A Love So Deep (8 page)

“Hey, Rita. The crowd should be good tonight.”

“Well, I hope so, Clyde. You know I always love to play Oakland just for that reason. I’m going to hate for Sunday to roll around. But I’ll be back in two months, if you still want us.”

“Who wouldn’t want Midnight Express and the lovely and talented Ms. Rita Long? Girl, you make my customers happy, and in turn, they make me very happy.”

Rita slapped Clyde on the arm. He was an old and dear friend and a true confidant. Clyde Smith had been the proprietor of The Water Hole for more than two decades. The Water Hole had become a landmark in West Oakland, and many had passed through the frosted, colored-glass doors looking for a good time or to have their blues assuaged.

Many small-time performers had graced the stage at The Water Hole, some using it as a stepping-stone to a lucrative recording career. Rita adored her small following of fans and never really aspired for the big time, although she was well known up and down the West Coast.

Rita hailed from Seattle, Washington, the sultry city on the Puget Sound, a place known for its haven of lush evergreen trees. She was an only child and grew up in a very nurturing family, a family where love abounds.

Marriage tested Rita’s love for family. William Long had been a handsome man—dark like Rita and standing at six feet five inches tall. His rugged good looks commanded attention wherever he went. William played a few seasons for the Los Angeles Lakers, but after sustaining a severe knee injury, his career came to an abrupt halt.

William had become accustomed to the glamorous life an athlete’s salary afforded him. While he had not yet risen to star status, William was very well on his way to being the next Wilt the “Stilt” Chamberlain or Bill Russell. Then his career was cut short. For a young man under thirty with a sizable salary, William lavished his wife with expensive gifts. Rita would later learn, other women were also benefactors of his generous spending.

William met Rita on a trip to Seattle while attending the wedding of one of his teammates. Rita was a friend of the bride, and gave a rousing rendition of “Close to You” at the nuptials reception. At that moment, William knew he wanted to get closer to this lovely woman whose poise and grace, along with her beautiful voice, had him mesmerized. It wasn’t long before they became an item—an AP photo—and with William’s basketball star on the rise, they held their lavish wedding on Valentine’s Day with over one thousand in attendance.

And then the unexpected injury, the hospital stay, the prognosis, and the end of a career that had threatened to give Wilt Chamberlain’s and Bill Russell’s legacy a run for their money—and another legend for Michael Jordan to look up to. Rita watched day and night as William sunk from a vibrant, super athlete to a dismal, sullen, belligerent, and vengeful tyrant. He spent less time with Rita and more time with the bottle, and then he began to spend a lot of time at the gambling tables in Vegas, or wherever a high-stakes card game was going on, while dropping large sums of money in his wake. Finally, it was other women. Sometimes Rita wouldn’t see William for a week at a time, and when he did decide to show up, he stumbled into the house in a drunken stupor.

It was the physical and mental abuse that took its toll and led Rita to seek an attorney to rid herself of the only other person outside of her parents that she loved. Rita couldn’t understand why William preferred to bounce her off the wall instead of picking up a Wilson basketball and taking out his aggression on it. She loved this man more than life itself.

Through it all, Rita continued to sing, and she ended up with a cozy settlement to the tune of $10,000 a month.

Rita could have chosen her own lot, but she was comfortable sharing her gift of song at the small clubs up and down the Pacific Northwest with little or no fanfare, and a following all her own. So she found herself once again in Oakland giving her fans a little of what they craved and keeping a little for herself. But it was the attractive, sexy older gentleman Rita had bumped into a few nights ago, who claimed to be present at all of her sets, that caught her rapt attention—a spark that ignited a low-burning ember.

The soft sound of the brush caressing the drums met Rita’s ears as she entered the lounge. She smiled. The band was already warming up; the guitar being tweaked, and the low mellow hum of the cello put Rita in a real funky mood. She smiled again. Tonight, she felt like singing.

Graham wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he let Charlie talk him into going to the health club and getting his Tae-Bo on. But it was obvious that Graham enjoyed it—in fact, he hadn’t had that kind of fun in years. And that’s not taking away from the wonderful years he and Amanda had shared. Something about the muscular sistahs, bodies encased in sculptured frames only Picasso’s brush could capture, who stood gawking at the pair of over-fifty gentlemen. Graham couldn’t count the number of high-fives passed between him and Charlie.

Graham and Charlie strolled into The Water Hole at 3:35. They sauntered into the dark lounge like a precision drill team. Music met their ears. But it was the distinguishable Ms. Rita Long’s voice that caused Graham to experience a twinge of anxiety.

The duo found a small table and planted themselves there against the protest of Charlie who was a die-hard bar man. “Tables are for lovers,” Charlie snapped.

“And bar stools are for fools with a tired rap,” Graham countered.

Charlie smiled. “Are you in love?”

Before Graham could reply, the waitress appeared at their table. She slid a small piece of paper into Graham’s hand as in a well-rehearsed scene in a spy movie. Graham hesitated, then slowly lifted his eyes in the direction of the waitress, passing between them a silent message of acknowledgment. He wasn’t sure what he was acknowledging, but revelation was a short minute away.

“May I take your order, please?” the waitress asked, carrying out her duty as if nothing else had transpired.

“Coke for me,” Graham said.

“And a…”

“Chivas,” the waitress said, patting Charlie on the back. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

The paper grew moist smothered in Graham’s hand. He wanted to open it, lay eyes upon the content, and hoped it was the bearer of good tidings. Making excuses to go to the men’s room were getting a little old, but the mystery that lay inside the folded sheet of paper got the best of him.

Charlie looked at Graham once again. “Are you all right?” Charlie asked, frown lines plastered across his forehead. “You seem agitated and restless.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I was thinking about Amanda,” Graham lied.

Charlie relaxed. “Well, Ms. Long has been eyeing you for longer than a minute. Now, she’s a fine woman. Comes to Oakland quite a bit. Used to be married to that basketball star on the Lakers years ago. What’s his name?” Charlie questioned himself, snapping his fingers in hopes of jogging his memory.

“Not William Long?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Heard he treated the lady pretty bad, although she bears no visible scars.”

Graham digested Charlie’s words. He took a quick glance in Rita’s direction; and she appeared to be staring straight into his soul. Then Graham remembered the paper that was still folded in his hand. “I’ve got to go to the restroom. Be right back.”

“There you go again. You need surgery for that leaky bladder of yours.”

Graham turned around and gave Charlie a half-smile. “If the faucet is running, you’ve gotta do whatever it takes to turn it off.”

“Handle it!” Charlie put in. “And no pun intended.”

Graham raced to the restroom eager to put some distance between he and Charlie. The temperature of his hand caused the paper to be matted. Graham found a stall and gently shut the door, trying not to attract attention.

He fumbled with the paper and then quickly unfolded it. Not able to wait any longer, his eyes went directly for the signature line that read “Rita.”

The fluttering of the heart could mean only two things: either you are getting ready to experience a heart attack and possible death or you’ve just simply died and gone to Heaven. Graham squeezed the paper tight, then willed himself to open his palm so that he might read the rest of the note.

Hi there. I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again. I looked for you Monday evening, but was disappointed when you didn’t appear. Maybe we could have a drink after I rehearse. Give me a nod if we’re on. Rita.

He wanted to jump for joy, climb the highest mountain. Nerves took over and then a sly grin. Graham shut his eyes for a second, looked at the paper again, crumpled it in his hand and screamed, “Yes!”

“Are you all right in there?” came a concerned voice from another stall.

Embarrassed by his outburst, Graham flushed the unused toilet and practically ran from the room. He slowed his gait when he noticed Charlie watching him. Had he somehow changed? Had Charlie picked up on it?

Graham reached the table and faced Charlie head-on. “I feel better now.” Charlie sat and stared with a puzzled look on his face.

Midnight Express was already ten minutes into rehearsal. The patrons streamed in slowly—many of them retired folk who were there to pass the time. Colorful conversations and laughter were there for the asking. Some folks stopped talking, then patted their feet while the group rehearsed. Others rolled on with their conversations, heads bopping to the beat.

Graham eased back into his chair, positioning himself so he could have a good view of Ms. Rita Long whenever he dared take a peek at the stage. Getting up enough courage to look, the stage appeared to be much closer than it was the other day. Gravity pulled Graham’s eyelids up, and Rita came into view. She appeared to be only an arm’s length away. She seemed to sing straight into Graham’s heart, closing her eyes periodically as the lyrics drove her to the zenith.

There was a slight nod of Graham’s head. Rita momentarily opened her eyes, caressing the song—a song Graham had unconsciously claimed as his and Rita’s. Charlie caught Graham’s slight movement, but said nothing and held it amongst the other mental notes he was stockpiling.

Rita came from out of her trance-like state slowly, moving into a soft banter. “I promised to spend my whole life with you,” she sang, “neva leave you, nor forsake you…but you let me down, left me all alone. And I got a new friend now who promised he’d never leave.” And she nodded her head in Graham’s direction. He understood, taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the sweat away from his forehead.

Excitement and energy mounted as Graham anticipated his rendezvous with the lovely Rita. How to dodge Charlie was the larger task.

Rehearsal ended twenty-two minutes later. Graham sat in his seat, unsure of his next move. Charlie was engaged in light conversation—a few buddies from the hometown, laughing and talking about old times.

A sudden shadow crept over Graham making him feel uneasy. The sudden hush and the three pairs of eyes now peering in his direction confirmed that he had just become the center of attention.

“Hello,” Rita whispered softly while Graham scrambled to his feet. He could not erase the smile that stretched across his face. Charlie silently mocked him, slightly jealous for not being privy to what was going on in front of him.

“Hello, Rita,” was Graham’s reply. “Would you like to have a seat?”

“That would be nice.” Rita eased into the seat Graham held out for her. Realizing that their presence bordered on intrusion, Charlie’s homeboys bid farewell.

“Rita, this is my good friend Charlie.”

“Hey, Charlie.” Rita touched his arm. “Charlie has been a regular at The Water Hole as long as I’ve been singing here, I believe,” Rita said, turning to Graham. “Everyone has always been so good to me here; it’s like home.”

“It’s good to see you too, Rita. Who would have thought that after all this time, I would be graced with your presence at my very own table?” Charlie reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a toothpick, something he seemed to do a lot when his nerves were pricked.

Graham detected a hint of cynicism in Charlie’s voice. Did Charlie like Rita once? Graham couldn’t remember Charlie ever mentioning Rita Long in that vein even though it would be hard to not want to get to know her. Charlie was too busy with the easy-women hustle. A real woman would have eluded him.

“I enjoyed your set,” Graham said nervously trying to find something to say. He hadn’t courted in over forty years, and this was all new to him.