The Rhythm of Blues

by Love Belvin

  Within an hour and a half, my apartment was cleared and I was left with the next set of instructions, which included my hair appointment and packing my apartment up for a moving company to ship its contents off to my new home.

  New home…

  Unreal. But it was all for that damn Van, who owed me big and who I owed a major ass-kicking.

  “Oh, here he is,” Heather called as I walked into the private room at DiFillippo’s in Hackensack.

  Myisha, sitting next to her, was gulping back a martini as I approached the table.

  “My bad. I had a session in the City that turned into a business meeting.” I pulled the seat back to sit.

  “Yeah, with Young Lord, I hear,” Heather shared, her fingers interlaced, giving me her full attention.

  “She tell you that?” I asked.

  There was a glass of brown juice at my place setting. I figured Myisha ordered it for me as they were waiting. After settling in my seat, I took a refreshing sip.

  “She tells me lots.” Heather was smug with it.

  “Enough to get her ass replaced.” I went for a second nip, not waiting for the burn from the first to subside.

  “No,” she cocked her head to the side. That’s when I noticed her hair was freshly styled. She wore an off-white blouse, and I bet she even had on heels. Her jewelry was faint except for the long Chanel pearl necklace I copped her for her last birthday. Heather even rocked a little bit of makeup, which was way more than she typically did. “Enough to inform me you got a girlfriend.”

  “How long you two been together?” I asked Myisha.

  Myisha’s timid eyes went to Heather as she nibbled a piece of bread. “Since this afternoon. I took her to MeMe’s shop.” Myisha shrugged then caught the attention of the waiter for another drink.

  MeMe was one of My’s many girls, a cosmetologist. That confirmed Heather’s makeup. Myisha loved playing dress up.

  “So, are you going to tell me about this arranged girlfriend?”

  “Are you going to tell me your husband’s good with you being out this late?” I challenged, deflecting. “He putting the babies down, too?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Chi-Chi’s over, helping out.”

  Her niece, Chic-Chi, was likely doing everything while the kids’ father, Antwan, waited for Heather to get home. He wasn’t crazy about her having dinner with her ex-boyfriend—that part, I understood. The shenanigans in their marriage, I didn’t. It was sad but not my business. Heather made her decision to marry Antwan right after graduating from Felician. She wanted the American dream and the players didn’t matter; the appearance did.

  The waiter stopped in and took our orders; I was grateful for the distraction. Heather was a good friend of mine, a close confidant. But there were some things I couldn’t share with her about this business, especially things I knew in my heart were wrong.

  “The girlfriend?” Heather forged ahead once the waiter took off.

  “…ain’t nothing we’ll be discussing.” I wanted to be firm.

  “It’s cute, if you ask me. She’s really sweet—nice, and smart,” Myisha cooed with a wistful gleam in her eyes. “She’s a bittersweet concoction similar to Raj. She’s sharp as a tack and’ll sneak up on you with seven-syllable words when she’s mad or uncomfortable. But when calm, will have you entertained with her sense of humor and wit.” Then she looked my way. “But you aren’t witty. Not as quick as her.” She balled her mouth as her drink was being placed in front of her. “She’s stressed the fuck out, but hey! We gone make it.”

  Is she…tipsy? Already?

  Suddenly, I wondered how long had they been waiting on me.

  “Where’s your next show?” Heather asked.

  “Toronto,” I answered, remembering I just began a twenty-five-stop national tour when this ploy was about to go down. My international leg would kick off just after the new year. I was tired, and honestly…dismayed.

  “You going, Myisha?” Heather asked while going for bread and butter.

  Myisha shook her head. “Myisha gots other work to do on behalf of one Ragee McKinnon.” Her shoulders lifted and eyes shrank as she smiled. “I have a cousin-in-law in the works. More girl power in our camp.”

  Was she good with this? Myisha didn’t do well with people getting close to me; men and women alike. She hated Mike Brown and how he went about business. This was the riskiest task of them all—well, one of them.

  “Is she cute, My?” Heather elbowed my cousin affectionately.

  I knew this Heather. She was jealous. That stressed me out even more. The last thing I needed was my childhood friend jealous of something that wasn’t even real. I hadn’t even met ol’ girl.

  A phone rang at the table, everyone checked for theirs, including me.

  “Hang on.” Myisha lifted an index as she stood from the table. “That’s my future cousin-in-law. I have to set up a time to move her into the apartment.”

  Yeah, she was definitely lit. Myisha was talking too much and about a topic that burned on my tongue and mind. Crazy thing was, Myisha used the in-law title jokingly, though it was true.

  “Move her into whose apartment?” Heather’s face was tight and mouth balled in anger.

  Myisha had a room at all my cribs. Not only was she my assistant, she was family. We were crazy tight and had been since she could dress and cook for herself. She could fend for herself with what I paid her, but we seemed to have rolled together on everything. Heather, I had known for just about the same amount of time, with her being my age. Had been in my world just as long and knew damn well the only apartment Myisha could have been referring to was mine.”

  “What’s going on here?” her voice was emotionally low.

  “Life,” I offered, before taking another sip from my Mauve.

  Heather, understanding I wasn’t the type of man to argue about a single detail of my life, took a deep breath. “I was happy when Myisha said she could set up this dinner.” Her eyes were to the table. “Something has been churning in my spirit, Raj.” I knew that language. Heather and I grew up together in the same church. We spoke the same language when it came to faith. Also, Heather had a strong spiritual gift of discernment. When she sniffed out a bone, she’d chew until it was demolished.

  “There’s a season of change coming. Signs have been all around. Several people have confirmed it at the church, saying how God has been speaking it to them. Look at this thing with forty-five. He’s getting bolder and more toxic with each tragic event the nation faces. Pastor McKinnon’s health has been on the decline. I’ve been having these dreams of a family portrait with four bodies—Antwan, me, and the two kids—but only three faces.”

  She paused, giving me a leveling stare. “Raj, I think the season for my marriage is coming to an end.”

  That shook me. Heather hasn’t always been a happy bride, but she was a rider. These words were dark…and gray. I hated gray. Had for so many years.

  “What does that mean for you?”

  Her eyes turned coy as they wobbled from the table top up to me. “I know it’s been years since we’ve—”

  “Nah.” I shook my head.

  This was fucked up. Luckily, our appetizers were being delivered. When they were placed on the table, I tapped my tumbler to request another drink. I needed to get loose. This craziness she was dropping on me could not be approached with a sober mind. Myisha’s level of tipsiness would have been much preferred over my sober state right now after only one drink. Heather still carried the banner for holiness. She didn’t drink, so I had no choice but to perceive her judgement as sober.

  Heather glanced over her shoulders before inclining her head over the table and speaking low again. “No?”

  I shook my head again then went for a small saucer to dig into mussels in red sauce. I licked a splatter of marinara off my thumb when I clarified. “No.”

  “Why? Things were so bizarre the way we left them. We were kids, I know. You were going through”—she swayed her he
ad from left to right—“a debacle back when things shifted. I was wrong for not being more patient and understanding…” Her volume increased as I continued to shake my head, forking meat from its shell.

  “I’m getting married, Heather.”

  I could hear her suck in air as I busied with my food, unable to look at her. I couldn’t believe these words were of my life.

  “To who? The arranged girl?”

  I nodded. Then I forced my eyes to her. “I’ve gotten myself into some shit—”

  “Your language,” she pointed out. “You haven’t cursed this much in…years!”

  “I haven’t been this stressed in years,” I made clear. “Heather, things are gonna get a little crazy in my world. A lot of stuff will be said, posted: Some will be true and others will be the usual conjecture.”

  She gasped again. “Is this about the gay rumors? Raj, that’s not you and you know it. I know it! The people around you know it. Why do you need to prove anything to anyone else? Your fans don’t grapple with that lie!”

  Her tone had turned snippy and the volume grew. This impromptu conversation was getting out of control and I had no desire to continue with it. Heather was a simple girl from New Brunswick. She’d never traveled outside of the U.S. other than to a Caribbean island twice, and once was a missions trip. Heather wasn’t a clueless Jesus fanatic, enjoying the bubble she’d been raised in, but she wasn’t privy to the jaded and much blemished world that had engulfed me over the past ten years or so.

  This thing ran deeper than I’d ever known. I was still stuck on the studio’s rejection after all the work I’d put in for them. It was straight betrayal. And it seemed before I could react to it, a decision that could irreparably change my life had been made for me, and without my consent. Yeah, I could have stopped it, but there was so much on the line for more than just me. So many delicate details intertwined in this runaway train destined to be wrecked.

  “Just keep me lifted in prayer. That’s all I can ask and all you can do.”

  “Well,” Myisha came back into the private room and hummed. “That’s settled.” She looked at me. “We’re on schedule for everything.”

  I had no damn clue what she meant. Neither did I particularly care.

  As I rocked in the back seat of the truck, my thumb typed away, shooting a text to Wanda.

  Me: Hey… I just got the last of my things out. I left the check for next month’s rent in the cookie jar in the last cabinet. Don’t forget to call me when you get the last of your things so I can take the keys over to management office.

  I took a breath, blindly looking out to the blurred sights of Route 3, realizing we were turning on to Tonnelle Avenue. I only knew Tonnelle Avenue to get to Jersey City. No way Ragee lived in Jersey City. There was nothing in Jersey City a man of his lifestyle would be drawn to. Yeah, there was a clear view of New York City from there, but from all I could recall about the urban town, that’s all there was. I mean…yeah, it was about ten years ago when I’d come out here with Sheldon for business. It was how I learned to drive the highway after getting my license.

  My phone vibrating in my hand stole my attention.

  Wanda: Hey niece. No problem. I won’t forget. MaMa said you got a damn man! Fuckin Ragee!!!! You ain’t tell me that shit! You been getting dicked down and I ain’t know about it? Biiiiiiiiiiiitch!

  The emoji’s that followed could have been her full message without words. I saw MaMa started spreading the word, as I believed she would. I hadn’t told most people, figuring I’d stick to the script of us carrying on a secret affair for just over a year. I’d been delaying sharing it with my friends. It’s not like I had too many. But Van… I hadn’t been able to tell him yet. It had all been happening so fast.

  Another deep breath. I guessed that one was pretty loud; I caught Myisha’s curious gaze in the driver’s seat from the rearview mirror. This was crazy as hell. A week after signing the paperwork, I was moved out of my apartment. Myisha and her assistant—apparently Ragee’s assistant had her own assistant—came by to pick me up just as the moving company had finished packing my things. I didn’t have much; even my little kitchen set and love seat, I left for Wanda to throw out. But under Myisha’s strong advisement, I didn’t bring most of my clothes to move into Ragee’s spot because they would be “replaced with more appropriate garments.”

  That’s where we were on our way to. The sun had begun to set on this windy fall afternoon. I was hungry, tired, and completely stressed about the unknown—and known.

  “We’re here,” Myisha sang as we pulled up to a circular veranda style driveway of a skyscraper I’d never seen.

  My face wrinkled. “Where are we?”

  I heard her assistant, Jashon snicker.

  “Jersey City, honey,” Myisha answered. “Your new home as Mrs. McKinnon.” Her tempo was cheerful, but I was not.

  This was all eerie to me. I felt so out of place as I stepped out of the back seat of her BMW X1, the door being held by a Hispanic man dressed in tan livery, including a hat. Myisha was instructing another man in the same uniform to retrieve the boxes and bags from the trunk and told him a delivery of more boxes was right behind us.

  “C’mon, Wynter. Let’s get you settled.” She wiggled her fingers as she smiled.

  I followed her and Jashon into a plush lobby, serenaded by classical music. There were desks on either side of the revolving doors. Shiny brass, crisp glass casings, water fountains, and art decorated the opulent area. Two hats tipped at Myisha who strutted in her high heeled thigh-high boots, carrying a top handle Louis Vuitton bag on her lower arm that hung horizontally in the air. She looked like she very well belonged in a place like this. I was still undecided whether I liked her or not. So far she seemed nice, but for all I knew she could be Ragee’s true love interest, but was playing the role of his assistant for some asinine reason.

  There was a doorman for the elevator. He greeted Myisha by her last name, I guessed. “Good evening, Ms. McKinnon.” He tipped his hat, too.

  She nodded. “Hey, Bruce. This is Wynter, Ragee’s girlfriend. You’ll be seeing a lot more of her around.”

  He smiled at me and I returned it the best way I could. “Ms…?”

  “Blue.” I caught on eventually to the purpose of his stalling. “Wynter Blue.”

  “Okay, Ms. Blue. Welcome.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured just after the bell chimed and everyone’s attention automatically went to that.

  Inside the all brass elevator was another bellman. “Penthouse!” was his way of greeting us.

  Myisha smiled as she stepped in. She pulled out a tag of sorts, placing it against an electronic panel inside. The bellman typed in a few numbers on a keypad and the doors closed to begin our ascent. The ride was quiet as Myisha and Jashon engaged their phones. I watched the old fashioned overhead dial. There were twenty-four floors and the arrow ticked on each as we passed it.

  My phone vibrated in my hand.

  Sheldon: Van gon call you later make sure you answer You sure you good

  That was it. One long run on sentence. I hated hearing from him almost as much as I did seeing him.

  Not today, Satan!

  “You okay, hun?” Myisha asked.

  That shit annoyed me, too. Myisha wasn’t too much older than me. I was not her “hun.”

  Deciding to ignore that, I exhaled with closed eyes and murmured, “Just tired as hell. It’s been the longest week.”

  “Awwwww,” she cooed in a manner that actually seemed sincere to me. “I get it. I’m zapped my damn self and I got so much shit to do before our flight tomorrow. And get this…”—her head bobbled with sarcasm—“we’re flying commercial.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that shit?”

  Before I could respond, the elevator pinged and the doors were opening. And opening into a jazzy…lounge setting. Myisha led the pack and I followed last.

  “You’re home, Wynter!” she sang as we filed out.

  Home? The whole
fuck?

  The floor was a black and white checkerboard marble　pattern. It shined and reflected. The foyer was dim, but I could discern the distinct black walls with large gold framed artwork hanging from them. There was a round table topped with a huge bouquet of an array of fresh flowers I’d never seen before. The area was so pristine, it felt somewhat rude walking in shoes. But I followed the troupe down a hall where the walls remained dark, though soft lights lined them and several columnar pedestals on either side held fresh potted plants

  Myisha stopped and so did Jashon in front of me.

  “Hey.” She turned to her assistant, holding her phone up. “The movers are downstairs. Go and bring them up.”

  Jashon made an about-face and was on his way when a tall figure appeared out of nowhere, carrying an air of prestige of sorts. Behind him were two men: one small and hella effeminate, and another big and round.

  “LeRoy!” Myisha chirped. On approach, she reached for him. When they met, French air kisses were performed. I recognized him from the “gay rumors” pictures. He had a weird last name I couldn’t quite resolve in my mind, and was Ragee’s alleged lover. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Neither did I.” He rolled his eyes. They were a stark gray though he was a warm caramel complexion. His voice was deep, but his cadence…delivery was saturated in femininity. “He asked me to come over to talk.”

  “Yeah.” Myisha applied a fake pout. “Things have been crazy around here.”

  “Crazy doesn’t explain this fucking conundrum.” His nose lifted. “And he’s in a mood.”

  Myisha gave an exaggerated slouch. “I know!”

  “But I worked his ass over.” LeRoy adjusted his pants by the waist. I sucked in a quiet breath. “He should be at least tolerable now.”