Muted

by Tami Charles

  but I’ll take what I can get … for now.”

  He winked.

  But I just rolled my eyes.

  I didn’t have time for small thinking.

  Not then, not ever.

  Eleven thirty p.m.

  A revolving swirl

  of red and blue

  poured through my window,

  awakening me

  from my sleep.

  A call from Merc on my phone:

  “Get dressed.

  Grab your wallet.

  Meet me downstairs.

  Put a smile on your face.”

  There was

  a double-entry

  set of steps,

  each leading

  to a different wing of the house.

  To the right,

  my wing.

  To the left,

  Dali’s.

  Our rooms

  separated by

  long hallways,

  bedroom doors,

  security

  guarding

  us like precious jewels.

  But on that night,

  no one was up there,

  from what I could tell.

  Not Marissa, not Meat,

  or any other zip-lipped servant.

  We met at the top of the stairs

  before going down,

  darkness enveloping us.

  I wanted to lace my fingers in hers,

  but it was the first time I felt

  unsure of where things stood.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” I whispered.

  “Got no clue,” Dali whispered back,

  wrapping her arm around mine.

  “I miss you, chica. That part I know.”

  “Me too. I can barely sleep at night.”

  I stuttered over my words.

  Under the cover of darkness,

  Dali pulled me in

  lips on tongue

  like ocean waves,

  crashing against the shore.

  “Ay yo!” Merc screamed from below.

  “What’s taking so long?”

  We released ourselves,

  walking separately down the steps

  just as Merc opened the front door.

  “Officer Parsons, Atlanta Police Department.”

  One hand flashed his badge,

  the other propped on top

  of his gun belt.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” Merc asked.

  “Here to do a welfare check

  for Denver Lee Lafleur.

  Mind if we take a look around?”

  Two policemen—

  Officers Parsons and Anderson—

  stepped into the grand foyer.

  Parsons, with a face of stone.

  Anderson, on the other hand,

  had the swivel neck going,

  big ole smile across his face,

  like he ain’t never seen

  Swarovski crystal chandeliers before.

  “We received a call from a Captain Antoine Lafleur claiming that you, Mr. Ellis, were holding his daughter against her will.”

  And I was surprised for a moment

  that it was you, Papi, not Ma.

  Guess all I had to do to get your

  attention was leave, which made sense.

  You certainly had ours when you dipped off.

  I realized everyone was looking at me,

  waiting for an answer.

  “That’s not true!” I said. “My father is lying!”

  “How old are you, miss?”

  “Eighteen.”

  I flashed my driver’s license,

  my entire body brimming with heat.

  “Looks like you just had a birthday?”

  “Yes, sir.” I nodded.

  “And you are?” Parsons pointed to Dali.

  But before she could answer,

  Merc whipped out our contracts:

  “These ladies are my recording artists.”

  Parsons scanned the papers,

  turned his back to Merc,

  like this wasn’t his house,

  and whispered in my face,

  “Can you state with certainty

  that you are in no danger?”

  “Yes, Officer.”

  “And you left Pennsylvania of your own will?”

  “Absolutely.

  I could play you some of our music,

  if you like? We’re even going—”

  Merc cleared his throat,

  eyes morphed into red lasers.

  Officer Parsons’s radio beeped.

  “Going to?”

  “Nowhere … Officer,” I said, staring at Merc.

  Officer Parsons paused,

  as if he waited for me to say more,

  then lifted the radio to his lips,

  “All clear,”

  and slapped it back on his belt.

  “Given Miss Lafleur’s age,

  and own admission,

  we have no cause to pursue

  further action.

  We’ll report back to the parents

  that she is safe and in good health,

  despite their wishes that she return home.”

  Officer Parsons pulled

  his contact card from his back pocket

  and then handed it to me.

  “In case you change your mind, young lady.”

  “I won’t,” I said.

  But I slipped it in my robe anyway.

  Officer Parsons

  shook Merc’s hand

  and headed to his car.

  Anderson lingered

  just enough so

  Parsons didn’t see

  him hand Merc a

  blank sheet of paper:

  “Can I get your autograph for my daughters?”

  You wanted me home.

  But on what terms? Yours? Or mine?

  And I wasn’t sure how I felt. Happy you missed me? Disrespected? Both?

  So because of that, I would stay in Atlanta. For me. This was my life, my dreams.

  Still,

  the reality of it all

  was enough to send

  my feet flying,

  crying all the way upstairs.

  the mirror

  reflected the whole

  mess of me

  satin bonnet

  sliding down

  swollen curls,

  white-hot tears

  against

  crimson cheeks,

  a tornado of a girl

  dipped in deep thought

  When would my dreams

  ever be good enough?

  A knock at my door

  “May I come in?”

  There was a tenderness in Merc’s voice,

  like soft jazz at midnight.

  “Dali thought you might

  need some company.”

  I didn’t want

  to be seen like that.

  Hair, face

  toe’ up,

  stained with rage.

  Bones all exposed.

  But Dali knew.

  I didn’t want to be left alone.

  Dali came in first,

  Merc followed.

  “I’m so sorry, Denver,” Merc said.

  “I know that was probably scary for you.”

  He pulled us both close to him,

  our faces nestling in the cushion of his chest.

  He reminded me

  to breathe through every sob.

  “I went through this when I left home, too.”

  Merc handed me a bottle of water.

  Slid a blue pill

  onto my nightstand.

  “In case you want to take the edge off.”

  But before I could do anything,

  Dali flinched next to me, and then chirped,

  “I’ll take it!” and snatched it so quick,

  popped it in her mouth

  and swallowed,

  no water needed.

&nbs
p; “Damn girl,” I half chuckled,

  Dali’s theatrics pulling me

  out of the moment.

  “Sorry.” Dali smiled sweet, more at Merc than me.

  “But tonight was just stressful.”

  “That’s cool,” I said.

  “I didn’t want it anyway.”

  “Suit yourselves.” Merc shrugged.

  “Say Say, you can stay with her

  for a few minutes, but then

  head back to your wing.”

  Merc flicked the lights,

  and shut the door behind him.

  I grabbed the bottle,

  gulped all of it down,

  and fell into Dali’s embrace.

  life-giving,

  soul-filling,

  cool,

  magic,

  washing away

  tears,

  dreams,

  fears.

  Blue eye, brown eye

  part earth, part ocean

  drifted away

  arms,

  legs,

  mind

  became

  weightless

  Twilight

  and memory

  turned

  endless …

  cutting eighth period,

  hanging out,

  hidden room

  in the school basement.

  One touch,

  one kiss

  split us

  in two

  “I’m not … like that.”

  And I whispered back,

  “Pffft, me neither.”

  And it was true.

  Least I thought.

  What was the point

  of labels anyway?

  I We tried to forget that day,

  but trying was like

  begging the moon

  to not show its face.

  My bed was empty, cold.

  Dali gone,

  disappeared in the middle of the night.

  Ghosted on me

  like some kinda hookup

  gone wrong.

  Did she want to leave?

  That room,

  that bed,

  never lonelier.

  As I stood and walked

  to my window

  Officer Parsons’s card

  fell out of my robe,

  wedging itself

  in a crack of wooden floor.

  Was that you again, universe?

  Some kinda sign?

  The weight of my foot,

  loosening the wood even more.

  Big ole

  brand-new-looking house

  with a floorboard

  like a removable puzzle piece.

  I left the card right there,

  let it fall between the cracks,

  went to my bathroom,

  washed away the stains of

  cops banging on the door,

  the pot of trouble you and Ma

  stirred up.

  I dried my face and headed out my bedroom,

  but Meat was there,

  leaning back in a chair.

  Dude was everywhere.

  “Good morning, Denver.”

  He stood up soon as he saw me.

  “Ready for breakfast?”

  “Bro, I’m next-level hangry.”

  We both chuckled.

  I walked down the stairs,

  through the halls,

  through the kitchen

  Meat trailing my every step,

  until I reached the double doors

  that led to the patio in front of the pool.

  Dali was already there

  dressed in a white robe, white towel

  wrapped around her ice-blond hair.

  The maid served me my plate—

  two celery sticks and water.

  On the rocks.

  I wanted to say thank you,

  but I knew she wouldn’t respond.

  It’s like Merc had a revolving assortment

  of staff, mouths on mute at all times.

  Meanwhile she piled Dali’s

  and Meat’s plates with pancakes and thick bacon.

  Marissa sauntered

  through the French doors,

  beckoning. “Merc, I need you for a sec.”

  Soon as that man turned his back,

  Dali, smile like the devil,

  raised a finger to her lips

  darted her eyes at Meat and whispered

  shhhhhh

  passed me a piece of salty,

  greasy, crunchy slice of heaven.

  I slid it between my lips,

  rolled my eyes all around in rapturous delight

  Meat chuckled,

  “Y’all are hilarious!”

  Chewed it up hella quick

  before Merc saw

  “Special announcement!” He clapped

  his way back to the patio,

  ending my bacony bliss

  in a hurried swallow.

  “I think you ladies are ready

  to hit the road with me …

  Next Saturday.”

  And me and Dali LOST IT!

  Jumping up and down,

  almost knocking over our food,

  hands clasped real tight.

  “Omg, Dali, stage lights,

  fans screaming! We did it!”

  “Together.”

  Dali folded her

  whole self into me.

  “There’s just one little thing

  I have to change.”

  Merc sat back down,

  pierced his pancakes

  fork and knife,

  took in a big bite.

  “And, Say Say, you ain’t gonna like it,

  but it is what it is.”

  As in

  Substitute

  As in

  Fill-in for Denver, in case her voice needs a rest

  As in

  “Maybe we’ll need your vocals, Say Say.

  We probably won’t, on this tour.

  But don’t worry …

  I’ma keep you busy.”

  Dali’s scream?

  Guttural.

  Her words?

  A staccato of arrows,

  darting

  without destination.

  “What about me?

  You PROMISED, Merc!”

  “Be patient.

  You just need a little more practice.

  Denver’s ready …

  right now.”

  Patio chair

  tossed to the ground.

  Meat reached for her,

  “Calm down, Dalisay,”

  his words, gentle,

  but Dali wasn’t trying to hear it.

  Bare feet stomped on pavement

  legs flew through the kitchen doors,

  utensils dropped

  next to the chair,

  I chased the wind of her wings.

  “Dali, hold up!”

  I grabbed hold of her arm

  before she reached the stairs,

  her robe slipping off one shoulder,

  revealing a small blue-purple bruise.

  “What happened to you?”

  Dali yanked away from me

  as though my own hand was diseased.

  “Hit myself on the stupid closet. It’s nothing.”

  “Hey, I’ll talk to Merc.

  Convince him to let you sing.

  I don’t wanna do this without you.”

  “I don’t need your favors, Denver.”

  Her words left

  a trail of fire and ice

  on the steps.

  There was a tightness

  working its way

  from hair follicles

  to toenails.

  I did not want this.

  I did not want this.

  I did not want this.

  (Not like this.)

  “She’ll get over it.”

  Merc strolled in

  like World War III

>   didn’t just pop off.

  “You need to fix this NOW!

  I don’t wanna sing without Dali!”

  I screamed straight at the

  gray dawn of Merc’s eyes.

  He licked his lips,

  smirk growing

  from zero to a hundred.

  Veiny hands wrapped

  around my arms,

  soft at first,

  but then hard to the point

  my blood stopped flowing.

  “I’m not putting in all this

  money, time, and effort

  to be dealing with Say Say’s

  drama or yours!”

  I yanked away

  from his hardened grip,

  the print of his fingers

  remained

  reddened

  beneath my skin.

  A sudden chill

  filled that whole room.

  “I’m sorry, Denver.

  I didn’t mean to …”

  “Don’t ever grab me like that again, Merc!”

  I choked it out, and it took all my courage

  to draw the line with the very person

  who controlled my future.

  “I know. I don’t know what got into me.

  I just believe in you so much.

  I want the best for you.

  We good?”

  I nodded hesitantly through his honey-coated words.

  “That’s my gurl.

  Now, meet me in the studio in ten.

  Need you to link up with the other background singers.

  It’s gonna be a long week.”

  powerhouse,

  church-bred,

  Atlanta-born

  voices from heaven.

  Every day and night,

  we practiced background

  to all the songs in

  Merc’s catalog.

  We sang through

  every note,

  every harmony

  Mine, folded into theirs

  like a blanket

  on a cold winter’s day

  But that’s all we did together though.

  Sing.

  And when I tried to

  strike up a convo,

  they hit me with

  “Merc said we’re here to work.

  Not make friends.”

  Which sent a chill

  slowly growing inside

  Only thing that coulda

  fixed that

  was if I had Dali

  and that skin-deep soprano

  melting right along with mine.

  Weight: 13 lbs down

  Breakfast: what is breakfast again?

  Last workout with Ahmed before the tour: cardio, weights

  (equal parts torture and hell)

  Lunch: celery, ½ can tuna, sautéed tears

  The afternoon rolled in

  Four tour buses waited for us

  at the edge of the driveway.

  It was the first time I saw just

  how tight Merc ran his operation

  Backup singers and dancers,

  all girls,

  single file in front of

  bus number four.

  The band,

  all guys,