabs my ear with her little hands and tugs. Chick is suprisingly strong for a fairy her size.

Carmelo, must think I’m pulling away, because he breaks the kiss just as I begin to feel a little heat.

“I said I wasn’t out to get you drunk and take advantage of you,” he whispers against my lips. “Now is a good time to stop if you don’t want to get horizontal on your couch.”

His words snap me out of making a mistake of monumental proportions. I slip out of his arms and sit back on the sofa, my face burning with embarrassment. “You’re right. It’s only been two weeks since Tristan. I’m totally not ready for this.” I look around the room, afraid to meet his eyes.

Fairy Hoochie Mama plasters a
Hello My Name Is
... tag on my chest, which says, “Use-A-Ho.”

I think she means, Idaho, but these chicks never get simple jokes.

“Keisha?” Carmelo touches my chin and assists me in returning his gaze. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“What? Kiss me?”

“I’ve wanted to be with you since I broke up with Monica at DePaul, but the timing was never right. You know what I’m saying?”

I nod.

He continues. “At best, all that can happen be between us right now is a rebound romance. But I want you to know if the Prince of the Loop doesn’t step up soon, I’m giving it my best shot.”

I should tell him there’s no chance Tristan will step up, but I don’t because he won’t understand how or why I’ve fallen for someone who never wanted a real relationship. I could possibly have with Carmelo what Tristan is unwilling to give me. All I’ve got to do is say the word, and we could pursue this and see where it takes us. However, for some inexplicable reason, I’m not ready to give up on Tristan yet. There is a difference between perfectly good and passionate. Fool that I am, I want to hold out for passionate a little while longer.

“Thanks for the warning, but if I’m fair to you and myself, I’m not ready.”

“I’m cool with that,” he says. “I’m not sure yet which direction I want to go in with my career, so we’re even on that score.”

I have an epiphany. “So, what are you truly burned out on? Being on the road or being in a band?”

“It’s definitely being on the road. I started waking up in the morning not knowing where the hell I was, and living out of a suitcase gets damned tiresome after almost four years. And the politics of dealing with four other guys who all had different visions for the group. It was time for me to come home.”

“I have a proposition for you,” I say.

He grins. “You want to do a friends-with-benefits thing with me? No strings attached?”

“Funny, Carmelo. This is serious business.”

He sobers. “A guy can dream.”

“Riiight.”

“So what’s the proposition?”

“Come play for me at KSR.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. You’re one of the best guitarists I know. I would be stupid not to use your skill on my artists’ tracks.”

“Can you pay me what I’m worth? I don’t come cheap.”

“Are grits groceries?”

“What you know about Little Milton, girl?”

“You forget my mama was a blues singer.”

“I might have to marry you, then, because I haven’t met a girl in this decade who knows anything about Little Milton.”

“Damn, I wish I’d known that in college. I would’ve been crooning Little Milton to you from day one.”

I make coffee so Carmelo can sober up some before he leaves. I take a seat in the stuffed chair this time, away from him on the sofa, because I don’t trust myself to be close to him, looking and smelling as good as he does. Behaving like a groupie and playing with his rock-star hair may not garner me any respect as his new boss.

“So, where are you staying?”

“I’ve got a little studio apartment near the Cubs stadium.”

“Nice. That’s always seemed like a fun part of the city to live in.”

“Why are you and Jada still kicking it on the south side? I thought you two would’ve surely bailed after finishing at DePaul.”

“You sound like someone else I know.”

“No fair. Don’t compare me to Mr. Big Time. I’m sure he and I have different reasons for wondering that. Has he ever even been down here?”

I find myself defending Tristan because, contrary to Carmelo’s opinion of him, Tristan is not a snob. He dislikes people, places, and things for purely different reasons than socioeconomic status. “As a matter of fact, he has, several times.”

Carmelo looks around, narrows his eyes, and feigns deep thought.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m just trying to picture a Gold Coaster making himself at home here.” He opens his eyes, laughing. “It’s not working.”

I throw a pillow at him, but he deflects it easily. “How dare you belittle my humble abode.”

He puts a hand over his heart as a show of contrition. “I’m sorry, it’s just for somebody making bank like you and Jada, this place doesn’t reflect who you are now. Eventually, you two will need to upgrade.”

“We have been thinking about it, but we’ve just been too damn busy to do anything about it.”

“Don’t wait too long. Even with a restraining order on that ex of yours, tonight was a prime example of why you need to move away from here, Keisha. And stay out of clubs without an escort, because apparently clubs are his hunting grounds. Byron knows where you are, and he’s likely to try and contact you again.” Carmelo flexes the muscles in his arms, drawing his shirt taut. “And I might not be around next time.”

I laugh. “You really would’ve dusted up with Byron on my behalf?”

“You wound me, Keisha,” he says, bringing a fist to his heart. “It may not look like it from the package, but Alma and Elizondo Rojas raised a gentleman who knows how to protect himself.”

“Aw, thanks. I’m really feeling the love.”

“Remember that as you work through getting over White,” he says. “Because I’m not going anywhere for a while, and I’d love to have a reason to stay.”

Just like that, Carmelo has moved us into serious territory again, and I am uncomfortable. I grab my coffee mug.

“Um, I think I’m going to have another cup. How about you?”

He levels me with an arresting smile and hands me his cup. “One more for the road,
querida
.”

True to his word, Carmelo leaves after our second cup of coffee with a warm hug that makes me pine for Tristan all the more.

As I prepare for bed, I think about the time after my first panic attack. I knew I was falling in love with Tristan then, and I should’ve ended things before they got so complicated—before my mother decided he was the first boyfriend I’d brought home she might consider son-in-law material. Clara Lee had made this clear over the holidays.

I should’ve known Mama was scheming when she insisted I invite Tristan over for Christmas, where she proceeded to give him the royal treatment, making all kinds of remarks about us being young and in love. That was probably the closest I’ve ever seen Tristan to massive-coronary territory, and I was ready for a hole to open up in the floor and swallow me.

Mama surprised us by presenting Tristan with a gift after all the fussing she did over him. “Merry Christmas, young man, and thanks for accepting my invitation on such short notice.”

Tristan looked genuinely pleased. “Thanks, Mrs. Beale. May I open it now?”

Mama beamed. “You go right ahead.”

Tristan untied the ribbon, holding the handles of the gift bag together and slides out the contents wrapped in red tissue paper. When he reached into the folded tissue, he pulled out a silver frame and smiled widely. I’d been sitting directly across from him, so I didn’t see what it was yet.

“Thank you, Mrs. Beale. This is very thoughtful of you.” Then Tristan turned it around and held it out so the pastor and I could see. Mama had printed the photo she’d taken of us when we’d arrived and framed it. Tristan acted like she’d just given him a new Rolex.

“What do you give the man who has everything?” Mama asked. Then she answered her own rhetorical question. “Memories.”

~*~

The third week without Tristan begins normally at KSR. Carmelo shows up as promised, and I introduce him to the rest of the tiny orchestra I’ve assembled, comprised of friends and friends of friends I’d known at DePaul. Carmelo fits right in with all of us former Blue Devils, and we make the most beautiful music imaginable.