by Pearl Cleage
“Sing, Blue!”
“Hush, girl! You see that’s what the man is getting ready to do soon as you stop hollering!”
Blue smiled and held up his hand for quiet. “But these guys can’t just stand around back there, so I’m going to let them hum a little backup for me.”
Laughter and applause.
“And if you see any of them trying to open their mouths and sing, you let me know because this isn’t a song for beginners to try their luck.”
With that, Peachy played a chord on the guitar and the five boys hummed the note and lowered their arms in perfect sync. Several women actually squealed.
“What you gonna sing, Blue?”
“This is a song that people love all over the world,” Blue said, and his voice was as low and intimate as if he were talking to every woman in the room one-on-one. “It comes back every couple of years with somebody else singing lead, and people listen to it like they are hearing it for the first time.”
He looked directly at Serena, who looked right back while the other vamps sipped their Bloody Marys. “That’s how I want you all to hear it tonight. Like you’re hearing it for the very first time.”
Sitting behind Blue, Peachy was improvising quietly, the guitar weaving its own spell under Blue’s words. The boys were doing minimalist moves behind Blue, but saying nothing. No one would have noticed if they had. For the first time that night, there was no rippling at the vamps’ table. Every dark, sleek head was tilted to the light, watching Blue and waiting. Scylla took Serena’s hand and held it lightly, as if it might provide an early warning system for any weakness or wavering.
“The thing is,” he said, “for a long time, I stopped singing this song.” Blue was talking so quietly, everybody in the room leaned toward him slightly, not wanting to miss a word. In the packed ballroom upstairs, people raised their faces to the big screen and hung on every word. “I felt like it wasn’t fair.”
“Teach, Blue!” said a female voice in the back. “Tell the truth.”
“Because I realized that too many brothers were prepared to let me sing this song as if they were right there singing it, too, but that wasn’t the truth.”
“Take your time, baby!” a woman said, waving a handkerchief as if she was in church showing the pastor some sanctified love. Peachy’s guitar was an amen corner all by itself.
“The truth was there were too many brothers prepared to hide behind me to try to fool some woman into thinking we were the same man, but we weren’t.”
“You got that right!”
People shushed the woman who ignored them.
“Teach, Blue!”
“But things have changed and some of us have changed, too. Not nearly as much as we need to, and not nearly as much as we’re going to, but enough to make me think it might be safe to sing this song out loud again.”
That’s when Regina knew he was going to do “At Last.” She had never heard him sing that song in public, only when they were alone. Regina felt the blush on her cheeks, and for a second, but only for a second, she wondered if she really wanted Blue to sing that song—her song!—in front of the strange creatures sitting at the next table. But then she realized that was exactly what she wanted him to sing. If these vamps were going to know love, she had to let him show love. This was no time to doubt its power. Besides, he’s singing to you, she reminded herself. Just like always.
Blue nodded at Peachy, who strummed the song’s unmistakable opening chords. “Gina, this one’s for you, baby.”
When the women in the crowd realized he was going to sing the Etta James classic, they screamed with delight. They all remembered the pleasure of that first dance between the new president and his first lady, when Beyoncé sang it live, while the whole world got to watch them love each other all over the dance floor as if no one else was even there. The men who had any sense were equally pleased with his choice, if slightly less verbally demonstrative, because Blue was going home with Regina, and all that other love he was getting ready to stir up had to go home with somebody.
“At last,” Blue sang softly, “my love has come along …”
The room was suddenly so quiet, Blue’s voice and Peachy’s guitar seemed to be the only sounds in the universe. At the vamps’ table, Scylla tightened her grip on Serena’s hand without taking her eyes off the stage. Serena squeezed her friend’s hand reassuringly, but deep inside, she felt a strange stirring, like the reawakening of an old memory; forgotten, until now.
“Stay strong,” Scylla hissed softly.
“Yes,” Serena hissed back. “I will.”
“At last, the skies above are blue,” Blue sang, looking right at Regina.
All around the club, you could see people leaning against one another, holding hands, mouthing the words without making a sound. It was almost as if they wanted him to sing through them and to them at the same time. Regina knew that feeling. Something happened when Blue sang love songs. It was as if all the magic and the power and the past-lives wisdom he usually kept bottled up inside came out and danced around whenever he opened his mouth to sing. When Blue sang, a lyric became a libation; a song became a sacrament.
When Blue sang, his voice didn’t just offer the promise of good love; it offered an apology for every broken heart or broken promise the women listening had ever known. His voice carried an understanding that made the words he sang a confession of every transgression, real or imagined. A confession that said penance would be paid, forgiveness earned, and harmony restored.
“Sing, Blue!”
All over the club, and upstairs in the ballroom, women were standing up slowly to sing and sway. Sometimes they clasped their hands under their chins like they were offering a prayer, and sometimes they reached out to Blue as if he might walk off the stage and into their embrace. Sometimes they just leaned on somebody’s shoulder, and most of the time, that lucky somebody would lean right back.
Blue walked to the edge of the stage now and held out his hand to Regina, who stood up before she knew she was going to, reaching out for her husband like any other hopeful fan.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the younger vamps stand up, swaying like oat grass on a Tybee Island sand dune. Then another, and another and another, until four of them were up, swishing and hissing loudly. Serena felt herself starting to stand up, too, but Scylla grabbed her arm just in time. Even so, the feeling was so strong that she almost threw off Scylla’s hand and stood up anyway.
“What is it?” Scylla hissed. “What are you doing?”
“I remember this,” Serena hissed back urgently. “I remember how good this feels.”
“How good what feels?”
“When we can believe them,” Serena said. “When we can trust them to tell us the truth. When they love us!”
“Those days are gone,” Scylla snapped.
“No, they’re not,” Serena said, turning away from Blue suddenly and looking deeply into Scylla’s eyes. “I think it’s still possible, and I think you think so, too.”
Scylla hissed so loudly Abbie turned to look at them, but the other vamps had fixed their gaze on Blue.
At center stage, Blue took Regina’s hand while he sank gracefully to one knee, singing like it was just the two of them sitting on their front porch swing.
People craned their necks to see but resisted the impulse to stand on their chairs. Zeke didn’t play that.
Blue closed his eyes, raised Regina’s fingers to his lips, and kissed them softly, almost reverently. The screaming of delighted women drowned out everything else for a minute and then was hushed into silence. Nobody wanted to miss a note. Then Blue stood up slowly and looked around, his eyes finally coming to rest on Serena. Even Peachy’s guitar was silent.
People reached out slowly to touch their partners and the room held its breath. At the vamps’ table, Serena looked straight back at Blue, gently removed Scylla’s hand from her arm, and stood up, her cheeks wet with tears for what had been lost until Blu
e made her remember the possibility—just the possibility—of love. Regina was right, she thought. For now, that would have to be enough.
Blue turned back to Regina, who was still on her feet, holding her breath along with everybody else. Then he smiled, and so did she.
“At last!”
The song ended, and for a moment the last notes hung in the silence, then everyone in the place leaped to their feet, laughing and hugging and hoping they could hold on to that feeling forever. Women rushed forward as Regina hugged Abbie and Aretha and realized they were all crying. Blue was still onstage, surrounded now by adoring fans. He grinned at Regina and she blew him a kiss and grinned back. Only then did she look over at the vamps’ table for the first time.
She had said that she didn’t think there would be any doubt about the outcome of the wager, but she still had to know for sure. That’s when she saw Serena, still standing at her seat, watching Blue, using a clean white napkin to dab at the corners of her eyes. When she looked up and saw Regina watching, she inclined her head slowly to acknowledge defeat and turned away. Regina knew then it was over. She headed for Blue.
Scylla watched Serena closely, while the other vamps mingled in the crowd at the edge of the stage, fluttering their hands at Blue Hamilton and hissing under their breath softly.
“I’m sorry I failed you,” Serena said, sitting down slowly. “I will take full responsibility.”
Scylla looked at her for a minute and then rippled a shrug. “Fuck it.”
Serena was so relieved that Scylla wasn’t going to make a scene and start biting people that she wanted to lean over and kiss her right in the middle of her perfect forehead. Maybe she had been right. Maybe even Scylla had felt something.
“Are you sure?”
Scylla nodded and rippled another shrug. “I never was that crazy about boys anyway.”
“You know this means we can’t have any more babies, right?”
Scylla stood up slowly. “We can have adventures instead.”
Serena stood up, too. “Until we’re old?”
Scylla hissed lightly and smoothed her little skirt over her nonexistent hips. “We don’t get old, remember?”
“You’re right,” Serena hissed back. “We don’t!”
And the thought made her feel so good that right there in the middle of Club Zebra, for the very first time, Serena smiled.
Epilogue
Just Wanna Testify
Regina woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of music. She sat up slowly and looked around. The clock said eight o’clock. It was already morning and she didn’t even remember when Blue had come to bed. She stretched and yawned and then she remembered the wild dreams she’d had last night.
It was all so real, she thought. Even the vampires and the sex slaves and the high-fashion models in black stiletto heels.
She could hear Blue singing with the radio downstairs as she slipped on her robe and brushed her teeth quickly. He was in the dream, too, she remembered, while running a comb through her hair; singing his ass off and testifying to the power of love. She was sorry she had missed their late date last night, but Sweetie wasn’t due back from Abbie’s until noon. There was still a great big window of opportunity for some serious foolin’ around, if Blue didn’t have other plans. She hurried downstairs and found him squeezing fresh orange juice.
“Don’t you ever sleep?” she said, kissing his cheek and wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Not if I can help it,” he said. “How are you doing this morning?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “You get some rest?”
“Your son needed a nap,” she said, grinning. “What can I do?”
He turned to her, laid both hands gently on the swell of her belly. “I’ve got a couple of ideas,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “But how about we start with some breakfast?”
“You’ve got a deal. I’m starving!”
“I’m not at all surprised,” he said, moving back to the oranges. “A good night’s sleep is practically guaranteed to improve your appetite.”
She laughed. “If you stop signifyin’, I might tell you about the amazing dream I had.”
“I hope it didn’t have any of those vampires in it that you were worrying about.”
“Actually it did,” she said, “but you sang them away.”
“I did?” he said. “Well, what did I sing that was powerful enough to do all that?”
“ ‘At Last.’ ”
He frowned as he poured the juice into two big frosted glasses.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like ‘At Last’?”
“That’s Etta’s song,” he said. “She let Beyoncé borrow it for the inauguration, but I don’t believe she was too happy about it.”
“Well, if you had to stand up to some vampires, what would you sing?”
As if they had called in a request, the oldies deejay cued up the Parliament classic “Just Wanna Testify,” with George Clinton singing lead and sounding more like a Temptation than he ever would again.
“Friends, inquisitive friends, ask me what’s come over me …”
Blue grinned and held out his hand. “This one will do,” he said, pulling her close.
Regina laughed and stepped into his arms. “That song is too fast for grinding!”
“Not the way I sing it,” he said, putting his lips against her ear.
“I just wanna testify what your love has done for me …”
And, of course, he was right. It wasn’t too fast at all.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my family and friends for their love and support, especially Kris and Jim Williams, Karen and A. B. Spellman, Maria Broom, Ray and Marilyn Cox, Lynette Lapeyrolerie, Walt Huntley, Jr., Bruce Talamon, Jimmy Lee Tarver, Doug and Pat Burnett, Johnsie Broadway Burnett, Elijah Huntley, Don Bryan, Kay Leigh Hagan, Donald P. Stone, and Marc and Elaine Lawson. Also thanks to Ron Gwiazda for taking care of business, Melody Guy for her patience and support, and Bill Bagwell because a deal is a deal.
About the Author
PEARL CLEAGE is the author of the novels Till You Hear from Me, Seen It All and Done the Rest, Baby Brother’s Blues, Babylon Sisters, What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day …, which was an Oprah’s Book Club selection, Some Things I Never Thought I’d Do, and I Wish I Had a Red Dress, as well as three works of nonfiction: Mad at Miles: A Black Woman’s Guide to Truth, Deals with the Devil and Other Reasons to Riot, and We Speak Your Names: A Celebration, in collaboration with Zaron W. Burnett, Jr. She is also an accomplished dramatist whose plays include Flyin’ West, Blues for an Alabama Sky, A Song for Coretta, and The Nacirema Society Requests the Honor of Your Presence at a Celebration of Their First One Hundred Years. Cleage lives in Atlanta with her husband, writer Zaron W. Burnett, Jr.