by Lisa Braxton
“I should call Max,” Sydney said. “He might want me to report on this, talk to people, take some photos.”
He climbed back in. “If Max wants you over there, he’ll call you. We’re not going to have many moments like this for a while. Let’s enjoy them while we can.” He moved behind her and soaped her back to calm her down. “Baby, let’s not worry about what’s going on over there right now. He kissed the back of her neck and teased her earlobe with his tongue. “We’ve got our hands full with the bookstore. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
CHAPTER 21
OMAR STOOD on Liberty Hill Boulevard with his back to Rhythm and Blues Record Shop. He focused his bleary eyes on the activity at the bookstore across the street. A man was painting a slogan in gold on the inside of the large display window. So far it read, All Power to the….” It had been a tiring night. He had performed solo at an after-hours club in downtown Bellport and got home just before sunrise. Since Natalie moved out a month ago, he’d had plenty of time to perform. He’d begun filling more of his time with bookings. He set them up himself. He felt it made sense for him to book gigs without including Khadim. Omar had ambitions for where he wanted to go with his music, whereas Khadim was content to be a small-town drummer.
He felt the prickle of goose bumps on his arms. Since it was Indian summer, he didn’t anticipate the day being so breezy or cool.
He knew it would be much more pleasant for him inside the bookstore, but he decided to linger outside just in case Della came out of the apartment building. When they talked on the phone a few days ago, she said that this would be about the time she’d be leaving home for her classes at Bellport Community College.
The evening a few weeks ago at Le Baobab, they had talked for more than an hour after his performance. Della was the first person he felt comfortable sharing his feelings with about Natalie deserting him. Della understood his broken heart. Della let him talk without interruption and at one point rubbed the back of his hand and, in her Arkansas drawl, whispered Bible verses to lift his low spirits.
He’d learned enough about Della to know that she too had had troubles with her boyfriend, Kwamé.
“People.” That was the final word of the slogan. “All Power to the People.” Omar watched the man come outside to admire his work. He then went over to the speakers to position them at proper angles. The announcer on the soul station was introducing a selection by The Fierce Warriors, “Time to Agitate.” It amazed him how accepting the country had become of African drumming since he first came to the United States. Now, few people mocked it as “jungle music,” as some of his classmates had at Howard.
“Omar?”
He turned around. It was Della. She was coming out of the door next to the record shop.
“I thought that was you,” she said, smiling.
He liked the way her clothes fit her, the fabric of her blouse clinging to her large breasts and hips. He eyed her cleavage, then looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked. “Did you just come out of the record shop?”
“I saw the advertisement about the grand opening and thought I would go.”
“But why are you over here? The grand opening’s over there.” She gestured in the direction of the porch. “I see Malachi’s putting the finishing touches on the display window. That’s nice.”
Omar was mildly flustered. He didn’t want her to know he’d been standing there hoping to run into her. “I am here to get air. I know it will be stuffy inside with so many people.”
She stepped closer to him. “Malachi and Sydney might get a packed house. I know a lot of people are gonna come see The Fierce Warriors. I wish I could go, but I’ve got a class to get to.” She reached into her satchel, pulled a file folder halfway out, looked at a sheet of paper, and then put it back. “But my daughter will be there.”
He smiled, thinking about the impromptu jam session he’d had with Jasmine, Kofi, and Anamara at Le Baobab. “Your daughter is a natural talent. Most children her age cannot keep up with the beat that well.”
Della’s eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t believe it when she walked up to you to watch you play. I held my breath when you let her get on the drums. I thought she would try it for a minute and then start acting up, but she actually liked it. The drumming calmed her down. If we didn’t have no other tenants in the building, I’d get her a drum set and let her play all day.”
He told her about the drumming institute he and Mustapha wanted to open.
“That is exactly what we need in Bellport. The kids around here have dancing school and basketball, but don’t get to play instruments. You will get your drumming institute. You are a natural teacher. I saw how patient you were with your little cousins and Jasmine. You have a real gift.”
During all his time with Natalie, she had never appreciated his ambition and talent. She referred to “the art of drumming,” in a derisive tone. She saw it as an obstacle to his earning “real money,” as she called it.
“If we can keep the city from taking the building, Uncle and I will open the institute. Jasmine will be our first student.”
“No,” she pointed at his chest. “Even if the building is taken, you must open your institute. Don’t let what’s going on in Petite Africa stop you. Kids will benefit from this. You can find another building in Bellport if you have to.”
“You are very enthusiastic,” he said.
She looked at her watch. “I have to get downtown. But I wanted to thank you again for sending that glass of wine over to my table and talking to me.”
“You do not have to thank me.”
“I was having a really hard time. You made me feel better.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “I enjoyed our talk, and our talks since that talk.”
She seemed to become shy, glancing away from him to look at the sidewalk. “Me, too,” she said finally.
He called after her as she turned to walk down the street. “Will you come back?”
She turned around, a smile forming on her face.
“To my uncle’s restaurant, I am performing for the dinner crowd tomorrow.”
She slowly nodded. “Maybe. I’ll try.”
As Della walked away, Omar thought about what he had wanted to tell her: that he was the one who had founded The Fierce Warriors when he was a freshman at Howard University and he was also the one who had come up with their original name, The Wolof Warriors, after his tribal affiliation. Also, that he taught the group members to drum, including classmate Henry Nims, who he wrote lyrics with, and that he helped Henry choose his stage name, Hideki Baruka.
But now would not have been the right time to tell Della those things. He would wait until he got to know her better, if he got to know her better.
Omar touched the hardened leather pouch around his neck, the gris gris the marabout had given him in Senegal years ago. He breathed out heavily. The leather was as stiff as a dried gourd but still intact. If things went as he hoped, he would soon be joining The Fierce Warriors. He corrected himself—actually reuniting with what was originally his group and getting the recording contract that was rightfully his.
Omar reached into his pants pocket and unfolded the crumpled leaflet about the grand opening. He checked his watch. It was well past noon. The place seemed large, but more and more people kept going in.
It was time he got on with what he came to do—reunite not only with The Fierce Warriors but also with Hideki. He looked again at the lettering on the large display window. All Power to the People. He held onto that thought as he stepped off the curb.
CHAPTER 22
“AUNTIE SYD, you can come to my tea party?”
“Yes, Jasmine. As soon as I’m done taking these pictures.”
Dressed in a hot pink tutu and bright blue tights, the child pretended to pour tea from her plastic te
apot into the large, black case for Sydney’s light kit. “I want you to play now.”
“Be patient, dear,” said Bernadine. She was seated on a stool in a stylish pale orange pantsuit, her eyes facing the camera and body turned away slightly as Sydney had instructed. “Let your Auntie Syd finish what she’s doing.”
Jasmine looked up and squinted at the bright studio lights and then ran into the darkroom.
“You need to stay out here with us,” Sydney shouted. “There are chemicals in there that can make you very, very sick.”
“Okay,” Jasmine responded in a faint voice.
Sydney had her mother posed in front of a cobalt blue drape, one of many backdrops that Lawrence had fashioned out of curtains for her.
Bernadine and Martin had arrived two hours earlier for the grand opening. Sydney offered to take some headshots her mother could use for the directory her social club was putting together. Sydney enjoyed having this time with Bernadine. With the hours she’d be putting in preparing the bookstore with Malachi, and writing freelance articles and taking photos for Max, she knew she’d scarcely have moments like this in the future. “I just need a few more shots, and I’ll have enough for a package,” Sydney said, peering through the view finder.
She admired her mother’s ability to style her hair so that every strand was in the right place. With her regular clients, she had to tamp down, spray, or tuck away stray hairs from view.
“Does she want to come to the tea party?” Jasmine pointed at Bernadine as she skipped across the room to where Sydney stood.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Bernadine responded without moving an inch. “Just give us a few more minutes, dear.”
Jasmine dragged an old tablecloth across the room that Sydney had let her play with and spread it out. “How come there’s black paper on the windows?”
“Because we’re in a photo studio,” replied Sydney. “We have to keep sunlight out.” She adjusted the height of the camera to photograph her mother from a different angle for the last few shots.
“Why do we have to keep the sun out?”
“So we can have the lighting the way we want it for the pictures.” Sydney clicked off the studio lights, folded up the reflector, and took it, along with the camera, into the darkroom. Bernadine followed her.
“You’re really patient with her,” Bernadine said in a low voice so Jasmine wouldn’t hear.
“Haven’t had a problem with her. Maybe because I make peanut butter treats with her when I babysit—peanut butter cake, peanut butter cookies. I’ve never seen a child who loves peanuts so much.”
Sydney had been babysitting Jasmine since Della decided to take classes at Bellport Community College.
Bernadine smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. You have a way with children.”
Sydney put the reflector in a cabinet under the sink and popped out the roll of film, stacking it with others on the counter. She reloaded the camera with a roll of thirty-six exposures for The Fierce Warriors’ performance. Max had assigned her to take some shots. “But I worry about her. She grinds her teeth. She was doing that last night when I went in to check on her.”
“Obviously something’s bothering the poor child. Della’s never said what it was?”
“Not really. She did say she had a traumatic marriage and her husband died, but nothing more.”
“I’m sure you being there for Della, babysitting Jasmine, means a lot to her. You’re a good friend. You encouraged her to go back to school.”
“I remember how much it meant to you when Mrs. Rusnak babysat me so you could go to school.”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Rusnak.” Bernadine smiled and looked off in the distance. “What a sweet lady. If not for her, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t have met Martin. We wouldn’t have our beautiful home. I couldn’t have afforded to send you to Whittington University.”
“So I realize how important it is to be there for someone who needs a babysitter so she can go to school.”
When they left the darkroom, they found Jasmine with her cups and saucers arranged on the tablecloth on the floor for a tea party.
“What on earth is that?” Bernadine wrinkled her nose in reaction to a high-pitched squealing sound. “Sounds like somebody’s dying.”
“It must be the clothesline out back. I need to get Malachi to take it down.”
“Nearly scared me to death,” Bernadine exclaimed. She went to the back window. I don’t think it’s the clothesline. It sounds like it’s coming from inside the house.”
“It’s a witch!” shouted Jasmine. “A wicked witch.”
“I’ve gotten so used to it that I don’t even notice it anymore,” Sydney said.
“Is the witch gonna put a spell on us?” asked Jasmine.
“Don’t worry about it dear,” replied Bernadine in a soothing voice. “I’m sure we’ll be okay.”
They all got on the floor in a cross-legged sitting position. Jasmine handed them their teacups. “Auntie Syd, what’s a grand open?” she asked, while pretending to fill their cups with tea.
“A grand opening. It’s a celebration that people have when a business opens for the first time. It’s a big party.”
“A party?” Jasmine’s eyes grew wide. “Like my tea party?”
“Kind of,” Bernadine answered.
“Can I go?”
“Yes, you can go,” Sydney agreed.
“Will there be cake?”
“Yes, there will be cake.”
“Ooh! And ice cream?”
“And ice cream,” Bernadine replied.
“Peanut ice cream?”
“You have to go to Petite Africa for that,” Sydney said.
The three of them ‘sipped’ their tea and ‘munched’ on cookies.
After a while, Jasmine asked, “Will other boys and girls be there?”
Sydney glanced at her mother.
Bernadine laughed. “There’s nothing more precious than a child who has a lot of questions, Sydney. This is good practice for you.”
“Point taken.” Sydney placed her teacup on her saucer. “Remember Uncle Mustapha?”
Jasmine nodded.
“He promised that he would bring his grandchildren, Kofi and Anamara, as soon as the doors open, so you’ll see them in a little while.”
“Will Mommy be there?”
“No,” Sydney responded. “Your mommy has tests to take at school.”
“I have tests, too.”
“You’re in school already?” Bernadine teased.
Jasmine nodded. “Kindergarten.”
“So you know how important this is to your mommy,” Bernadine asked.
“Why is Mommy’s test so long? Is it really big?”
“Your mother is studying for something very important,” Sydney responded. “It takes months and months to study for all the tests, and then she has a big test at the end.”
Sydney glanced at her watch. “We need to change your clothes, Jasmine.”
“I can do it all by myself,” the child announced.
“Good!” Bernadine exclaimed. “Now go on and get ready so we can all go downstairs.”
Sydney haphazardly stacked the saucers and cups on the tablecloth while Jasmine ran down the hall.
Bernadine looked at her watch. “Martin said he’d come up before long, but that was more than half an hour ago.”
“He probably got into a conversation with Malachi and Kwamé.”
Bernadine chuckled. “Politics, I’m sure. We should be able to stay for a few hours. We’ll definitely stay long enough to hear The Fierce Warriors’ performance.”
Sydney stopped what she was doing. “You know about The Fierce Warriors?”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Of course. I’ve seen them on TV. Your father has a couple of t
heir albums. We don’t live under a rock, you know.”
Sydney put the tea set back in its box.
“I’ve been telling all of my friends how you worked so hard to book them,” Bernadine continued.
“I can’t take all the credit. The Taylors helped.”
Bernadine folded the tablecloth and took it into the kitchen. “They sound like interesting people, world travelers, rubbing elbows with famous people.”
“And they taught at the École Bilingual International sometime in the mid-sixties.”
Bernadine slowly came out of the pantry staring at Sydney. “What a coincidence. That’s the same school that Guy was teaching mathematics at back then.”
Sydney had forgotten that her stepbrother taught there. “Maybe they all know each other.”
“Could be. We’ll have to ask.”
Bernadine walked back through the living room to the window facing the street. “I’m proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”
Sydney joined her. “Thank you, Mother, but what’s brought this on?”
“Moving to the other side of the state to live in a city like Bellport, postponing your career plans for your husband’s dream. You’ve made some tough decisions, mature decisions.”
Sydney blinked back tears. “It means so much to hear that from you.”
Bernadine sighed. “I did the same thing for your father when we first got married. I worked while he went to law school.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I guess we never talked about it. After you came along and he started his career, we didn’t look back on that time much. But it was all worth it.”
When they got to the first floor, Jasmine joined Kwamé in the reading room, where he was handing stacks of leaflets about the opening to some of Malachi’s former students to give to passersby on the street. Sydney and Bernadine found Martin and Malachi at the large display window looking over a slogan Malachi had painted in gold using stencils.
In the hallway, Lawrence stood guard over the Ronald Bridgewaters paintings hanging on the walls.