by J. J. Murray
"So do I. And you'll make me happier if you stop apologizing."
"I'm sorry"
"You did it again."
"Sorr-Thanks for understanding."
"I understand, and I thank you for your concern. Now get off the phone. I don't have call-waiting, and I'm expecting Dewey to call."
"How'd he get your number?"
"I gave it to him."
"At the bowling alley?"
"No. In the cake. Call Tonya if you need an explanation. Bye" I hang up. I look at the bag and find it empty. I am going to be dreaming in brilliant color tonight. I look at the clock. If I had a TV, I could be watching some late-night talk show, but since I don't, I pull out the jump rope and jump for a while on my little piece of carpet chanting:
`Dewey bear, Dewey bear call me up, Dewey bear. Dewey bear Dewey bear, call me now, Dewey bear. Dewey bear Dewey bear pick up the phone, Dewey bear. Dewey bear Dewey bear '
I sigh and look at the clock. Midnight. I toss the rope on the couch. "Have sweet dreams, Dewey bear."
TART THREE
You Can't Make
jMe doubt 9Iim
`twelve
So Dewey didn't call last night. I can handle it. He didn't call for the first forty years of my life, right? So what. I can return to my little world of cutting hair and jumping rope and still keep smiling, even if the weather is changing outside. Fall is falling, and I'm going to be another one of the orange leaves skipping along Vine Street.
And thinking about that man.
Thursday is so slow I spend most of it sitting on a folding chair just outside the door at Diana's watching the world go by. Huddled figures, wrapped against the cold and the wind like I am, walk briskly to Dude's to raise their cholesterol or to Hood's to get ripped off. The street corner pharmacists dance in place, hands in pockets, waiting for the pay phone to ring or another foolish soul to drive by to get a fix. Soapbox Sam's words appear in the air in rapid bursts of mist, brown leaves swirling around his milk crate. Evangeline's place on the bus bench is as empty as I feel. Haven't seen her around since the first frost. She must be a fair-weather fortuneteller. I wish Larry Farmer could come back again. As dead as Vine Street has become, at least he had given it some life and kept it clear of bottles and cans. That man was always busy, always moving, always doing something-
"Hey," a soft voice says.
I turn and see no one around me. I stick my head inside Diana's. "You call me, Diana?"
She looks up from her chair and pauses from sharpening her claws with an Emery board. "No."
I look up and down Vine. Lord, if it's You, it's polite to call a person by name. And anyway, I didn't know You were Southern. Sayin' "hey" instead of hello. Oh, yeah. That other word has that other place in it.
14Hey," the soft voice says again.
I look all around me and still see no one. Someone is trying to play a trick on me. "Hey yourself," I say toward the corner of Diana's where an alley starts. "What you up to?"
"Nothin' much" A young man's voice. Probably one of the corner druggists getting out of the wind to count his money.
"How you doin'?"
"Aw-ite. Yourself?"
"Aw-ite," I say, mimicking him. "How's business?"
"So-so. Y'all busy?"
"Nah. Weather's keepin' folks away."
"Tell me about it." A pause and a laugh. "Got time to give me an edge-up?"
Cut a drug dealer's hair? Why not. It'll give me a chance to give him an earful. "Sure"
"How much you charge?"
Like it really matters. The boy probably got more in his pockets than I make in a month. "Depends."
"On what?"
"On how much edging I gotta do"
A head pops out from the corner for a second, then disappears. "How much for that?" he asks.
"I didn't see enough of it, boy. Come here for your estimate."
He comes around the corner ... carrying a guitar case. It's Kevin Myers, Guitarman himself, and I can see why he was hiding; but it's not because his hair is all nappy. His dark brown face is crisscrossed with white scars. One scar starts at the bridge of his nose and ends at his hairline, and another begins at his right ear and ends under his chin.
"Well, if it isn't Kevin Myers," I say as I stand. Lord Jesus, I will never understand the cruelty of Your people toward each other.
" 'Lo, Mrs. Borum"
I fold up the chair. "C'mon in, Kevin."
I follow him in and point to my chair while Diana mouths "Oh, my God!" Kevin sets his guitar case to the side of the chair and sits while Diana disappears into the back. Diana has a weak constitution. I nicked the ear of a customer once, and when Diana saw the little speck of blood, she nearly passed out.
I loop a towel around Kevin's neck, then fasten the gown. "That ain't too tight, is it?"
"Nah. "
I start to trim and try not to stare at all the scars covering his head, but it ain't easy because they are everywhere I look. I had heard that he had to have sixty stitches in the back of his head alone. Concrete sure can do some damage. I don't ask him why he isn't at a barber's. From what I hear, the barber shop is often a worse place for gossiping than a hair salon is. "So how you been?"
"Aw-ite. Just got out of the hospital a few days ago"
Four months he was in the hospital, part of it in a coma. "Bet your mama's glad you're home"
"Yeah. I guess. She ain't too happy about all the bills, though" I can't even imagine how much that would have cost. "I'm supposed to be looking for a job today, but . . "
"But what?"
He turns to look me in the eye. "Would you hire me?"
I stare back. "Don't know. What are your qualifications, Mr. Myers?"
He smiles. Lord, they even messed up his teeth, two broken, a few missing. I doubt even a fast food place would hire this child. "I play guitar." He turns away. "Least I hope to be able to play like I used to"
"What you mean? You been playin' that thing as long as I can remember."
He pulls his hands out from under the gown and holds them up. "Soon as these heal all the way."
I don't see a thing wrong with his hands. "They look fine to me"
He hides them again under the gown. "Yeah. But when I got my head smashed in, I had some seizures, and now ... Sometimes I can't stop my hands from shaking long enough to finish a song. My brain knows what to do with my fingers, but my fingers just ain't gettin' the message all the time. The doctors say I have some nerve damage or something, say it'll be a while till I get it all back, maybe it'll work itself out."
That is so sad. To lose the one gift you have, for any length of time, is tragic. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't play the organ. "I'm sure it will work itself out, Kevin. Just give it some time. And you know that I'll be praying for you"
"Thanks" He nods to himself. "Bet you already been prayin'."
"Yep
"You still playin' the organ?"
"Sure am"
He smiles. "Always liked to hear you play. Used to run up to the balcony after Sunday school so I could see your fingers better. Right hard to see 'em from the pews down below." He shifts toward me. "Bet you could play some guitar, Mrs. Borum. You're good with your fingers."
"My gift is the organ, and you have to have nails to play the guitar, right?" He nods. "Never could get mine to grow." I stand in front of him to make sure his edges are even. "Did I take off enough?"
He pulls one hand out and runs it over his head. "Yeah. Thanks"
I remove the gown and towel. "Tell your mama I said hello."
He stands and reaches into a pocket, coming up with a few wadded bills, his hand trembling just enough to notice. There but for the grace of God go I. "How much I owe you?"
"Consider it a welcome back haircut, Kevin."
"Nah. Here" He puts a wad of one-dollar bills in my hand, but I put it right back in his.
"I'd rather you paid me with a song" I nod at the guitar. "Play something for me"
&
nbsp; He shoves both hands in his pockets. "Nah, I-"
"Nah I nothin'! I haven't heard you play in years. Last time I heard you play was when you was little."
" `Silent Night.' " He toes the ground with a boot and flashes a look at me. "Don't know if my fingers remember that one"
"Only one way to find out, boy."
"Yeah" He squats, opens the case, and pulls out a shiny guitar. Instead of finding a chair, he sits cross-legged right there on the floor of Diana's and strums "Silent Night," playing it slow but with steady hands and fingers. He plays it almost like it's a love ballad, and if you think about it, it is a love ballad for a little baby named Jesus. I sit in my chair and hum along, and eventually Diana comes out of the back to listen.
Kevin finishes, and I clap while Diana busies herself at her station, her back to us. "Your fingers haven't forgotten that one, Kevin," I say.
He packs up his guitar. "Guess they haven't."
And then I get a wonderful idea. "Tell you what. We got us a nice spot right outside this place on that sidewalk, a nice safe place, and lots of folks come in here or come by here; so why don't you-"
"Ruth," Diana interrupts.
"What?" She motions me to the back. "Hold on, Kevin. Don't you leave, now."
"I won't."
I join Diana near one of the sinks where we wash hair. "That boy is not playing out in front of this place," she whispers.
"Why not?"
"You saw his face."
"Scared the shit out of you, didn't it?"
"Yeah. And if it scares me, it'll scare our customers, too"
Oh, Lord, we wouldn't want that. "Girl, we already got us some scary customers, or haven't you noticed? They come in scary, and sometimes they leave scarier. I know I'm scary, and when you haven't had your coffee, you're scary. What's one more scary person to welcome them in and give them something to do while they're waiting?"
I just ... We can't have him playing out there. What if someone comes by and messes with him again?"
I make a fist and a face. "Then we kick some ass, go out with some Golden Hots and return the favor, burn some scars into their thick heads"
She almost smiles. "I ain't been in a fight since the second grade, girl." She points at a bicep. "I just ain't made for that shit."
"You could be" I point at her hands. "Those nails of yours could do some damage"
She shakes her head. "I just don't want that kind of attention, girl."
"Sure you do. Think what folks will say. Will you look at that? Diana has given Guitarman a job serenading customers. Wasn't that nice of her? Why, she must be doing pretty well if she can afford him doing that"
"I ain't payin' him!"
"Maybe not you, but I will. His mama must owe over a hundred grand for his hospital bills. Every little bit helps."
"I don't know, Ruth. I mean, we might lose customers."
I nod. "Yep"
"And that doesn't bother you?"
I shake my head. "Not in the least, because we might even get us some more customers"
"How?"
"You heard him play. Wasn't that beautiful?"
"Yes, but
"Name another hair joint in Calhoun that offers live entertainment."
She freezes, her face blank. "Does he know any Motown?"
I walk to the front. "Know any old Motown music, Kevin?"
He nods.
I whisper, "Boy, this is your audition."
"Huh?"
"You want a job where you can use your gift, right?"
"Yeah, sure"
"Well, open that case and play us some Motown"
He opens the case. "What should I play?"
"Diana is named after Diana Ross, boy. You've seen her hairstyle and the posters on the walls. What you think?"
"Oh" He pulls out the guitar. "Urn, name some of her songs."
Hangin' On,' `Someday We'll Be Together.' " He shrugs. Oh, "'Baby Love,' `Come See About Me,' `You Keep Me Lord, this child is so young. " `You Can't Hurry Love'?"
He strums a chord. "Does it go something like `I need somethin', somethin' to grease my mind'?"
Not even close. "Yes"
"Know that one"
"Let's hope so "
I step back and motion for Diana. Kevin taps the back of the guitar to simulate the opening drum beat ... then plays the hell out of that song. By the middle of the song, Diana is humming along and eventually doing a little lip-synch in front of her mirror with a brush for a microphone, one arm spread wide like her namesake. Kevin has just gotten himself a job.
Kevin finishes. Diana drops the brush into her smock pocket and turns from the mirror. "Um, that was pretty good, Kevin."
"Pretty good?" I say. "Boy has that song down, girl."
"You know `I Hear A Symphony,' Kevin?"
Kevin shakes his head. "Nah." I clear my throat. "I mean, no, ma'am. But I'll go home tonight and have Mama teach me. She got a crate of old forty-fives"
I raise my eyebrows to Diana. "He got a good ear, girl."
Diana scrunches up her lips, rolls her eyes, and sighs. "Okay. Be here when we open tomorrow, eight o'clock sharp. But wear a hat, okay?"
"Diana!" I shout.
Kevin laughs. "No, it's aw-ite. I understand."
"And any tips you get ..." She pauses and looks at me. I shake my head slowly. She had tried to pull the same shit on me when I first started, telling me that we were gonna split all tips. I had to set her straight with the same slow shake of the head. Diana sighs. "And any tips you get you can keep, provided you sweep up, do some cleaning, take out the trash, that kind of thing, and you better not be late, and you better not be high."
I won't be" He packs up his guitar and stands. "Anything else?"
"Just one more thing," Diana says, staring at the floor. "If, um, if it's too cold out there, you're welcome to play in here" Diana can be nice? I didn't know she had it in her. "But no weird shit."
He smiles. "What you consider weird?"
"Weird is any song no one here has ever heard, like any song after nineteen seventy-five, and definitely no country."
"Geez, Diana," I say, "you think anyone who come in here gonna request them some country?" Besides Dewey.
She shrugs. "Who knows? We got us some scary customers, right? Hell, we might even be gettin' us some white customers now. Because of Kevin, we gettin' right she-she"
"She-she?" Kevin says to me. "What's she-she?"
"It's Diana's word for chic," I say. He shrugs. "Means we're getting fashionable, cool, hip, far out"
"Oh" He starts for the door and turns. "So it'll be okay if I play some James Brown, then?"
"Oh, I don't know about him," Diana says. "Our clients might get too wild, throw out a hip or two"
"Well, James Brown is pretty cool, hip, and far out, isn't he?" Kevin is catching on fast.
"We'll see," Diana says. "Long as you play whatever you play slow and slower. Don't want to set off any pacemakers"
"Okay."
I walk Kevin outside, and the wind doesn't feel as cold as it did before. Something about doing nice things for people makes cold days warmer. He turns to me and shakes his head. "I don't know how you did it, but ... thanks, Mrs. Borum"
"Don't thank me, Kevin. Thank the Giver of the gift" I point to the sky, and Kevin nods. "You go on home and learn them forty-fives now."
"I will."
"And you get to church, hear? Want to see you up in that balcony watching me play."
"Sure. Mama would like that."
I give him a hug. "So would I" I hold him in front of me. "Maybe we can work up a duet for a service."
"I don't know."
"Think about it. God likes to hear you play, too." It's at this very moment that I decide to play at Junie's wedding. I mean, here's Kevin, a struggling musician with a gift he has trouble giving because his brain's still healing, a guitar player who has no place to play. I don't have any trouble playing, and I have a steady place to play. And I'd like to thi
nk that God likes to hear me play, too.
"Thanks again, Mrs. Borum"
He turns to go, and I get another idea. "You know `The Wedding Song,' Kevin?"
"I think sometimes it's called `There Is Love.' Your mama might know it. Work on it for me"
"Who's gettin' married?"
"My ex-husband, Mr. Borum."
He blinks. "Damn. A whole bunch of shit happened while I was gone"
"You're tellin' me"
"So that's why you're, uh," he says, pointing at Diana's.
"Yeah"
"Pays pretty good?"
"Enough. And I tell you what. I'll try to make the wedding a paying gig for you. You do that right in front of a whole bunch of people, you might be playing at weddings for a long time."
"Hmm" He scratches at his chin. "Be nice to play in front of a packed house" He smiles, nods, and walks toward the corner of Diana's, turning down the alley as Naomi pulls up in her car for her weekly lunch-hour edge-up and gossip session.
"Wasn't that Kevin?" she says as she gets out of her car.
"Yep
She follows me in and sits in my chair. "How you doin', Diana?"
"Fine, Naomi, fine" She laughs. "Ruth tell you what we gonna start doing?"
Naomi looks at me as I drape a gown over her. "Please tell me y'all are gonna start doin' pedicures."
I shudder. "I ain't gonna do no one's crusty toes"
"My toes ain't crusty!" Naomi shouts. One thing I've noticed about Naomi: whenever she comes into Diana's, she talks just like everybody else. Something about this salon that makes folks more real or something, like they can let down their hair while they're gettin' their hair done. Either that or college-educated Naomi just wants to fit in with the likes of us lowly high school graduates.
"If I do your stank toes, Naomi, I gotta do everybody's stank toes, and that just ain't in my job description, is it, Diana?"
Diana doesn't answer right away. Oh shit, she's thinking about it. "I don't know, Ruth. Maybe we ought to start. I mean, now that we got us some live music, maybe doin' toes won't be so bad"
"Yeah, they'll be toe tappin' to Kevin, then spreadin' that funk on me. No thank you"
Naomi grabs my arm. "Kevin's gonna play here?"
"Starting tomorrow morning."