Playing With Fire (17 page)

Romeo was suddenly reminded of an old rag doll his mother had when he was smaller. It had been sewn from old sack cloth and scraps of gingham fabric. Heavy yarn had graced its small head and its slight body had been stuffed loosely with old scraps of rags and straw. A single black button sat where an eye should have been and faded wisps of red string hung in place of its mouth. It had been his mother's one and only doll as a little girl and she had long stopped nurturing it with her childlike goodness. Romeo remembered how it had sat limply atop an old dresser, its ghostly form peering lifelessly out into space. He could remember thinking then, as only a young boy could, that if he held it and loved it, it would sit straight and tall and watch over him as his mother had taught it to.

Sitting back down, Romeo watched as old age washed itself over Piano Man, clouding the man's vision and impairing his hearing. It swarmed about him like small gnats on a hot summer's day, hovering on the edge of all his words and thoughts. Romeo suddenly hated what the passing of time had thrust upon his new friend and detested that he could do nothing to turn back the hands on the clock.

Piano Man sat stiffly, succumbing to his exhaustion and the drunken numbness that wallowed through his system. He shook his head as it suddenly felt heavy on his shoulders. Coughing to clear his lungs, he swallowed back the tainted phlegm, too weak to spew the vile spittle past his lips. He struggled to ease the tension in his aged muscles, hoping to stretch life back into his limbs. He was tired and he hurt and he was old, and at that very moment he didn't want to give a damn about anything.

He could feel Romeo's eyes upon him and he suddenly wished the younger man would fade from his sight and leave him alone with his misery. He suddenly felt truly unworthy beneath Romeo's kindness and he did not want the man to see him so low. The alcohol was gaining control and Piano Man had to fight to regain his equilibrium. Inhaling deeply, he mustered a small amount of energy from deep within himself and began to play.

The music was passionate and emotional, its intoxicating warmth tranquil and serene. Romeo rose and sauntered over to Piano Man's side, not wanting to disturb him from his playing. He bobbed his head in time to the music, his broad shoulders twisting slightly to and fro. He snapped his fingers easily, the subtle tune flooding deep within him. It was unusual, yet mesmerizing. He knew he had never before heard this music, but it was comfortably familiar. He leaned easily against the piano, the dulcet vibrato seeping deep into the marrow of his soul.

“Real nice, Piano Man. Real nice. I don't think I've ever heard that song played before,” he said eagerly.

Piano Man shook his head, invigorated by that which he loved most. “No. This was something I wrote a long time ago. I almost forget about it. I call it ‘Brandy.'”

“Brandy?”

“Yeah. I once knew this woman who used to read stuff to me by some guy named Shaw. I don't remember much of what she read, but I remember that he wrote that music was the “brandy of the damned.” Well, if that didn't apply to me, I don't know what else did. This song came from that man's thoughts 'cause I could feel what he was saying.”

“It's good, damn good. Why haven't you played any of your stuff before?”

“There ain't nobody want to hear the ramblings of an old man like me.”

“I do.”

“Well, you ain't all together there in your head no way, boy.”

Romeo smiled slightly, shaking his head from side to side. “I can't believe that I have all this talent under my roof and you don't want to share it.”

Piano Man shrugged his shoulders, painting a picture with the music. “Some things ain't meant to be shared with just anybody.”

Romeo eyed him with growing curiosity. “Did you ever think about recording some of your music? That might be something you want to consider while you still can.”

Piano Man pondered the younger man's comments as he thought about the pages of sheet music that filled the large suitcase beneath Aleta's bed. He'd been blessed with many opportunities to showcase his talent. He'd drawn his inspiration from talented pianists like Tatum and Basie and had played alongside the likes of Davis, Hancock, and Jarrett. There had been days when he'd been privileged to sit in on jam sessions with Blake, Monk, and Corea, and had talked shop with men like Hines, Strayhorn, and Mingus.

One of his peers had told him once that until he'd sacrificed his whole heart for the music, he'd never know the fame and fortune that was waiting for him. The man had claimed Piano Man's heart was too divided, caught between the devil and a woman, he'd said with a wry laugh. He'd been right, and even before the words had left his friend's tongue, Piano Man had known the man had been right. But he'd been happy playing and writing for himself. It had been enough to just love the sound of the keys as they tickled the tips of his fingers.

Sensing that Romeo was waiting for him to respond, Piano Man tossed the man a quick look. “Things ain't like they used to be, son. Back in my day musicians could spend some time on their records. You could play the way you wanted until you got the music right. Nowadays they want it fast. Musicians are expected to record stuff quick, make a song like folks be making instant grits. Pour some water on it and it's done. A few quick notes and be finished. I can't play like that. My music is what it is and when I play I just do it until it feels right. I might have to play it for years before I can get the notes right.”

Watching Piano Man, Romeo understood, and as his eyes met the old man's neither needed to say anything further. Piano Man suddenly stopped playing.

“What's wrong?” Romeo asked.

“Nothing. My bladder's just about to burst is all. Time to get rid of some of this water,” he said, shuffling to the men's room.

Romeo laughed, his deep chuckle echoing about the empty room. He suddenly found the intense vibrancy of his own voice out of place, the silence alarming. He had always reveled in his aloneness, but suddenly found himself apprehensive and fearful of the unknown. Feeling out of control and attributing it to the alcohol, he tried to shake the sensation, the coldness dancing across his vertebrae.

Realizing that there were still empty dishes left on the table from earlier, Romeo set out to clear away the last of the mess. Scraping what remained of the chicken carcasses into the trash, he dropped the plates into the sink. Turning on a spray of warm water, he left them to soak until Odetta or Malcolm came in to wash them up. He paced impatiently, wondering if he should go check on Piano Man, then thought better of it. He was determined not to start hovering over the old man, not wanting to drive him away. A man's pride had a funny way of sending him in the opposite direction if he felt the least bit threatened, and Romeo did not want that to happen.

Lowering the lights, he sauntered into his office and sat himself behind the mahogany desk cluttered with piles of invoices and orders. A computer terminal sat perched on the top left corner, the keyboard lost under the mounds of paperwork. A picture of him and Taryn stared up at him from an ornate gold frame, their smiling reflections telling of a laughing, loving moment.

Glancing down at the Rolex on his wrist, he was surprised by the time. “Time flies when you're having fun,” he muttered under his breath.

“What you say, boy?” Piano Man asked, entering the room.

Romeo looked up with a start. “Just wondering what was taking you so damn long. I was beginning to think that I was going to have to send in the troops.”

Piano Man raised his eyebrows slightly. “Well, I would have pitied the soldier who walked into that men's room looking for me tonight. That call of nature would have watered his eyes.”

Romeo shrugged, grimacing at the thought. “I hope you sprayed.”

Piano Man laughed. Settling himself comfortably on the printed sofa positioned against the wall, he stretched his lean body out, resting his heels on the armrest.

“Don't ever let Taryn see you do that. She'd have a fit if she saw you with your shoes on that couch. Do you know what she put me through finding just the right piece of furniture for this office? She had to have ‘Hamburg Teal' in just the right cut. Took weeks to find that damn sofa.”

“Your woman sure do like things to be in they place. But don't worry about it. She'll get over it soon enough.”

“Well, if she don't, I sure as hell will have to.”

“Boy, you pussy whipped! That sweet little thing done whipped you big time.”

Romeo laughed. “I prefer to think of it as trained.”

“As long as you know it.” Piano Man laughed with him, suppressing a yawn behind a clenched fist. “Boy, you see that sun starting to come up? I can't believe you kept me up all night.”

“Me? Old man, you got some nerve.”

They both sat in silence for a few minutes. As Piano Man drifted off to sleep lightly, Romeo watched the sun peeking lowly beneath the open window, searching for its throne in a cloudy sky edged in varying shades of blue. Despite his lack of sleep, he felt more rested than he had for some time. He turned to watch Piano Man, the man's chest rising lightly with each breath.

In the dimly lit room shadows flashed across the dark of their skin. Romeo enjoyed the silence between them almost as much as he enjoyed the conversation. It was as comfortable and easy as their laughter, possessing a natural ease he welcomed. He inhaled, then pushed the warm breath past his lips. Piano Man turned onto his side, then rose to a sitting position. Their eyes met and locked within the depths of Piano Man's face, a man could have found his own reflection if he had only known how to search for it.

Romeo broke the silence, cautiously asking the question that had been lingering in the back of his thoughts. “Where's your son now?”

Unable to immediately respond, Piano Man held his head in his hands, his elbows and knees supporting the weight of his upper body.

“Why did you leave him and his mother if they meant that much to you?” Romeo pressed on. He waited, watching as Piano Man struggled to focus, gathering his thoughts.

Minutes passed before the old man could finally respond. “I was in my thirties when my girl and I got back together. I'd gone back home for my daddy's funeral and she was back visiting with her mama, who won't doing so well herself. She was still the sweetest thing I'd ever seen and I wanted her real bad. But like I told you before, I was a very different man then. The streets had gotten a hold o' me. I knew she woulda been better off without me, but I couldn't let well enough alone. No sir, I had to try and get back what we had when we was real young.”

Piano Man's voice dropped slightly, his tone barely audible. “I loved her, but I couldn't do right by her. She needed a man who could be home nights to hold her and who'd work during the day, and that won't me. I wouldn't let it be me. When you young like that and you think you got it all just 'cause you wants it, you sometimes stop thinking straight. Anyways, I didn't do right by her because after so long I didn't know how.

“One day I gets this opportunity to go play with dese big boys in Harlem and I won't gon' pass that up for nobody. Not even for my girl.” Piano Man shook his head slowly from side to side. “See, the streets had made me selfish. All I could see was me and what I wanted—nothing else. I was running big time and I thought I had it all.

“What I didn't know, though, was at that time she already had our baby in her belly. She didn't tell me. She just told me that if I had to go, then go. She didn't want me to be staying if I wasn't doing it for me. I tried to get her to go with me but she wouldn't. She knew she couldn't live her life on the road like that. She had a lot of pride, my girl did. So I packed my bag, kissed her good-bye, and left, telling myself that she was better off. She was a strong woman by then and she didn't need no man to take care of her. Dat's what I wanted to believe.”

Ringing his hands together, Piano Man continued, his lean body quivering ever so slightly. “I gots myself lost in Harlem. Didn't know where to find me. I didn't pray to nothing but a scotch bottle and some reefer and didn't want nothing but a good time with a no good woman. I was what my daddy woulda called worthless.” He paused, brushing his hand across his brow. “I guess I must've been there 'bout two, maybe three years before I found out about my boy. A good friend was the one who came to tell me. Gave me a picture of him and everything. In fact, I been carrying it 'round in my back pocket ever since.” Hesitating momentarily, Piano Man reached into his wallet and pulled a tattered black and white snapshot from its folds, staring at it proudly as he continued.

“When I finally broke down and called, her heart had gone cold toward me. She told me the boy won't mine, that he belonged to some man she was with before I'd come back to her. Now, I knew she was lying. And I knew she was lying 'cause she couldn't trust that I'd be there for her if she let her guard down. But I just told her okay and went about my business like it ain't never happen. Everyday, though, I'd look at this here picture 'cause deep in my heart I knew he was my boy. Right here, I knew.” Piano Man patted his chest heavily, tears beginning to fall in heavy drops from his eyes.

Romeo leaned forward intently. “Why didn't you do something? Why not go and see?”

Piano Man shrugged. “I did, eventually, but it was too late by then. She was gone and my boy was all grown up. He didn't need me and I didn't think he woulda wanted me. Besides, look at me. It ain't like I had something to give him. I ain't never had nothing of any value to give him so he could be proud o' me.”