by Unknown
“What’s there to think about? Mary and I would be happy to take you to each audition when the time comes. Which I know will be soon if you just go for it.”
“I’m not sure I want to put that kind of pressure on myself—or put myself out there, for that matter.”
“Look, kid, life is about putting yourself out there. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t done exactly that when my Mary came along. You can’t stop the bad stuff from happening by putting yourself in a bubble. And staying in a bubble keeps the good stuff from getting in as well. In life, you take the good with the bad and you make lemonade. That voice of yours is a pitcher that wasn’t designed to just sit in a cabinet and look pretty. It was made to help you serve up that lemonade.”
I walk over and hug him. “You truly are amazing, Jack. I don’t know where or how you come up with your illustrations, but I love you so much for sharing them with me.”
“I love you, too, kid, but enough of this hugging stuff,” Jack says while acting like he’s wiping my hug off his shirt. “I can’t have everyone here thinking they can get a hug off this old man as well.”
“Then I would get jealous,” Mary says as she walks in. “Why does everyone want to hug my man?”
“No one wants to hug me except you, dear.”
Mary gives Jack the side-eye, so he blows a kiss at her.
“Mýa was just telling me that Michael is going to help her find out if one of these jazz restaurants is looking for a singer.”
“I said that I would think about it, remember?”
“I thought you said that you loved my illustration of the pitcher?”
“I did, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to pull that pitcher out of the cabinet just yet.”
“I think you should at least see if any opportunities exist out there,” Mary says as she moves next to Jack, the two of them presenting a united front.
I try not to laugh at the picture they make. “Are you two ganging up on me?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.
“Of course not. Think of this as giving you the push that you need,” Mary says in a motherly tone.
“What happens if I find something and they want to hire me? I don’t think I could ever leave here.”
“Mýa, you’ve got too much talent for this old pancake house. As soon as you land a job as a singer, you’re fired. I mean that!”
“Jack, you aren’t really going to fire me, are you?”
“The very day the ink is dry, you’re out of here,” Jack says with a stern look on his face.
I look at Mary, who is nodding her head in agreement. “But I love working here with you and Mary.”
“Mýa, honey, what Jack is saying is that we want something better for you. Right, Jack?”
“You can put it to her however you want. I said what I said, and I meant what I said.”
I have never seen Jack so determined, but I know that his firmness is coming from the right place, so I decide not to argue about the subject any longer. “Okay, Jack. If I find something, I’ll quit. But for the record, it has to pay me way more than what I make here.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” Mary says.
Jack gives her a stern look, but Mary blows him a playful kiss. I grin as I watch the two of them.
“Let’s get to work so our Mýa here doesn’t have to wear an apron for the rest of her life,” Jack says, clapping his hands together.
Mary and I can’t help but laugh as he opens up the front doors like he’s in a hurry all of a sudden.
Chapter Seventeen
I’m plumb tired as I glance at the clock and see that it’s almost seven. The Goodwill bag that holds my outfit for the evening—a cute little black and pink summer dress with thick shoulder straps—is still where I threw it the moment I walked in the door of my apartment.
I need some motivation to get myself moving, so I put a Minnie Riperton record on and allow the words of “Loving You” to breathe new energy into my bones as I head to the shower.
Four songs later, my head is still bobbing as I slip on my dress and slide into a pair of black flats. I slap a little water and mousse in my hair to give it some curl action, and then quickly dab on some gold glitter eye shadow. Checking myself out in the mirror, I feel a little overdressed for a movie. But time isn’t on my side, and neither is a pair of clean jeans.
Michael knocks at the door, and I immediately wish I had washed the load of laundry neatly piled in the corner of my bedroom like I was supposed to over the weekend. Let Jack tell it, I was too busy having a boyfriend and falling in love.
Is Jack right? Can I see Love Lane just up ahead?
I inhale deeply and then open the door. “Hi, there. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“You look great. But is everything okay? You seem a little winded.”
“Sorry, I found myself rushing there at the end,” I say, admiring his tailored black pants, white collared shirt, and black tie. “You look nice.”
“Here, let me help you catch your breath,” he says, sweeping me into his arms and placing a kiss on my lips.
“That kiss didn’t help,” I say as I struggle to gain my composure.
“Just trying to do my part.”
“I’m sure.”
“I can always try again.”
He moves to pull me close again, but I hold out my hand. “We don’t have time for that if we’re going to make it on time.” I see the disappointment on his face and smile. “Do you think this dress is too much for a movie?”
“I like it, but why don’t we get dinner instead of a movie? That way, you won’t feel overdressed, and I won’t feel bad that I didn’t get a chance to change out of this shirt and tie before heading over here.”
“I like the shirt and tie.”
“Then I’m glad I had to keep them on.” He steps over the threshold, and I realize that it’s the first time he’s seen my barely furnished apartment. I follow his eyes as they move around my small space. “We always meet downstairs, but it’s nice to see that you live on the basics just like me.”
“I know it’s not much.”
“It’s more than I had when I rented my first apartment, trust me,” he says as I grab my purse.
I love how he seems to know how to make me feel better, make me feel like I’m normal. “One day, I’m going to buy a sofa and put some paint on the walls,” I say, closing the door behind us.
“Yeah, I told myself that, too, when I moved into my place in Midtown. Hasn’t happened yet.”
The light laughter that fills the air between us feels so natural. As we walk toward Michael’s car, I look up and see that the stars are enjoying the picture of us just as much as I am.
“Why don’t we stop at Marco’s first and then get dinner?” Michael suggests as he opens my car door.
“I didn’t realize they were open during the week,” I say as I slide in.
“They are. At least, that’s what my buddy David told me,” Michael says as he starts the car up.
“He and his wife just had a baby, right?”
“A boy. They named him Justin Montgomery Myers.”
“He sounds important already.”
“Doesn’t he?”
“I know they can’t be more excited.”
“David is on me because I haven’t had the chance to see him yet. But I reminded him that Michelle and the baby just came home yesterday, and I wanted to give them all some bonding time before I took over his love, being the uncle and all.”
I laugh. “Why don’t we go together?”
“Are you serious? That would be great. I’ll call David as soon as I can and make the arrangements. He and Michelle have been eager to meet you, too, so that would be perfect.”
As I look out the window, I see my life flashing by. I see myself smiling. I see myself happy. T
hings that I have never seen as possibilities before are now as clear as the stoplights that we encounter. And I have to admit that it all scares me.
Does someone like me deserve to be this happy?
“You okay over there?” Michael’s voice breaks into my reverie. “You aren’t nervous about meeting David and Michelle, are you? Don’t be. They are both the most down-to-earth people I know, and they’re probably the closest thing to family that I have.”
I lean my head back against my seat. “It’s not that,” I say, briefly glancing over at him.
“Okay, then tell me what’s got you staring out that window with such seriousness.”
“This is just strange, that’s all. I mean, for the last four years, it’s been just me. Well, me, Jack and Mary.”
“You never dated anyone after that thirty-five-year-old?”
“Don’t say it like that,” I say, tapping him jokingly on the shoulder.
“Okay, let me rephrase that. You never dated anyone else before working for Jack?”
“After that thirty-five-year-old died, I was…I was…unavailable.”
“Emotionally?”
“In every way, really.”
“So, you really loved him?”
“He helped me get out of a very dark period in my life.”
“You mean when you lived on the street after your mother died?”
“Yeah.”
“But did you love him?”
“I was eighteen. What eighteen-year-old really knows what love is? Well, I take that back. Jack was eighteen when he met Mary, and he swears that he fell in love with her after only six dates.”
“You don’t think that’s possible?” he asks.
“You sound like you do.”
“Some people don’t believe in love at first sight. Some people believe do. As for me, I believe that when it comes to love—real love—anything is possible.”
I scoot over and place my head on his shoulder.
“Your hair smells nice.”
“It’s the mousse.”
“Then I love the mousse.”
Was that his way of saying that he’s already on Love Lane?
Chapter Eighteen
“It’s not packed tonight,” I say as the hostess leads Michael and I to a table by the stage.
“It’s still a good crowd, and the band is playing some good music,” Michael says as we take our seats.
“I wonder if they do spoken word during the week?” I ask after we’ve placed our drink order.
“I believe it’s open mic tonight, so anyone can perform.”
“Nice. That means that we’ll get to hear some of the locals,” I say as the waitress places our drinks on the table and I take a quick survey of the crowd and notice that most of them have on business attire. “There are a lot of shirts and ties tonight.”
Michael glances around the room. “I’m sure people come here after work for happy hour. This is Midtown, after all.”
I nod as a gregarious man with a brown short-brimmed hat, smooth chocolate skin, and wide set eyes steps up on the stage.
“Is there a Mýa in the audience tonight?” he asks.
Michael’s hand shoots up in the air, and he begins pointing at me directly over my head to get the announcer’s attention.
What in the world? Why is he pointing at me and how does that man on the stage know my name?
“What’s going on?” I ask nervously.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s come to our attention that this beautiful lady can blow. So, we need all of you out there to clap until she agrees to come up here and show us how it’s done. Rumor has it that she might be shy.”
The audience doesn’t hesitate to comply. As the clapping starts to pick up speed, I shoot Michael an annoyed look, but he keeps his eyes on the stage.
He must have already learned from Jack how to ignore my looks.
“Okay, she’s not moving, so that means that we all have to clap harder.”
Again, the audience doesn’t hesitate to comply, and neither does Michael as he joins in.
When the pressure of it all finally gets to me, I stand up and slowly make my way to the stage.
“What are you going to sing for us tonight?” the announcer asks when I’m standing next to him.
Oh my. I glance over at Michael. I can’t believe this is really happening. I’m going to kill that man of mine. What in the world am I suppose to sing?
“How about Billie Holiday?” I ask as I turn my attention back to the announcer. “I can sing ‘Our Love Is Here to Stay.’”
“Great choice. I’ll let you get to it,” the announcer says, and then makes his way off the stage.
I clear my throat as the lights dim, pray my nerves will behave themselves, and wrap my fingers around the microphone. A few seconds later, the saxophonist leads me in, and the melody he belts out overpowers me, overpowers my nerves and even my moment of anger over being put on the spot like this.
By the time the drums chime in, I feel like I’m fourteen years old again, standing in front of Mama. I can see her holding a glass of wine in her hand, as she often did on Sunday nights. “Sing for me, baby,” she would urge. “Let me hear that beautiful voice that takes all my sorrow away.”
I would wait for Mama to close her eyes and then I would open my mouth and allow the lyrics to surge out of me like they were on a mission—a mission to drive away everything that pained her. It was a pain that she never spoke about, but one I could always feel hidden under the tears that she never wanted me to see her shed.
Tears that her Vaseline couldn’t wipe away, pain that it couldn’t heal.
I often wondered if the pain and the tears were because of him—the father that I never knew. Did she love him so much that the pain of losing him made it impossible to utter his name? Or did he hurt her so bad that the thought of him did the same? I imagine it was both. It had to be.
Will I experience the same heartbreak?
Opening my eyes after I end the song, tears sting my eyes and beg me to let them fall. But as I look over at Michael and hear the applause from the crowd, the lights come back on and I’m thankful that for once, I don’t feel the need to honor their request.
“Ladies and gentlemen, her boyfriend was right. This little lady can blow!” the announcer says.
Chapter Nineteen
“I’m going to kill you for that,” I say as I sit back down and use my napkin to dab the corners of my eyes.
“It wasn’t meant to make you cry. I’m so sorry,” Michael says as he hands me his napkin, too.
I see the genuine concern on his face and quickly reassure him as I place my napkin back on the table. “It’s not you. I don’t know why, but for some reason, that song reminded me of when I used to sing for my mother.”
“I wish I could have met her. I bet she was as beautiful as you are.”
“She was beautiful. Her smile was infectious.”
“So that’s where you get it from.”
I can feel myself blushing. There he goes again, making me feel better. “So, you had this all planned? There was no going to the movies?” I ask as I take a sip of my now watered-down martini.
“Guilty, but know that I lied out of the sincerity of my heart,” Michael says while trying to look as innocent as possible.
“Sincerity of your heart, huh?”
“Look, you needed to know how good you really are. That way, you’d feel more comfortable and confident when the time came to step into a studio or to sing more than one song on a stage. I figured the best way to do that was to let people who had no connection to you tell you so.”
“An unbiased option: that’s what this was?” I ask, amused at how well-thought-out his plan was and secretly loving the fact that he did it all for me.
“Did it work?�
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I lean back slightly in my chair and look around, avoiding his eye. “Yeah, it worked.”
“That’s all a man can ask for,” Michael says with a chuckle as the announcer comes over to our table and pulls up a chair.
“Hey, I’m Marco,” he says as he holds out his hand for me to shake.
I take it, glancing at Michael and wondering if this was something else that he planned. If he had anything to do with it, nothing in his expression gives him away.
“I’ll get straight to why I came over,” Marco says as he pulls his chair closer to the table. “The band needs a female voice, and after what I heard tonight, I think you would be a perfect fit.”
“I already have a job.”
“Yeah, your boyfriend told me that you were a waitress when he called. That can’t be getting it done,” Marco says matter-of-factly. “With a voice like that, you deserve to be making more. I’m talking real dollars each week.”
“How much more?” Michael asks.
“What, you’re her manager now?”
“Just looking out for her best interest, that’s all,” Michael quickly says. I continue to sit there quietly, trying to get a grasp on what is happening and why.
“I get it. If Mýa here were my lady, I’d do the same. But don’t worry, every member in that band up there will tell you that I’m fair and that I’m not looking to take advantage of anyone. I want the American dream—a thriving business—and I know we can make that happen. Her voice will keep the tables packed,” Marcos says enthusiastically as he turns his attention back to me. “Not that we’re not doing good now. You feel me? But with you, we could take this thing to a whole new level. That means everyone will be making money. You get where I’m coming from?”
“I understand,” I say.
“Proper little thing. I like it. But in all seriousness, I see this as a win-win for each of us.”
“You still didn’t tell her how much you are offering,” Michael says as he leans over the table and takes my hand in his. “You need to give her something to think about.”
Marco nods his head in agreement. “A businessman after my own heart. Okay. Here’s the scoop. I’ll pay you three hundred a night. That’s nine hundred a week to perform weekends only—Friday through Sunday. Plus, you’ll get some of the band’s tips. That could easily be another hundred or two. So, now we’re talking $3,600 or more in your pocket each month. I know you’re not pulling that kind of money as a waitress. Am I right?”