Playing With Fire (6 page)

When the band finally rested, packing up their instruments one last time, Romeo was relieved for them, knowing that Piano Man needed the break whether he wanted to admit it or not. He watched as Piano Man strolled over to Aleta's side, wrapping his arms around her in a large bear hug. They whispered together only briefly before she filled a tall glass with ice and water, pressing it into his hands.

Sitting up straight as the elderly figure made his way to the table, Romeo said, “Nice set. You guys play well together.”

Piano Man nodded his gray head. “Thank you.” He lifted the tall glass to his lips and drank, draining the glass dry. “Ahhh . . . playing makes me thirsty.”

“I'm surprised you're not drinking scotch.”

Piano Man nodded in Aleta's direction. “She won't let me drink here. Says I'm an alcoholic. Says she won't be contributing to my disease.”

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Aren't you?”

Romeo paused, not sure if he should respond. When no words fell from his mouth, he figured it best not to answer at all. They sat in silence, taking in the motion of all the people around them. The moment was awkward as Romeo rolled his nearly empty glass between the palms of his hands.

Piano Man finally broke the silence. “So how long you been knowing Aleta?”

“Since I was in diapers. She and my mother were best friends and we've always been close. After my mother died, she sort of filled in that empty spot.”

Piano Man wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, then reached for the bottle of scotch on the table, filling his glass half full. He glanced quickly over his right shoulder before pulling the glass to his chapped lips. Romeo drained the last of his own drink, the two men swallowing in unison.

“She's a fine woman. Tried to get her to marry me once, but she wouldn't have none of it. She gave me my walking papers, put my black behind on a bus, and changed her phone number.” Piano Man chuckled. “Couldn't blame her none though.”

“Have you ever been married?”

“Once.”

“Any kids?”

Piano Man paused, filling his glass again. “Not by my wife. My wife couldn't have no babies. It's a good thing too, 'cause Beulah was sure 'nuff ugly.” He chuckled softly. “And she was mean as spit. Ugly and mean ain't a good combination for nobody's mama.”

Romeo laughed. “Why did you marry her?” he asked.

“Beulah had a good heart when she wanted to and she could cook up a storm. Made the best biscuits and red-eyed gravy I ever tasted. And she never once give me no lip 'bout my comings and goings. Lord knows I did that woman wrong more times than not, and she never once said a word. Besides, a man don't like going lonely all the time. It was nice to wake up to a warm body in my bed.”

Romeo nodded his head knowingly. “So, what happened to Beulah?”

“She left me for a man who told her she was pretty. Just packed her bags one day and disappeared. No good-bye, no nothing.”

“Sounds like you deserved it though.”

“Yeah, I had it coming. Can't expect no woman to put up with but so much garbage. I don't care what you think you got going for you, if you don't show a woman how you feel about her, she gonna pack her bags one day and leave.” Piano Man bobbed his graying head up and down as he continued. “They also get a bit testy when you cheating on 'em too. Women can be sensitive about the damnedest things.”

Romeo laughed. “Don't I know that!”

“Now, I know you ain't rocking no more than one bedpost, is you? You ain't that stupid, boy.”

“Not at the moment, but I was known to juggle more than one woman a long, long time ago, when sex was safe and love was free. At least until I got caught, that is.”

“Yeah, that getting caught can be a bitch.” Piano Man swallowed the last of the bitter fluid in his glass. Wiping his mouth one last time, he rose to his feet, pulling at the oversized slacks falling about his lean hips.

“I needs me some sleep if I'm gonna get anything done today.”

Romeo came to his feet also, pushing his chair up to the table. “I'll give you a ride.”

Piano Man shook his head no. “I needs to walk. Need me some fresh air. Sleeps better that way. Thank you anyway.”

Romeo nodded. “Well, I'm out of here then. I will see you later.” Stopping to hug Aleta one last time, Romeo pulled his overcoat about his body and headed out the door.

As the large wooden door closed behind both of them, Piano Man stared off into the distance. After buttoning his jacket, he pushed his hands deep into his pockets, lowered his head, and strolled slowly down the unlit, empty street. Behind him, a full moon peeked out shyly from the veil of a billowy gray cloud, the gossamer formation gliding across the dark sky.

It was a short ride from Amber House to Romeo's Olde Raleigh home. Romeo pulled his black Jaguar F-Type coupe past the gated entrance into the complex of designer houses. A quick ride toward the northern cul-de-sac placed him at his front door.

He smiled slightly; he always smiled when he came home. It had taken a number of years for him to be able to afford the luxury property with its intricate blend of simplicity and strength. Romeo had been drawn to the house's powerful architecture the moment the real estate agent had pulled up out front. Closing the front door behind him, he quickly punched in the six-digit code canceling the security system.

He hurt. His firm body wept for sleep. Pressing the palm of his hand over his mouth to suppress a yawn, he pulled his long limbs up the flight of steps to his bedroom. After carefully hanging his clothes in the walk-in closet, he threw his brief-clad body across the length of the king-size bed, settling himself into the folds of cotton sheets and cashmere blankets. Despite the fatigue that permeated his person, sleep eluded him. Tossing from side to side, his dark eyes danced with the shadows cavorting along the ceiling and walls.

He suddenly wondered what it might be like to have a woman like Taryn there to ease the loneliness coating his brow. He found himself fantasizing about them falling to the living room floor, tearing the clothes away from each other's body. Moving to the melodious tunes of Anthony Hamilton, he pressed himself into her, molding her softness around his own chiseled frame. Taryn's rich caramel would coat his taste buds, its sweetness sliding easily down his throat. He imagined it would be better than good and now his loins throbbed as he dreamt about what he might be missing. He sighed heavily.

Rising, he switched on the light by the nightstand, flooding the room with cool white rays. Reaching into the nightstand, he pulled a small leather flask from the back corner and brought it to his lips. The bitter liquid fell into his dry mouth, coating the back of his throat. Thoughts of Piano Man knocked at the door of his mind, rudely pushing their way inside.

The old man had asked him if he was an alcoholic. He grimaced slightly, twisting the cap of the flask tightly. He suddenly wondered why no answer had fallen from his lips as easily as the warm liquor now slid down his throat. He didn't believe himself to be an alcoholic, although he knew there were times when he'd abuse the drink to ease a long day or to erase an emotion threatening to possess his spirit. He didn't thrive on booze though, nor did he need it to get him through his daily routines. “No,” he thought aloud, emphatically shaking his head. “I am not an alcoholic. I just drink too much.”

Making his way to the other side of the room, he settled himself down in the oversized easy chair, lifting his long, dark legs up on the matching ottoman. He had worked closely with an interior designer to weave the luminescent mesh of celery, cactus, and eucalyptus, which adorned each room. The colors, complemented by a hint of eggplant, a dash of ivory, and a touch of muted golds, were surreal and soft, reminding him of the California shore at low tide under a setting sun. He stared about the space. He was most comfortable in this room. He thrived on how it invited him to simply lounge and sprawl lazily about.

Stretching his body upward, Romeo lifted his arms above his head, pulling his torso toward the ceiling. He yawned, expelling warm breath outward. “Damn,” he said aloud, “why can't I sleep?”

On the mantel above the fireplace a picture of his mother, looking warmly toward a camera, smiled down at him. Romeo missed his mother. He had been a true mama's boy, everything about his life intent on pleasing her. Her death had come quickly, the dark angel sneaking in like a common criminal to steal her away. His mother had been an intense woman who'd been devoured by her own loneliness. As dementia usurped her mind, the dark spirits of a bitter past had paraded brazenly in, consuming her. No amount of effort on Romeo's part could pull her above and beyond it.

As a young boy, he had watched her struggle alone on a daily basis to ensure that not only were his basic needs met, but that the man he grew to be was one she could be proud of. There had been no limits to her love or the swift slaps across his rear end to keep him in line when like most boys he would test the waters and push the boundaries set for him. There had been no woman in all his thirty-five years who had inspired him the way his mother had. And no woman whom he'd been willing to let into his heart, allowing himself to feel any emotion like the emotion he'd felt for his mother.

He sighed, turning his body slightly in the chair. He hoped to hear from Taryn soon, he thought to himself, the promises between them abundant if he allowed them to be.

Reflecting on his long day, his thoughts turned back to the aged black man. Romeo found his reflections about the old man nagging, sweeping through his spirit like an unwanted virus. Rising again, he turned off the light and lay back across the massive bed. Minutes later he imagined the tinkling of piano keys stroking the tightness across his temples and he breathed easier, the warm darkness comforting as sleep finally possessed him, an easy exhale of blues wafting through his dreams.

 

 

On the other side of town, Piano Man took the length of steps one at a time, his left leg dragging heavily behind his right. At the entrance of his room, he eased himself slowly inside, noisily closing the heavy wooden door behind him. The one light on the corner table was brightly lit. The bed was turned down invitingly. He grinned, chortling lightly to himself.

Miss Hazel, the woman who owned the boardinghouse, was going out of her way to make him feel at home. He chuckled again. He liked Miss Hazel. She was a round, busty woman, warm and soft like freshly mixed biscuit dough ready for kneading. As he'd gotten older, Piano Man found himself drawn to robust women with healthy chests to cradle his head against. Miss Hazel's only flaw, as far as Piano Man was concerned, was the ugly black poodle that followed her about from room to room. The animal reeked of dog smell, a rancid mixture of wet fur, urine, and garden dirt. Whenever Miss Hazel wasn't looking and the stench came within kicking distance, Piano Man would give it a swift shove with his foot.

Kicking the black loafers from his feet, he sat himself easily on the edge of the bed. “Should take my clothes off,” he thought out loud, quickly dismissing the notion as he lay back, pulling the covers up under his chin.

He focused his attention on thoughts of Romeo. The young man had seemed content to spend the evening with him, and for more reasons than he had time to count, Piano Man was pleased. He was a fine young man, Romeo was. Any man would have been proud to claim him as his son, Piano Man thought. He sighed, his hot breath warming the air in front of his face.

Lifting himself upward, he reached for the small digital radio that sat on the nightstand. He pushed buttons until the local college station came in clear. The disc jockey was paying tribute to women blues singers, and Piano Man smiled as Rosetta Perry was crying about losing her mind over a man who'd done her wrong. As he lay back, listening to her woes, he could see the piano keys dancing beneath his fingers, the eighty-eight keys bending to his will. If he could have, he would have told her that there was nothing for her to worry about as long as she had the music and let the music have her. When Rosetta was done, the music was interrupted by a commercial for a local Toyota dealership, a man named Marc Jacobs loudly proclaiming to have the best prices in town.

Piano Man's mind raced, his thoughts fragmented. “I've got too much to do and not much time to do it in,” he said to no one, just wanting to hear his own voice as it echoed against the cream-colored wall. Reaching for the clock on the nightstand, he set the alarm for nine-thirty. Switching off the light, he rolled over onto his side and quickly fell into a deep sleep, the faint hint of light outside caressing his cheek, and Billie Holiday whispering in his ear, proclaiming her right to sing the blues.

 

 

Taryn rolled over onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed as she slowly pulled herself out of a restful slumber. She hummed softly, a low guttural purr that rose from deep in her midsection. She stretched her arms up and her legs out. She finally opened her eyes wide and stared around her bedroom. Bright sunshine was shimmering through the window blinds, warm light filling the space. The air was heated, and with the bright blue skies outside, she imagined it was going to be a beautiful day.

Taryn stretched her body one last time before pulling herself up, throwing her legs off the mattress. Rising onto her feet, she moved into the bathroom, her bladder full. After she'd relieved herself she washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled.

She had rested well, her brief bout with jet lag gone. Her flight home had been uneventful, a pleasant end to a trip that had been long and arduous. The plane had landed in the early afternoon, and by the time she'd made her way from the Raleigh-Durham International Airport to her home, she'd fallen out from exhaustion.

Moving back into the bedroom, she picked up her cell phone and checked for messages. Finding none, she blew a low sigh. She took a fortifying breath and dialed, waiting anxiously until it was answered on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Roberta, it's me. Did I catch you at a bad time?” Taryn questioned.

She sensed her friend shaking her head. “Not at all. We just finished breakfast. The husband's out in the garage tinkering on his car and I was just about to crawl back into bed to get a quick nap while the baby's sleeping. What's up?”

Taryn took a deep breath. “Do you have Romeo Marshall's telephone number?”

Her friend squealed. “You want Romeo's phone number?”

“I ran into him before I left and promised I'd call when I got back to meet him for coffee. I'd call the club, but I know they're closed today. I figured if you had a house or cell number . . .” Her voice trailed. She took another deep breath.

Roberta laughed. “That's my girl! Hold on a minute.”

Taryn heard her drop the phone, her footsteps echoing in her ear. Minutes later Roberta returned, breathing heavily. “Had to find my old phone book.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You know I had to hide it when I got married.”

Taryn laughed.

“You better be glad I did,” Roberta said, as the seven-digit number rolled off her tongue. “That's the last number I had for him, but he's got an old-school spirit. He hasn't changed his number. It's the same one he's probably had since he got his first phone,” she said with a warm giggle.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” Taryn said. “I'll catch up with you later.”

“You better! I want to know every detail.”

Taryn shook her head. “Bye, Roberta!”

After disconnecting the line, Taryn tossed her phone onto the mattress beside her. She slid her body back beneath the bed sheets, pulling them up around her shoulders. She was second-guessing herself. She'd spent the last week thinking about Romeo Marshall, even going so far as to call in a few favors for a background check on the man. Discovering his record was clean and pretty impressive had alleviated many of her concerns.

Granted, going to such an extreme had been excessive, but Taryn had reached a point in her life where she wasn't willing to invest energy in a man just to discover the relationship had never had a chance of going anywhere. That, and she didn't like surprises. She hated the thought of giving herself to a man to then learn after the fact that he had demons and secrets that she should have been made aware of from the start. She had learned to approach her romantic life much like she approached business, cautiously and well informed.

Taryn had found herself assessing her risks after Romeo's invitation. She had always been efficient at analyzing the pros and cons of every situation and this one was no different. She could have ignored Romeo's invitation, but being honest with herself, that wasn't what she wanted to do. She could wait to call Romeo at the club, but she didn't want to wait. He excited her and she wanted to see how far those feelings might go. But she also wanted to claim control, so calling him on her terms and not his was significant to her. Taking risks and putting herself out there had always been second nature in every aspect of her life—except where her personal relationships were concerned. But after much consideration Taryn had promised herself that was going to change. If she was going to play with fire she was going to make sure she didn't get burned. And where Romeo Marshall was concerned, she would start by being the pursuer and not the pursued.

 

 

The house phone ringing pulled Romeo out of a deep sleep. The shrill chime surprised him since he couldn't remember the last time the device had rung. He grappled with the items strewn across the nightstand, following the sound as the phone continued to ring. Finally grasping the receiver, he pulled it to his ear, mumbling into the mouthpiece.

“Yeah? Hello?”

“Romeo, Taryn Williams. Did I wake you?”

Romeo suddenly sat upright, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “No . . . um, yeah . . . no, it's not a problem. Good morning,” he said finally, shifting the phone from one ear to the other.

Taryn laughed softly. “Good morning. I didn't mean to wake you. I actually thought that in your line of work you'd be headed to church to confess your sins,” she teased.

Romeo laughed. “God knows my heart. I think he'll give me a pass.”

She smiled. “Interesting,” she murmured softly.

“It really isn't. So, to what do I owe the honor?” he asked.