Some Things I Never Thought I'd Do (16 page)

“And as y'all started makin' more money, we were able to do more and we gonna keep doin' more because if we don't,
who the hell will?
”

More applause.

“Talk to 'em, Peachy!” Miss Green called. “Talk to 'em!”

Peachy waited for quiet before continuing. “So this year, we're doing something different. We're going to give some money to a political candidate, something we've never done before, but that's because we never had a candidate like this one before.”

There was a smattering ofapplause as people began to realize who he was talking about. Standing next to Zeke, waiting for her cue, I saw Precious smile her acknowledgment. Sitting beside Kwame, Aretha clapped enthusiastically.

Peachy motioned for quiet. “Now I could take an hour or so of your time and tell you what this sister has done for the people of her district, including this neighborhood right here, but we ain't got that kind of time, so I'm just going to say her name reflects how we feel about her, and we are more than happy to give this contribution to support her efforts to make history. Ladies and gents, and the rest of y'all who snuck in the side door, put your hands together for state senator Precious Hargrove, the next governor of Georgia!”

The room erupted into sustained applause, accompanied by whistling, whooping, and the general mayhem that accompanies the presentation of popular politicos to the people whose dreams they carry. Zeke walked Precious to the mike where Peachy was waiting.

“It is an honor to present you with checks totaling ten thousand dollars to support your candidacy.”

The applause was now full of pride not only for Precious, but for their own impressive fund-raising efforts. I looked at Blue, standing alone, watching the presentation with a small smile of satisfaction.

Precious accepted the checks and a hug from Peachy, and stepped up to the mike. “I am honored to accept this contribution from my good friend Peachy Nolan on behalf of so many of you. It is my intention to use these funds to help me run the best-organized, most participatory campaign this state has ever seen. It is time for our voices to be heard, and believe me, when I am elected governor, they will be heard!”

Applause, applause.

“I'm not going to make a speech, since that would be a true example of preaching to the choir, and because Peachy told me not to!”

Laughter. Peachy loved it, wagging a finger in her direction like a disapproving teacher.

“So I'll just say thanks and you can rest assured, I will never, ever let you down.”

It was probably the shortest speech I've ever heard from a campaigning politician, but she read the crowd exactly right. They were already supporting her. A speech they didn't need. Applause followed her back to her table as Peachy reclaimed the microphone.

“Sock it to 'em, Senator!” Peachy said. “Sock it to 'em!” He glanced in Blue's direction as if to be sure his friend hadn't eased back into the crowd. “And now I'd like to bring to the stage the man who makes it all happen around here. The man who took it upon himself to reclaim this neighborhood for hardworking people trying to raise their children in peace. The man who gave up the bright lights and the big cash to come on home and be a part of this community. The man who isn't afraid to do what has to be done,
whatever it is.
” He grinned at the audience. “And did I say he can sing his ass off?”

“You got that right!” a woman shouted.

“But I'm wasting your time telling you what you already know, so let's bring him on up here. The man I'm proud to call my friend and my brother. Mr. Blue Hamilton.”

The audience literally went wild. Peachy came back to sit beside me and left Blue alone on the stage. He said something to the bandleader, who nodded and took up his position in front of the girls who were watching him expectantly.

“Sing, Blue!” another woman's excited voice called out.

More wild applause greeting the suggestion. Blue waited for silence and then spoke so quietly we all leaned forward so we wouldn't miss anything he said.

“It was my intention to come up here and thank you for your support and for your money, and sit down.”

Immediate groans of disappointment, but he had said it
was
his intention. Was there still a chance that he might sing?

“But a friend of mine has a song she wants to hear, so I thought if I can get the band to help me out,” he nodded at the director, who raised his eyebrows and hit a downbeat that the girls responded to perfectly, “and if you all don't mind—”

He looked around as if to entertain any objections.

“Sing, Blue!”
the woman cried out again.

Blue laughed and pointed a slender finger in my direction. “All right then, this one's for Gina.”

I blushed, realizing that people were craning their necks to see who I was and why their hero would be dedicating a song to me. Flora was grinning and hunching me like we were in high school, but I tried to be cool.

“You go, girl!” somebody yelled, giving me a shout of encouragement that was immediately shushed as Blue stepped up to the mike and began to sing.

“The very thought of you, and I forget to do, the little ordinary things that everyone ought to do.”

You could have heard a pin drop. He had a wonderful voice, a smooth, smoky baritone as rich as dark chocolate and filled with the sound of a life fully lived. He rolled the words around in his mouth like candy, and the young women on the stage were watching him with as much admiration as the audience. He was looking straight at me, and I couldn't look away.

“I'm living in a kind of daydream,” he sang. “I'm happy as a king.”

But it wasn't the words. It was the
feeling
he was sending through the words. Whatever the words said, he was offering them like a gift, an apology to every woman in the room for every time somebody had broken her heart or not been the man she hoped he could be. Something in his voice was apologizing for all the betrayals from the moment the slave ships pulled up on the shores of West Africa until now. He was confessing to every crime, real and imagined, that black men have ever committed against black women, and, more than that, he was trying to make it right.

What he was doing with his voice had nothing to do with the lyrics of the song I had requested. What he was singing was
an ancient song
and one we all recognized so clearly that, when he reached out a hand, we had to reach back, the way you have to stand up at the stadium when the wave rolls over you, no matter how much you thought you wouldn't.

By the end ofthe second verse, I had fallen so deep into what I heard in his voice and saw in his eyes that I couldn't have climbed out if I wanted to, which I didn't. I didn't know if this was a gangster movie or a revolutionary romance or a sci-fi thriller where the hero has X-ray eyes or a corny old-school musical where the heroine arrives on the scene wounded, but on a mission, and the hero sweeps her off her feet with new definitions of manhood and then takes her to an old-fashioned speakeasy in the middle of an unexpected urban oasis where people still laugh together and talk together and your landlord may also be able to stand on the stage and make magic.

It felt like a fairy tale, and if it was, then this would be the moment where I stop trying to figure out
why
and start wondering
when
. This is the moment where I don't try to reason it out. I just try to lean in. The moment when I realize that maybe I'm falling in love. Maybe for the first time. Maybe for the last one. But it feels just the way I thought it would, hoped it would, prayed it would, and if this were a movie, this would be the moment where everything around the lovers fades away and they recognize in each other the promise of something sweet, and then even sweeter. If this were a movie, this would be the moment where the heroine considers the possibility of a happy ending and the hero just keeps singing his blue-eyed ass off like he couldn't stop if he wanted to. …

But it wasn't a movie, and the song finally came to an end. There was a moment of absolute silence as the last notes faded away, and then the crowd erupted into delighted applause. The youthful band members looked at one another in amazement, having experienced their first taste of the magical possibilities of the life they'd chosen, and there I was, applauding as loud as anybody, grinning at Blue, and resisting the impulse to toss my brand-new silk undies on the stage like those long-ago Royal Peacock audiences. After all, it ain't that kind of movie.

26

T
HE NEXT TWO HOURS WENT BY
in a blur. Aretha came over to introduce me to Kwame, who was so clearly smitten that he could hardly take his eyes off of her long enough to say hello. Flora introduced me to a steady stream of her gardeners and neighborhood folks. Peachy made sure I met all the old-timers, and Precious Hargrove found time to come over to say hello, but I could hardly hear a word they said. I just kept thinking about Aunt Abbie's vision.
He will sing an ancient song.
Add that to those big blue eyes, and you've got two out of three. That's all my brain kept saying:
Two out of three. Two out of three.

After a while, Flora looked at me strangely. “You okay?”

I nodded and tried to play it off. “I never heard anybody sing like that before.”

“And you never will,” she said. “It's like there's something in his voice that says everything you want a man to say and mean it.”

“Exactly!” I said. “How can he do that?”

Flora shrugged. “I don't know, but women always respond to it the same way. We go crazy!” She laughed. “I don't know what I'd do if he ever sang right to me the way he did you tonight. We've been friends for fifteen years, but I might not be able to trust myself!”

“I'm not feeling all that trustworthy either,” I said, and I wasn't kidding.

“Don't worry,” she said, waving and moving in the direction of yet another gardener. “I'll make sure you get home okay.”

“And then what?”

“Then you're on your own!” She laughed over her shoulder.

Across the room, I saw Blue in a circle of admiring women, all smiling and touching his arm, his hand, his shoulder. They were still in the warm glow of that ancient song just like I was, but they were free to enjoy it without hearing another voice inside their heads that seems only to know the words:
Two out of three. Two out of three.

Blue looked up from the swirl of his admirers, caught my eye, and held it; there was something so familiar about that look that I couldn't help but smile. He smiled back, inclined his head slightly in my direction, and turned back to a woman at his elbow who wanted an autograph, another at his side who wanted to take a picture. And what did I want, watching him from across the room?
I wanted some answers.
Visions are fine, and two out of three ain't bad, but if you're going to change your whole life, a perfect score would be nice.

27

F
LORA WAS AS GOOD AS HER WORD.
At two a.m., Blue walked us to the same limo that brought us, and I wished for nerve enough to invite him to stop by for a drink after he had bid farewell to the last of the night owls, but all I could manage was a thank-you for a lovely evening. I needed some advice. Some clarification. Some guidance, but Flora was already grinning at me like she knew a secret I hadn't walked up on yet, so I wasn't able to enlist her help to sort things out. I needed an objective voice. Someone older and wiser. I needed to talk to my visionary adviser.

I hugged Flora good night at her door and hurried upstairs to kick off my shoes and dial the one person who would understand what the hell I was talking about and not think I was totally crazy.

“Aunt Abbie? Did I wake you?”

“When's the last time you knew me to be up at two in the morning? What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I'm sorry. I should have waited until—”

She interrupted me impatiently. “Then what's right?”

“Nothing. I mean, everything is fine.”

“Listen, girl, I know you didn't wake me out of a sound sleep to tell me nothing's wrong and nothing's right. That news could have waited until a decent hour to be conveyed.”

I took a deep breath. “He can sing.”

“Who can sing?”

“My landlord, the one with the blue eyes? He can really sing.”

I could hear her chuckling. “Is this the moment when I get to say ‘I told you so’?”

“This is the moment when you get to tell me what I'm supposed to do now.”

“Keep doin' what you're doin'.”

“But what if he really is …”

“Is what?”

“I don't know! The
one
! The one you said was looking for me across time and stuff.”

“Seems pretty obvious to me. Two out of three is almost a done deal.”

I could hear her yawning. Here I was trying to get some advice about the rest of my life, and she was only half awake.

“I'm sorry if I'm boring you,” I said, trying to be sarcastic.

“Oh, don't get snippy,” she said calmly. “You're working yourself up for no reason.”

“This kind of stuff doesn't happen! Not in real life!”

“Then go to bed and don't worry about it.”

“But what if it
is
happening?” I was whining like a four-year-old.

“Then you are a very lucky woman who will have wonderful tales to tell your grandchildren.” She yawned again.

“You're a big help.”

“I'm sorry, sweetie, but I had the vision, didn't I? What do you want from me?”

She was right. Everything was happening just the way she said it would, and here I was waking her up to fuss. I took another deep breath.

“You're right,” I said. “It's just kind of scary, you know?”

“Have you told him about the vision yet?”

“God, no!” I said, wondering how you tell a person your crazy aunt said he was your man in a past life.

“Maybe you should.”

“Why?”

“You're not going to be able to figure out what he is until you know for sure what he isn't.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“Who knows? You'll have to figure it out. Good night, sweetie!”

She hung up without waiting for me to respond. I clicked off the phone more frustrated than I was before, and walked over to the window just in time to see Blue's Lincoln pull up out front. I hadn't turned on the light, so I didn't think he'd see me standing there, but he got out, turned his face up, and raised his hand in greeting like I was standing in a spotlight. Two out of three might be enough for Aunt Abbie, but it wasn't good enough for me. Blue Hamilton had some explaining to do, and there was no time like the present.

I waited for him at the top of the stairs, and he greeted me with a smile of real pleasure.

“I must be living right,” he said.

“How's that?” I smiled back at him.

He stopped two steps shy of the landing, so I was looking down into his face. “You're waiting for me, right?”

“Absolutely.”

He stepped up so we were looking eye to eye. “How much more proof do I need?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“All right,” he said, opening his door. “You don't have to ask me out here in the hall, do you?”

I hesitated for just a second, but he saw it.

“Of course, if you're more comfortable out here, that's fine, too,” he said, still smiling.

“I'm sorry. Of course we don't have to talk out here.”

“Perhaps I can offer you a drink,” he said as I followed him inside. “And then you can tell me what's on your mind.”

“Thanks,” I said as he hung up his coat. “To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure if I want to ask you something or tell you something.”

We were both still dressed for the party, and in the mirror behind the bar we looked relaxed and elegant. He poured us both some cognac and came to sit beside me on the couch. He picked up a remote and Miles Davis came pouring out of the speakers seductively. His music is so beautiful it can make you cry, but he treated women so badly, it's hard for me to listen to him without getting mad.

Blue looked at me and clicked the music off immediately. “Not a big Miles fan, huh?”

I shook my head.

“Serves him right,
mean motherfucker
.”

I laughed. Sade replaced Miles as the background music to my confessions.

“Better?”

I nodded. “Much better.”

He picked up his glass and leaned back. “I'm all ears.”

I took a deep breath. How could I ease into this without making him think I was completely insane?

“Do blue eyes run in your family?” I blurted.
Oh, great! Now he'll just think I'm rude.

But he didn't look at all surprised or offended. People had probably been asking him about his eyes all his life.

“No,” he said, “I'm the only one.”

“Did you ever think it was …
odd
?”

“I thought it would make me easy to find if anybody was ever looking for me.”

“Has anybody been looking for you?” I asked softly.

“Other than you?”

I swallowed my cognac in one long gulp. He looked at me with an expression I couldn't read, and when he spoke, his voice was very gentle.

“It is you, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

He set down his glass and slid over closer to me. He took my hands in both of his, and I looked into his eyes like I might find the answers there without having to ask the questions.

“Tell me what you know,” he said. “Tell me exactly what you know.”

Well, crazy or not, here I go! “My aunt had a vision. …”

“What kind of vision?”

“A voice told her a man … a man in Atlanta had been looking for me.”

“Why was he looking for you?” “I don't know,” I said, glad his hands gave me something to hold on to. “But she said I would recognize him because …”
I couldn't say it. This sounded so crazy!

“Tell me.”

“Because he would have blue eyes.”

He squeezed my hands suddenly and let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “
I knew it! It is you! Thank God! It is you!
I had almost given up hope, and then I saw you that day listening to the Marley and you haven't changed a bit. Still that serious little face.” He touched my cheek lightly. “Still those beautiful brown eyes.”

“Who are you?” I asked, moving away from him just a little.

“Don't you know me?”

I shook my head. I would have remembered those eyes, but there was something else so familiar about him. “No.”

He stood up and walked over to the window. “We've been apart for too long.” He turned back to me slowly. “What else did your aunt tell you?”

“She told me you were not who you appear to be.”

That made him smile. “And who do I appear to be?”

“That's what I came over here to ask you,” I said, relieved to have come back around to my original question.

He came back to sit beside me, and his face was suddenly serious. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because what I'm going to tell you might sound strange at first.”

“At this point, nothing sounds strange to me.”

“Then I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Look into my eyes.”

“Is this a line?”

He laughed softly. “No, Gina. I don't have to work this hard to get women to look in my eyes.”

That was probably an understatement. “Then why?” “I want to answer any question you want to ask me, but first you have to be able to look at me. You have to be able to look into my eyes and see the truth is there; otherwise, you might not know what to believe and what to chalk up to playacting and bullshit.”

He was right. The questions I wanted to ask required me to trust him to tell the truth, and required him to trust me to know what to do with it. How could I do that if I couldn't even look him in the eye? We were close together now. I turned to face him, knee to knee, tried to make my heart stop pounding so hard, and looked deeply into his eyes.

It was like looking at sunset and sunrise and the full moon over the ocean. This close, his eyes were not one uniform shade, but an ever-changing kaleidoscope of turquoise and robin's egg and aquamarine with tiny flecks of gold. The black of his pupils stood out like a bull's-eye in all that blue, and his lashes, which I had never been close enough before to notice, were straight and thick and almost invisible against the soft black of his skin.

But the color was just the beginning. His eyes were full of stories and sorrows and strengths and something else I couldn't name. Not yet anyway. And in the depths of his eyes, there was no meanness or manipulation or lying. Looking into those eyes, I felt like I could trust him with my life.

“All right,” I said softly, so I wouldn't break the spell. “Now tell me who you really are.”