Girl with the Golden Voice (31 page)

She led him to the far corner of the Naivasha Room and sat him down in a leather armchair. She looked at him solemnly but could hold the pose for no more than five seconds before breaking into an African woman's sexy chuckle, accompanied by another bursting dazzle of a smile.

‘Thomas, I'm normally a hugging kind of woman! Anyone I meet. It gets me into trouble sometimes, but that's all part of the fun. But your arm, how is it? One of my hugs might have done some damage!'

‘I'm nearly over it now …' He hesitated.

‘Oh, yes I forgot. Monica Mgoya. Everyone in the band calls me Mama. Now then, let's have a drink and I'll set you straight about some of the stuff that goes on ‘round here … You know, I should hate you!' She was smiling as she reached across to grasp his knee. ‘Just a little knee hug! Okay?'

‘Oh, thanks. Hate me? Welcome to New York!'

‘Let me explain. ‘Course I don't really hate you. Kenya boy, and a good-looking one! ‘Course not! Look, Harry was over on the west coast about a month ago. So, as usual, he drops in to see the band. First time he's seen Rebecca. He was speechless. “Toni,” he says, “the kid's sensational. You got to bring her to the Flamingo.” He says a terrific band is going to be a great band. No trouble. Then you come along and … she's not staying. See why I should hate you? Only fooling! If a kid like Rebecca loves you like we know she does, you must be a bit sensational, too. And for one month we're all going to have a ball.'

Rebecca did not sing with the band on that first night. When the concert was over Monica threaded her arm through Tom's and took him to one side.

‘Thomas, I hope you're keeping a close watch on that Henry. He's randier than a lion on heat. Couldn't take his eyes off Rebecca. Thank the good Lord she'll be up on stage tomorrow night. A man must protect his woman. You get yourself a nice sharp panga. Any bother and you cut off his credentials, turn him into a soprano. Maybe Toni'll give him a spot in the show. Meantime, you two kids, go for a short walk. Times Square is just two blocks. Oops, you need a rest. I forgot. We'll meet for breakfast and I'll take you for a walk while the band is rehearsing.'

Tom took Monica's advice about the walk. After midnight and to him it could have been early evening. In the middle of the colour and noise of these busy streets, he was thinking about Londiani. Luka and Erik would be getting ready for their lie-down in some peaceful corner. The farms around the lake would be dark and quiet. He and Rebecca held hands but did not speak much. She was very tired, apprehensive and excited about the show that night. She was unaware of the growing sense of anxiety in her companion. He was even contemplating the possibility of returning soon to Naivasha, but he was glad he had come. It made him realise what kind of life Rebecca would have if she pursued this longing to sing. In years to come she might well have deep regrets about not seizing this chance. In New York there would be none of the nonsense about black and white. But this city where she would blossom and grow into her best self would see him shrivel in no time. There was no role here for a farm boy.

The thought of Henry crossed his mind. No, Rebecca would know how to deal with this pushy newcomer. The gleam of hope was that in, say, five years it would be a better time for them, except that no one could know how far she would have changed by then.

If Rebecca could have understood the heavy pessimism that was hanging over him, she would have scolded him and gladly volunteered to return home on the first plane out. But for both of them the lingering goodnight kiss was as sweet as ever. Sleep did not come quickly to Tom, but Rebecca floated away on a cloud of joy. In a few hours she would be singing in a great city with Tom no more than fifteen metres from where she stood.

After a late breakfast, the band went off upstairs for a rehearsal. Tom was reading
The Daily Post
in the foyer when his four female escorts appeared. They were strikingly dressed in frothy, colourful Nairobi ladies' outfits, but on their arms they carried warm coats to put on when they ventured into the chilly New York morning to do some exploring. Monica had been joined by the wives of three other band members — Dorcas Latema, Miriam Olmana and Ruth Chenga.

Tom was swept off in a whirl of chuckling laughter and loud conversation. Ruth set down the single ground rule, or thought she did.

‘Thomas, I expect you have noticed that my sisters and I all have names taken out of the Good Book. This will tell you that God will protect us on our little adventure, but I must tell you also that we don't know much about this wonderful Beeg Apple, so we appoint you Bwana and leader for the day.'

Miriam added her footnote, ‘Make sure we have plenty of icecream and cups of Kenya coffee, and you will have four happy ladies!'

And Dorcas had a request. ‘Not too much walking. These shoes are killing me already!'

Monica would not be left out. ‘Thomas, I have the dollars, you have the map and I suggest we take one of these yellow cabs. I'm sure the driver will take us to some good place.'

Four hours later, the mamas flopped down at a corner table in the Kisumu Room, the Thikus' version of an old-fashioned American icecream parlour. After ordering more chocolate sundaes and coffee, there was a wash-up of the morning's excursion. They had stayed with the driver who had picked them up the Flamingo. He was from Brooklyn and made them laugh a lot. He took them the length of the island. Most of the stops had been to let them have a peep inside churches and spend time in yet another coffee shop. There was very little walking involved.

Those four hours in close company lifted Tom's spirits. The ladies had swapped life stories with their chauffeur. Extroverts all, their tales of village days of twenty years before on the one side mingled hilariously with their new buddy's reminiscences of his early days behind the wheel, driving out from a depot in the Bronx on to what to Tom seemed to be completely lawless streets. They shared the gift of being able to bring out the humour of the most gruesome events. His mamas were very kind to their Kenya brother and there were constant references to his good luck that the most beautiful girl in Africa had fallen in love with him.

The good humour continued at the communal light dinner before the show began. Tom shared a few words and embraces with Rebecca. ‘Thomas, pray for me. I'm nervous about having you in the audience. Toni says that there will be some important people from the music business here tonight.'

‘You are going to be fantastic, so successful it makes me scared.'

‘But what do you mean? Why scared? Toni, please …'

Toni was pressing his musicians to prepare themselves. They were risking a late start, something he would not tolerate. Just enough time for one last hug for Tom and Rebecca.

”Becca, it's all right. We'll talk later.'

For the third item on the program a voice from backstage announced the first appearance of ‘the new African sensation, Rebecca Kamau!'

Tom gulped with shock when the tall, black figure was suddenly there in the spotlight on centre stage. A round of applause greeted the composed beauty in the red dress. Only a week ago this girl was standing at her mother's side bashing soaking wet clothes in the wash garden in Londiani. This vision up there in front of him belonged to another world. The doubts that had troubled him on their walk together on those chilly, night streets were strengthened. He felt that every song she sang would take her further away from him. Surely she would feel it as strongly as he did!

She began. Tom had heard the title announced by the backstage voice, ‘When love comes round again,' and he recognised the words he had listened to on the plane two days before. He was not enjoying the experience. In the first place his body felt very weak, the way it was in a dream when it was impossible to move to avoid the express train bearing down on him. And all these faces around him were focused and rapt with delight. In some way they were sharing his Rebecca and he stupidly, (he admitted) and selfishly resented the idea.

When the song ended and the applause and the cheering began, Tom was aware of an arm across his shoulders. He turned to see Monica. Her handsome face wore a quiet, comforting smile. ‘Don't worry, Thomas, this moment was waiting for you. You had to go through it. In spite of everything you see up on that stage, that beautiful person is still the same Naivasha girl you know better than anyone.'

The show continued. Tom, calmer now but feeling more numb than elated, was amazed to watch the effect Rebecca's voice and very presence was having on the audience. There were no empty seats and every free space was filled with people beginning to understand that this musical event at the Flamingo was special. They were entranced and loving the experience.

There were two blue armchairs in Rebecca's room and she and Tom faced each other from them. She was still on an emotional high while he was drained almost to emptiness. As soon as the concert had ended she had sought him out and they had stood with linked arms and holding hands, facing the crowd of well-wishers congratulating her and wondering who he was. And now the quiet of the seventh floor room.

‘Thomas, why scared?'

‘Do you really want to …'

‘Of course I do. Tom, what's the matter? I'm worried. You've been so down since we got here. It's not working, this New York, is it? Londiani, you're still there, aren't you?'

”Becca, I'm in over my head. These people love you so much. Londiani, it's so dull compared to all this. You can't waste this gift.'

‘Thomas, you want me to stay over here?'

‘No. But I don't belong here. I feel useless.'

‘You might hate me for saying this, but I think you feel sorry for yourself just now. You're forgetting everything. We are here for four weeks. You're a farmer and I'm going to be a farmer's wife. If there is a gift, then God gave it to me and God will show me how to use it. Singing my children to sleep for a start.'

She left her chair to sit on his lap. Her closeness worked is magic on him. The smell of her, the smooth firmness of her body, the touch of her skin. During their passionate embrace, the urge to take her completely came strongly and he felt that this time she would be ready. She sat up suddenly.

‘Thomas, your arm. I was forgetting. Is it all right? Is it hurting?'

His smile reassured her. ‘This is the best piece of doctoring I've ever had. You should bottle it.'

‘Why bottle it when the doctor is always available?'

There was a tap on the door. It was Henry. ‘I'm sorry to interrupt. You forgot your shoes from your first song.'

‘Thank you, Henry. I put them down on the side of the stage and later I just couldn't find them. And don't look embarrassed. We are practically married.'

‘Oh, yes, one other thing. The party's started downstairs. Harry says he hopes you're coming down'

Downstairs, Rebecca was surrounded as soon as she made her way into the restaurant. Tom was not ignored. He was amazed at how many people had heard about his kidnap and wanted to get the story from the inside. Later, as he looked out from his window at the traffic and the streets still thronging in the middle of the night, he was pleased at the thought that he was no alien in this amazing place, no more so than scores of those passing below at that very minute. The fear, the self-pity was gone. He looked forward to the new dawn and the adventures it would bring.

The days that followed fell into a loose pattern. The concert was the fixed climax. Tom could not break the built-in habit of early rising, hours before breakfast was due, but, while there was still darkness up beyond the ceiling of street-lights he took to the pavements for gentle jogs. Mama Dorcas had insisted on rigging up a comfortable sling to hold his left arm in place.

Broadway was his route and his target for his fourth week was Columbus Circle and the south-west entrance to Central Park. The middle part of the day was spent outdoors which on Sunday meant a group visit to a Baptist church close to the East River for a high old time on hymns with a swing and red hot talking, open confessions, testimonies and dynamic, heavenly blasts from the lips of the handsome, black pastor who delivered his apocalyptic message with challenging and emotional language.

The two people connected to the group who opted out of the Sunday sessions were Henry and Rikki Fender. Tom got to know Rikki quite well. He was the odd one out in the band. He, too, had been to public school in England, courtesy of fees paid by his father to supplement the money from a choral scholarship at St Paul's. He knew the city better than the rest of the group, and on their leisurely meanderings around Midtown, the young men exchanged brief life stories.

‘I'm lucky Toni took me on. He can't find a lot of stuff for a violinist.'

‘Violinist?'

‘Don't sound too shocked! I'm pretty damn good. Went to music school and all that. So far no luck with the big orchestras. No experience! So I'm trying a few things. Ever heard of a French guy, Stephanne Grapelli? I suppose not, coming from Kenya and all that. I was born in Nairobi Hospital. Probably I'm more African than you are, Thomas. Jazz, you like jazz? Old Stephanne wowed them in Paris for years.'

Rikki hesitated briefly. ‘Tell you something. Henry knew about Stephanne. Says he saw him play in the old Hot Club. I meant to check that out. Listen, watch that guy. He's more slippery than a green mamba on ice. He tried it on with Mary. Mary, the boss's daughter, for god sakes. Tell Rebecca and still keep an eye open. And don't worry about me. I don't go for the ladies.'

‘Rikki, I thought Rebecca told me you were playing for her tonight, just the two of you on stage.'

‘Hell and damnation! You're right. Some Gershwin number. My big chance and I've blown it.'

‘No, no. Let's get back. It took a bit of time but we found it. I knew we would.'