Never Knew Love Like This Before

by Denise Campbell

  After that night at the ocean, Deni woke up to loud screams. She sprung out of her bed, dragging her Egyptian cotton sheet with her. Padding across her plush carpet, she threw her silk robe over her Victoria’s Secret gown and pounced up the stairs.

  The cries were coming from Blossom’s room. Deni tapped softly on the bedroom door. “Is everything all right? May I come in?”

  “Come in,” Miss Johntrice said.

  When Deni walked in she saw Miss Johntrice cuddling and soothing Blossom. A piece of worn-looking blanket was wrapped in Blossom’s arm between her and her grandmother.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Blossom’s had a nightmare. Hush, little sugar dumplin’. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Blossom continued to thrash about and wail. “I see the flood. I see bodies. I see my mom.”

  “Your mother’s okay. Don’t worry.”

  Deni walked over, sat on the side of the bed with Miss Johntrice, and hugged Blossom. “You’re safe now, Blossom. Don’t worry.”

  Chapter 13

  Unrest

  The following Saturday Coleman watched Deni as she prepared the salad in her large open-space country kitchen. Coleman thought about the last four months he’d spent without having a woman and for the first time since Katrina, he felt slightly aroused. This was the first time he and Deni had been alone in the house together. Miss Johntrice had taken Britton and Blossom Christmas shopping. But intuitively, Coleman knew he had to keep his distance since he had to live here. Even a dog knew you don’t shit where you had to eat.

  He was glad he’d been too stressed worrying about survival to even consider having sex. He felt his thinking was a lot clearer now anyhow. Life was too important to have a mate you only knew sexually. Since Katrina, he’d even left his weed alone. After Mellon’s betrayal, Coleman never thought he’d be interested in someone but Deni was waking up emotions in him that he’d thought he’d buried that night he caught Mellon in bed with Luke. Also he was curious about Deni.

  For some reason he felt protective of her. He knew that that was crazy. Deni was a professional, independent woman. Her whole persona said she didn’t need anybody, especially a man. She drove a nicer car than he did. How many women, even married couples, could afford a Mercedes? Yes, Deni could take care of herself. Yet there was something so vulnerable about her.

  Deni was different than any woman he’d known. She liked to listen to Tchaikovsky, and sometimes the sounds of opera would float from under her bedroom door. And she always smelled so good. Chanel, was it?

  “It’s the weekend,” Coleman commented to her. “I’m curious. Why aren’t you out on a date?”

  Deni’s light faun eyes flashed with anger. “What makes you think that is any of your business?”

  Coleman didn’t answer her. He looked at her for an uncomfortable moment. Finally he spoke up. “Do you ever relax?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “I notice your schedule is in your kitchen, and in your bathroom.”

  “Just say I’m goal-oriented.”

  “Well, how about spontaneity? Don’t you ever believe in the magic of life? That good things can happen that have nothing to do with planning?”

  “I guess so. But maybe too many of us are planning on magic to take care of everything. I think that’s what’s wrong with so many Black people.”

  Coleman had an amused grin on his face. “So tell me, what’s wrong with Black people?”

  “Don’t say it like that. I just know the ones I grew up with. They just live from day to day, never planning anything. Such as my relatives. I have a cousin who’s having her seventh baby. Does that make sense in this day and age? Her husband only has a janitor job.”

  “Is she happy with her husband?”

  Deni paused. She thought of all the times she’d seen Shana and Lionel together, laughing, playing bid whist, taking the children to church and on picnics.

  “Yes, I guess so, from what I see, she is.” She almost hated to admit it herself.

  “Well, then, who are we to judge?”

  For a moment, Deni started to get defensive. “I’m not judging her.”

  Coleman gave her a strange look. “You sound as if you feel like you can’t relate to most Black people. I guess that includes me too.”

  “You think because I live in a nice home, I don’t know what it is to be Black in America?”

  Coleman was quiet for a moment. “Could I ask you a question?”

  “What?”

  “Are you getting married?”

  “Why?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “Wondering why?”

  “Oh, I was wondering about the wedding dress I saw in your closet.”

  “Are you snooping around when I’m at work? I didn’t think I had to lock my room. I open my home and this is what I get?”

  “No, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find Blossom one day and I found her in your room. She was playing in your closet. She has a bad habit of disappearing and hiding from us. I told her never to go in your room again without permission.”

  “Well, if you must know, I was supposed to get married last year.”

  “And what happened?”

  Deni sighed. “Just say it didn’t work out.” Now, she’d said it. Coleman could see the freeing relief in her eyes. She laughed.

  Deni felt herself relaxing. “Can you tell me what happened to the children’s mother?”

  A cloud crossed his face, but he answered. “Her name was Mellon. All I can say is it just didn’t work out.” Coleman looked away.

  “Were you married?”

  “We’re divorced now.”

  “Can I ask you something? Are you always this uptight?”

  “What do you mean? Uptight?”

  “Well, the way you dress.”

  Coleman watched Deni cringe. “What’s wrong with the way I dress? You must be used to the bimbos that hang off you in the nightclubs.”

  “I’ve got to tell you something. My music has always been my first love.”

  “Well, as you know, I’m an attorney. I don’t win my cases even in children’s court because I wear my boobs hanging out.”

  Stunned, Coleman retreated to his bedroom upstairs. Britton and Blossom had gone Christmas shopping with Miss Johntrice.

  There was so much he didn’t understand about Deni. She seemed like a good woman, but he wondered why she was so emotionally guarded.

  Absently, he picked up his sax and began to play. Life’s puzzles he couldn’t comprehend began to fall into place as he held his saxophone under his sway. He began to improvise.

  It gave him a communion with his spirit.

  Music came to him unconsciously at the strangest times. Inside he felt like crying over all the loss from Katrina. The music had away of soothing him. It helped him to find his center, which he’d felt had been knocked out from under him. When he heard the music inside of him, he had to play what he heard. It was as if an angel whispered the notes into his ear.

  The notes came so clear to him, he had to play it right then or he might lose it. His mind would never remember.

  Lord, life was uncomplicated when he played his sax. Only the truth flowed through his fingers. This truth caused women to throw their panties on the stage, to slip room keys in his hand, and phone numbers (even married women did this), so he’d never wanted for a woman. He tried to be selective though.

  He remembered how the older musicians often talked about shedding. He had to mature to understand they were referring to getting to the woodshed, to practice to learn the craft. The alone time necessary to concentrate just on the music and develop your own technique. This was part of the dues you paid to be in the inner circle of the hip jazz musicians circle. No getting around it if you truly wanted to be a musician.

  The spellbinding sounds of jazz music began drifting throughout the house like the smell of cinnamon just before Christmas. It imbued the house with the same lo
ve she felt in Mother Ticey’s home. Absently, Deni listened as she typed on a court report on her laptop. She tried to ignore the sounds that brought colorful images to her mind. At first she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing or feeling. She felt like she was eavesdropping on an intimate moment between a man and his saxophone. So different was the sound, it was intriguing.

  She tried to put words to the sounds. Romantic? Lonely? Fearful? All the sounds must be what he was feeling, Deni decided.

  This was the sound of a person with a fulfilled life—someone who had lost everything he owned, yet he had retained his spirit. She suddenly realized she was sharing his truth. It included his joy, his raw pain, his fear, and his excitement at starting over. He was composing a sound. Although she’d heard him practice before, up until now she’d never noticed how talented he was.

  Chapter 14

  Deni

  Change

  “A man named Mr. Robert Franklin called today,” Miss Johntrice told Deni when she came in from work one evening. “I wrote his number down by the phone.”

  Deni couldn’t help it. “I wish he would stop calling.”

  Miss Johntrice looked puzzled. “Why? Who is he? He sounded like a gentleman.”

  For some reason, Deni opened up and told the older woman about the letter and about the calls.

  Miss Johntrice listened patiently. When Deni was through, she gave her opinion. “If this man is indeed your father, you have a right to know him.”

  “Why? I lived all these years without a father. I don’t need a father now.”

  “Believe it or not, women need their fathers just as much as men do. I know I’m glad I had my late husband to help raise up Coleman. It kept him out of a lot of trouble . . . except when it came to that Mellon. But, oh well, they did have two beautiful children together.”

  “Well, Coleman was a male child. I think it works out when a woman raises her daughter alone—even if it’s not an ideal situation. I turned out all right.”

  “Yes, from what you’ve told me, your mother was a wonderful mother. But if this is your father, I’m sure she would want you to at least find out. She never told you who your father was?”

  “Never. She only said I was her child and that was all that mattered.”

  “Well, think about it. You see how crazy Blossom is about Coleman. I think a girl really needs her father.”

  Deni didn’t answer.

  For the first time in years, Deni looked forward to coming home from work. She would come home to the most scrumptiously prepared meals. Miss Johntrice used to work as a chef. The smells of crawfish étoufée, shrimp jambalaya, turtle soup, and bouidin, a rice sausage, wafted on the air as soon as she opened the door. And Miss Johntrice’s gumbo was to die for. Miss Johntrice showed Deni how to eat crawfish.

  “You take the head off and suck the juice off of them.”

  Although she thought the little creatures looked gross, Deni was surprised how she liked the taste of the crawfish.

  Sometimes, when she came in from work, Deni would hear the sounds of Billie Holiday, Ma Rainey and other old blues singers floating down on his old albums. And others she would hear the sound of old jazz musicians such as Miles Davis, Kenny G, Grover Washington, and Herb Alpert.

  One day she even heard him trying to teach Britton how to play the sax and it reminded her of the two cats who often mated over at Grandmother Ticey’s house. Blossom didn’t seem to have any musical talents, but she liked to make up stories and play hide and seek all over the house. Once Deni realized this, she would let her come in her room and dress up in her clothes and have pretend tea parties.

  That Christmas Deni decided to invite Jean and Abe over and have a small Christmas gathering. She decided not to invite her relatives this Christmas—not since they cut up so bad last Christmas the neighbors had called the police.

  Jean and Abe were both dressed in Christmas colors: red and green plaids. Jean wore her blond hair pulled up on top of her head and had on emerald earrings. As soon as Jean saw Blossom her eyes lit up. “You’re such a beautiful little girl,” she said to Blossom. Then, as if remembering Britton, she added, “You’re a handsome young man.”

  “What is that under your arm?” Jean asked Blossom.

  “My blankie.”

  “Well, I have a doll you can wrap up in your blankie.” Jean gave Blossom a little black doll, and the two seemed to click right away.

  “We have gumbo, straight out of New Orleans,” Deni announced, and everyone’s eyes lit up.

  The dinner party went smoothly. Miss Johntrice cooked turkey, dressing, macaroni and cheese, mustard and turnip greens, dirty rice, gumbo, and several sweet potato pies and seven-layer cakes.

  Abe and Jean were comfortable with Deni’s newfound family.

  Afterwards, they played charades. Coleman had never played, yet he and Deni, who were on the same team, won.

  At the end of the evening, Coleman played various tunes on his saxophone and everyone agreed this was the best Christmas they’d had in a while. He played a little Miles Davis, and finally, he ended up doing that haunting tune he was working on that evening they’d talked. “Katrina Blues.”

  Two mornings after Christmas, the blare of her house phone’s ring woke up Deni.

  “What’s this about you taking in a family when you won’t even help family?” It was Shana on the other end of the phone line. Her voice had taken on a teasing tone.

  “Girl, what are you doing calling so early in the morning? Did you have the baby yet?”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly Deni was wide awake. “What did you have?”

  “Another girl.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Deni Niveah Williams.”

  “What?” Deni couldn’t believe it.

  Shana paused. “I named her after you. I guess I want her to turn out to be just like you. Thanks for what you did for Shawn.”

  “What?” Deni was still in shock. “You know I’m going to be her godmother. I’ll be over there when I get off work.”

  Deni hung up, a smile curving her lips. She was pleased. Deni knew Shana was kidding about her not helping family. Perhaps in the past she hadn’t helped her family members much, but recently, things had changed.

  For one, Shana was ever grateful for Deni having gotten Shawn out of jail. Shawn was even working now at Black Butterfly Press, a small black publishing company in Inglewood, and he had discovered he had writing skills. He was writing a street fiction book about the travails of growing up Black in South Los Angeles. Everyone felt Deni had helped turned Shawn’s life around by getting him a second chance.

  That evening, after work, she would stop by JCPenney and pick up 200 dollars’ worth of baby clothes.

  Chapter 15

  Coleman

  Redondo Beach on the Pier,

  New Year’s 2006

  Coleman was so excited that they’d hired him as a regular at a jazz club, the Jazz Aft Board Club, in Redondo Beach at the Fisherman’s Wharf, he wanted to share his joy with someone.

  “I know it’s rather at the last minute. Would you like to go with me to the club and hear me play on New Year’s Eve?” he asked Deni five days before New Year’s Eve.

  Even though he hated to admit it, Coleman was beginning to look forward to seeing Deni when she came home from work. Often he was coming in from his second job at Labor Ready.

  Coleman played the best set he had ever played. He played a solo, which stood out against his drummer, Ricki, the trumpet player, Victor, and the pianist, Jimmy T. It seemed knowing Deni was in the audience made him play better than ever before. He played about the heartbreak from the main women in his life. All the pain of Mellon’s infidelity, all the fear of getting safely through Katrina, and all the ecstasy and the agony he’d discovered in Cali, he poured into his music.

  Sitting at one of the front tables, Deni looked around. A high voltage of excitement rippled throughout the room. The room was crowded with young
and old, white and black, Hispanic and Asian, all looking like they were jazz aficionados. When Coleman took the stand and put his lips to his saxophone, the notes were so pure, they made her body pulsate with desire. The slow, sensuous music filled the room. Sometimes it crescendoed and sometimes it diminished. With each note he played, Deni could feel the sexual tension growing between the two of them. She felt like Coleman was playing to her.

  How could she have missed someone so beautiful? It was like an ancestral drum was calling her body and spirit with each note played.

  Then she remembered. It was as if a primordial veil lifted from her eyes. Coleman looked like the man in her dreams, the man on the middle passage ship, so much, it was eerie.

  “This is the man I dreamed about long before I met him. This was that middle passage dream,” she murmured to herself.

  Coleman was nothing like Trent, who was totally self-absorbed. “I’d thought we’d be the perfect professional couple. He met all my requirements, he was professional, owned his own business and knew how to be charming. But it was all a facade. Just a game. He said all the right things, wanted family and children, but he didn’t mean one word of it. What a liar.”

  Maybe what I’ve deemed is important is the problem.

  The arresting sounds made Deni begin to really see Coleman.

  She began to evaluate her feelings. No, he didn’t fit her ideal of a professional Brother. She would just push her feelings aside and go with the flow.

  When Coleman sat down to the table, he turned to Deni. “Would you like a drink?”

  “No. I’ve decided to stop drinking.”

  “Why, is drinking a problem for you?”

  “No. I don’t mind having a drink now and then. I just don’t want to need a drink.”

  “I know. I’ve been there before.” Coleman turned to the waitress. “Miss, may we have two Seven-Ups?”