Frost on My Window

by Angela Weaver

  “The better for Sean to see you with,” she teased.

  “You’re about to get on my last nerve,” I tossed out over my shoulder as I walked into my room. I heard Rena’s laughter coming from close behind me.

  “My…my…my, aren’t we sensitive.” She rolled her eyes at me.

  “Gee, does Trey know you can be such a brat?” I answered back.

  I turned to see the smile slip from Rena’s face as she took a seat on the foot of my bed.

  “What does Trey have to do with this? We were talking about your personal life, cuz.”

  “Funny,” I said while pushing aside some clothes to reach into the back of the closet for a nice pair of jeans. “I could have sworn it was you talking about my personal life. Since we’re on the topic, when are you going to cut the brotha a break?” I asked.

  Rena was still smarting from my inviting the singer over for dinner and a movie. Even though those two got along like a house afire, my cousin was determined to ignore the fact that the man was hell-bent on getting her to like him.

  “I don’t date people in the entertainment industry.” It was the same standard line I’d heard her give a million times before. I pulled down the long skirt I’d been wearing, but paused before pulling up my soft, fitted blue jeans. I looked at my cousin as she unconsciously played with one of her dreads.

  “Oh, so they’re good enough to work with, but you can’t date them?”

  “That’s not it,” she shot back.

  “Really? So there’s some other reason you won’t put the man out of his misery and agree to a real date?” Trey and I had exchanged numerous emails about Rena’s different excuses.

  “Why are you so pro-Trey?”

  “Because the man hasn’t given up on you yet.” I pulled the lightweight cotton floral tee shirt over my head. “He seems like a decent guy. Plus, I like him.”

  “You and every other woman on earth.”

  “So that’s the reason you won’t go out with him.” I crossed my arms and took a seat on the edge of my bed.

  “What?”

  “Afraid of the competition? I’m shocked. My superfly cousin admitting that she’s insecure just like the rest of us mere women,” I taunted.

  “Wrong.” Her chin shot up a notch. “I just…” She was interrupted when the phone rang. I reached towards the nightstand and picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak to Rena Mason?” came a loud, unfamiliar voice against a noisy background.

  I frowned while handing the phone over to Rena.

  “It’s for you.”

  I sat back down on the bed and put on my shoes. I had just finished putting some things in my pocket book when Rena came back into the room. I turned around to see her pale face. “What’s wrong?” A chill swept up my spine.

  “I can’t go with you to the concert.”

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes went from sorrow-filled to a deep, dark anger. I looked down at her shaking hands and took them in my own.

  “You’re scaring me, Rena.”

  “Nina’s in the hospital,” she whispered.

  “What happened? Was she in an accident? I’m coming with you.”

  “No.” Rena replied and then seemed to shake herself. She took a deep breath and hugged me.

  “I can’t tell you what happened, but I can tell you that Nina’s going to be okay.”

  “Rena…” I warned.

  “Listen to me, Leah. She doesn’t want people to know, okay? You’ve got to go to this concert.”

  I waved off her concern. “Sean will understand if I’m not there.”

  “There’s nothing you can do. She’s at Lennox Hill Hospital, which isn’t far away from the Garden. I’ll drop you off on my way over.”

  “I want to come with you,” I said, trying again.

  “I know, and I’ll tell Nina that you wanted to be there.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Positive. You just have fun, and I’ll expect the inside scoop on how it all went down, okay? Now let’s roll,” she said, turning and heading out of the room.

  * * *

  “Are you sure?” I asked Rena for the fiftieth time.

  “Yes,” she answered, pulling up behind a line of stopped cars. I watched as wave after wave of people crowded the sidewalk heading towards the entrance to Madison Square Garden. Their loud voices and rushed movements began to rub off on me and my heart sped up.

  I opened the car door and moved to get out; I stopped at the touch of Rena’s hand on my arm. I turned to see her smile.

  “Tell Sean I’ll catch him on the next go-round.”

  Before I could tell her that I wouldn’t be able to tell him anything, a police siren sounded somewhere down the street.

  “See you later, cuz.” I stepped onto the sidewalk and watched as Rena maneuvered the sporty BMW into the slow-moving traffic headed uptown.

  I was swept towards the open doors of the auditorium with the crowd. The very air seemed to be alive with excitement; vendors lined the corridors selling CDs, videos, shirts, pictures and calendars of the band. Exile was playing to a sold-out crowd tonight. I was sure that Sean would be pleased. I slowly maneuvered my way through the crowd of teenagers to the front. By the time I passed through all the checkpoints and settled into my seat, I couldn’t wait for the show to start. The front row section was filled with young and old professionals who could afford to spend $500 a ticket.

  By the time Exile took the stage, the crowd was on its feet. I looked up into the outer stands, seeing blurred faces chanting the band’s name. As Sean walked towards the center of the raised stage, I was standing and clapping, along with everyone else. The mood of the crowd was electric, filled with anticipation and energy.

  The light show began and three enormous video screens glowed. Sean stepped up to the standing microphone and strummed his opening note. The huge arena was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I’d heard Sean sing before, but nothing had prepared me for this. His voice rode the guitar and edged over the sounds of the drum and keyboard. I turned to look at the faces of those surrounding me and found them captivated by Sean.

  When he closed his eyes and sang, my throat tightened with remembrance, the memory of cradling his head on my shoulder as his tears stained my shirt. It was the song for his mother that would haunt me for all my days. Sean sang each note straight from his soul. I saw his mother the way he saw her.

  The song cast a shadow over the audience. Everyone in the arena felt the touch of a mother’s love and a son’s mourning. When I tore my eyes away from Sean I saw that his song had brought tears to the eyes of many of the audience.

  Tonight the critics would pick up their pens noting that a major part of Sean’s life emerged in verses about love and loss, happiness and pain. Sean took the wide breadth of the human condition and narrowed it down into three or four syllables coupled with an unforgettable melody.

  Then the music changed and I could only watch as Sean seemed to transform before my eyes. Like the wind, he blew hot and cold. His music swung, a combination of two different people: one angry and tortured, the other haunted by grief. That mixture showed in his every move, every song, and made people want him more. The band seemed to push forward and their body language which moments before was laid back and slow turned edgy.

  The music was loud, quick, high energy with its angst-ridden riffs and chords. Sean moved into a low crouch and swung the guitar back and forth, writhing, as his voice grew more forceful and fiery. It frightened me a little; I had only seen the gentle side of Sean. As I watched him play to the rage and anger, the high emotions running rampant through the crowd, I shivered.

  As he neared the end of the concert, Sean slowed the pace of the music and the tender side of his music took the lead. The music that poured from his guitar strings was honey mixed with bitter ale. From his lips came words of memory gathered from an old grief and a deep love.

  He sang songs that
spoke to the solitary person inside. His words conjured images of faraway places. I felt tears start behind my eyes as he sang of wars and loves come and gone, mothers looking up at snow-covered mountains waiting for the return of sons and husbands, lonely abbeys without words of peace, silent gray-red stones, and crumbling arches.

  When the applause came, Sean bowed and joined the rest of Exile at the front of the stage. It was deafening. I looked up at him and saw him give me one of his big grins as he waved to the crowd before he turned to leave the stage. I turned to follow the crowd towards the exit, only to stop short at the approach of a tall, well-built, black-clad concert security guard.

  “Miss, may I see your ticket please?”

  “Okay.” I pulled the ticket stub slowly from my bag while giving the man a confused stare.

  “If you would come with me,” he said, placing a hand on my left arm.

  “Excuse me,” I said. As he led me further away from the exiting crowd, I dug in my heels. “Excuse me. Is there a problem?”

  He looked down at me, a curious expression on his big face.

  “No problem at all. Your ticket was selected to go backstage and meet the members of Exile.”

  I shook my head with disbelief as he smiled benignly and led me through the thong of screaming people and line of security. Damn the man. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. Before I knew it, I was ushered through the doorway of Sean’s dressing room. He sat sprawled out on the only sofa in the room. I leaned back against the door and cleared my throat, causing him to spill some of his bottled water.

  A slow smile spread across his face. He looked both handsome and charmingly boyish as he hesitated there, one hand holding the water and the other hanging by his side. I tried to keep my lips from curving upward, but couldn’t do it for long. Instead, I started laughing. The famous singer was sitting with half a bottle of water on his already sweat-soaked shirt.

  “I impressed you that much, huh?” he joked.

  “I’m still speechless.”

  “What’d you think of it?” His lips were grinning but I could see the seriousness peeking out from his eyes.

  “You were wonderful and you know it. If New York didn’t love you before they are head over heels now.”

  “Really?” He looked almost disbelieving.

  I gave him the thumbs up. “Trust me. The critics will be raving.”

  “Where’s Rena?”

  “She had an emergency she had to take care of. She wanted me to tell you that she’ll catch you on the next one.”

  “Hmmm…”

  I watched as he stood, placed his guitar in its hard black case and snapped the locks closed. I opened my mouth to speak and let out a yawn.

  “Stop that,” he warned. “You know yawns are contagious.”

  I watched as he let out a large one. “Tired?” I teased.

  “Hungry,” he responded. “Would you join me for a late night meal?”

  “Sure, why not? I don’t have work tomorrow.”

  “Let’s go then.”

  “Okay.” I turned to open the door.

  “Not that way.” Sean gestured to the door on the opposite side of the room.

  He opened the door to reveal two guards standing in an empty hallway. He waved then goodnight and pulled on a baseball cap.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked.

  “This tunnel leads from Madison Square Garden to the office tower. Once we go through that door, we can just hop in the car without having to go through the crowd.”

  I nodded. “Good idea.”

  “Do you mind if we go back to my place first?” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I need to take a shower.”

  I squinched up my nose, pretending to smell something rotten. “Yeah, you do need to hit the water.”

  He opened the door to the black Lincoln Continental and gently pushed me inside.

  Chapter 8

  Ten blocks, forty minutes, and a bag of Chinese take-out later, I leaned back in Sean’s dining room chair.

  “Nice setup you’ve got here,” I commented after Sean and I sat down at the mahogany dining table. He spread the boxes of Chinese take-out over the table. The man had ordered enough for an army.

  “Surprised?”

  “I didn’t think you were serious about spending time in New York.”

  Not only was the real estate nice, but the apartment was gorgeous. The prewar two-bedroom had an open living room and dining area. I’d taken a peek into one of the bathrooms and had almost succeeded in killing myself on the slick marble floor. The large kitchen with new appliances and bright lighting would have made even my mother smile.

  “Why do you think that?” His green eyes twinkled as he plopped a shrimp dumpling into his mouth.

  After having to choose between going out and finding an empty restaurant where he wouldn’t be recognized or ordering in, we’d settled on getting food brought in. The shower he’d taken had done a lot to rid him of the adrenaline rush of playing to a packed arena. Sean reveled in the faded jeans and shirt he’d changed into. The man could wear some pants. He was blessed with the kind of body most men would envy. Broad shoulders, strong muscled arms, powerful chest and tight stomach.

  “Like it or not, my friend, you’re a California boy.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the beauty of the city.”

  The look he gave me made me almost made me lose my grip on the chopsticks. I’d have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss the implication in his response. But even though I was fairly immune to Sean’s unconscious need to flirt, my heart still gave a quick squeeze. I concentrated on maneuvering my chopsticks and let the compliment fly way over my head.

  “So how did the visit go with your family?” he asked.

  I placed the chopsticks on the rim of the delicate porcelain dinner plate and picked up my wine glass. Taking a sip, I looked at Sean.

  “It was great to be home again. Rena and I walked around South Street, gorged ourselves on Italian ice, cheese steaks, and French fries. Mom made all our favorite foods and Pop arranged for a surprise visit to Franklin Mills.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “A large shopping outlet just outside of Philly.”

  “And your friend Lance?” Sean asked.

  “Lance…” I almost choked on a bite of chicken.

  There was a name that threw me. Sean and I had shared many secrets that night by the cliffs. Telling him about Lance was one of my biggest regrets. Yet speaking of past or present loves was something that we both shied away from, until now. Even as close friends we didn’t talk about the other’s relationships. For me there was no need since Sean’s latest love interests always appeared in the celebrity section of magazines.

  “Rena mentioned that he stopped by for a visit.” He gave me a searching look.

  I narrowed my eyes at the protective glint in his. “You and Rena must have done a lot of talking.” The mention of Lance’s name had brought with the unwelcome ghost of Sherrie.

  “She’s just concerned about you,” Sean replied.

  “Concerned?” I barked. “That’s just a nice way of saying she’s stressed.” Sean’s serious expression didn’t change.

  “Look, for the thirtieth time, and please feel free to share this with my overprotective cousin, I’m over the man. Lance has been and will continue to be a friend. Anything more is just Rena’s overactive imagination, comprendé?”

  I picked up my chopsticks and grabbed a broccoli floret. “How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

  I wanted to change the subject. The thought of my cousin and Sean discussing me was unsettling.

  He leaned back and put his hand behind his head. “I just found out that he’s getting remarried. I’m to be the best man.”

  “Oh. Do you know the future bride?”

  “Her name is Brigit. She was one of my mother’s friends.”

  Open mouth and insert foot. Damn, apparently white women operated differently
from sistas. You never dated your friend’s man and you sure as hell didn’t marry a friend’s widower. So much for loyalty.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, not knowing what else to say and really sorry I asked.

  “It seems natural. Her husband died of a heart attack three years ago. I guess it brought the two of them together.”

  “I can’t imagine Pop without Momma.” The comment slipped out before I could stop it. Open mouth, insert other foot.

  “He needs someone in his life to care for and vice-versa. My mother understood that about him.”

  “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

  He nodded. “Finished?” he asked, standing up and beginning to clean the table.

  “Stuffed,” I honestly admitted, smiling faintly. I felt a wave of contentment wash over me at having a full stomach.

  “You’ll be hungry in about…” He looked at his watch. “Three hours. Are you sure you don’t want to finish off the last of this sesame chicken?”

  “Positive.”

  He looked at me with that puppy dog look in his eyes and I just leaned back and smiled. “So do you think you can make room for your fortune cookie?” he asked.

  He reached into the plastic bag and set two plastic wrapped Chinese cookies on the table.

  “Okay, you pick first,” I said.

  Sean tore open the wrapper, broke the cookie in half and pulled out the small white strip of paper.

  “Mine reads, ‘Two things to aim for in life—to get what you want and to enjoy it.’ Now that’s pretty good advice.”

  He put his down on the table. “Now you.”

  I carefully tore open the wrapper and gingerly pulled out the fortune without cracking the cookie shell. Grinning, I waved the strip triumphantly.

  “Okay, Ms. Perfectionist. What does it say?” Sean questioned.

  I turned it over and read the words out loud, “‘Trust your intuition. The universe is guiding your life.’ ”

  I placed the scrap of paper in my pocket. “Could you get a little more vague than that?”

  “Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

  “It would. You’re one of the most ‘go with the flow’ guys I know.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m going to go put the rest of these leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you relax on the couch? I’ll fix us some tea.”