The Rhythm of Blues

by Love Belvin

  We both turned when we could see someone coming our way. It was a photographer, bringing his camera up for a shot. Myisha pulled on my arm to follow down closer to the beach.

  She whispered, “There are four photographers and one videographer on duty tonight.”

  “Why so many?” I pulled out my Chapstick to swipe my lips.

  Myisha shook off my question with her head. “Pictures will go out to every major news media outlet in exactly one hour—that includes the bigger social media bloggers like Spilling That Hot Tea. I’ll lead you through everything, just don’t give any pushback. And please, be polite to Wynter.”

  “Who’s Wynter?” After a few seconds of her shooting me with more eye bullets, I relaxed my face and chuckled. “Just a joke, MyMy,” I kind of lied. It took me a minute to recall the name.

  She rolled her eyes again and continued down onto the sand before stopping to straighten my vest; a piece of the costume she selected for me.

  “First up is pre-nuptial pictures—”

  “Prenup… Get it?” I smiled.

  She rolled her eyes again. “You need to see your bride from afar. She’s so damn gorgeous—and you better tell her,” she threatened through gritted teeth.

  “Where is she?” I was confused. Myisha pointed behind me and I turned to look. Sure enough, there was a woman wearing all white with a gang of long curls falling over one of her bare shoulders, at least three yards down from me, holding a bouquet of flowers. She looked bored as she waited for something while looking out to the sea. “Why she all the way down—” I stopped as I turned to find Myisha backing away from me and pointing toward the photographer gaining on me with his camera ready.

  “Long As I Live” by Jaheim began pouring over the resort as if cued, just when I was going to ask if she had my rental in Miami secured for the night.

  Why the hell Jaheim?

  I had no time to complain about the music. It was a dope cut. It was just anytime I heard Jah, I recalled how he owed me a stack for a dice game I beat him at like three years ago. Every time I’d seen him since then, he’d use charm to say, “Next time, I got you.” I knew he was taking advantage of my niceness and soon I had to go another route. Lately, I’d been fed up with people confusing me for a sucker because I was an unapologetic Christian man.

  One that cuss, gamble, and lie…

  Shaking that private reminder out of my head, I looked down the beach again. I found myself chuckling at her rocking on the balls of her feet while looking…bored. I caught a camera flash in my periphery. Then a man in clergy garb was in front of me out of nowhere.

  “Mr. McKinnon. I’m Bob Reynolds, the county clerk at the…”

  The liquor had met up with my anxiety and I couldn’t follow much more of what he said. At one point he asked, for formality’s sake, who was I marrying and when her name didn’t come to mind right away, I automatically pointed down the beach to her. By this time, she was looking at me. The Bob guy asked me to follow him down to my bride, and with Myisha on our heels trekking down the sand, I did.

  She was cute—Wynter, now that my brain had caught up. Her off-white gown fitted and flowed in the mild wind. It swathed her round hips, making them appear classically feminine then gathered at her knees before sprouting out, reaching the sand. She had soft pearls in her hair, pinned in between curls that fell into the ponytail I was able to see from a distance, over her shoulder. Her face was made up well, not too heavy—even white eyeliner on the lower lids to appear innocent and angelic.

  That thought had me busting out a chuckle. Well…that and the alcohol.

  “What the fuck is so funny?” Wynter snarled.

  Even angry, this chick was beautiful as hell…flawless.

  “How gorgeous you are when I ain’t picking up ya battery operated boyfriends off my damn floor.”

  When I heard Myisha sputter, I laughed again, fully this time. Wynter cracked a smile she fought hard not to share. My damn toes were heated now, thanks to the shots. Maybe if I’d stopped at one, even two, I could have avoided being blinded by this chick’s beauty, something I had no desire to notice or care about. Humor was a convenient distraction from it.

  Eventually, the Bob guy asked us to take hands. Myisha took Wynter’s bouquet. We were asked to repeat lines, lines I kept fucking up.

  “I take thee, Wynter, to be my awfully wedd—” I tried for the third time when the Bob guy interrupted me again.

  “…lawfully wedded,” Bob corrected.

  “…artfully bledded—” I tried until Wynter rocked back, laughing hard.

  “What’re you laughing at?” I was struggling here.

  “Your drunk ass.” She cracked up. “You gotta be! This ain’t fair!” She turned to Myisha, standing near her. “He gets escape shots and I don’t? That ain’t fair!”

  “Neither is the fact that I’m paying for all this shit by myself, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

  Wynter’s head shot back and her pretty eyes blew up. “I agreed to be legally tied to your ugly ass mug, so we’re definitely even,” fell from her lips without a blink.

  That shit set off a round of laughs that even Bob joined in on. I legit leaned over while holding both her soft, cold hands and laughed my ass off. I didn’t know this chick, had no interest in getting to know her either, but she was making it bearable for me—her and those three “escape” shots.

  We got through the vow process and when I turned for my next cue from Myisha, she was motioning for someone to come down to the beach. Next thing I knew, a gang of people were making their way to us.

  “Kiss her hand and lift it in the air so they can see,” Myisha whispered from behind us.

  I did as told, feeling Wynter’s little hand tightening around mine. Then I started to recognize faces as they neared. My dad was one of them.

  “Dawg.” I met him with an open palm. “You fly?” I was surprised he came.

  Dude was as low key as they came.

  “For this?” he asked while we hugged for a second or two, his salt and pepper locs hitting the side of my face. “Why the hell not? Only got one son. Nah mean?”

  “That’s what’s up.” I chuckled.

  “Your grandma ain’t here,” he noted, looking around.

  “That’s ‘cause it was last minute,” Myisha came from nowhere, butting in.

  Praise Jesus…

  She continued about our grandmother, who wasn’t kin to him, “You know she has a bunch of conferences around the city this time of year.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head, looking convinced. Then he tossed his chin at Wynter. “This her, huhn?”

  “Yeah,” was all I could get out.

  “Yes!” Myisha spoke up again. “Meet your daughter-in-law, Cut. Wynter McKinnon.”

  “Shoulda been Michaels,” he mumbled. My father never liked the idea of my mother giving me her last name instead of his. The story went, he’d gotten locked up just before her due date for something dumb and reckless, so her way of getting back at him was not giving me his last name. “Anyway,” he gruffed then reached for Wynter, “welcome to the family, shortie. Nice to have you.”

  He and Wynter hugged as she thanked him. All I could do was stare at his clothes. He rocked a button up and slacks. I was used to seeing my father in sweats and sneakers, around or inside a boxing ring.

  “You gone bring her to the gym?” he asked, looking ready to go.

  Formalities wasn’t his strong suit. Again, I was surprised MyMy got him down here.

  I shrugged with my brows. “Maybe. Don’t know if she that speed,” I spoke honestly.

  “Boy, bye!” Myisha waved her hand in the air. “She’ll be there, Cut.”

  “A’ight.” He nodded before stepping off, paying one last stare to Wynter.

  “Cut?” Wynter asked.

  “Upper Cut. It’s his ring name,” Myisha explained right next to us. “He’s a boxer. But his first name is Kevin.”

  Oh, Wynter mouthed as I went to hug
my cousin, who came down with my pops.

  We spent the next few minutes greeting and introducing Wynter to the few people there. I wondered why none of her people had to be exposed to this bullshit, but mine did. We took lots of pictures by the water, which was easy because Myisha bossed everybody into position, something she would’ve done had this been a real wedding. Mike approached us with drinks. He put his heavy arms around us as his hat leaned to the side, and took pictures. He was tipsy, eyes hardly open, but I knew he was relieved the night was being pulled off so well.

  “You guys’re so cute,” he teased, using an innocent pitch.

  “Yeah. For how long?” I could never ask that question enough tonight.

  “Three years, baby?” he cheered.

  “And this is for real?” Wynter asked under his thick arm, unsmiling.

  “Well.” He sighed, turning his head from side to side, dramatically as he thought of his answer. “Technically, you filed for a license, but you don’t have your actual marriage certificate yet. That comes after tonight, now that you said ‘I do.’ But we’re going to hold off on the certificate. No need to make it legal unnecessarily. We just want the public to think it. After these pix from tonight, some appearances we got lined up for y’all, and some dope ass social media posts, we can rest easy in about six months or sum’in like that.”

  “So, we’re not really married?” she whispered with those pretty big eyes, lined in white.

  Mike’s arms fell from us and he answered as he took off, “You fuckin’ together a’ight. Don’t forget that shit.”

  Wynter’s eyes hit me then fell away. I saw, for the first time, sadness that I wasn’t indifferent to. My spirit Man jolted inside me, the spirit of discernment—tipsy or not—sounded loud and clear how unsettled she was about this arrangement. But my flesh wanted to override it and I reminded myself she signed up for it and was being well compensated. She’d be fine. If there was one thing I absolutely despised, it was a deceptive woman. There was a constant distrust I had of them. Why I kept very few around me. Because of this inner conflict with them, I was content on being like Paul and never marrying. My flesh, on the other hand, was a conflict in and of itself.

  The resort host called us up to the banquet set up on the lawn. Of course, I had to sit next to Wynter—in the middle of the group of tables, under a cascade of white lights arching over us like a tent. She was quiet most of the time, mostly smiling. Myisha sat next to her, which gave her someone to talk to. I ain’t have much conversation for her.

  Once when Myisha stepped away and I noticed the photographers looming, I asked, “You good?”

  She nodded. “Just tired and hungry.”

  “Yeah? Had a long day?”

  Wynter blinked and forced a smile to her face—even my tipsy mind picked up on it. “Every bride has a long day, Ragee. Even fake ones like me.”

  “How am I supposed to know? You done this before or something?”

  “Hell, no. I just have common sense.” She tapped her temple.

  “Common sense?” I chuckled, looking over at my cousin taking selfies in front of an ice sculpture.

  “Yeah, like not throwing them back on an empty stomach.” She was being sarcastic again.

  “How you know my stomach empty?”

  “I don’t. Mine is.” Her eyes left me, too. “I’m surviving off of a bowl of Frosted Flakes at two this afternoon. Not only am I starving; I’m gassy as hell.” Her hands went to her belly I could see poking underneath the garment of the gown.

  I raised my hand and motioned for the waitress, who came over.

  “Yes, sir?” she asked, kneeling over our table with a deep smile.

  “The bride needs something to nibble on.”

  “Right away, sir.” She was off.

  I noticed Wynter didn’t say thank you.

  “You’re welcome, though.”

  She turned to me. “What? Your feelings hurt?”

  I wanted to laugh—almost did. This chick was on one tonight.

  I twisted in my seat to face her, creating a cove for privacy. “What’s ya problem with me? I’m sure you’re getting more than enough for this.”

  She cocked her head to the side, eyes wide as she breathed, “Like what?”

  My head shot back and face turned hard. “Like me! The hell you mean, like what?”

  “Because you got money?” Wynter looked genuinely confused.

  “And because you know my name.”

  Wynter drew closer to my face, her nose went wide and voice got low. “Let’s make this shit clear from the gate, bruh. You may be the man in many’s eyes…been in movies, had hit records, but I ain’t neeeva been a Ragee fan. Eeeeva.”

  My forehead stretched.

  Oh, she’s a live one. A liar, too.

  “You expect me to believe that?” I challenged her, sporting a killer smirk.

  Her brows met. “You see a Ragee CD slip outta that box last night? I can’t tell you the last movie you were in. And if you asked me about your last hit, I would say “Do You?” because Young Lord’s name was on it—only.”

  Daaaaaaamn…

  I didn’t know if that offended me or made sitting next to her actually enjoyable. We did the stare down for a while. I tried to catch her angle. I’d always been pretty good at reading people. Discerning. But the longer I looked into her pretty eyes, the less evil I found in them. She was just…straight mad. Angry.

  “Why ya family ain’t here? You mean to them, too?”

  “For one, I had no time to involve them in this fuckery,” she whispered. “Two, this is pure fuckery.”

  “Why do you keep talking like you ain’t well compensate—”

  “Good evening, to the handsome crowd.” Mike was in the middle of the tent, addressing everybody. “On behalf of my mans,” his hand shot over in my direction, “thanks for coming through tonight on short notice. Trust me, he fucked up some plans for me, too.” People found that funny, and I’d just learned the newest level of his ability to lie. “When Raj hit me up, he said he wanted this so bad, he ain’t wanna wait another week. So,” his hands went up as though he was clueless and helpless, “you know I’mma make whatever I need to happen for this nigga.”

  That led to a big round of applause. It’s also when I retreated to the back of my mind, wanting to be anywhere but here.

  I hate gray areas…

  The music was winding down and Ragee’s hold on me was loosening. My face hurt from fake smiling so much, though the three glasses of wine I’d downed since eating helped hold my cheeks up. My feet were luckily fine in flip-flops that couldn’t be seen under the long and heavy gown. But I worried not having on heels made me look pudgier than usual. I slipped on the strappy sandals to take pictures—I swear this whole conundrum was for pictures—near the cake and ice sculptures and with more of the same people under the white-light tent.

  All the traditional toasts were done, especially by that damn Mike Brown, who was a crook if I’d ever sensed one. He’d been more pleasant than cold all night, but I made it my business to stay out of his way. I could tell he’d brought a date with him, though he hardly showed her any attention. A few times, he called Ragee over to talk with him and a few other guys. While Ragee went, his eyes were just as glossed over as they’d been with me tonight. Just as he was indifferent with me, he was with everyone else—except for Myisha. He may have had low patience, but he didn’t give her much lip and did everything she asked. That provided a weird comfort to me.

  Now, I was dancing with Ragee for the third song straight for more damn pictures. But he smelled good. Real good. And as much as I tried to convince him of not being a good looking guy, he was actually handsome, defined facial structure, rich honey eyes, faded brows, and full lips between a mustache and full beard. The hairy face wasn’t his signature look. Years ago, when he first hit the scene and I’d seen images of him, he didn’t have a beard. But now… Ragee was tall, cinnamon just as he was in the pictures I googled of him
, thick, and very much athletic. Gay rumors or not, Ragee McKinnon was all man. No, that meant nothing in terms of sexual preference, but as a hot blooded woman, he could definitely call the attention of my pheromones.

  Leaving his hold allowed me to breathe. I couldn’t even look at him to communicate the task being over and wondered what was next. I wanted to sit and gather myself, possibly go to the bathroom.

  “We’re almost done,” Myisha’s voice was unexpected, low, and rushed as she approached me, messing over my hair. “You’re doing a great job and looking flawless doing it.”

  I wanted to ask what was next, but I felt a hot hand at my back and turned.

  “Remember, I’m a package deal.” LeRoy, Ragee’s—obviously—gay bestie smirked, lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow. “My turn.” He extended an arm and took the most dramatic bow.

  I glanced over to Myisha, who implored me with her eyes. Hesitantly, I took his hand and was glided weightlessly into a dance I’d never participated in before. With his gray eyes, LeRoy guided me through a jazzy tune I wasn’t familiar with. Our communication, for seconds long, was unspoken until I gained the counts of each step. LeRoy smiled proudly, almost gave a nod of approval.

  “Now, you got it, beauty.” He smiled broadly, and if I wasn’t mistaken, sincerely.

  “Oh, I’m beautiful today?”

  LeRoy smiled pageant-worthy. “The four ounces of makeup you’re wearing doesn’t hurt.” He shrugged with his face, his perfectly aligned teeth were stunning against his flawless skin.

  “You’re a fucking douche.” I tried mimicking his expression. “Definitely twinning with your bestie.”

  LeRoy made a faux pouting expression, the skin on his face appeared as smooth as a baby’s ass and could have had a layer or two of liquid foundation, too. “We’re just guarded and protective, my dear.”

  “What are you guarding, Lee-Lee?” My voice turned sweet. “Your secret garden?” I stretched my forehead and narrowed my eyes.

  LeRoy pushed me into a gentle spin and when I landed effortlessly into his arms again, he guided me to sway with him rhythmically.