Rock Star

by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb

  Callie nodded. “Definitely a Southern thing and especially a Southern black thing. If you don’t speak, folks label you as siditty.”

  “Siditty?” He tried the word out. “I like that. Spell it,” he demanded.

  She gave him a speaking glance. He had to be joking. There were some words that were for speaking only. Siditty definitely fell into that category.

  “But what the heck does it mean?”

  “Snobbish, stuck-up.” Callie took a sip of soup.

  “Oh, siditty, I like that. It’s sort of like Yiddish. It sounds exactly like what it means.” Bryan nodded thoughtfully. “So you’ve never been away from Maple Fork?”

  “Yeah, I left to go to college and business school.”

  “But since you came back here, it must not be too bad.”

  Callie leaned back in her chair and thought about that for a moment. “You know, when I left, I really missed it. Tuscaloosa is a much larger town than Maple Fork and has a lot more conveniences. I also spent a lot of time in Birmingham, and it’s really big. Most folks thought I’d relocate there or go to Atlanta. You know, it seems to be the law these days that all young black professionals must live in Atlanta.” She smiled wryly. “Both places are full of opportunities for small business, but all I could think about was coming back home and opening my bookstore. That’s all I ever really wanted to do.”

  “But why a bookstore, Callie?”

  Callie pursed her lips, drawing Bryan’s eye to that unconscious gesture as she contemplated the question. “Well, I’ve always loved books. I worked in a bookstore all through high school and college. I always wanted one of my own.”

  Bryan wondered if she had any idea how lusciously tempting her lips looked when she pursed them like that.

  He raised a brow. “Just one bookstore, Callie?” he asked suspecting her imperialistic dreams.

  Callie chuckled. “Okay, you sussed me out, chain of bookstores.” Bryan raised his brow higher as he smirked at her response. Callie giggled helplessly at his expression. “All right, chain of bookstores, boutiques and day spas, but that will be in my new five-year plan. I’ll start working on that next month.”

  Bryan shook his head at the oddity of sitting down and deliberately making a five-year plan, let alone actually trying to adhere to it. B.T. developed those too, and Bryan’s refusal to pay it the slightest attention was an unceasing bone of contention between them.

  He continued his questions. “How long have you known Tonya?”

  Callie smiled. “It seems like all my life. Tonya’s been my closest friend since kindergarten. She denies it, but she used to eat glue.”

  Bryan chuckled at the visual of the two bookstore owners as little girls doing fingerpaints and glue art together.

  “We’ve been tight ever since. We went off to college together and when I decided to start Books and So Forth after grad school, I asked her to be my partner.”

  Bryan nodded. “How long have you two been living above the store? Doesn’t that get annoying after a while?”

  “We’ve been there for five years, since we opened the store. At first it was convenient, but now it’s a bit impractical. We’re in the black now, and I hope we’ll be able to move soon.”

  “So where did you guys go to school?”

  “The U.A.” At Bryan’s puzzled look, she clarified, “The University of Alabama.”

  “Oh yeah.” Bryan nodded. “Roll Tide.”

  Callie chuckled. “I guess you’ve seen those signs up around town. The Alabama-Auburn game is this weekend.”

  “I guess it’s a big state rivalry, huh?” Bryan wasn’t much of a fan of spectator sports, except for the Raiders. He generally watched sports only when he was stuck in a hotel room while on tour.

  “Oh yeah, the biggest.”

  “This sounds like fun. Tell me more about it.”

  “Let me put it this way. It’s the only day aside for major holidays that we close the store.”

  Having spent a great deal of time in the store, Bryan was quite familiar with Callie’s capitalistic tendencies, so he knew that was an incredible statement. “You close the store for a football game?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

  Callie nodded. “You have to understand that this is more than a mere football game, it’s absolute war. Everybody in the state chooses sides. Newcomers are given a few months to decide, and once they’ve chosen one, there’s no going back. Folks around here take it that seriously.” She smiled. “A few years ago a friend of mine married an Auburn fan. All of our friends call it a mixed marriage, and they aren’t talking about the fact that they are of different races. There’s nothing Alabamians love more than football, and to us the Alabama-Auburn game is the Holy Grail of the sport.”

  Bryan had heard about huge state rivalries in the past, but had never really paid them any attention. But this sounded like it could be a lot of fun.

  “But why do you close the store? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a time when you don’t have any customers. I can’t believe business falls off that badly because of a football game.”

  “Believe it!” Callie exclaimed emphatically. “We tried to open the store the first couple of years and got no customers. Tonya and I decided that it would be more profitable to simply close the store and enjoy the game with our families.”

  “Oh, you guys have a big party or something?”

  “Oh yeah. My parents are the world’s biggest ’Bama fans. They have a huge party with all our family and friends.”

  “That sounds interesting. Do you think they’d mind if I came?” Bryan asked. Somewhere deep inside he had to admit that he longed for something vastly out of his range of experience, a normal family life. If nothing else, there was bound to be barbecue involved. It seemed that Southerners took any and all opportunities to throw something dead and unhealthy on the grill. During his stay in Alabama, he had become addicted to the stuff. Grilling was a trendy thing in L.A. where everybody was into the quick and easy meal. Barbecuing, Bryan had discovered, was a totally different experience. Southerners definitely had a lock on the long, slow process. It seemed there was a barbecue restaurant on every corner. Even a tiny town like Maple Fork boasted three, and he’d sampled each one of them. His personal favorite was a little no-name dive about twenty minutes outside of town. It was a ramshackle place with a slamming screen door, plank floors, and a tin roof. He doubted it had ever seen a health inspector. A monument to the benefits of specialization, they served only barbecue ribs, no sides. Everyone knew better than to ask for such niceties as baked beans or coleslaw. Service was nonexistent; the staff was curt at best. Soft drinks were in a drink box under the counter. Yet, despite all the drawbacks, the place was always standing room only, no matter what time of day or night, and served the best barbecued pork ribs he’d ever tasted. Undoubtedly his arteries were already in a state of shock, but he enjoyed indulging his new vice. Now the idea of a gathering of family and friends, something he’d always avoided passionately, was strangely inviting.

  “Bryan, you don’t want to come to a party at my folks’ house. I know you’ve been to much bigger and certainly better parties.” Callie laughed.

  “No, seriously, Callie, it sounds like a lot of fun. I’ve never been to a party like that,” Bryan insisted earnestly.

  Callie shook her head. “I’m sure my folks wouldn’t mind another person in the madhouse they have. Sure, why don’t you join us?” she asked dryly.

  “Gee, thanks, I can’t remember when I’ve had such an enthusiastic invitation,” Bryan answered equally dryly. “My pride notwithstanding, I won’t turn you down because I really want to come.”

  Callie laughed heartily. “Bryan, please come to our party. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun,” she said with mock enthusiasm. Callie was somewhat breathless. Bryan would enjoy the party; everyone always had a good time at the Lawson’s annual event. But how would all this affect her? Up until this point, they’d managed to keep their relationship casual. Two pe
ople enjoying lunch and an occasional outing together—nothing more, nothing less. Meeting her family put a wholly different complexion on the matter, adding a layer of uncertainty and anxiety that could wreak havoc with an already tenuous situation.

  Callie continued to stare sightlessly into her soup, puzzled as to how she had been maneuvered into inviting Bryan to her parents’ home. She couldn’t understand why such a huge celebrity would want to spend a Saturday afternoon watching a football game with a bunch of strangers. Somehow the man had managed to infiltrate almost every aspect of her life. He had a boundless energy level, and he seemed to fill her every spare moment. They’d gone hiking several times, and had made that road trip up to Chattanooga to see the Civil War battlefield. Sometimes she’d accompany him to the library, though she taunted him for borrowing books when he could so easily buy them at her store. He’d laughingly responded that he spent enough money in her store to equal the gross national product of a small Caribbean nation. She’d been thrilled to find that Bryan shared her passion for fishing, an interest that none of her other friends enjoyed, leaving Callie with few opportunities to indulge her mania. They had gone several times and bonded over the thrill of yet another shared activity. A consummate fly-fisherman, Bryan had never been bass fishing before and enjoyed the challenge of landing the feisty, small-mouthed bass.

  He’d even tried to convince her to try canoeing or kayaking, but she had declined, citing a lifelong fear of drowning in a tiny boat with a madman. The hiking trip to Little River Canyon had been frightening enough.

  They’d set out very early on a day hike along the perimeter of the canyon. Bryan had been intrigued by the prospect of hiking along the only river in the world that flowed for its entire length along the top of a mountain. On this very warm fall day, they both wore hiking shorts and boots. Bryan’s long muscular legs were lightly peppered with dark brown hair, and she couldn’t stop staring at them. She could almost feel that rough hair rubbing against the smooth sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Fortunately, Bryan was leading so he wasn’t aware of her fixation, but it was still terribly awkward. To make matters worse, during a brief descent they constantly brushed against one another, and her heightened awareness and nervousness had made her unusually clumsy. She’d slipped on some loose stones and Bryan had caught her just in time to prevent a nasty fall over a ledge. It wasn’t the first time she’d been amazed by his stunning reflexes. The wind was knocked out of her and when she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, Bryan laid her down on the ground to check for injuries. His heavily callused fingers tenderly probed her flesh and inadvertently triggered every erogenous zone in her body. Callie brought the once-over to a halt as his touch was actually compounding her breathing difficulties. She inadvertently glanced down at the front of Bryan’s shorts and realized that he was not immune to the contact either. Seeing evidence of his arousal only intensified her own response. Her body definitely longed to explore that impressive bulge. She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that she was proud of her ability to arouse such an attractive man. But on the other hand, it was at least as frightening as the near miss off the cliff. She tried to dismiss it by telling herself that most men would be aroused by groping a woman, but somehow that argument wasn’t particularly convincing.

  For the most part, they only parted company when she attended church and sorority functions. Not that he hadn’t tried to wrangle an invitation to join her at those events, but she didn’t even want to think about the ramifications of bringing a white man to her all-black Baptist church. It was very difficult to turn him down for other things because it was so nice to have someone to explore the area with. He made even the most mundane things interesting and exciting. Tonya spent almost all her free time writing, leaving Callie alone and bored. Comfortable in her own skin, Callie enjoyed her solitude, especially as it occurred so rarely, but she always relished Bryan’s company, even when he had the look that indicated a dark mood and grievous thoughts. She took immense pleasure in teasing him out of his depression. She already dreaded the day he would return to California.

  * * *

  Bryan leaned forward with his chin on his hand studying Callie’s lowered head. He felt slightly ashamed for interjecting himself into Callie’s life this way. He knew it wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had to be with her as much as possible, and she certainly would not agree to a normal date. With a jolt he realized that he’d probably never asked anyone out on a “normal” date, and wouldn’t have the foggiest notion as to how to proceed to do so. Over the years he’d had innumerable “hookups” with a multitude of women, but never a date with a nice girl. So he pretty much just followed Callie around, at least as much as she allowed. That’s how he’d ended up spending the previous Sunday with her in Huntsville with her “loctician.”

  He’d never been inside any type of beauty establishment with a woman, but when he’d called Callie and discovered that she couldn’t see him because she had a hair appointment, he’d asked to tag along. He hadn’t seen her the previous Sunday as she’d gone to church and wouldn’t let him come with her. He probably should be relieved that she wouldn’t let him go to church. He couldn’t recall the last time he was in one, and the probability that he’d be struck by lightning or descended on by a horde of locust was pretty strong. Having been deprived of his one free day per week with her increased his determination not to miss another one. It took some doing, but his persistence eventually won her over, especially when he offered to drive as an incentive. Callie hated driving, viewing the activity as a colossal waste of time. He smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction to L.A. traffic where it was commonplace to spend hours in gridlock each day. She’d been exasperated, and he suspected maybe even a bit uncomfortable with the idea of taking a white man to a black beauty establishment, but she’d agreed. During the trip over to Huntsville, she’d told him that he was probably the first white man who had ever been in this salon.

  He’d had no idea that watching a woman get her hair washed could be such a sexually stimulating experience. He reflected on the double shower in his home in California and imagined giving Callie a shampoo within its steamy confines. He could almost feel Callie’s coily hair against his bare flesh and became immediately aroused. He was disturbed from his reverie only when he heard the beautician ask Callie who he was. He couldn’t hear Callie’s response, but it sounded like a fairly noncommittal one. It seemed to satisfy the beautician anyway. After Callie paid for her service and they turned to leave, he heard the woman mutter under her breath, “Well, what’s the sense of having a white man if he can’t even pay for you to get your hair fixed!”

  Callie had paused and turned as if to say something to the woman, then shook her head as if thinking better of it. In his truck on the way home, Callie made a frustrated sound then said, “See, that’s why I didn’t want to take you with me! You hang out with a white guy, everybody assumes he’s taking care of you.”

  Bryan couldn’t believe his ears. “You mean people just assume that black women are only with white men for money?”

  “Exactly! Like I’m some type of whore or something. It just pisses me off.”

  “Why didn’t you say something to her about it then?”

  “What would be the point? If somebody thinks you’re a whore, what can you do to convince them otherwise?”

  His confusion evident, Bryan asked, “But, why would they assume that?”

  “Bryan, you mean to tell me you’ve read all those books about the Civil War, and you don’t know anything about slavery and the relationships between black women and white men?” Callie snapped, disbelief evident in her tone. “You know, the masters in the slave cabin?” she added sarcastically.

  “Of course I do. But what does that have to do with us, almost two hundred years later?”

  Callie blew out a harsh breath. This was maddening. “Forget about it!”

  “No, I don’t want to forget about it. I mean, I’ve
noticed the looks we get, but I didn’t know that folks were thinking that you were a whore or something. I guess I’m just used to being stared at.” He thought about the ramifications of the issue for a moment, and then continued, his breath whistling between his teeth. “But now I’m pissed. How dare they jump to those sorts of conclusions?”

  Callie was in no mood to explain why this ancient history still had an impact today. “Bryan, why are you sweating this? It’s not like we’re a couple or anything, so I don’t know why it concerns you at all.”

  “Well, it does concern me. I—I care about you, and if being with me makes people think less of you, then yes, it does concern me.”

  Callie, not really wanting to think about that statement, continued as if he had not spoken. “That’s just the way it is, Bryan. In case you haven’t noticed it, white men have always had a much higher social position than black women in this country. Black women certainly aren’t the beauty standard. Most folks see us as either sex objects or baby-making welfare queens. If a white man is with us, it has to be for easy sex. Otherwise he would be with the much-preferred white woman. So they figure we’re living out some jungle fever fantasy with sex as the only common denominator. I know you’ve heard all the stuff about black women supposedly being so incredible in bed…”

  Bryan scoffed her remarks. “What do you mean about black women not being up to the beauty standard? I see gorgeous black women all the time.”

  Callie smirked. “Bryan, I’m not talking about models and video babes. Haven’t you noticed that most of them don’t have typical African features? To be black and thought beautiful in this country, you have to be as close to white as possible. You know, aquiline features, black but not too black. And you definitely have to have long, flowing hair, even if you bought it at the local wig shop and glued it in.” She tossed her own freshly groomed locks to emphasize her point.

  Bryan frowned with concern. “Now that you mention it, I guess you’ve got a point. I’d never really thought about it, but you don’t usually see the darker black women in movies or anything.”