Playing With Fire (12 page)

“Are they?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And why is that, sir?”

“The word's out that not only am I incredibly good looking, phenomenally intelligent, and financially secure, but I'm also very well endowed.”

Taryn laughed, tears rising to the edges of her eyes. “Really,” she gasped.

“In fact, I have it on good authority that you were the one who started the rumor. That's how I know I'm the best thing to happen to you. You're talking about me.You go, girl!”

Taryn shook her head. “You need to stop.”

“So, why are you trying to mess with my head, woman?”

“I'm not doing anything.”

“You know exactly what you're doing. You've got my head so messed up now I probably won't be able to perform anymore, worrying about whether or not you're faking it.”

“Well, even if I was, you wouldn't be able to tell.”

“That makes me feel better,” Romeo said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around her.

Taryn kissed him again. “I love you.”

Romeo smiled, his eyelids suddenly heavy. His dreams would be sweet now that Taryn was home. Brushing his brow into the softness of her hair, he murmured lightly, then dozed off, Taryn still wrapped within his arms.

Taryn's voice called out to him from the answering machine, the lilt of her voice tearing him away from the sleep that held him hostage. Romeo struggled to roll across the mattress, knocking the telephone from the nightstand as he reached for the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

Romeo inhaled, taking a deep gulp of air as he gathered his senses. “Where are you?” he asked, yawning into the palm of his hand.

He could hear her giggling lightly on the other end. “I'm in Paris. I'm at the office,” she responded.

Romeo reached for the alarm clock on the other side of the bed. It was quarter to four. Outside, it was still dark, no hint of the moon to be found. Then he remembered the time difference between the two countries.

“When are you coming home?” he asked her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. I should be done here tomorrow and be home by the weekend.”

“Taryn, I hate the fact that you have to travel so much,” he blurted out, surprising himself as the words spilled over his lips. “I mean—”

“I know,” Taryn interrupted, cutting him off. “I hate it too. And I'm about ready to give this up. I hate being away from you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do,” she responded. “I don't know how we're going to work this, but I figure we can just take it day by day as we try to figure it out.”

Romeo beamed, his wide grin spreading across his face. “I love you.”

He could see the smile painted across her face. “I love you too. I'll see you soon.”

After hanging up the receiver, Romeo sat upright against the headboard, wide awake. Thoughts of Taryn danced through his mind. She was coming home, and if he was lucky, maybe to stay for good.

Rising from where he lay, he eased himself into the bathroom to relieve his bladder. Minutes later he peered into the inner cavity of his Jenn-Air refrigerator. With its built-in mahogany overlay, the appliance blended seamlessly into the other cabinetry of the oversized kitchen.

With Taryn's help he had remodeled and updated his kitchen and bathrooms. He'd sought out her input when he and the decorator had bantered back and forth over the interior. He had wanted Taryn's influence, needing her to plant a bit of herself into the house he was breathing life back into. He knew that he had wanted Taryn to be a permanent part of the home he hoped to build.

For weeks now Taryn came and went at her leisure. He'd pressed keys into her palms without thinking twice and had been offended when she'd refused to sell her own four-bedroom Tudor to come live with him full-time. Fiercely independent, Taryn was a woman who insisted on having her own, insuring that he understood they would share whatever they agreed upon the day he put a ring on her finger and made her his wife. He had loved her even more for that, but still had not moved himself to formalize their relationship. Romeo heaved a heavy sigh.

Everything Taryn had chosen for his house had been carefully selected, the woman insistent about the makes, models, and styles, detailing specifically how such would enhance the retail value of his home if he ever opted to sell. Both he and the interior designer had been impressed.

The cold cavity of the appliance was sparse, hosting nothing but a bottle of Evian water, a Tupperware container of something that needed to be tossed into the trash, and an assortment of condiments, too many jars in varying degrees of empty. Romeo closed the door, reaching into the cabinet behind him to pull a crystal glass from the enclosure.

Walking into the den, he moved behind the large bar, searching for the last bottle of scotch that he'd hidden on one of the lower shelves. He made a mental note to replenish his personal stock before the week was out. Uncapping the bottle, he poured himself a drink, swallowing it quickly. Before replacing the cap, he refilled his glass a second time, then headed back to the bedroom, drink in hand.

Back in his bed, he pulled a cotton sheet up over his legs, then leaned back against the padded headboard, his arm bent up and over his head. Drifting back to sleep would be easier with the hint of scotch to lead him in that direction. He wished that Taryn had not been in the office. Had she been alone, in her hotel room, she could have whispered him to sleep, her seductive voice helping to ease the tension that pressed taut through his groin. He palmed his hand across his crotch, his body quivering as his manhood strained for attention. Reaching for his glass, he downed the last of the bitter spirit.

Thoughts of the old man suddenly swept through his mind. He and Piano Man had lingered briefly after he'd closed the club, talking comfortably with each other. Romeo liked the old geezer. Piano Man had told him about his travels, enthralling him with stories of being on the road and playing with musicians many could only ever dream of hearing play. The man had lived his art, allowing it to lead his every move and action. Romeo admired his fortitude, the wealth of sacrifices he must have made to follow his passion. Romeo didn't know many men who would have done what Piano Man had done without regrets. Romeo had asked him if there had been anything he would have done differently. As he lay there he remembered the look that crossed the old man's face. The look that conflicted with the words that eased out of his mouth.

“No,” Piano Man had answered, his eyes shifting from Romeo's face as if he wanted to avoid the younger man's scrutiny. “But it don't matter much if I wished I'd done something differently, 'cause I sure can't go back and do it all over. Life happened for a reason. God moved me where he wanted me to go. Ain't my place to question why or ask what if,” he'd concluded.

Romeo sighed. There had been something in the old man's eyes that had told him otherwise. He'd sensed that Piano Man had been asking God a number of questions that hadn't been answered.

Piano Man tiptoed about quietly. Struggling with the buttons on a freshly laundered shirt, his hands shook as he fought to push the tiny alabaster stones through the small holes. His large fingers fumbled awkwardly as he grappled with the small closures. When he'd successfully closed the last button and had tucked the neat white shirt into the waistband of his dark gray slacks, he sighed deeply, the simple act of dressing himself now exhausting.

Aleta lay sleeping, oblivious to his presence. Piano Man smiled down at her, wanting to run his palm across her cheek, but not wanting to wake her. He'd been calling her small cottage home for almost a month, ever since she'd pressed her spare door key into his hand and had told him to come and go as he pleased.

Up most of the night, he'd been unable to sleep. His mind had been racing aimlessly about and he knew that whatever he hoped to accomplish would have to be done soon. His body was no longer as compliant as it once was. An inner voice now told him that it would not be much longer before he would have to eventually succumb to his decaying bones and withered muscles.

He had successfully pushed himself even farther and harder than he could have ever imagined being able to, but his time was running out and there was none that he could borrow. He'd been surviving on borrowed time far longer than most, but the end was drawing near and he would not fool himself into thinking otherwise.

Sliding his thick tongue across the back of an envelope, he folded the flap down and sealed its contents firmly inside. The two letters he'd written earlier lay side by side and he looked upon them proudly, stroking the paper as a sculptor might stroke a work of art. Dropping them both into the top drawer of Aleta's bureau, he nodded his head, content with his work.

Piano Man eased himself out the front door, closing it quietly behind him. Inhaling deeply, he washed his lungs with crisp, fresh air. Morning dew clung heavily to thick blades of vibrant green grass and the early dampness felt intoxicatingly refreshing. Piano Man gulped hungrily, nourishing his body with oxygen. Making his way down the street, he strolled along slowly. Strangers walking their dogs greeted him warmly and he stopped every so often to say hello to a familiar face.

The walk was taxing, but as he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the large marquee that hung over the Playground, he smiled. Although it was early, he knew that Romeo would be inside and that he could hover over the piano keys for as long as he wanted without anyone disturbing him. There would be no questions about his plans or advice offered about what he should or should not be doing. Within those walls he was permitted to be who he was, doing as he pleased, with no questions asked. Also, if he asked nicely there was always a shot or two of scotch to help pass the time and sedate the gnawing pain in his joints.

Inside, Romeo sat at the bar, pouring over a mountain of paperwork. Quarterly taxes would soon be due and he needed to reconcile the inventory sheets Malcolm had meticulously completed for him. When Piano Man shuffled through the rear door, Romeo looked up momentarily, greeted the man warmly, then focused his attention back on his work. As Romeo balanced numbers, deciding what needed to be included and what could be ignored, he could feel Piano Man staring at him before turning his attention to the piano keys. Music filled the empty room, pushing the quiet into a far corner.

Romeo had grown comfortable with their routine. Neither had any need for conversation. When they were ready they talked, but during the early morning they were most at peace with their own silence. Silence that sat nicely against the backdrop of the old man's music. Piano Man didn't ramble on unnecessarily, nor did he search for conversation Romeo didn't have time to be bothered with.

Romeo sauntered to the other side of the bar and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. After carefully taking a sip of the hot brew, he filled a tall glass with water and ice. As Piano Man danced a cha-cha with a pair of chords that would not bend and dip like he wanted, Romeo set the glass on the piano top. Piano Man nodded his thanks and watched as Romeo returned to his seat and his paperwork. This is how their mornings had gone for weeks now and how it would end on this particular day. Almost simultaneously they looked in each other's direction and smiled, each warming the other with a fountain of internal sunshine.

As the clock struck one, Piano Man's stomach growled loudly, the rumbling rising from the empty pit of his belly, vibrating throughout his intestines. He rose from the piano bench and stretched his limbs outward, cracking his knuckles. Pulling his fingers through his coarse curls, he scratched his head and yawned.

“Hey, boy, what you want for lunch?”

Romeo looked up from his books, glancing over at the clock behind the bar. “Didn't realize it was so late.”

“I wants me some roast beef. You wants some roast beef?”

Romeo licked his lips, pondering what he had a taste for. “Not really. I think I'd like some fish. I haven't had fish in a long while.”

Dropping his body onto the stool beside Romeo, Piano Man shook his head. “Had me some fish the other night. Aleta fried me some porgies. They was real good too.”

“And you didn't bring me any?”

“Won't nothing left. Hell, don't nobody have no leftovers when you got some fresh fried porgies. Nobody who got some sense at least.”

Romeo chuckled, shaking his head. “Why don't we call over to Sunny's Diner? I can order fish and chips and you can get your roast beef.”

Piano Man nodded. “You calls it in and I'll walk on over and gets it.”

“Don't they deliver?”

Piano Man shrugged. “I needs to walk. My legs done got stiff.”

“How do you want your roast beef?” Romeo asked.

“Order mine with mayonnaise and a touch of horseradish.”

Romeo lifted the telephone receiver to his ear.

“Add some french fries with that too. And a vanilla shake.”

Romeo laughed. “Is that it or do you want to add the rest of the farm with that side of cow?”

Piano Man flicked his hand in Romeo's direction. “It should take me 'bouts ten minutes to get over dere. Tell 'em I'm on my way now.”

“Do you need money?” Romeo called after him.

Piano Man waved good-bye, not bothering to respond, and headed out the door. As a heavy voice answered on the other end of the telephone, Romeo placed both of their orders, including two slices of peach pie to complete their meals. Standing, he gathered up the last of his papers. In his office he dropped the ledgers onto the desk, then stared out the window, leaning against the frame. Warm sunlight flooded the room and the heat penetrating through the window felt good against his skin.

Although it had been a slow morning, a prelude to an even slower day, Romeo enjoyed Piano Man's companionship. He had never realized how alone he sometimes felt going through his daily routine with no one else present. Malcolm usually arrived between two o'clock and two-thirty, and it would not be long after that Odetta would come strutting in. Piano Man's presence had become a welcome diversion from the mundane duties that were a necessary part of Romeo maintaining so successful a business.