by Zuri Day
Doug relaxed next to her, began intertwining his fingers with hers. “It turns out I was right about you. Your first day on the job, when you checked Joey who was trying to flirt, I saw that fire and figured there was a flame somewhere beneath that cool, conservative façade.”
“You’ve used conservative before to describe me, but I’ve never seen myself that way.”
“Maybe that’s not the right word. More like reserved.”
“That’s my personality.”
“I get that now.”
“So we’ve broken our own rules and become a part of the post office player club. What happens now?”
He shrugged. “Go take a shower, maybe grab some food, come back and watch the game—”
She bopped him with a pillow. “I don’t mean right this minute. I mean going forward, you and me.”
“Oh.” He tried to look innocent, but there was no missing the spark of humor in his eye. “Why don’t we just . . . let it unfold and see what happens?”
“That’s such a Doug answer. Oh my God. How do you live like that? Not knowing what was going to happen or what I was going to do from day to day or week to week would drive me crazy!”
“See, and all that planning and organizing and trying to figure out every detail would raise my blood pressure.”
“Well, aren’t we compatible.”
“In at least one way we are.” He ran a hand down her thigh. Goose bumps arose in its wake. “Very much so.”
“Let me ask it this way, then. Are you seeing other women, and will you continue to be with them? I realize these are questions I probably should have asked last night.”
He furrowed his brow in thought, then began to count on his fingers. “Let’s see, there’s Debbie, Sue, Wanda, Paula . . .” Jan’s brow furrowed, too. “Felicia, Tanisha, LaQuisha . . .”
He glanced at her. “You’re lying.” She relaxed. A little. Until he laughed. “Why are you always playing? Ooh, you get on my nerves!”
“That’s why it’s so fun to mess with you. Jan, I’m not running around with a bunch of women. And I don’t have anything serious going on. So as long as you let me squeeze that plump rump and rest on your”—he flicked her nipple; she playfully recoiled—“pillows, I would have no problem being exclusive with you.”
Jan sat up, covered herself with the sheet. “This was not in my plans.”
“That may be a good thing.”
“I didn’t plan to date anybody at all and definitely not someone who worked with me at the post office.” She looked at him. “I don’t want anyone there to know about us. I don’t want to be part of the postal gossip mill, a character in the Normandie soap opera.”
“It’s a bit too late for that. Baby, we don’t have to say a word and I’m telling you, people are going to know.”
“How?”
He chuckled. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something in the water over there, but somehow it always comes out. There are eyes everywhere, ears everywhere. I walk by. You look at me and lick your lips and—”
“That’s not going to happen! I mean it, Doug. At work we have to act like professionals.”
“I’m just saying, when you’re feeling somebody and you’re with them eight, nine hours a day. It’s hard for that not to show.”
“I don’t want to catch feelings. . . .”
He placed a finger beneath her chin and turned her face to him. “You’ve already caught feelings. You don’t want to get hurt. I don’t either. That’s why I don’t want to try and define or try and lay out what this is, to set up expectations. I’m feeling you. You’re feeling me. Let’s just keep feeling and see what happens.” He held out his palm. “Okay?”
She placed her hand in his and nodded.
“Now”—he reached for the sheet and began pulling it down—“let’s lose this. You’ve got a few more things I want to feel. . . .”
23
The following week, work was different. Life was different. Jan felt different. She wasn’t a virgin, so the change wasn’t just about having sex with Doug. It was about connecting to a man in a way that she never thought she could. After leaving Doug, she’d thought about the other guys she’d dated and what it was about him and what they’d shared that was different from those other guys. Two words kept coming to her: caring and trust. Doug cared about her feelings and about whether or not she was satisfied. He asked questions and put her feelings first. The result was not only a heightened physical experience but a deeper emotional one as well. Maybe this is why she felt she could trust him. He’d been honest and up front. He’d been a man of his word, even before they were intimate. The space in her heart where the feelings for him were stored was getting larger. She worked hard not to let it show on her face, but from Pat’s comment when she showed up to work Monday afternoon, she was only partly successful.
“Looks like somebody had a good weekend.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know,” Pat said, noticing her from the corner of her eye. “You seem more relaxed this morning. Not that you normally look uptight. But you don’t look as wound up as usual.”
“Maybe I’m not,” Jan replied, careful to keep from making direct eye contact. Instead she rearranged the stamps labeled first class, media mail, fragile, etc. “I didn’t have a show this weekend, though, so I did get more rest.”
“Remember to let me know about the next one.”
“It’s this weekend, at Breeze.”
“On Friday or Saturday?”
“Friday night. First show starts at nine, second one at eleven.”
“Good, because I’m supposed to be babysitting on Saturday. That’s something I said I’d never do once my kids got grown. But a grandbaby changes you. Makes it possible to spoil a child like crazy and then send his whiny butt home!”
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Doug came from the back to the customer side of the front counter and faced them.
Jan and Pat responded.
“It’s obviously good for you,” Pat said. “What did the two of you do, breathe the same air on the way to work or something?” Jan kept her face blank as Doug looked her way. “I told Jan she looked more relaxed today and then you come in here sounding all chipper.”
“Pat, stop trying to start something,” Doug countered. “I always sound like this. I’m a happy person. When you look the word up in the dictionary you see my picture.”
Pat’s comeback was interrupted as customers entered. Doug went to the back while Jan and Pat handled several transactions. As soon as the lobby was empty, Pat leaned toward Jan with a knowing look in her eyes.
“Pat, why are you looking at me that way?”
“Because I’ve been doing this a long time.” She kept her voice low. “And I know when I’m looking at two people who are digging each other.”
Jan looked around before crossing her arms in a huff. “Doug said we wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret.”
“Why would you want to? Honey, I’d be putting everybody on notice. There’s at least one person who most definitely needs to get the memo, the text message, and a letter delivered by U.S. mail. The one that reads ‘hands off.’”
Jan gave Pat a doubtful look. “You think her knowing about anything will matter?”
“Probably not.”
Jan no longer looked so relaxed. “Don’t say anything, okay?”
“I won’t say a word. But you should.”
Fortunately for Jan, she got through the rest of the day without being interrogated. Joey was talkative, as usual, Melissa was her usual sarcastic self, and everyone else treated her cordial as always. Thanksgiving was two weeks away, yet the day’s customer flow had been light enough for Jan to leave work on time and head straight to On That Note. There were only four slots left. Both Doug and Rome tried to get her not to worry, kept saying there was no way she wouldn’t be selected. But considering who he’d chosen already, Jan wasn’t too sure. Maybe after she performed she’d have a word
with Nick, try to get a feel for how he’s feeling about her. And to maybe lay some of her cards on the table. Not that it would help, but she wanted him to know that unlike some of these other performers, for her this wasn’t about being famous. Or getting on TV. It was about using her gift to change a bunch of lives. She wanted to tell him about her brother, and how she’d use her good fortune to try to help the community. One of the first places she’d donate to was H.E.L.P. In other words, she wanted Starr to look at her and see a whole person, not just another singer. Last week, a guy won. Jan couldn’t be mad. She knew about the man who reminded her of a young Brad Pitt but surprised everyone by sounding like Smokey Robinson. She also had no doubt that him in the reality house, surrounded by at least five females, would make for good TV. Good move for Starr, but it made her nervous. There were only four slots left. She really wanted one of them to be hers.
Still, when it was her time to go on, Jan felt good. Doug’s compliments about her body had made her think about her style, how to highlight her attributes and disguise the more challenging parts. Yesterday, she’d gone shopping and found a simple black jumpsuit that was perfect. It accented her generous cleavage, cinched her waist, and had pleats that covered her lower abdomen and were slenderizing to her hips. She was singing Beyoncé’s “Halo” and knew she’d rock it. And she did.
When Starr took the stage to announce the latest winner, there was an uproar. Audience members were screaming the names of their favorites, Jan’s among them. She stood by the bar, next to the bartender, who felt she’d won hands down.
“This is your night, Jan! If he doesn’t give you the win, these folks are liable to tear this place down!”
After a few seconds, Starr quieted the crowd. “Wow, these performers did their thing tonight!” Cheering resumed. He put up his hands. “I must say the two standouts were Ms. NeoSoul from New York, Misty Fox!” A loud roar went up for the blond soul singer. “And homegrown California native . . . Jan Baker!” An even louder cheer rocked the rafters. The bartender squeezed Jan’s shoulder and gave her a confident wink. Jan began to believe.
“This is going to be tough, one of the toughest decisions yet. In fact, the only reason I am able to make it at all is because there will still be three slots available. Oh, man.” Starr teased the crowd by prolonging his decision. She watched his professionalism in working the crowd, building up the anticipation, ensuring high ratings.
“I’ve got to pick one. They both are amazing! But tonight, the next person with Starr power is . . . Misty Vox!”
A lot of cheers, and a few boos, erupted. “Come back next week, Jan!” Starr shouted. “There’s still room for you.”
Jan didn’t get to talk with Starr. She heard he went from the stage straight to his car. She also heard that Misty went with him. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed. But he’d told her to come back next week. That there were slots left. Her dream was one week closer to coming true.
24
The sting of getting so close to a spot on Starr Power but not getting chosen was made a little easier the next day when she was on her way to work and Thump called.
“Baby girl, I hope that gig is still available.”
“Since it’s taken you over a week to get back with me, I hope so, too.”
“That’s how long it took for me to reach all these hardheads and get a firm commitment. I wanted to make sure everybody was onboard before accepting the gig. It sounds like the kind that can lead to more if handled correctly. Believe me when I say I’m just as hungry as you.”
“I know. Sorry about snapping at you.”
“I ran into Rome last night. He told me about what’s been going on over there in the Valley. That punk Starr jerking you around. I told you not to mess with him, or get involved with that Hollywood scene. All that glitters ain’t gold, baby. And what looks like diamonds can turn out to be broken glass, the kind that cuts deep.”
Jan didn’t respond to these comments. Neither one of them was going to change their mind, so what was the use? Though he looked twenty years younger, Thump was almost sixty years old. Had been in the game since he was a teen and had been burned more than twice, including by a record company that stole his music and his money. So around him, Hollywood and music industry were curse words.
“I need to give Cynthia a call and let her know everything’s a go and get you two in touch with each other.”
“For what?”
“To negotiate the contract.”
“Me? Baby girl, you secured this gig. It’s your world, I’m just a squirrel trying to get a nut.”
“But it’s your band.”
“Look, you’d better listen to old school and learn how the game is played. Always put yourself first. You get the gig, you handle the deal and the money. Capiche?”
“All right, Thump. How soon can we start rehearsals?”
“Tomorrow.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. We’ll need to learn a lot of new cuts, especially Christmas songs. A lot of influential people can show up to this, so I want us to be on point!”
“You handle your business and I guaran-darn-tee you I’ll handle mine.”
Jan hung up from Thump and immediately called Cynthia. Two days later she was sitting at a restaurant, going over the details and laying out her terms so the contract could be drawn up. Doug was with her and while she’d told herself it would just make meeting with Cynthia more comfortable, the truth was having him by her side increased her comfort and her confidence. He wasn’t familiar with the music industry, but Doug had good common sense and an innate sense for business. She believed her connection to Cynthia’s brother-in-law got her and the band members a little more of the budget than would have happened without the family tie. So she was grateful.
She was not only thankful for the gig, but for the rehearsals it required. Throwing herself into them caused her to almost forget about what lay on the line these next few Monday nights. The first rehearsals went smoothly; everyone’s song ideas spot-on. Between the rehearsals, the post office, and nights at Doug’s place, Jan’s head was spinning. But her heart felt good. By the time the following Monday rolled around, she’d forgotten about how badly she’d felt at losing to Misty and again walked into On That Note believing that when all was said and done she’d be the one to beat.
* * *
Maybe he should have told her he was coming instead of planning a surprise. This was Doug’s thought as he maneuvered through the packed hallway and main floor of the club, looking for Jan. She’d told him the venue was normally crowded, but he wasn’t expecting wall-to-wall humanity. In less than ten minutes he’d had his foot stepped on, a drink splashed on his sleeve, and his butt pinched by a stranger. Now he was almost back to the front of the club, where he’d began, and he still hadn’t seen her. When the MC/comedian took the stage and began quieting the lively crowd he temporarily gave up the search, ordered a ginger ale, and claimed a piece of wall near the back by the bar, where he could see most of the room, the stage, and hopefully Jan at some point. If she was here and everything happened the way she thought it would happen, to experience it with her would make it all worth it.
Taking in his surroundings, Doug realized how long it had been since he’d been to a club like this. Outside of Breeze and the Ace Imperials Motorcycle Club, it had been years. He’d never been much of a clubgoer. It had always felt too much like a meat market or fashion show. In that sense, not much had changed. He observed the pretty girls—many with high heels, short dresses, and long weaves—chatting and laughing together while surreptitiously checking to see if anybody noticed. Men trying to look like ballers. Everyone trying to look important. Except for Jan. He saw her now. Naturally pretty, dressed in black leggings, an oversized sweater, and knee-high boots, she walked over to where a group surrounded someone sitting at a table. He started to walk over there, thought about it, and decided to not bother her until after she performed.
That would be a
while. Doug stood through several mediocre singers before someone finally got up from a stool at the bar. Once seated, he heard a dark-skinned beauty who wasn’t bad, a Latina girl who sounded like Macy Gray on a good day, and a guy who held his own singing The Weeknd’s “Earned It.” Doug sat back and tried to look at each artist objectively, as a producer or scout looking for talent might. He noticed how a girl might not have the best voice but had the look. Or another had the voice but no personality. Some contained their nerves while others let theirs get away. He took mental notes. Maybe something he noticed could be helpful to Jan.
When she took the stage, Doug immediately recognized two things. One, she didn’t have the same swagger as when she performed at Breeze. She appeared more tentative. Less relaxed. Two, she was easily the best singer in the room. Her rendition of Alicia Keys’s “Girl on Fire” was flawless, but he preferred the attitude she showed when she sang about her “bass.”
Once her performance was over, the crowd was appreciative. But they’d given equal cheers for some of the less-talented, more beautiful singers. The MC came up and announced a fifteen-minute break. Doug headed toward Jan, followed her eyes as she walked off the stage, and looked over to Starr’s table. She waved. Starr gave her a thumbs-up. By then Doug was two feet away. He reached for her arm just as she was about to go down a hall.
She started, ready to jerk her arm away before seeing his face. “Doug? What are you doing here?”
“Checking out the talent, same as everybody else.”
“Well, of course, but, I mean, where’d you come from? How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see you do your thing just now! I got here just before the comedian came on. I looked around for you but didn’t see you until the show had already started.”
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I know. I wanted to make it a surprise.”
“You did that.”