Uptown Dreams (11 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Uptown Dreams
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17
LA-LA
O
ne hundred and twenty-fifth Street had a life of its own. La-La ascended the subway two stairs at a time, trying to keep up with the others jogging by her. Everyone, not just the street above, was full of energy. La-La looked around as soon as she made it to the landing. Ziggy's vendor's table was to her right and down the block. That's what he'd told her.
Or was it to the left?
She had been so anxious about their meeting that she couldn't remember. All she knew was that she was there, finally, and she'd find him. She could sniff him out anywhere, that's how much she liked him.
“Excuse me, young sistah?” a man said to her, sitting on the dirty ground just inches away from where she stood. He was much older, and the gray hair edging his temples had a yellow hue. Hunched forward a bit, his back had a slight hump on one side, and his face was hardened. La-La could tell that he and life had fought, and he hadn't been the winner. He outstretched a dirty, calloused hand. “Can you spare some money so an old man can eat?”
La-La's heart wrenched. She wanted to reach in her pocket and give the man what she could, but she knew better. She was uptown after all, and in Harlem you couldn't just show your softer side to anybody, especially how much cash was in your pocket. She shrugged and lied: “Sorry.”
“That's right, little sistah. Do not give him anything,” another older man with a head full of whitish-gray hair said. He offered her his hand. “Sandman's the name, Harlem's my game. You lost?”
La-La shook her head in the negative. “No, I'm good.”
Sandman walked up to her, hooking his hands through his striped suspenders. “Good? That's all? You're here. Breathing. If you need your life any better come see me. I can get my hands on happiness—for a price.”
La-La took that as her cue to walk. She headed in the direction she hoped Ziggy's table was. Hip-hop rattled her eardrums and the storefront window behind her as a SUV bellowed by, blasting music. La-La nodded to the rhythm, humming low. She didn't recognize the song, but the beat was hot. And so was the sun, she realized as a streak of sweat slid down her face.
“La-La,” a voice she didn't recognize called out from behind with a heavy West Indian accent.
Turning slowly, she was cautious. The voice didn't belong to Ziggy, that she was sure. She'd memorized his with her heart because every time she heard it, it crumbled her self-assuredness and made her stumble on her words.
“Hey!” Ziggy yelled, waving his arms as if he was helping a plane land. “Over here, pretty gal!”
La-La locked eyes with him, smiled, and waved. She perked up, almost dancing her way down the street.
“This ya gal then, Star?” a guy standing next to Ziggy, wearing a ragged and clearly bootleg vending license around his neck, asked as La-La reached the vending table. He was a bit taller than Ziggy, but La-La could tell they were definitely cut from the same cloth. They were mirror images.
Ziggy smiled, and slightly threw his head back like he was saying what's up. “That's La-La, my future wifey.” He elbowed the guy. “La-La, say hello to my brother, Broke-Up,” he said, pronouncing his brother's name brock-up.
She drew her eyebrows together, sure she had heard him wrong. “Hunh? Did you just call him Broke-Up, as in broke up, or Brock something?
Ziggy and his brother laughed. Ziggy placed his arm around his almost-twin, his eyes lit up like a Fourth of July night sky. “Yes, this is my brother. We call him Broke-Up.”
Broke-Up stuck out his leg, then pointed to his knee. “My leg's got pins in it, 'olding it together. And my family takes it for a joke. They don't care what I think. Rude people. See?” he said.
La-La smiled. “So, I should call you ... ?”
Broke-Up's laugh cut through the air in a pitch higher than she'd ever heard a guy reach, and she couldn't help but smile harder.
Ziggy walked around the vending table, took her hand in his, kissed her on the cheek, and owned her. He made her shudder. “That's another reason we call him Broke-Up—'cause his laugh will break up anything.”
Broke-Up sucked his teeth. “Let's hope it'll break up five-ohs attention if they catch us with this homemade license again. And you be careful there, La-La. My pitch might break up things, but Ziggy here, he breaks young gals hearts. Man has
no
respect for the sweet. None.”
 
He held her hand. Wouldn't let it go, no matter where they went or who saw them. La-La couldn't believe how much of a gentleman Ziggy was. He'd treated her to lunch, took her to the dance store and showed her a pair of shoes he'd been saving for. He'd even taken her around his friends, then paid for a cab to take them to Greenwich Village where he showed her a couple of other spots she could sing at; then they trained it to Midtown. Now she sat next to him, feeling on top of the world despite her problems with Nakeeda and wanting to erase Remi's illness.
“I can't remember the last time I had so much fun hanging out with a girl. You think you're gonna check out Café Wha and The Village Underground? I think you could really blow at both—it's no telling who'll be scouting for talent.”
La-La nodded her answer, then closed her eyes and gripped the balled-up paper that had housed the hero sandwich Ziggy'd made her eat hours after lunch. She welcomed the breath of wind that breezed and Ziggy's companionship. Leaning back against the Central Park bench, she smiled. Ziggy couldn't have come into her life at a better time—she needed a positive spin on her reality, and some braces would be nice. And the things he'd put her up on since hanging out with him could definitely help her wrap some tracks around her teeth.
I'll get them. In due time
. A smile threatened to spread across her face. A lurking, sure grin she'd been void of for months. She
would
get what she wanted. Period. She didn't know when, but she knew how. She'd sing in the Village and on subway platforms.
Ziggy's hand was playing in her hair before she knew it. “Why you smiling?” he asked when La-La opened her lids, peering up at him.
His eyes asked so much more than his words. His eyes bore into her. Made her shift in her seat. She wasn't sure what was hiding behind his look, but something was.
Pity
?
Empathy? No. Attraction. Yes, he's definitely feeling me more than before.
She shrugged her shoulders in answer to his question, then looked at him intensely. “Why're you hawking me like that, Ziggy?”
His fingers continued to dance in her hair. Scooting closer, he leaned into her. Kept looking into her eyes. Didn't stop playing with her hair. “I'm just checking out your shirt. It's hot.”
“Think so?” La-La smiled. She was going to scoot away, but killed the thought and closed her eyes again. Enjoyed Ziggy's closeness. She felt safe with him. And something else. She was really digging him, not just wrapped up in his good looks and charm.
Wait!
Her inquisitiveness plagued her. She had to ask. Had to question the stereotype. After all, Ziggy
was
a male dancer. Was it possible that he was being brother-friendly to her and concealing a secret with his womanizing ways? Without further thought, she sat up, searched his eyes for truth. “No disrespect, Ziggy. But I gotta know something. Is it cool to be open with you?”
Ziggy nodded. Smiled as if he already knew what La-La would ask.
La-La fidgeted. “Well, you are a dancer... .” She stopped, didn't know how to tactfully ask.
Ziggy laughed. “And you wanna know if I'm gay or bisexual, right?”
La-La nodded.
“It's cool,” Ziggy assured her. “I'm used to it. But to answer your question ...” He glided his palm across her cheek, causing tingles to rush through her. “I'm try-everything. I'll try anything once, twice if I like it ... but only with girls. Somethin' you wanna try with me?” He teased, then grabbed the balled-up paper from her hand and pulled her up from the bench. “Come on. Let me show you how dancers do it—super-straight dancers who may just have a thing for you. If you lose, you sing in the Village tomorrow night!”
La-La wiggled her non-hips as she thrust her butt higher in the air. Bent over, her fingertips touched the grass, and one of Ziggy's palms rested on her lower back while the other dangled between her parted thighs.
I could get used to this
. She inhaled her emotions, enjoyed the heat radiating from Ziggy's body and the descending sun. In only hours, she'd discovered he was magnificent. Talented. Smart. Considerate in his own way, he was just what she needed. A positive new beginning at Harlem CAPA. Turning only her head to look at him, she maintained her position. Rocked ever so slightly to lure and bait. Her infatuated eyes confirmed what she'd already known.
Beautiful
.
If he were candy,
he'd
be my favorite flavor.
Ziggy was magnetic. She decided right then and there, bent over with him gripping her hips, she was just the magnet to stick to him.
“You're supposed to say hut one, hut two. Hut. Hut,” Ziggy urged.
La-La grasped the balled-up paper, said her hut-huts, then passed it between her legs into Ziggy's awaiting hand. Stumbling backward, she laughed. Couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so comfortable or had had so much fun. How two people could play football, she didn't know. But she sure was going to hang with him long enough to find out.
Just for today
, she promised herself. It wasn't against anybody's law for her to be happy for a few hours before she had to return to the dramatic Boom-Keshas and Nakeedas of the world. But for now, she'd enjoy Ziggy. See what he had to offer her.
“Run out for the pass, baby,” Ziggy yelled, holding up the balled paper, assuming a quarterback's stance.
Baby?
echoed in her mind as she ran out, awkwardly turned to receive his throw, and then, “Oh, shii—Sugar. Honey. Iced. Tea,” La-La mumbled, catching the curse but not her balance. Her butt kissed the ground before she knew it. Arms flailed. Toes pointed to the sky. Legs split into a V. Defeated, La-La lay her head on the grass. She couldn't believe she'd busted her behind in front of the dude she was trying to impress. And to top it all off, she'd lost.
“You a'ight?” Ziggy stood over her, extending his hand to help her up.
“Yeah, I'm good,” La-La answered, accepting his hand, and laughing away her embarrassment.
The corners of Ziggy's mouth tugged into a smile. “I've never seen nobody bust their butt so elegantly. You
should
be a dancer ... or maybe stick to singing since you'll be doing that tomorrow night,” he teased.
“Oh, you got jokes!”
“That's not all I got, La-La. Believe it!” Ziggy shot back, lacing his arm through hers.
“Oh, I
do
believe it. And I also believe you owe me”—her wanting eyes drank him in—“
something
to quench my thirst.”
Ziggy reared back his head in laughter. “I got you, baby. I know just what you need.”
“Bet you do,” La-La flirted, walking next to him.
For a moment she floated. Swore her feet lifted and the air licked the bottoms of her shoes. She'd never felt so light before. Was sure she was experiencing the natural high she'd once heard about. Yes, she could get used to this, she thought. She loved being with Ziggy. Enjoyed how he'd zoomed in on her, making her feel like the center of his world.
“I do,” he said, stopping and turning to her. He grabbed her cheeks in his hands, then changed her world with her first kiss.
18
REESE
T
he halls were dark. Dreary. Empty. Welcoming. Reese tipped down the hall, careful not to let her sneakers squeak. She looked behind her, held her finger to her mouth, letting Broke-Up know to keep it down. His feet were heavy. Well, maybe just one foot. The one attached to the leg that had pins in it that kept popping when he walked. She smiled, unsure if she should believe him or not. Was it really possible for someone to have their legs held together by pins? Or was it a joke?
A loud crash sounded down the hall, making Reese cringe.
“Who's that?” Broke-Up asked, whispering as loud as his knee was cracking.
And there he was. Half-Dead. Lying on the floor, holding his knee, rolling from side to side, claiming he was okay. Reese walked up to him, put her hands on her hips, and looked down at him, her head rotating the entire time. What was he doing in the school after hours anyway? She was almost afraid to ask, but had to.
“Half-Dead? Why are you here? What were you doing?”
“Ay, what's up, Reese?” he asked, still holding his knee.
She drew her eyebrows together, tapped her foot. “Well?”
Broke-Up helped Half-Dead up from the floor. “Man, I understand. My knee is no good too. None.”
Reese looked at her two broken friends who only had two good feet between their four.
“The doctor said there was a possibility that I would get the feeling back in half of my foot. So I was trying to perfect that dance move. The one I'm not able to master yet.”
She tsked him. “You mean the one you'll never be able to master? Half-Dead, no offense, but without feeling in half of your foot—your toes, especially—you can't spin on them. Stop it with the ballet moves. Sing or something.”
Half-Dead looked surprised. He glanced at Broke-Up. “See? See how they do me around here? You'd think they'd give me some credit for trying.”
Broke-Up laughed. “Nah, Star. I can't run with you on this one. My knee's held together with pins, so I don't play sports. If half of your foot is dead, why dance? Dudes shouldn't twinkle toe anyway. Feel me?”
Reese walked away from that comment, wondering if Broke-Up was really that deluded. Men danced. Real bona fide, hard-legged, women-having men. Talking loud as if it were okay for them to be in the school after hours, they followed behind her, conversing the whole time.
She shushed them. “We're not supposed to be here. Quiet.” She stopped, peeked inside of the music room, and saw it was empty. Carefully, she pushed open the door, directed the two to hold each other up so they wouldn't run into anything.
“Where we going, Reese?” Half-Dead asked, skipping, apparently afraid to put weight on his banged-up knee and half-numb foot. He flipped on the lights, then stared at Broke-Up. “You know you look exactly like this dude that goes here. A dancer!” he laughed.
Reese ran, then shut off the lights. “Okay, Half-Dead, it's been nice. But we need to work.”
He hobbled over to the light switch, bouncing up and down in place on his good foot, and looked from Reese to Broke-Up. “What kinda work
we
need to do in the music room?”
“Make beats. I gots that bass line she—”
“Half-Dead, please? I'm serious. Nothing you need to know about.”
Still hopping, he shook his head. “Nothing I need to know about or
tell
about?”
Broke-Up stepped up now. “You a snitch?”
“All right. All right. Dang!” He grabbed his bag, and literally bounced out of there.
Reese stood behind the boards, amazed at Broke-Up's familiarity with the equipment. They had full access to a forty-eight track SSL control board, one of the best boards on the market, and she couldn't have been prouder of what they were coming up with. She was comfortable with Broke-Up, loved his vibe. And his ear? Wow, his ear for music was phenomenal. Their heads nodded in sync with the drums. They both hummed, almost beat boxed with the fire beats blazing out of the speakers. It was if they'd always been a team, as if there had never been a Blaze in her life—in her way. She looked over at Broke-Up, and loved that he was as moved as she. That was why he was there. That's why she'd have chosen him over Blaze if she had to pick. He was as much in love with producing as she was, and his sound was his testimony.
“This is hot,” she exclaimed, wrapping him in her embrace. She squeezed him with all her might, more excited than she'd been in a long time.
His arms were wrapped around her before she knew it, and neither seemed to want to pull away. So she stayed there. Stayed as long as she could, inhaling the music with her pores and his scent with her nose. She wasn't sure if it was from vending on One-two-five or not, but he smelled like every perfumed oil in existence that reeked deliciousness.
Broke-Up finally broke the hold. “You know if we keep doing this, we're gonna make more than music? I'm not a twinkle toes like your boy Half-Dead.”
Reese didn't know whether to smile or defend Half-Dead. “Don't call him twinkle toes, please. And ... what's so wrong with us making more than music? I thought it'd be nice to make something like history
together
.”
He looked at her and bit his bottom lip. “We can make a lot of things together, beginning and ending with this.” He grabbed her face in his hands, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Now.” He let her go and turned back to the boards. “Let's get it done. We got a party coming up where we can pass out demos, and maybe we can sell some of these beats.”
Reese shrugged, and swallowed her excitement of the kiss. “Cool. You know this is a performing arts school. We can also get some writers, and there's this fab singer La-La we can have reference the tracks,” she added.

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