Disappearing Acts

by Terry McMillan

  Every hand in the room went up, accompanied by screams.

  “Okay, okay. This is what we’re going to do. You’re going to hear all this kind of music, and more. I want to teach you guys how to listen. We’ll learn the fundamentals of music reading, so you’ll be able to understand basic notes, and you’ll even get to write and record your own song. Music has a history, and I’m going to try to make it as interesting as possible.”

  “We’ve heard that before!” someone yelled out.

  “Do I look like a boring teacher?” I asked. I had deliberately worn a straight denim skirt with a hot-pink blouse and sandals and big earrings. I don’t like to look threatening.

  “No. You look pretty hip to us. How old are you anyway, Miss Banks?”

  “Why?”

  “None of our teachers tell us how old they are. You know how old we are. What’s the big secret?”

  They had a point. “I’m thirty years old.”

  “You don’t look that old.”

  I was flattered. I can’t lie: Sometimes these kids help me take my mind off things I’ve been thinking too hard about. Thank God.

  I looked down at my notes, so I wouldn’t forget what I was supposed to ask next.

  “What kind of music do you normally listen to, or should I even ask?”

  “Rock!” was what I heard the loudest.

  “Rap!”

  “Soul music!”

  “How many of you like to sing?”

  Only a few hands went up.

  “How many of you play a musical instrument?”

  Not a single hand went up.

  “How many of you would like to learn to play an instrument?”

  About half the class raised their hands.

  “That’s good,” I said. “Now, does anyone know what a concerto is?”

  No one said anything.

  “How about an overture?”

  There was more silence.

  “A symphony?” A few lazy arms went up. I exhaled. My level of enthusiasm was dropping. “Well, today let’s just start by listening to a few strings.” I looked at them, then down at my lesson plan. I swear, I didn’t feel like being a teacher today, so instead of listening to fifteen minutes of Beethoven and delivering my speech about music as a living art, I took George Benson out of my Walkman and pushed him into the big recorder. They looked surprised, then grateful. The next thing I knew, they were leaning forward in their seats, rocking their shoulders and popping their fingers to the beat.

  * * *

  I had already rehearsed my speech, and when I heard Franklin’s key turning in the door, my heart started pounding real fast.

  “Hello,” I said. I was hoping my formality would give him a clue that something was wrong, but he was grinning.

  “Guess what, baby?”

  “What,” I said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “I’ll probably be starting a new job in a day or two. One that’s gon’ put me where I should be. No shit. The city’s already been given the go-ahead for a office building—right in downtown Brooklyn. We shaping it up in the morning. The money looks good. Real good. Let me make your birthday up to you, baby. Name anything you want. Anything. Go ahead, baby, name it!”

  I didn’t realize it at first, but I was grinning too. Franklin looked so happy, like the man I had fallen in love with. His dimples were even more pronounced, and I hadn’t seen them in over a week. The longer I looked at him, the clearer it was that it wouldn’t do either of us any good for me to let on that I knew about him being laid off, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “What about the racetrack?” I said. Franklin walked over and put my arms around his waist. Then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me up against him.

  “No problem,” he said. “You tired?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “Come on, baby, be tired. Don’t you feel like taking a little nap with me?”

  I yawned. “Now that you mention it, I guess I could stand to lay down for a few minutes.”

  Our bodies fell apart, and he held my hand as we walked back toward the bedroom. I was almost happy, but my head still felt thick. Franklin did a fine job of thinning it out.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, I coughed all day long. My students kept telling me I should go home. But I wouldn’t, even when I started getting hot and cold chills and could hardly pick up the chalk to write. When I finally got home, I flopped down on the bed and listened to the phone machine. Judy was postponing her trip. She didn’t say why.

  By five o’clock, I couldn’t breathe. When Franklin came home and saw me like this, he played doctor. Made me hot tea with honey and wanted to put some of his Jack Daniel’s in it, but I told him no. It wasn’t until I woke up, about nine-something, that I remembered I was supposed to go listen to that band. Shit. I had Franklin call and explain. I rubbed more Vicks under my nose, he rubbed it on my chest and back, and I figured maybe I got sick for a reason. Maybe it wasn’t time for me to be auditioning for a band. After all, I start my voice class next week.

  For the next two days, I stayed in bed. I couldn’t have gone to school if I wanted to. Franklin gave me hot baths with Epsom salt, kept me filled with chicken noodle soup and enough tea and juice to last the rest of my life. He even brushed my hair. It was precisely at times like this that I was grateful I had a man who loved me.

  * * *

  “So you’re a friend of Eli’s,” Reginald said.

  “Yes, I am, even though I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  “He just moved to San Francisco.”

  “What? Since when?”

  “Last week. He’s touring with a dance company for a year.”

  “He could’ve told me. My goodness.”

  “Well, anyway, tell me a little more about yourself, Zora.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where you’re from. How long you’ve been singing. Where you’ve sung. Why you want or feel you need lessons. What kind of singing you’re interested in. What your long-range goals are. That sort of thing.”

  “Well, to start, I was raised in Toledo, Ohio, and grew up singing in a Baptist church.”

  “Any solos?”

  “At least one Sunday a month.”

  Reginald was nodding his head.

  “I guess I’ve been singing since I was about ten or eleven. One day I’d like to sing professionally. I’m partial to rhythm and blues, but I also like to sing my own version of jazz and folk. That’s one reason why I’m here, to figure out if I can fuse them all together. And also to learn how to control my voice.”

  “Have you ever had any training before?”

  “Just high school choir.”

  “Any talent shows?”

  “Two, but that was when I was in high school. I did win first place both times.”

  “So tell me who some of your favorite singers are.”

  “That’s a loaded question, but I respect quite a few of them. But to name a few, I love Joan Armatrading and Nancy Wilson. Chaka Khan, Laura Nyro, Aretha, Sarah Vaughan, Joni Mitchell. Is that enough?”

  “I’m getting the picture. Let me tell you how I work. I like to meet once a week, and for the first three weeks or so, we’ll start off by concentrating totally on breathing. In your letter you said you teach music—do you have a piano?”

  “Yes.” I had to smile just thinking about how I was able to get it. Franklin. God, do I love that man.

  “Good. Because you’ll have exercises to do at home. Anyway, we’ll work on breathing techniques for about twenty minutes each session. Then we’ll do the scales for about fifteen, and the remaining time you’ll sing. Now. The first thing I want you to do is imagine that you’re a balloon being filled up with air.”

  “Right now?”

  “Can you think of a better time?”

  “I just didn’t know I was going to do anything like this today.”

  “Well, what did you think we were going to do?”

  “
Talk.”

  “I teach voice, not talk.”

  “Okay. What do you want me to do, again?” I was nervous as hell. I wasn’t prepared for this.

  He pointed to my stomach. “I want all of it to go in your diaphragm, right there, so you feel like a pregnant woman. Then I want you to exhale, so everything springs back. We’re going to practice doing this fast and slow. The whole idea is to help you to control those abdominal muscles correctly. Once you learn how to do this—and it won’t be overnight—you’ll notice how much easier it is for you when you sing. Do you get tired easily when you’re singing?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never sung for any extended period of time.”

  “Well, we’ll watch and see what happens.”

  I tried to concentrate, but I wasn’t used to breathing like this. Reginald kept correcting me, and finally I felt so frustrated I said, “I’ll practice this some more at home.”

  “I told you this takes time.”

  But I was pissed off because I wanted to do it right. Today.

  “Well, pick a song,” he said.

  “To sing?”

  He looked frustrated now, like I’d just asked a stupid question.

  “Okay,” I said, and cleared my throat. When I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I wasn’t used to this.

  “Take a deep breath, and try to relax,” he said.

  That was easy for him to say. I must’ve started Laura Nyro’s version of “Gonna Take a Miracle” four times before it felt right and I was able to get through it. I was perspiring like it was going out of style.

  “I’m impressed,” Reginald said, after I’d finally finished. “As we go along, particularly when we’re working on a specific song, we’re going to concentrate on posture, the position of your head, and all the things that have to do with stage presence. Try to remember to bring a cassette to class so we can record each session. I want you to hear what you’re doing, and in a few months you’ll be able to hear your progress. And let me warn you now, if you’re not serious, miss classes, don’t do the work, and that kind of thing, I’ll drop you. Is that clear?”

  I nodded. He sounded like a teacher all right. But all the way home, it felt like I’d acquired Franklin’s dimples, because the lining of my cheeks tickled. All I kept thinking was that I had taken the first step, and I was on my way.

  8

  “This is where you live now, Daddy?” Derek asked, walking around the apartment.

  “Yeah, this is where I live,” I said. I betcha he was thinking that it damn sure was a improvement over that room. I didn’t know if he could tell that none of the shit in here was mine, but at least it looked like I was living right. I heard Miles banging on Zora’s piano. “Miles, what you doing back there, boy? Don’t be messing with that piano. It ain’t no toy. Now get your little bird butt outta there and close the door.”

  Miles came walking down the hallway, looking like E.T. The boy ain’t but seven years old and already got long, wiry legs and not a drop of meat on him. He looks like his Mama, but if he lucky, he’ll grow out of it. Derek looks like me, except he’s a few shades lighter.

  “What size shoe you wearing now, Derek?”

  “Elevens.”

  “Damn, I don’t wear but thirteens myself. Your feet gon’ be bigger than mine. You gon’ have to get a job, man.”

  He started grinning. “So where’s your girlfriend, Daddy?”

  “She’s still at school.”

  “She go to school? Is she that young?”

  “Naw, naw, naw. She teaches junior high, but she usually stays a little later to get ready for the next day.”

  “You gon’ marry her?” Miles asked.

  “What you know about getting married, chump?” I grabbed his little round head and knuckled it. He started squirming, and then Derek jumped on top of me and tried to help him. We was tussling something terrible, when I heard a crash. Aw, shit. “Hey, hold it, fellas. Hold it.” I looked over and saw one of Zora’s lamps had fell over and broke. Damn.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Derek said.

  “Me too,” said Miles.

  “It’s okay, dudes. It wasn’t nobody’s fault.” Just then I heard Zora’s key turn in the door. The boys ran over to the couch and sat down like they was waiting for a beating. “Relax, fellas. She ain’t gon’ bite you.” They just looked at each other, then back at the door.

  When Zora saw ’em sitting on her couch, at first she looked surprised, and then she just smiled this stupid smile and said, “Hi.”

  Derek and Miles both blushed and mumbled a “Hi” back. Miles was hiding his face behind Derek’s back, and Derek kept trying to push him away.

  “Hi, baby,” I said, and walked over and kissed her on the cheek.

  “And just who are these handsome young men?” she asked.

  “I’m Derek.”

  “I’m Miles.”

  “Well, I’m Zora. Glad to meet you guys. Your Daddy’s told me a lot about you.”

  They started laughing.

  Zora looked at me like she couldn’t understand what she said that was so funny. “Well, Derek, Franklin tells me you’re quite a basketball player, and Miles, what grade are you in?”

  “Second,” Miles said, then dived behind Derek again.

  “What happened to the lamp?” she asked casually.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll replace it. We was wrestling on the floor, and I guess we knocked it over.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “So are you guys staying for dinner?”

  Both of ’em hunched their shoulders and started laughing again. “I was about to take ’em out for pizza and a movie.”

  “But how many opportunities do I get to cook dinner for your sons, Franklin?”

  “They’ll come back again,” I said.

  “You love my Daddy?” Miles blurted out.

  “Give me a break, Miles, would you?” I asked.

  “Well, Mama said that’s why people live together, ’cause they in love. Do you?”

  Now Zora looked like she was blushing. “Yes, I love your Daddy,” she said.

  “You gon’ marry him?”

  “I don’t know. You have to ask your Daddy that.”

  “Daddy, you wanna marry her?”

  “One day, Miles. You dudes about ready?”

  “I like your piano, Miss Zora,” Miles said.

  “You do?”

  “Uhn hun. You know how to play it for real?”

  “I sure do. Do you know how to play a piano?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. If you promise me you’ll come back, I’ll show you how to play a few songs. Would you like that?”

  “Yeah!” he said, and got up.

  “I’ll see you later, baby.” I kissed her on the lips, and she said her goodbyes to all of us.

  When we got downstairs, Derek was awfully quiet. “What’s wrong with you, dude?” I asked him.

  “Nothin’.”

  “Then why ain’t you talking?”

  “’Cause I ain’t got nothing to say.”

  “Didn’t you like Zora?”

  “I didn’t say that, did I?”

  “Well, what’s wrong, then?” I asked, even though I knew what the deal was. This is the first woman he’s ever seen me with since me and his Mama split up. I didn’t know I was ever gon’ be in a position where I was gon’ have to explain this stuff or defend my feelings. Shit. How you supposed to tell your kid this kinda shit without hurting their feelings?

  “It’s just funny knowing you live with another woman that ain’t Mama, that’s all.”

  “I know, man. But look. You know how long it’s been since me and your Mama been together, right?”

  “Yeah, but it just don’t seem right.”

  “Can I explain something to you?”

  “What?”

  “You like girls, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with this?”

  “W
ell, when you grow up to be a man, you might find yourself doing more than just liking ’em. You might fall in love, the same way I did when I met your Mama. Only sometimes things happen, and people find it hard to live with each other, and they go their separate ways. After that happens, sometimes you meet somebody else you love, and you kinda start all over again. Your Mama met somebody else, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but he don’t live with us.”

  “But he might one day, you know.”

  He looked at me like the thought had never crossed his mind.

  “Do you like him?”

  “He’s all right.”

  “Well, as long as I know he ain’t mistreating y’all, I want your Mama to be happy with him. You know what I’m saying?”

  “I guess.”

  “What you mean, you guess?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It ain’t no fun being by yourself all the time. A man likes having a woman to keep him company. But it don’t mean I’ma forget about y’all or ain’t gon’ wanna see y’all. You get my drift?”

  “But what’ll happen if you was to marry her and then have some more kids? What about me and Miles?”

  “First of all, you and Miles gon’ always be my sons, and I’m gon’ always love you, so don’t forget that shit. But if this’ll make you feel any better, I don’t plan on having no more kids.”

  “Yeah, but say if you did—then that would make them our half-brother or sister, right?”

  “I want a sister,” Miles said.

  “Yeah. But ain’t no sense in worrying about something that most likely ain’t gon’ happen, now is it?”

  “You gon’ marry her, ain’t you?” Derek asked.

  “I might.”

  “Well, if you do, don’t look for me at your wedding.”

  “Come on now, man. Would you wanna see me miserable for the rest of my life?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll come,” said Miles. “I like that lady. She talk like white people, but I could come live with y’all and then I’d have two Mamas, huh, Daddy?”

  I popped him upside the head as we walked into the pizza place.

  “Derek?”

  “What?” he asked, flopping down in the chair.

  “Regardless of if I marry Zora or not, and regardless if I did happen to have another kid, I’m your Daddy and always will be. I wouldn’t never do nothin’ deliberately to hurt you, and if you ever need me for anything, all you gotta do is pick up the phone. You understand what I’m saying, man?”