by Ann Pearlman
Whatever happens to black people, whatever racism will cloud the future of our country, happens to me. I feel like an imposter or a spy, as though I only pretend to be white when I’m with white people. I imagine their reaction to the real me, the Aaron-lover me, the Levy-mother me. So there’s my self-self that’s beyond race and my black-self, the self that other people can’t immediately perceive. And my white self.
I lie in bed thinking these things. Aaron’s still in Red Dog’s room, I guess. When I gathered up Levy, he wrapped his arms around my neck and snuggled into my shoulder. I put him in his cot gently and lay next to him, singing softly. It’s a funny place I got myself in, one that I hadn’t anticipated, but I now welcome. I’ve learned so much about the world this way, seeing with different sets of eyes.
I feel empathetic toward Allie’s grandmother, as though we’re experiencing some of the same transitions, or strange psychological positions.
I don’t think Allie meant for me to hear this from her story. She was trying to get Sky and me to put our differences in perspective. Maybe Sky needed to learn that. I’ve always known we were different but held together by love. Or at least I feel close to her because I love her. Look what I’m trying to do for her now: getting the entire crew, right in the middle of a tour, to help her move back home.
But I don’t think she loves me. It’s like she said—she’s too overwhelmed by envy. Jealousy.
Aaron comes in and I pretend to be asleep. I don’t want to get out of my own thoughts by talking. I hear the soft smack of his lips as he kisses Levy. Levy rustles and sloughs off his blanket, which makes a muted tone like the end of a note just before it finally fades. Aaron removes his clothes, goes into the bathroom. He shuts the door quietly, to not wake me. I hear muffled swishes as he pees, washes his hands and face, and brushes his teeth.
Slowly, silently, he creeps to our bed and slides under the covers. He spoons me. His flesh is cool. He kisses the nape of my neck, where the hair meets the skin, and whispers, “I couldn’t sleep without kissing you good night, babe. My Li’l Key. I love you so much.”
His breath warms my neck. “More than all the words, all the music in the world can express. I’d lose myself if I lost you.” He tells me this secret he can only tell me when I’m asleep to protect himself.
In the morning, I wonder if I dreamed those kisses as soft as sighs and the secret, scared confession of love. I roll over and put my head on Aaron’s chest. Now he’s warm, his skin slightly moist from the covers, his dreams, and the heat we generate with our bodies. I press close to him, I want to make love, but Levy is in the room. In a minute he’ll be up and crawling in bed with us. So I simply press myself against him and he moans, getting my message.
“I love you, too.”
“Ah, you weren’t asleep.”
“I was, like, spying on you,” I confess.
He squeezes me tight. “I want you to know I’ll always take care of you.”
“As much as you can, considering.”
“Considering? What do you mean?”
“Considering that you have to do your thing, too. No jail cells, remember? No bars.” We each have ultimate loyalty to ourselves.
He shakes his head, his lips pressed together, and I know he wants the easy truth. Peace. Harmony. Love at all costs. Family allegiance over self. “I’m with you, I love you. I love what we have,” I say.
“But what? Tell me what you’re not saying.” Now he hunts for security in truth.
“What if I started writing my own songs?”
“You think I wouldn’t welcome that? Bring it on. It might make us richer, and I don’t mean money. I mean musically. Let’s see where we can grow. We a team of equals.”
I smile at him in the dim dawn. So far, he’s the leader and I’m an excellent and valuable follower. Maybe I don’t need King to help develop my own voice. Maybe I can do it with Aaron.
“I rely on you,” he says.
But he doesn’t get it. “Thank you for diving into the pool and pulling out Rachel.”
“Hey. That’s what people do,” he says with a chuckle. He pulls me close and we press to each other without tension, just desire, and then Levy crawls in bed and we all wrestle and tickle.
We’ll meet Allie, Sky, and Rachel in Albuquerque. Rachel wants to come with us, but Sky tells her she’ll be too lonely without her. Rachel touches her mom’s cheek.
“We’ll catch up to you there.” Allie wears black silk pajamas and her hair twists in messy tendrils. She sees me staring, pats it down, and laughs, “Oh, my Medusa hair.”
So we’re off. Just like always, except that I miss Smoke, who’s driving Sky’s U-Haul. The rocks and mesas are red, and the road is crowded with trucks. I’m back to being part of the rap crew and by fifty miles down the road, I’m playing with my keyboard, working out a sweet melody to “I’ll Miss Myself.” Aaron works on some lyrics, and damn if Levy hasn’t taken over Africa, Smoke’s djembe. Red Dog and T-Bone play video games on hand helds and text message, probably juggling three women at once. My fight with Sky, Rachel almost drowning, Allie’s story . . . it all fades as the tones floating through the van pick up the tires hushing on the road.
Mom calls, so I move to the front of the bus behind Thumble. He’s privy to all my daughterliness. “How’s Sky?” is what she says even before she says hello.
“She, like, made a new friend yesterday, one from Michigan.”
“A man?”
I imagine Mom’s eyes wide in surprise, hoping that another man will help Sky forget Troy. Mom forgets that didn’t work out so well for her. Was that what my father was . . . a distraction from mourning? No wonder he didn’t last. He was never important to her as a person. And for a split second, I feel sorry for him.
“Nope. An art teacher with two kids from Lansing.”
“Another single mom.” I almost hear Mom nod her head in agreement. “She must be coming out of herself.”
“Maybe.” I don’t tell her about Rachel almost drowning and Aaron pulling her out of the pool. No need to worry her, even though Aaron could win brownie points. “She’s beginning to talk more, and she may even come to our concert tonight.”
“Oh, the concert,” Mom says as though she’s forgotten that’s why we’re here, that’s why we’re even able to help Sky.
“How was your speech?”
“Okay. I’m still in Chicago finishing up at the conference.”
There’s a silence in which I wonder if she’s going to ask me how I am. How the Grand Canyon was. How Levy is.
Instead she asks, “How’s Rachel?”
“Fine. Loving Levy and Allie.”
“Good. I figured Allie would be a great surrogate mother. I’m just glad she was able to cancel her plans at the spa and help out. But that’s Allie.”
“She’s with Sky and Rachel in Sky’s car.”
“I wanted to know how she was doing.” She assumes Sky can’t communicate her own emotional state.
“Sky’s not very good at change or the unexpected. She wants everything to go according to plan.”
“I guess that’s true,” Mom says, as though she’s never thought of this downside to Sky’s organized ambition. I can tell she has stood up and is pacing. She can’t sit still for long. Maybe she’s organizing her toiletries or folding the clothes for her suitcase. “Well, I think I’ll try to call her. Take care. Drive safely,” she tells me, and hangs up before I can say goodbye.
And then the phone rings and I think Mom is calling back, but Sissy’s name is on the screen.
“Hey, sugar,” she says, and I smell the roses of her perfume. “How you doing? How’s my two men?”
“We’re on our way to Albuquerque.”
“I know. I wanted to wish you break-a-leg on your concert. That man of yours doesn’t hear his phone half the time. How’s your sister doin’?”
So I tell Sissy all about Sky and her new friend and how Aaron rescued Rachel and how Levy is making up words.
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“You a good sister, sugar,” she pronounces, and then asks, “And how are Special and Li’l Key?”
That’s her way of reminding us it’s just our music, our jobs, not us. Keeping us real, I guess. She wishes us more luck on our concert and tells us to make it fun, and blows me some sugar with loud smacks to pass on to her men.
I return to my seat and glance at Levy. His knobby knees hold the djembe tilted so it resonates with the road while his hands play out a four-six beat. His focus, his attention, and the serious pleased smile touching his lips provide a window into the adult he’ll become. And as always, his folded lips remind me of a rosebud, but he smiles just like my mom.
New lyrics come to me, and I realize the verses are switching from Troy’s death to the possibility of Aaron’s loss to the very positive thought of Levy growing up. The melody comes easily and I keep going.
I look up and catch Aaron watching me.
“Let’s hear it.”
So I give him what I got, sing it all by myself to him and Red Dog and T-Bone. I just keep going, freestyling the lyrics even though I realize this isn’t really a rap song. I don’t know what it is.
When I’m finished, I meet Aaron’s eyes and he nods at me. Slowly.
“That ain’t rap,” T-Bone complains.
“No. That’s Li’l Key,” Red Dog says.
I dress for the concert. My half-orange face has become part of my wardrobe.
“Think Levy’s ready?” Aaron asks, only half joking.
“Can’t let him replace Ole Smoke,” I joke back.
“You look hot as hell tonight.”
I pull down a fuchsia strand to drift over one brow, the orange brings out the green in my eyes, and I’ve shadowed them with an iridescent yellow.
“Like a tiger,” Aaron says.
I form my fingers into claws, turn to him, and growl. “Grrrrrr.”
“Cute,” he says.
A Latino band opens singing rap in a mixture of English and Spanish that I struggle to understand, but the crowd gets it and screams with delight. They do an encore, and I know we’re going to have to work it to get the same applause. They know “Prohibitions of Prison,” and the mob raises hands to pump the air with enthusiasm, shouting the lyrics with us. When we sing “From the Midwest to the West,” Special has added lyrics about New Mexico, which warm the house. I’m unprepared for this, but feel a stirring of pride. Maybe one day he’ll be as big as King.
And then he holds the mic and slowly presses his open palm down to quiet the throng. “We got somethin’ a little different for you tonight. One of our crew has a new song for you.”
I peek at Smoke and Red Dog and T-Bone standing behind Special, mics in their hands, dragging by their legs, and see them glance at each other, caught as off guard as I am.
“It’s our own Li’l Key making her solo debut! Let’s give it up for her.” He points the mic at me.
I told him I wanted this, asked him for it, and he’s giving it to me, but I’m on the spot. Am I ready? My heart increases its beat.
I stand up and slide into the opening chord to “I’ll Miss You.” On the first syllable, my voice cracks. I move away from my mic and clear my throat.
And then my finger slips and I play a wrong note. My stomach flips. I haven’t played a wrong note in years. I continue singing and seem to catch my wind. A woman in the front row squints at me and says something to her friend. Her friend shakes her head and shrugs. Sweat pours down my back and my hands slide on the keys.
I sing the next line, and my voice sounds reedy. When I glance at Special and the crew, T-Bone pulls his mic to his mouth to cover for me. They’re ready to step in and sing a backup that will swamp me.
This is my opportunity, I tell myself. Sing it like I’m on the bus. Like I sing it to Levy. I’ll only get so many chances.
I inhale, clench my eyes shut, and start over. I push my favorite Fauré note, letting it tease the crowd to connect with the rap song that preceded.
The tone gives me courage. When it finishes trembling across the auditorium, my fingers glide automatically while I move to the spirit of the words. I snatch some air and start with the sexy part, my voice joining with my keyboard, one thing, my throat supplying additional tones. I’m home now. Back on my square. Not even paying attention to the audience. Singing to the universe.
And I end with:
All love changes.
I’ll miss myself,
The me I am when I’m like that with you.
And repeat the hook like a mantra,
All love changes
All love changes
All love changes
Altering the melody almost imperceptibly, until the entire melody line is new. Just like love transforms. Tears stream down my face as I think of me, up here singing alone, and all the changes in the last few weeks. Troy dying, Rachel almost drowning, King tempting me, and this song, this little, bitty song stretching its message across a throng. This song that I almost betrayed.
People start singing.
Special holds out his mic so the audience hears itself. He nods to the crew and they whisper into their mics:
All love changes.
It morphs into a slogan, all love chaaaaannngees. The s slippery in the air, sliding around us.
Special jerks his hand down and we stop. He stops it at the v in love.
All love
And I realize how close it is to his father’s way of saying I love you. What did he say when he left? Just love. I remember Sissy and Aaron talking about it.
And so I sing it all by myself, a capella.
Just love.
Special’s eyes widen and his mouth opens as he realizes how I morphed into him.
And that’s it.
The concert is over.
We end telling everybody to just love. Guess that’s as good as it gets anyway, even though the love part can get so twisted and tangled. Can hurt so bad. Maybe Aaron’s pops was right all along. Just love and it’ll all be okay. Well, maybe not okay, but better. What a wonderful idea.
Almost as soon as I get backstage, there’s a messenger with three dozen orange roses. I recognize him as one of King’s men. He bows slightly as he hands me the flowers, their heady aroma wrapping me and reminding me of Sissy. Levy has his arms around my leg, wanting to reclaim me from the audience.
And then the dude hands me a package. It’s wrapped in shiny orange paper and tied with a shimmering gold bow of wired ribbon with exaggerated swirls and tails.
“You did a powerful job tonight,” the dude says. “Congratulations.” He presses his palms together in namaste, bows slightly, and backs away.
Aaron watches this, his brows knitted together and his mouth in a frown, shooting me the mad face when I haven’t done anything.
Sky and Allie were in the audience. I saw Sky from the stage when I turned on my keyboard. I don’t know if she has seen me perform since my first recitals; she was too busy at college and law school, and then we were separated by most of the United States. Now, she has put on makeup, and her straight hair grazes the tips of her breasts. She doesn’t say anything to me; instead she goes over to Smoke and gives him a hug, and his thick arms and body swallow her.
I haven’t opened the box, though I know it’s from King.
I hold the present and the flowers with one arm and pick up Levy with the other and walk over to Aaron.
“Let’s see what I got.” I’m trying to diminish any possible jealousy, to create trust by my openness.
I slip off the ribbon slowly because it’s too beautiful—yes, even the ribbon—to crunch up and throw away. I peel away the Scotch tape to preserve the paper. Aaron notices my caution and his frown deepens.
I lift off the lid, almost cautiously. A key pendent three inches long, studded in orange gemstones, hangs from a gold chain. The stones, as rich in color as the paint on my face, flash sharper tones of red and twinkle from the chain. A card is signed, “For the fiery Li’l Key.
K.”
A note card explains that the stones are rare orange sapphires from Ceylon.
Obviously, he had it made for me. The gems explode with sparkles.
“I give you everything, everything you want,” Aaron splits the word into every and thing, “and you still do this?” And then he comes close to a whisper, “And just a moment ago, up on that stage, when you were singing about just love, I felt we were one.”
“We were. That was for you, for us.”
“You giving him encouragement. Man doesn’t give a woman a thirty-thousand-dollar present without knowing he’s putting a down payment on a promise.”
“He’s putting a down payment on the money he hopes to make from me,” I say and drop the necklace to the ground. I look for the guy who handed it to me, but he’s gone, the door of the auditorium swinging behind him. The pendant lies on the floor, pebbles flashing regardless of their ignominy.
But it’s too late. Aaron has spun on his heels and walked away from me.
What else was I supposed to do?
A woman with black hair that hangs straight, and eyes seemingly without pupils, tits spilling out of a magenta spaghetti-strapped tank top, cobalt pants painted on a beautiful ass, and stilettos that make her almost as tall as Special, steps right up to him and I hear her say, “Ay papi, you looked so good on stage. Que lindo eres in person, too.”
It’s so easy to be gone. So easy for him. So easy for me.
So easy.
And then she pulls Aaron closer and kisses his cheek, runs her hand down his back, stopping at his ass. He doesn’t pull away. Is he allowing this to get back at me? Or just doing what he wants to do? I don’t know.
I turn away from Aaron and the other woman, bend down to pick up the sparkling charm.
Maybe he uses King as an excuse to scoop up some of these new women.
I watch the dazzle of the stones. I don’t even care about bling; usually I buy my clothes at used clothing stores. But King gave me something I didn’t even know I desired. A totem. How I wish I had thought of having it made.