Death, Deceit & Some Smooth Jazz

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “Bell, you’re not his mom, and he’s probably dead. Now, let’s get some antibiotic ointment on you before you get an infection.”

  I had images of Amos on life support.Beep, beep, beep. “Maybe it’s not too late.Do something, Jazzy. He could be getting brain damage.”

  Jazz looked at me like hedidn’t actually get paid to protect and serve. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Do CPR on him or something.” Honestly, I was becoming more histrionic by the moment.

  He laughed right in my face. “Now you’re trippin’.”

  My maternal hysterics compelled me to yank on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “He’s unconscious. You have to help him.”

  “I’m a homicide detective, not a vet. I can, however, shoot him in the head.”

  “Please, please, puh-leeeze, Jazz.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  When begging failed, I progressed to physical assault. I started hitting him with limp-wristed girl slaps all over his chest while shouting in a staccato rhythm with the blows, “How. Can. You. Be. So. Cruel?”

  Jazz tried to stop my flurry of blows to his torso. “Bell, stop it.”

  I didn’t stop.

  “Woman, I said…”

  I kept it up.

  “Okay,” he bellowed, with a few added expletives. “What is up with all the violent women tonight?”

  So it was a woman who’d scratched him? Interesting.

  Jazz shot a very dirty look in my direction and dropped to his knees. He reached out his hand and gingerly shook Amos.

  “You’re supposed to ask him if he’s okay first.”

  He gave me another look that said,Shut up. He turned Amos over, and when Amos didn’t move——or hiss——Jazz steeled himself for the task at hand. “I hate you, Bell. And if you ever tell anybody…”

  “Brain damage, Jazz!”

  He groaned and put his mouth to Amos’s, then puffed as if Amos were a big inhaler. It looked so utterly ridiculous that I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Besides, I reasoned that laughter was good for calming my frayed nerves.

  Jazz looked up at me and hissed himself, something like “You think this is funny?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You ain’t right, Bell.”

  Before Jazz could get in another puff, or even a fur-covered chest compression, Amos sprang up. Jazz grabbed him with both hands, arms extended, holding Amos as far away from himself as humanly possible. “Where am I supposed to put this thing?”

  I grabbed Amos’s cardboard box off the coffee table and held it out. Jazz deposited him inside it, frowning, as if Amos were a piece of that aforementioned moldy bread and needed to be done away with. I delicately placed my precious cargo back on the table. “Amos and I thank you, Officer.”

  Jazz wagged his finger at me. “You owe me.”

  I winked at him. “What do you have in mind, big boy?” I got one of his toothpaste-model-like smiles for that one.

  “What’s that your great-grandmother used to say?”

  I sighed. “She’d say, ‘Don’t start no stuff, and it won’t be none.’”

  “Take her advice, for your own good.”

  “I can handle you. I can’t handle Amos, but you…Hey, what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Saving you.Again. ”

  I looked at his war wounds. “Jazz, what happened to your face? Did you get a sugar glider, too?”

  “Awhat ?”

  “A sugar glider. You know, the furry little thing you just gave the kiss of life to.”

  “I don’t need a wild animal in my life.” He swiped at his pursed lips. “Give me a wipe or a washcloth or something.”

  “Don’t get cranky with me. It’s not my fault you don’t like pets.”

  “I do like pets.Pets, Bell. Kittens. Puppies. Rabbits. You might even be able to sell me on a hamster or gerbil, but that thing…What the heck is it, anyway?”

  I looked at him as if he were the most ignorant, uncouth man alive——the same way the saleswoman at the pet store had looked at me. “He’s an Australian marsupial.”

  “Bell! People don’t buy marsupials for pets.”

  I was getting sick of his attitude. “They don’t yell at me, either, and if you don’t stop it, I’m going to hurt you.”

  “Like you did before with all that pimp slapping?”

  “I was under duress. Plus, I had to get you to act.”

  We were at a standoff. We stood there, shooting lasers from our eyes at each other. Those scratches on his face looked recent. When he finally looked away, I knew I’d won this battle. Having attained victory, I went back to more important matters. “What happened to your face?”

  Suddenly, he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Tough night.”

  I snickered. “Yeah, me too.”

  He moved closer and tenderly lifted my arm again. It felt like little jolts of love shocking me. He surveyed the damage. I tried not to let him see me swoon.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. “You got any antibiotic ointment? And industrial-strength mouthwash?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Come on.” Jazz led me to my tiny bathroom as if we were inhis apartment. Men. Always marking their territory. I glanced around. His presence here always made me feel like redecorating.

  “Still think my apartment is shabby chic meets Africa?” I asked.

  “It’s nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Not good. One of the things I loved most about being with Jazz was our verbal volleying. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t said anything clever or teasing while we’d walked to the bathroom. Of course, when we got in there and I handed him the Listerine, he got busy rinsing his mouth about three hundred times. Honestly, the man used up the entire bottle. He shrugged when he finished and gave me a sheepish grin. “I’ll buy you another one, but c’mon. I had to do what I had to do.” I wondered what else he felt like he had to do tonight.

  I didn’t have to wonder for long. He grabbed me by the waist, pulling me to him. I looked into his eyes. But what I saw there this time——unadulterated hunger——scared me. “Jazzy?”

  He reached up and touched my hair. It had grown about an inch, and now my teeny-weeny Afro wasn’t so teeny. I had braided it in microbraids, then unbraided it. It gave my hair a soft, crinkled look.

  Jazz tangled both his hands in it and rubbed his cheek against it.Ouch, I thought for him. I had a vision of his blood mingling with my hair.Ew! Not a good image, but when he moved his face, the image went away. He started massaging my scalp. I get all soft and gooey when a fine man plays with my hair. “Your hair is growing,” he said.

  “My hair is growing?” I asked dreamily, as if I’d suffered from female pattern baldness and hair growth was a surprise.

  “And you smell like peaches.”

  I snuggled a little closer. “I smell like peaches?” The peach-scented shampoo and body mist had also been a gift from Carly. The head massage felt wonderful. And then, God help me, I moaned: “Ummm.”

  “‘Ummm’ is right.” By now he’d started rubbing circles on my back. “I missed you, Bell.”

  “You missed me?”

  He laughed. “You’re repeating everything I say, except you make it a question.”

  “I’m repeating…” So what? He was right, but I didn’t care. Hadn’t I told him I didn’t want to see him again? Why did I ever tell him that?

  Wait. I knew why I’d said that. I could never have a real life with him.Shoot . I couldn’t let him just dance into my apartment like he was Gregory Hines and start molesting my hair. “Hold on, Jazz,” I said, trying to push him away.

  He nestled his face into my neck. “I am holding on.”

  “We need to deal with our scratches.”

  He let me go, and I got over to my medicine cabinet like I was on fire. I kept my first aid supplies behind the bathroom mirror. I didn’t have a whole lot, but I needed to step away from that man. Goodness me, his touch had a
ctivated some warm and fuzzy feelings in me. In fact, I felt so fuzzy I could hardly pay attention to what I saw in front of me. I started furiously rooting around for the Neosporin and missing it, though I knew it was there. I thought taking a tough, efficient stance——like Nurse Ratched fromOne Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest ——was in order for both our sakes. “Now,” I said, practically snapping my heels together like a Nazi soldier, “let’s have a look at those scratches.”

  He moved over to where I stood. Too close. He reached around me into the cabinet, grazing my arm with his. My body’s nerve endings wentShazam ! I hate it when that happens. He knew he’d affected me, too. He gave me a slow, sexy grin but quickly got back to the task at hand. “Let’s take care of you first,” he said. “You might have rabies.”

  Rabies? “Thanks for the insight.” My sarcasm couldn’t mask a bit of irrational fear that he may be right even though I got him at a pet shop.No wonder he rinsed so much.

  He gestured to my towel rack, where bath and face towels hung. “Are these clean?”

  I nodded, imagining myself foaming at the mouth and Jazz having to shoot me, as if we’d gotten plunged intoTheir Eyes Were Watching God. Not romantic.

  He turned on the faucet, washed his hands with my antibacterial hand soap, then wet a face towel and gently washed my arm. I winced. His eyes, full of sadness, regarded me. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just a big baby sometimes.”

  “No, Bell. I’m not talking about when I touched your arm. I’m sorry I hurt you when I, you know, when I said I was unavailable and all that.”

  “Jazzy…”

  He took the ointment and administered more of his treatments to my battered arm. My pajamas were now officially ratty. Carly was going to stand on the roof and pound on her chest like King Kong when she saw them. I shook my head to clear the image and to clear Jazz’s words from my heart:I’m sorry I hurt you.

  When he was done, I washed my hands and went to work on his face. The mystery woman sure had gotten a hunk of his DNA. I applied the ointment. It was his turn to wince. He grabbed my wrist. It startled me.

  “Sorry. Did that h——” He pulled me to him, crushing me with his embrace. “I want you,” he whispered in my ear.

  Uh-oh. I wasn’t ready for this.

  In a pinch, intellectualizing is an effective diversion. “Uh,” I said into his chest, “by ‘want me,’ do you mean you’d like to hire me as a consultant again? Or do you mean you’d like to be my man?” I tried to wriggle away, to no avail. “You could also mean you’d like to rip my bodice like we were the cover models on the romance novel on my night table. So…I really need clarification here.”

  But he grabbed my face and smothered any other questions I may have had with a definite pre-bodice-ripping kiss.

  God, this ain’t right. Amos chewed me up, and now Jazz is trying to take off my chastity belt——and I don’t want him to stop.

  I tried to buck up.Okay. I’m Bell Brown. I’m tough. I am a strong black woman. Surely I can endure one kiss without it becoming an R-rated movie.

  But we were already at PG-13!

  Okay, God; it’s me again, I’m kissing him back like I’m going to riphisbodice. Apparently, I don’t have any self-discipline. What’s this going to cost me?

  Jazz had hurt me. Maybe he hadn’t meant to, but he had. We could do this, but in the end he was going to give me the sad story about him not believing in remarriage. I didn’t believe in letting myself be used. I didn’t care how battle-weary he was tonight.

  I pushed him away again. “Stop it, Jazz. You’re all over me like T. D. Jakes on sinners. What’s gotten into you tonight? Every other time we’ve kissed, it’s been me who came on to you. Now you’re…Well, it’s like you’re not yourself.” I folded my arms. “Why are you even here?”

  His voice had the same passion as his kiss. “I need to tell you something very important.”

  “What?”

  Again he wouldn’t look at me. “Bell, I did something wrong tonight.”

  “Jazz, what’s going on?”

  He ran his hand roughly through his brown curls. “Can we make it work? You and me? What I mean is, do you feel like you’re capable of doing something you never thought you’d do——something that would compromise what you believe in——if it meant we could be together?”

  What was I supposed to say? I wanted to be with him, badly, but how could I ask him to compromise what he believed in? That’s not what love does. Not the First Corinthians kind. “Jazz, if we could have made it work, I think we would have. We were at an impasse that wasn’t fair to either of us.”

  “So are you telling me that there’s no hope at all for us? Please don’t tell me that, Bell. That’s the last thing I want to hear tonight.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there with my mouth agape, trying to figure out if Rod Serling was going to walk into my kitchen and begin hisTwilight Zone monologue. I waited for Jazz to confess whatever it was that was deviling him. For a long time, neither of us moved. Finally, he broke the silence. “I was with Kate.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His jaw tightened, and his eyes seemed to plead with me for understanding. “I’ve been with Kate tonight.”

  Without warning, my heart dropped to my bathroom floor. I backed against the toilet, which made my knees buckle. I ended up plopped down on the toilet seat. Thank goodness I kept the lid down. I’d have hated to fall into an open toilet bowl at a time like this.

  So the bum had come to see me after he’d been with hisex-wife . And what did he mean by “been with” her? I couldn’t believe his nerve. “You were with…” My strange repeat-after-Jazz speech impediment had begun to irritate me——but so had he. I jumped up——how threatening can you look on a toilet?——and marched into the living room and to my front door with him trailing behind me. I unlocked all those stupid locks he insisted I have and pulled open my door. “Get out of my apartment.”

  He placed his hand over mine. “Wait.”

  “Are you touching me? We’ve got a no-touching policy, or have you forgotten? We’ve also got a no-seeing-each-other policy, if I recall. So leave. Now.”

  He didn’t move his hand. “I was with her because of you.”

  I snatched my hand away and slammed the door shut. I didn’t know what was up with him, but that was the last straw. “You’ve got about two seconds to explain, or I’m going to send you back to her with scratchesI gave you.”

  “Can we just sit down? I can explain everything.”

  “I don’t want your explanation. If you want to be with Kate, do that, but don’t come over here kissing on me when you’re done.”

  Jazz gave me such an earnest, almost desperate look that I felt a little scared for him. “Please, Bell. I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get through this night without saying and doing all the wrong stuff. I need a little help here. Will you just talk to me for a minute?”

  I stood there, staring at him. I loved him, and it was obvious that he was in trouble. If the tables were turned, he’d help me. “Do you want some coffee?”

  His exhale was so dramatic that it looked like he’d been holding his breath. He smiled at me, chuckled a bit, and raised an eyebrow. “Got anything stronger?”

  “I’ll put a cinnamon stick in it,” I quipped. “I can’t have alcohol in the house. I’m a pet owner now.”

  He smiled at that. “You’d better check on him.”

  I headed over to the coffee table and peered down at Amos. He was peacefully scratching at the cardboard walls of his box. I let him be and went into the kitchen. Jazz didn’t follow me.

  In five minutes I had the coffee brewed. I hollered from the kitchen, “How do you want your coffee?”

  “Black, strong, and kinda sweet——like I want my woman.”

  Since he’d tried to lighten the mood, I followed suit. “I guess I’m not the woman you want, then, unless you want a little cream in this. You said I was
the color of peanut butter.”

  “With aspirations to be an ebony queen.”

  “I am a queen——the Skippy Queen.”

  He laughed. “Last time you were Jif.”

  I walked back into the living room carrying a bamboo tray bearing a fresh rose and my two favorite handmade coffee mugs full of steaming Starbucks Holiday Blend. Jazz would recognize the artist who’d crafted the mugs. “Speaking of choosy moms…” I said, offering the tray.

  As soon as he saw the mugs, he smiled. “My mom made those.”

  “I never saw an Addie Lee piece I didn’t love.”

  That is, except for the Marriage Wish necklace she’d made for Kate. Actually, I loved that piece, too, but in a nasty way that brought to mind commandment number ten,Thou shalt not covet. Not to mention number eight,Thou shalt not steal.

  I handed him the red ocher mug with the yellow spirals and mud-cloth pattern at the bottom. I took the indigo one with the silver stars, my favorite. She’d crafted the indigo and luminous silver glaze in a way that made the colors otherworldly beautiful. It took my breath away almost as much as Jazz did. I was so preoccupied by him that when I handed him the mug, it slipped from my hand. The moment it touched the floor, it shattered. My hand flew to my heart. “Oh no! It was my favorite.” I wanted to cry.

  Jazz jumped from his seat. “I’m sorry, Bell. This is my fault. You must be a nervous wreck with me acting so crazy.”

  “That was a rare one, too.” I stomped my foot. “Man.”

  He reached for my hand and clasped it in his, sending a wave of warmth through me. “I’ve got one of those,” he said. “You can have mine.”

  “Are you touching me?”

  He chuckled and withdrew his hand. “Don’t want to break any more rules.” He started picking up the big pieces of the mug. “I’ll clean up this mess. Why don’t you have a seat and chill for a minute?” He went into the kitchen for supplies to clean up my mess.

  I plopped down, feeling dog-tired. Somehow the night had spiraled out of control almost as soon as I’d gotten home. “I’ve gotta get Amos’s cage put together,” I called to him.