Finally, I drew back. There wasn’t much more to say. It had been the kiss I’d wanted since the first night she handed me that drink. But the reason behind it, the meaning of that kiss, wasn’t what I wanted it to be. It was a kiss of closure, not a promise of tomorrow.
I didn’t know what was in store, where I was headed, or what I’d find there, but one thing was certain: Nothing would ever be “ordinary” again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’d been living in Brooklyn for several months with my new girl, a hot young woman with a body that craved abuse. I had an office job near Times Square and a life quite different from either Boston or the Upper West Side.
Every day, I thought of Helen. I read Variety religiously to try to keep up, to see if she was touring again, or if she had a new record released. I also kept track of Roz. I knew when she was in town and where she was performing, and I got up the nerve to go see her. She was greeting fans backstage after a performance. Her long, sequined gown was so completely different from what I was used to. At that moment, she was still Diva Rosalyn, the Queen of Jazz.
“Good heavens! A sight for sore eyes.” She drew me into an embrace.
“Excellent performance, sir,” I whispered.
“Do you live in New York now?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Stick around for a few minutes. After I change, we can go out for a drink.”
I nodded, then stepped back to get out of the way of other fans. She changed into black leather pantsuit, looking the same as I remembered. A young black woman stood just behind her.
“Mickey used to be Mistress Helen’s boy,” she told her new girl, Tasha. Tasha smiled but didn’t say anything. “So where are you now? What are you doing these days? Are you performing anywhere?” Roz asked as she led us out into the alley behind the theater.
“I’m afraid not. I guess I’m still walking in her shadow.”
“It’s a big shadow, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Roz stopped and looked at me. “Are you collared now? No. Then you don’t need to call me sir. Unless you’re collared, we’re equals.”
“I had a hard enough time remembering to call you Miss Maxwell.” I laughed. “And I’m not under the delusion to think that I’m your equal.”
“Don’t be silly. Sure you are, unless you want to come to California.”
I chuckled and looked at my shoes. “I’m not sure that would be prudent. But I’m honored by the invitation.”
We entered a small bar around the corner from the theater. Once we’d settled at a table and ordered drinks, I got the boldness to ask, “Do you hear from her?”
“Every now and then.” She took a deep breath. “No one has replaced you, you know.”
I looked at my glass.
“I fear she’s turning into a nun,” Roz continued.
I smiled.
“You still love her, don’t you?”
I nodded. “I always will.”
“So will I.”
We talked for a while, but the friendly banter of the Upper West Side was gone. It was hard finding something to talk about that didn’t lead back to Helen. As we left, she handed me her card.
“If you ever need anything, give a call,” she said.
“Thank you, sir, I mean, Ms. Maxwell. I will,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t.
She hugged me, and I watched as she and Tasha returned to their hotel. I knew I’d never see her again. It was just too painful for both of us.
* * *
I hadn’t heard from Helen in almost a year, but I’d read in the trade papers that she’d been admitted to a hospital in Chicago, so I sent a card. I was unprepared for the phone call that night.
“Hello, Little Butch,” a familiar voice said.
“Mistress,” I shouted, feeling the time fade away. I zoned into my bottom space. “It’s good to hear your voice. How are you feeling?”
She laughed. It was the same but different. Weaker? Hoarser? “They’ve got me hooked up to so many tubes here, you wouldn’t recognize me. I just wanted to know how you were doing.”
“I’m doing fine. Just fine.” I couldn’t tell her how hearing her voice was tearing me apart with a longing for her again.
“Are you bottoming to anyone I know?”
I laughed. “No, I’m topping. I’ve got my own girl now.” How could I explain that I could never imagine submitting to anyone except her, never able to adore anyone the way I’d adored her. Or could I tell her how I’d gone from person to person, acting out a death wish, lowering myself into one scene after another with no regard for my own safety? Searching for the one top whose touch would mean as much as hers. “You taught me well, Mistress.”
“Good for you, Little Butch. Give her one from me.”
We both laughed. Warmth ran through me, a rush of the love for her. The old love, the way it had been.
“Are you playing piano anywhere?”
“Just some backup right now,” I said. “I’ve got two groups looking at my songs, though.” How could I tell her that all I played now was classical music, accompanying students at the local college or opera singers on tour? How could I admit that my career as a jazz pianist was a flop, that I was growing tired of being compared to her, reviewed as being a weak carbon copy of the great Helen Robins. “I’m thinking of going back and finishing my doctorate.”
“Really?”
“I’ve got a great topic for a thesis: ‘The Music of Helen Robins.’”
“Well, you sure know more about it than anyone. I’ll send you copies of the manuscripts and tapes, but you gotta promise me something.”
“Of course, Mistress, anything you ask.”
“Don’t include any inside information on the life of Helen Robins.”
I laughed. “How could I? Then I’d have to admit how much I crawled.”
We laughed and talked for a few more minutes, but her voice grew weaker. Finally, she broke into a fit of coughing.
“Mickey?” Someone else had taken the phone. “It’s Tina.” Her voice softened. I could tell she didn’t want Helen to hear, that there were other people in the room. “She can’t continue. This has worn her out.”
“Oh, Tina. How is she, really? How long will she be in the hospital? Can I come visit when she’s home?”
There was a short silence. “She won’t be going home, Mickey. She could go any time.”
I stood there in my Brooklyn bedroom, shaking.
“Mickey? Are you all right? Are you still there?”
“I…didn’t know.”
“The cancer had gone all through her. They couldn’t catch it in time.”
“It was those damned cigarettes, wasn’t it? I should have thrown them all away.”
“You couldn’t have stopped her. Don’t blame yourself. I’ve been after her for years.”
“Oh, Tina, I’m so sorry. Can I come now? I could catch a flight tonight.”
“Mickey, she doesn’t want anyone to see her. She even sent Roz home. And she wouldn’t let me bring Jackie.”
Tears ran down my face.
“I’m sure she knew she wasn’t well when she was with you. I think that’s why she canceled her European tour and moved away from New York. She didn’t want anyone she knew to see her fail,” Tina continued. “She never even told me she wasn’t feeling well until I came to visit last fall. I was concerned that she’d lost so much weight. It took all my nagging to get her to tell me what the doctors said.”
“Tina…” What could I say? “Would you tell her…I still love her?”
“She knows that, Mickey.” Tina’s voice was low and solemn. “She knows that. That’s why she had to call you.”
“Tell her…” I knew it was true. “I’ll only wear her collar for the rest of my life.”
There was a beat of silence. “I’ll do that. It’ll please her.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll write you when this is over,” Tina said, resignatio
n in her voice. “She’s asked to be cremated. I’ll let you know what I do with the ashes.”
I couldn’t talk. My throat felt blocked.
“Take care of yourself, Mickey.” The line went dead.
I looked at the phone, not wanting to put it back in its cradle, wishing I could keep the connection open. I sank onto the bed and let the tears fall. Not the sobbing I’d cried so many times in Helen’s dungeon, but tears that started in my heart and spilled, unchecked, out of my eyes. I couldn’t comprehend it. How could Helen be dying? How could life continue without her? How could I continue without her? Even though I hadn’t seen her in two years, everything I did was to win her approval, to make her proud of me. That was my goal in life, to hear her say, just one more time, “You please me, boy.”
I sobbed myself to sleep.
About the Author
Nanisi Barrett D’Arnuk had a successful music career as a pianist and conductor and performed and traveled around the world several times. She has lived in the Northeast, the Pacific Northwest, and the South Central US. Although she lived in Texas for ten years, she had to go to Brazil to experience a cattle drive.
When MS curtailed traveling and performing, she turned to her writing. She has written mysteries, romances, and erotica. She now lives on thirty acres of wooded land in South Central Oklahoma with her partner, their son, two labs, and a puggle.
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In Helen’s Hands Page 18
