Playing With Fire (18 page)

Romeo stood up. “If he wanted to know you as much as I wanted to know my father, he would have been happy to just have your love. That's all I ever wanted from my old man.”

Piano Man nodded, staring off into space, then lay back against the soft cushions.

“May I see his picture?” Romeo asked, disrupting the old man's concentration.

A look of distress passed quietly across Piano Man's face as his fingers, which held the small square of paper, shook. Romeo rose and walked toward him, his hand outstretched. Piano Man inhaled sharply, panic cutting through him with nowhere to run and hide. As Romeo stood over him, Piano Man dropped his head, hunching his shoulders forward as the photo fell from his grasp onto the floor. Bending before him, Romeo leaned down to retrieve the image. The faint gray likeness of a small child standing before his mother stared back at him. As he pulled the picture toward him, studying it closely, he gasped, the familiar reflections laughing up at him.

Staring at Piano Man, he stepped backward, throwing the photo back to the floor. Spinning quickly about, he rushed back to his chair and sat down sharply. Leaning his chest atop his knees, he inhaled deeply, fighting to fill his lungs with air.

“Damn you,” he gasped, the anguish saturating his voice. “Damn you.”

Piano Man clutched his head, tears raining down his face, relieved that the secret he'd harbored for so long was out for all to know. And on the other side of the room he could feel his son's rage rising as quietly as the sunshine outside.

In the brief moment that it took for Romeo to comprehend all he had just learned, an eternity passed. Cycles of life and death swept through his hungry soul, preying on his sanity. In that short span of time the emotions that rolled across the spirit of his being were all too consuming, amassing into a battalion of childish rage.

Trying to speak, his lips sputtered open, then closed. His tongue felt thick, like dry cotton pressed tightly into a too small container. As a young boy, he had dreamt of this moment, playing out every possible scenario he could imagine, carefully rehearsing each and every line. He had never prepared himself for this scene, though. He had never truly believed that this day would come to pass. He sat back in his chair, his large hands clasped in prayer in front of him, and decided to say nothing at all.

Piano Man lay back down across the sofa, his lanky legs stretched straight before him, crossed at the ankles. His arms were folded across his chest.

“When your mama died, I wanted to die too. In the back of my mind I think I truly believed that she would always be there for me when I was ready. That if anyone coulda made things right for me and you, it woulda been Irene. Your mama was a good woman. There's not a woman around—”

“Don't tell me about my mother. You weren't there for her. You don't know how good she was.” Romeo spat the words out.

Piano Man nodded to himself, biting on his lower lip. He continued talking, not bothering to respond to Romeo's outburst. “It took me a long time to find you—in fact it only happened by accident. I'd come here for my brother Maceo's funeral. Seems like I was always catching up with folks at somebody's funeral.” He paused. “Anyway, you was here, selling off that house you'd bought for your mama. Folks was just a gossiping 'bout you. Talking 'bout how you'd come here and was opening up this club with the money you was getting from selling that little piece o' property. Hoping that you might take an interest in one of 'em's daughters. Yeah, boy, you were news 'round these here parts then.

“Well, after that it won't hard to track you down. Aleta helped me too, when I finally started being honest with her. Then one day I just decided to come meet you for myself. I needed to know that . . . well . . . that you was the man I knew you was gonna be. I needed to know that you was more like your mama than me, 'cause I knew I won't no good.” Piano Man swallowed hard.

Romeo was suddenly conscious of the fact that he had not moved since he'd sat down. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unable to look directly at the aged figure before him. “Why didn't you tell me when you first started working here? Why didn't you tell me you were my . . . my . . . my father?”

Piano Man swallowed again, his throat parched. “Boy, I ain't never been no father to you. I know that better than anybody. I know'd what it was to have a daddy, 'cause your granddaddy was a strong man, and I know that I ain't never been there like that for you. I didn't want you to know how weak I was. I was hoping that in your mind you'd made me into something good and decent and that you was going on living not wondering 'bout me and why I was the way I was. I didn't tell you 'cause I didn't want to have to own up to all the wrong I'd done before I went to meet my maker. I thought it would just be easier facing the good Lord, who done heard my prayers and thoughts every day, than it would be to face you.”

“Then why come at all? I don't understand that.”

“Romeo, I'm an old man. I just didn't want to die not having ever loved you up close. Didn't care if you ever loved me back or not.... I just needed to be with you up close even if it was only for a real short time. I didn't never 'spect to be around as long as I been and I sure didn't 'spect to ever be here with you like this, right now.”

Romeo nodded, a small part of him understanding, a larger part of him not wanting to. He sighed heavily, trying to dislodge the anger that was trying to consume him, eroding at the already delicate tissue of his being.

“So why tell me now? Why now?”

Piano Man sat up straight again, rubbing at the ache in his knee joints. Rising, he walked over to stand beside Romeo. “'Cause whether I planned it or not, it was the right thing to do. You deserved to know the truth and there ain't nothing like too much scotch to bring out the truth. Sure can't hide your soul behind a liquor bottle.”

Piano Man paused, the two men still staring at each other. “Romeo, if you want to hate me for not being around when you was growing up, then you need to hate me for the whole truth and not the one you done imagined. Boy, I ain't got no excuses for what I done. I can't take it back and I ain't gonna worry myself trying.

“You now know everything about me. Me, Piano Man. Me, James Burdett. The good and the bad. I didn't change into somebody else ten minutes ago. I'm the same man you took in and fed and clothed and have talked to on a daily basis for all these months. I'm the same man who done shared a bottle of scotch with you every week for the last I don't know how many weeks. I ain't no different now that you know who I am, and you needed to know that. That's why I told you.”

“Do you really believe that nothing has changed? That you and I can just go on like nothing is any different?” Romeo stared up at him, his expression disbelieving.

Piano Man cracked a semitoothless grin, spraying a fine thread of spittle down his chin. “Romeo, you tell me right now to get out and never come back and I'll go, but I'll go happy. I'll go happy 'cause I know my boy—
my boy
—is a far better man than I ever was. Otherwise I'll wake up later, eat me some food, and come back here and play just like I do any other night, and I'll play happy 'cause I still know my boy is a far better man than I ever was.” Piano Man nodded his head, still smiling. “Now, if you think I'm gon' be sitting 'round waiting for you to call me daddy or something, you wrong. I don't deserve it and I'll be the first one to tell you so. So you do whatever you think you need to do, 'cause I'm too damn tired and almost too damn drunk to care.”

Piano Man's stupid grin still graced his face. Romeo shook his head, incredulous. The rage that had threatened to burst forward moments earlier would not be easily dispelled, no matter what Piano Man thought.

As Romeo studied the dark figure before him, he wanted to be angry. He wanted to revel in the bitterness of it. He wanted to relish the taste of the hateful phlegm, allowing it to fill the empty pit that had been hollowed out all those years with a child's longing and a mother's tears. No matter what Piano Man wanted to believe, everything had changed between them.

Perhaps if Romeo had known he'd had a father in Piano Man before, if it had been a quiet understanding between just the two of them, then maybe now having the commonality of their bloodline painted boldly before him would not be so painful to accept. Despite Piano Man's hopes, this knowledge had not served to further cement their bond.

While Piano Man made his way back over to the sofa, Romeo shook his head, infuriated by the turn of events. He watched Piano Man settle himself comfortably on the sofa. The man's eyes fluttered slightly, opening and closing as he tried to fight the sleep straining to possess him.

“Enough talk,” Piano Man grunted. “I'm tired. We can talks about this more later if you wants, or I can leave. It be your choice.” Happy to give in to the slumber that quickly enveloped him, Piano Man rolled over onto his side, burying his face into the back of the sofa. A haunting silence filled the room, touched only by the old man's deep wheeze. His heavy breathing was mildly alarming, though Romeo wanted desperately not to care.

Finally, giving in to the goodness his mother had instilled within him, Romeo rose from his seat. Pulling a warm blanket from the closet, he tossed it over Piano Man's body. Staring down at him for some time, Romeo wallowed in that part of himself that had reached out to a stranger and had found the father he'd longed to know since he'd been two years old.

Finally, turning off the lights, he closed the window blinds, shutting out the morning light fighting to shine inside. Pulling his trench coat over himself, he leaned back against the padded chair, laid his long legs across the desktop, and drifted off to sleep.

 

 

The loud ring of the telephone startled Romeo from a sound sleep. Jumping, he knocked a pile of papers from his desk to the floor and searched for the phone. Pulling the receiver to a numb ear, he mumbled an incoherent hello into the mouthpiece.

“Good morning. You don't sound like you're up yet,” a soft voice responded into his ear.

“Hey, sweetheart. No, I'm not.” Romeo stretched, arching the kinks out of his back. “Piano Man and I pulled an all-nighter and I'm paying for it now,” he said.

“Serves you right. You should have been home. You had me scared to death when I got in this morning and you weren't here.”

“You're home?”

“Yes, and all by myself.”

Romeo smiled across the phone line. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it ten and I promise to still be awake.”

“Don't worry. I know how to wake you.”

Taryn laughed, her tone low and seductive. “I know you do. See you soon.”

“Taryn . . .” Romeo said, pausing. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As the line clicked dead in his ear, Romeo continued to hold the phone against his cheek, inhaling deeply. Across the room, Piano Man had not stirred, still consumed by his dreams. Romeo watched him, his chest rising and falling heavily. The blanket had fallen from around him and he lay with his body hanging partially off the sofa. Romeo rose, placing the receiver back on the hook, and made his way over to Piano Man. Gently rolling the man back onto the couch, he rewrapped the blanket around him. Lightly brushing his hand across the old man's cheek, he marveled at the softness of his skin. Skin that was suddenly more like his than he could have ever imagined.

Stretching his long limbs again, Romeo made his way to his private bathroom to relieve himself. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he was not amused. His hair was matted tightly in the back, a thin crust of film had dried down his chin, and his eyes were bloodshot. His clothes were wrinkled and he found his own body odor offensive. Struggling to revive some life into himself, he turned on the shower and stood waiting for the water to flow hot.

As the small room slowly filled with steam, he reached for the toiletry bag Taryn kept packed for him. Finding a new toothbrush, he unwrapped it, spread a thick layer of paste across the bristles, and proceeded to polish the pearly formation within his mouth. When he was finished, he gargled with a capful of mouthwash and immediately felt better. Dropping his clothes to the floor, he stood naked, studying his body. He was beginning to lose the slight paunch around his midsection since he'd started exercising again, and he made a mental note to continue to work on it. As he flexed the muscles in his chest, the rich brown tones of his skin rose and fell, rippling like a vat of melted milk chocolate. Cupping his testicles in his hand, he noted that his genitalia weighed heavily in his palm. Thinking of Taryn, his organ twitched slightly, yearning for what lay waiting for him.

As he stepped into the flow of water, his body shook, the wet fountain warm and relaxing. Leaning his head into the downpour, he let the stream fall across his face and over his shoulders. As he passed the soap across his body he thought of Taryn's hands and felt his erection rising. Rinsing himself quickly, he stepped out of the misty cubicle and shivered as cool air blew against him. Rubbing himself briskly with a fresh towel, he felt desire surge throughout his body in anticipation.

Pulling on fresh clothes tucked neatly away in a closet, he dressed quickly. Back in his office, he tiptoed past Piano Man, who still lay sleeping, a low whistle blowing past his lips. Romeo shook his head, his mind still numb. “What am I going to do about you?” he whispered as he pulled on his trench coat and glanced down at his watch. After pulling a tortoiseshell brush through his hair, he slipped into his shoes, the charcoal gray leather wrapping snugly around his feet. Studying himself once more in the mirror, he smiled, now pleased with the reflection that stared back at him. Wrapping his coat tightly around himself, he ventured out into the cool morning air and headed for home.

 

 

Reaching over the visor, Romeo pushed the remote button to the two-car garage and sat patiently as the large door rolled open on its track. Easing the car into the remaining spot inside, he rested it beside Taryn's, a pearlescent Cadillac XLR that contrasted brightly alongside his own luxury vehicle.

Closing the garage door behind him, Romeo entered the four-bedroom structure, skipping up the flight of stairs to the main level. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and hot glazed coffee cake greeted him as he entered the doorway. He dropped his keys onto the cedar table in the foyer, tossed his coat over a chair by the door, and called out to Taryn.

“In here,” she responded, calling out from the kitchen.

Rounding the corner through the dining room, Romeo found Taryn peering into the oven, the sweet aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg floating through the air. She stood barefoot, an oversized T-shirt hanging loosely on her body.

“Hi there,” she chimed, pulling a pan of fresh baked pastry from the oven.

“Hi yourself,” he responded, leaning back against the counter to watch her as she set the hot pan onto a cooling rack, then twisted the oven knobs to off.

Smiling, she pulled the quilted oven mitts from her hands, dropped them onto the countertop, then stepped eagerly into Romeo's outstretched arms.