Till You Hear From Me: A Novel (29 page)

“He’ll hook you up with your lyrics and then it’s on you!”

More applause. Brandi held up her hand for quiet. “Now, those
of you who been here before know we got a tradition here at Brandi’s. We ain’t been here but a minute, but a tradition gotta start somewhere, right?”

“Damn right!” somebody called out from near the bar.

Brandi frowned slightly, but never stopped smiling. “Watch your language there, brother. This is a family place now!”

Laughter and some good-natured shouts of “That’s right!” echoed around the room.

Satisfied, Brandi turned toward Wes and Ida B still sitting near the stage finishing their drinks. “The tradition is, whoever is in the first seat, at the first table, gotta do the first number.” She held the mic toward Wes. “That’s you, baby!”

The crowd laughed and applauded. Ida B grinned at him and shrugged like it was out of her hands. On the stage, Brandi was twinkling at him with an
I dare you
smile and he wondered suddenly if she remembered him, too.

“Come on, brother! Show us what you got!”

He grinned at Ida B. “Well, at least this will give you a more current memory to draw on!”

Then he stood up very slowly and pushed back his chair dramatically to the delight of the crowd.

“Go ’head, brother! Do yo’ thang!”

He walked over to Deejay Do Right, made his selection, and accepted the mic from Brandi, who moved over to watch from the edge of the stage. It had been years since he’d done anything like this, but he thought he could still pull it off. Too late now if he couldn’t. The tiny light that in the old days had probably shone on hundreds of bouncing brown breasts was now shining on him. And there was his cue, the first few unmistakable bars of the R&B infidelity classic “Me and Mrs. Jones.” The crowd, recognizing his selection, roared their approval. As he stepped forward, he saw Ida B laughing and clapping, too. He gave her a wink and hit it.

“Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing goin’ on …”

THIRTY-NINE

“I
CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT
,” I
SAID, STILL LAUGHING, AS WE
headed outside. Wes had offered to give me a ride and I accepted. I was so amazed by his karaoke performance, I welcomed a chance to compliment him as we drove the few blocks home.

Wes grinned. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t good at it.”

Good doesn’t begin to describe it. He had a great voice and very sexy stage presence. He was no Blue Hamilton, of course, the standard against which we West Enders measure every R&B singer, amateur or professional, but he was head and shoulders above anybody I’d ever seen in a karaoke bar and the crowd loved him.

“I’m surprised your fans let you get away with just one song,” I said, enjoying that golden moment known to all groupies of snagging the lead singer.

“That’s the key,” he said. “Always leave them wanting more.” The streets were pretty empty. It was too cold and breezy to be out strolling around. Everybody was hunkered down somewhere for the night. Everybody except us.

“I’m glad we had a chance to talk,” he said, when he pulled up in front of the Rev’s house and put his rental car in park.

“Me, too,” I said, wondering if I should ask him in or take his advice and leave him wanting more. Neither of us said anything for a minute, but the air was clearly charged.

He smiled. “Why does this feel like high school all of a sudden?”

I laughed, relieved that he felt it, too. Wondering if there was a possible post-karaoke exception clause in my celibacy oath. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He turned toward me as fully as he could and leaned in just a little. “Yeah, except that if it was high school, I’d be trying to talk you out of a good-night kiss.”

“Except that I don’t kiss on a first date,” I said.
Like fun I don’t
.

“But it wasn’t technically a first date since we didn’t actually
plan
it.”

I nodded, as if considering the questions. “You’re right. Nobody asked anybody to meet anywhere.”

“Exactly, it was just a fortunate coincidence, which means your reputation remains above reproach.”

“Good,” I said, enjoying the game, anticipating the smooch. “A girl can’t be too careful.”

And as I closed my eyes and leaned in to seal the deal, his cell phone rang. The first few bars of the
Mission: Impossible
theme. We both froze, opened our eyes, waited. The ball was in his court. He shrugged apologetically, reached for his phone, glanced at the caller ID, and said the words I surely did not want to hear at that moment.

“I need to take this.”

FORTY

“W
HAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN NEXT WEEK?”
W
ES SAID AS HE
watched Ida B open her front door and disappear inside.
Damn!
Toni was still a sure thing, but new pussy was always welcome. Oscar’s timing was lousy. “I just talked to the guy!”

“Obviously you didn’t talk hard enough.”

“I handed him ten grand to cool the fuck out and wait for instructions. Is that hard enough for you?”

“Well, he said if we can’t give him the disk on Monday so he can run it that night, he’s out.”

“Monday?”

“That’s what he said. Somebody from the supervisor’s office called him when he got home, one of his gambling buddies or something. Totally spooked him.”

Wes pulled away from the curb. Any hope of wrapping this up and then seeing if he might still collect on that kiss was out the window.

“So now he’s all freaked out worse than he was before. He says it’s got to be Monday or no-go.”

“What I’m saying is it’s not doable, Oscar. It’s flat out not doable.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Wes waited.
Monday!
That was only five days from now. How the fuck was he supposed to make that happen? He was good, but he wasn’t a miracle worker.

“Listen, Wes.” Oscar’s voice was quiet, but firm. “We need this to happen.”

He remembered that old joke about the Lone Ranger turning to his faithful sidekick in a moment of peril and saying, “We’re going to die, old friend. We’re surrounded by hostile Indians.” And Tonto saying, “What you mean
we
, white man?”

“There’s still a lot of finger-pointing going on, you know that,” Oscar said when Wes remained silent. “Everybody’s playing the blame game and nobody’s in charge. Steele is a joke and Limbaugh is out of control. If we can make this happen—you and me—if we can put Georgia solidly back in our column for 2010 and 2012, nobody’s going to forget that, Wes. Most of all, I’ll really owe you one, buddy. I’ll owe you one big-time.”

Wes turned into the driveway of his father’s house. The motion-activated security lights flooded the yard and he squinted in spite of himself, feeling suddenly exposed. Oscar needed this
personally
, he thought. That’s why he was begging so hard. He’d heard a rumor around the campfire that Oscar had been slipping. From the desperate sound in his voice, Wes could only guess that Oscar was within
a cunt hair
of being shown the door.

Wes sighed loud enough for Oscar to hear him, like he was resigned to helping, but not enthusiastic about it. “What am I supposed to do? This guy’s list is still in a stack of shoe boxes in his closet. He hasn’t even given me permission to move them, much less make copies.”

“This isn’t rocket science, Wes. What the fuck do we always do when somebody’s got something we want and they don’t want to give it up?”

It was a rhetorical question. “We go get it.”

“Exactly.”

FORTY-ONE

W
ES’S PHONE CALL HAD SAVED ME FROM INDULGING A MOMENT OF
weakness and I was grateful. What was I planning to do anyway? Climb in the backseat? Sneak him up to my baby girl room and hope the Rev didn’t decide to come home early? Exactly the kind of bad decision from which the celibacy oath was supposed to protect me. I thanked the goddess for her electronic intervention, hung up my coat, and went to take a look at the Rev’s stash.

I turned on the overhead light, opened the closet door, and there it was:
the list
. Thousands of cards in boxes, stacked up neatly from floor to ceiling, waiting patiently to be called into service by the man who had collected them. Wes had said they supposedly had the usual information and then a space for personal reflections. Unable to resist taking a look at what people might have written, I pulled out a box that wasn’t wedged in too tight, lifted off the top, and pulled out the first card.