Vanessa giggled next to Maxine in the back seat of the Kettles' custom Navigator. Davanté and Lionel sat in the middle and Mr. and Mrs. Kettles took the front. Davanté tapped his foot to the song playing on the radio while Lionel bobbed his head to the beat.
The teens were eager to discuss the girls behind them. Maxine and Vanessa had worn their prettiest dresses and high heels. Davanté had never seen Vanessa look so good.
When the Navigator rolled in front of the restaurant venue, the valet approached the car and politely escorted everyone out. Davanté walked with Vanessa inside the main doors with the Kettles leading the way.
“Good evening Mr. Kettles,” said the manager, slightly bowing to Mrs. Kettles. He led them to a corner table that had a perfect view of the stage.
“It's so cool that your father is a musician,” said Vanessa after they sat down at the table.
“He's not my father,” said Davanté.
Vanessa looked confused. “But I thought Lionel said that he was your father,” she said.
“He's my biological father, but he's not by father,” said Davanté.
Vanessa would not let it go.
“Well then that makes him your father. You need to forgive him and let it go,” she said.
“Not now Nessa. Please,” said Davanté.
A few minutes later, a man walked on the stage. The restaurant lights dimmed low while bright colorful lights simultaneously lit up the stage.
“And now, put your hands together for Clarence Myles!”
Clarence walked onto the stage with a golden saxophone in his hands. He was dressed in all black. Other musicians took their place at the piano, drums and bass.
Clarence said nothing into the microphone. He perched halfway on a stool with one leg stretched to the side.
Slowly, he let out a soft sound like the voice of a muffled bird. The sound gradually escalated through various melodies and chords until it burst into an arranged up-tempo melody.
Davanté was in shock. He did not know Clarence was this good. Davanté found himself swaying to the sounds. It made him feel giddy and slightly dizzy all at once.
As the band maintained the tempo, Mr. and Mrs. Kettles stood up and walked out on the dance floor. Soon, other guests followed. In minutes, a small throng of people were swaying to the rhythm on the dance floor.
Lionel leaned over to Davanté.
“He's good,” said Lionel.
Davanté nodded in agreement.
“So, what do you think of Vanessa?” said Lionel.
“Aw, man. She looks hot. I almost forgot how pretty she is,” said Davanté.
“Yeah,” said Lionel.
“Hey, I didn't know you and Maxine were going out?” asked Davanté.
“Sort of. We've been talking for a while. She's a hard catch. Man, I had to chase her forever,” said Lionel.
“What? I didn't know it was like that?” said Davanté.
“Yeah, I told you, man. Remember last week at lunch? I told you how I had to steal her away from Sticky Fingers Sylvester,” said Lionel.
He stretched out his hands and waved his fingers for emphasis.
Davanté laughed. “Oh, yeah. I'm sorry man. I've had a lot on my mind.”
Lionel feigned an angry face. “You better get it together,” he said jokingly.
Davanté playfully punched Lionel on the shoulder.
“Aw! Watch the arm! I'm playin' against Kobe tomorrow night,” he said.
The two teens laughed amongst themselves. Davanté could not help but enjoy the night. He laughed. He ate great food. He even danced with Vanessa.
At some point, Davanté began to feel some remorse for how he had been treating Clarence. He realized that there was more to Clarence than he knew.
As the night came to an end, the Kettles surrounded Clarence and the band members. They gave him their thanks and appreciation.
“Oh, no. Thank you, Mr. Kettles,” said Clarence.
Clarence and Mr. Kettles talked for some time until Mrs. Kettles interrupted them. She pressed her husband to leave in order to drop off the girls by their curfews.
“I can take Davanté home,” offered Clarence.
Davanté immediately acquiesced. He bumped fists with Lionel and waved the Kettles off. Vanessa blew him a kiss goodbye as she walked out.
“You're pretty good,” said Davanté to Clarence while they were backstage, packing up.
“Yeah, I always had a love for music. You know, it runs in the family,” said Clarence once they were in the car.
“My mother was a singer and her father was an artist,” he said.
“Really?” asked Davanté.
“Oh yeah. It's in our blood,” said Clarence.
He pulled the car out of the driveway. Clarence pressed his horn twice and waved to the restaurant manager before getting on the main road.
“Was that your girlfriend? That light-skinned girl?” asked Clarence.
“Yeah,” said Davanté.
“Look, you're almost of age, so I know you know about this stuff. But just be careful. Don't make my mistake,” said Clarence.
“I didn't know I was a mistake,” said Davanté.
“Now, you know what I mean. I mean, having relations with a girl when you ain't ready to be a father,” said Clarence.
“Don't worry, I'm not like you,” said Davanté.
“Of course not. I'm just saying that I've seen girls like her before, with that same twinkle in their eyes. Those kind of girls can spell trouble for a young man,” explained Clarence.
“You mean, like my mother?” said Davanté.
“No, come on, son. That's not what I said,” said Clarence.
“Stop the car,” ordered Davanté.
“Oh, come on, son. No, I'm taking you home. Look, we're almost there,” said Clarence.
“I am NOT your son!” said Davanté. “How dare you beat my mother down. I've been trying to give you a chance, but I'm through with this!” he said.
“I'm not beating her down. Look, Davanté, I didn't want to tell you this, but there are things about your mother that you don't know,” said Clarence.
“Yeah, like how she fell in love with a loser like you?” said Davanté.
“No! Boy, if you only knew. You just don't know. You don't know anything,” said Clarence.
“What? What don't I know? Huh?' asked Davanté.
“Okay. You don't know that your mother was raped by her father. That she was practically raised by your Aunt Thelma. That she was on crack by the time she was thirteen. That she was strung out on heroine when she started high school. Yeah, you don't know that I tried to save your mother and ended up doing fifteen years for beatin' up her drug pusher!” said Clarence.
“That's not true!” said Davanté.
“Yes, it is true. That's the truth. Your mother changed after you were born. But she was a junkie most of her young life,” said Clarence.
Davanté was hot with anger. He could not believe what he was hearing. He reared his arm back and punched Clarence in the face.
Clarence lost control of the car and flew off the road hitting a tree, smashing the front of the car. Fumes of smoke swelled from underneath the hood.
“I can't believe you!” yelled Clarence. “What is wrong with you? I've been trying to be there for you. I've been trying to be your father. What is your problem?” he said.
Davanté was not injured, only in shock. He slowly opened his passenger side door and cautiously stood up. He ignored Clarence and began walking away from the car.
“Oh! That's how you do it? You punch me, you smash my car and then just leave? That's how you are? That's the man you are? Fine! You're never gonna make it! You're never gonna get anywhere! You're just a motherless thug! What kind of son are you?” said Clarence.
Davanté paused. He was standing under a street lamp. His suit was ripped and deeply wrinkled. He glared at Claren
ce.
“I am NOT your son!” he yelled.
Davanté spat on the ground as an intentional sign of disrespect. He turned his back and walked along the street curb towards the next exit.
He walked far enough until he could no longer see Clarence. Then he took out his smartphone and called Aunt Thelma to pick him up.
Seven
Being Davanté Page 8