You Sang to Me

by Beverly Jenkins

  “Here, it’s as common as breathing.”

  “So I’ve noticed. How much farther?” he whined mockingly.

  “Lord.” She laughed in reply. “Come on. Almost there.” She walked off.

  In spite of her misgivings, Reggie decided she could probably like him if she let herself do so. He appeared to be on the up-and-up, and he had a sense of humor, but she had her life already planned out and it didn’t include recording studios or a man who probably had women coming out of his ears.

  “Trina said you two are best friends.”

  They were in stride once again.

  “From the day we met at her mama’s beauty shop. We even share a birthday. March 18.”

  “She thinks the world of you, and your voice.”

  Reggie went silent for a few moments. “I think the world of her, too. She thinks I’m wasting my gift.”

  “Please don’t punch me, but I agree with her.”

  “That’s because you don’t know how much money I lost the last time I said yes to someone like you.”

  Even though Jamal was so cold he could no longer feel his ears, he stopped again and stared. “Trina never said anything about another producer.”

  “Good for her.” And she struck out ahead of him.

  Once again, he had to hurry to catch up, all the while wishing he was riding in the warm interior of the hired town car that was slowly trailing them. “When was this?”

  “Ten years ago.”

  “Who was the producer?”

  “Man named Wes Piper, or at least that was the name he used. One day he was there, the next night he was gone.”

  Jamal knew hundreds of people in the business but had never heard that name before. “How much did you lose?”

  “Almost four grand. Most of which belonged to my grandmother.”

  He didn’t know what to say, so for a while they walked on silently. “What if I offer to cover all expenses for demos and studio time?”

  “No, thank you. I’m going to teach music.”

  “But—”

  She stopped in front of a small brick house. Its bright porch light illuminated the front door, showing three small panes and the old-fashioned sitting porch. A beat-up green Escort was parked in the driveway. “This is where I live. Thanks for the company.”

  And, to his dismay, she slowly headed up the stairs. As she pulled open the outer storm door, he said, “Hey, wait.”

  She turned back.

  “You didn’t let me make much of a pitch.” He watched her study him for a moment and again wished he knew what she was thinking.

  When she finally spoke it was not what he’d been expecting. “Good night, Mr. Reynolds.”

  She disappeared inside.

  Sighing his frustration, Jamal walked over to the car where the driver stood waiting beside the opened door, and got in. He’d never been so grateful for warmth. As the driver drove them away, Jamal realized this campaign to get her into the studio was going to be a whole lot harder than he’d initially thought, but at least he knew some of what he was up against. If and when he thawed out, he’d try to figure out what to do next.

  Reggie watched the car drive away before she slid the shade back in place. As she hung her coat in the closet, she freely admitted that both Jamal Reynolds and his offer were tempting but she wasn’t risking her future on either one.

  She found her grandmother in the kitchen washing collards at the sink. “Hey, Gram.”

  “Hey. How was the rehearsal?”

  “Interesting.”

  “Meaning?”

  Reggie told her about Reynolds’s visit.

  “You should have invited him in. I would have like to meet him.”

  “No, I shouldn’t have. You want help with the washing?” Reggie hoped the question would change the subject. The greens were to be part of the potluck dinner served tomorrow after the concert.

  “No, I’m fine. You sit and tell me about Mr. Reynolds. Trina says he’s quite fine.”

  Reggie froze. “When did you talk to Trina?”

  Her grandmother transferred a large handful of dripping collards from one water-filled portion of the double sink to the other. “This afternoon. She called to confirm my hair appointment for Saturday, and to let me know she was taking Mr. Reynolds over to the school.”

  “And you didn’t call to warn me?”

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “Because you’re my grandmother,” Reggie said, outdone by this well-meaning but making her crazy conspiracy.

  Gram’s answering smile resonated from her heart. “I am your grandmother, and I’ve watched you grow and blossom and get beat down by life and pick yourself up again. Dorothy, it is time for you to put on your ruby slippers and step onto the yellow brick road.”

  “Great. Now, I’m getting The Wizard of Oz.”

  “If the ruby slipper fits.”

  Reggie gently bounced her head on the tablecloth before raising it and asking, “Et tu, Gram?”

  Her grandmother laughed. “Yes. Me, too.” Her next words were serious. “Reggie, sometimes God, the universe, fate, whatever you want to call it, sends us a door that we’re supposed to open and walk through.”

  “And you think that’s what Reynolds is?”

  She nodded and said, “It’s possible.”

  “I can’t afford another scammer.”

  “True, but can you afford to see where this leads so you don’t spend the rest of your life wondering what if? Has he asked you for any money?”

  “No. He offered to pay for the demos and the studio time himself.”

  “Then case closed, at least for me. You get to make the ultimate decision of course, and I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to even think about putting your heart and dreams back out there again.”

  “No kidding,”

  “Even so, it’s time for you to gather up Toto and get ready for the Emerald City.”

  In spite of the silly allusions, Reggie knew her grandmother was right. She was also correct about how hard it was for Reggie to consider resurrecting her dreams. Granted, she’d been younger then, only seventeen, and hadn’t known that someone you trusted could rip the heart right out of you. Now, at twenty-seven she was well aware that life could run you over in the street and not care, and she didn’t want that to happen to her again.

  Gram took a seat at the table and wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll support you either way.”

  “I know.” Gram, whose full name was Crystal Vaughn, was the world’s leading cheerleader of her granddaughter’s dreams, even when Reggie didn’t know she had any. Crystal had also supported the music dreams of her daughter, Brenda, Reggie’s mom. But Brenda’s had ended on the point of a needle in a fetid room in Copenhagen when Reggie was twelve.

  “So, is he really as fine as Trina said?”

  Reggie gave her grandmother a look. “You need to quit.”

  “Come on. Answer the question, girl. Is he?”

  “Yes, Gram. The man is fine. Quite fine, in fact.” She chose not to mention the sparks that had seemed to flare between them because she was certain nothing would come of them. She and Jamal were from two different worlds.

  * * *

  On the way back to his hotel, Jamal finally thawed out enough to raise his arm and check his watch for the time. He could easily make his flight home, but the challenge of Regina Vaughn made leaving town out of the question. Instead, he put in a call to his assistant, Cheryl, in L.A. She promised to take care of the flight changes and to get an extension on his hotel suite. Always grateful for her sunny disposition and amazing efficiency, he ended the call. Now, he’d be able to plot his next move. But first, he had to buy some gloves.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Reggie was whipped from having worked all day, but the moment she walked into the school and saw her kids all dressed up, and their proud parents standing beside them, the weariness melted away. The excitement in the air and in their young faces was c
ontagious.

  After stashing her coat and purse in the school’s office, she and the principal, Dr. Baldwin, reviewed the night’s program. When they were certain they knew how things would flow, Reggie hurried off to the gym to make sure everything was in place. She swept critical eyes over the risers the children would be standing on, the many chairs fanned out around the area for the audience to sit in and the positioning of her piano. Everything appeared to be in place, so she headed down to the music room where the kids and their parents were gathering.

  She was wearing her good dress; a simple, long-sleeved black dress with a hemline that brushed her ankles. It fit her curves well yet flowed freely enough for her to be comfortable in. On her feet were her black, high-heeled boots, and around her neck, her mother’s pearls. It was the dress she also wore to funerals, graduations and sometimes to church. Tonight it was concert attire.

  Most of the kids were already in their seats. The others had ten more minutes to show up and she prayed no one would be late.

  When Jamal arrived, there were only a few open seats left in the dimly lit gymnasium. He had no idea how many students attended the school but it appeared that families and friends had turned out in full force. He spotted Trina waving at him from across the room. He’d called her earlier to let her know he’d be attending, and she’d promised to save him a seat.

  As he made his way, he could feel the eyes. His expensive clothing and bearing pegged him as an outsider, but he shrugged it off and nodded polite greetings to some of the older ladies as he passed by. They smiled back and nudged each other, whispering and giggling.

  He took the open seat next to Trina. She introduced him to the woman seated beside him. She was older and sported beautiful gray dreads. “Jamal Reynolds. Reggie’s grandmother, Crystal Vaughn.”

  Jamal paused. Leave it to Trina to catch him off guard. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here,” the woman politely responded.

  Her grandmother. He remembered Regina referencing her while they were walking home last night. He wondered how much Regina had told her about him. Knowing her, probably nothing.

  But the question was set aside as the children filed in and took their places on the risers. Some were dressed in suits and Sunday dresses while others wore jeans and T-shirts. Ringing applause greeted their arrival. When the smiling Regina entered next, the applause increased in both volume and enthusiasm. Jamal took it as a signal of how much she was appreciated. The sight of her with her hair down and makeup on, and all dressed up in the figure-skimming black dress with jewelry around her neck made him sit up straighter so he could get a better look. The first time he met her, she’d been wearing a shapeless gray housekeeping dress. Yesterday, jeans and a coat and hat that made her look like a brown-skinned Inuit. Tonight, she was hot. Her beauty was on full display and he couldn’t decide where to look first. The gleaming shoulder-length hair grabbed his attention as did the soft lines of her shoulders and arms. He found the sultry sweet curves of her breasts and hips captivating, but her mouth, highlighted with a muted toned lipstick, looked ripe enough to eat.

  Her grandmother whispered, “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he heard himself reply. Every fiber of his being was focused on Regina in a way he’d never focused on any woman before. Watching her gracefully take her seat on the piano bench, he realized he was rock hard. He shifted his folded coat over his lap to cover the evidence, but never took his eyes off the cause.

  For the next hour, the audience in the gymnasium was treated to an outstanding performance. Some of the selections were slow and pure, like “Peace Be Still,” while a few songs by Kirk Franklin rocked the house. During the intermission, the school principal, a short brown woman named Dr. Baldwin, came out and made a poignant plea for financial support. She pointed out the lack of books, instruments and even working lightbulbs in the ceiling above their heads. She also spoke of all the academic awards the students had achieved in spite of being taught in a building that on some days seemed to be on the verge of crumbling. Her words were so moving and so passionate Jamal just wanted to know who to write a check out to. Music was his love and his life. Helping out a place that nurtured and celebrated that art was a no-brainer. After that he’d ask Dr. Baldwin how he might help in any other ways. He also planned to research Madame Sissieretta Jones, the woman for whom the school was named. He’d never heard of her, but she was a musical legend he needed to know.

  He wanted to know Regina Vaughn, too; not intimately, although seeing her tonight made that statement a lie. For now, he chose to focus on knowing who she was inside. She was tough, intelligent and most of all intriguing, but what made her tick? Did she have a man? Children? Were her parents still living? There was so much he didn’t know. Watching her leading the choir in the last selection, he thanked the fates for bringing him to Detroit.

  After the program ended Reggie toured the gym, praising her students and receiving praise in return from their families and friends. People were talking, taking pictures and setting up the table for the potluck. In the midst of the noisy madness, she took a moment to try to spot her grandmother in the crowded gym. She saw her over by the buffet table. Trina was with her and in between them stood Jamal Reynolds. As if cued, he looked up and into Reggie’s eyes. He held her there as if by magic and she swore she couldn’t have moved had she wanted to. Her grandmother called him a door, but Reggie had the overwhelming sense that if she turned the knob, there would be more inside than music. He exuded a maleness that was as charged as a downed power line and it filled her with the current. Just looking at him made her warm and want. Mentally shaking herself, she broke the contact. Praying he’d stay on his side of the gym, she turned her attention back to the students and parents.

  He didn’t of course. In fact, when she looked up, he was walking toward her carrying two food-filled plates. Everybody in the place was watching. He, however, had eyes only for her, and the depth she read in them made her heart pound.

  When he reached her side, she told him, “There are stalking laws in Michigan.”

  He gave her a muted smile. “Really.” He handed her the plate.

  She took it and the silverware. “Thought you were taking the red-eye.”

  “Changed my mind.”

  In his intense gaze, Reggie saw everything a woman could ever want to see in a man’s eyes, and the knowledge that he wasn’t hiding it scared her to death. She noticed her grandmother and Trina watching them, too. When her grandmother smiled approvingly and raised a forkful of greens in silent salute, Reggie playfully shook her head and refocused on Jamal. “How about we find a seat.”

  “Lead the way.”

  She chose two empty chairs near the risers.

  Once they were settled, they started in on their plates. The food was good and Reggie was famished.

  “Did you have to work today?”

  “I did, and I’m looking at a six o’clock start in the morning.”

  “Hardworking lady.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “If I want to write a check to help out the school, who should I make it out to?”

  “The school. Why are you writing a check?”

  “This is a fundraiser right?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  And before she could ask, he said reassuringly, “And I’m not doing it just to impress you.”

  “You knew I was going to ask that.”

  “I did.”

  “Smart and cute. Who’d’ve ever thought?”

  He laughed. She did, too.

  “I want to do it because music is my thing, and if I can help a school with kids that love it as much as I do, I’m all over it. I mentor a couple of schools in L.A.”

  Reggie studied the serious set of his features and responded sincerely, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  With the current humming in them both, they went back to eating.

  An hour
later, the food was packed up, the gym cleaned and everyone said their goodbyes. Trina hurried off to meet Brandon, leaving Reggie outside with her grandmother and Jamal. It was 9:00 p.m. and just starting to snow.

  Crystal asked, “Mr. Reynolds, would you like to stop by for coffee?”

  “Thank you, but I know Regina has to work in the morning.”

  Cute, smart and considerate, Reggie thought to herself. She liked that and so she told him, “You can come, but let’s go. It’s cold out here.” The wind was starting to pick up.

  “I had my car drop me off. Let me call the driver.”

  “By the time he gets here, we could be home.”

  So once again, the ill-dressed Jamal found himself walking through the frigid Detroit night.

  * * *

  Being California born and raised, snow was something Jamal rarely encountered and it was coming down like cold white rain. The wind blew stinging pellets of the stuff into his face, so he pulled his unbuttoned coat closer and hurried up the steps to the Vaughns’ porch.

  The wind was howling now. While he waited for Regina to undo all the locks, he shivered as the cold cut through his pants legs as if he was naked.

  Blessedly, the interior was warm. Once the doors were locked, he asked still shivering, “Is this weather normal for April?”

  “April’s never normal,” Reggie pointed out. “This is Michigan. Let me take your coat.”

  He handed it over but he couldn’t seem to shake the shivers.

  “Welcome to our home, Mr. Reynolds,” her grandmother said, handing Reggie her coat, too. “Reg, take him in the living room and park him by the radiator so he can thaw out. I’ll get the coffee started.”

  With a smile, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Jamal followed Reggie into the small living room. By his L.A. standards, the place was tiny. Living room, dining room, kitchen and maybe a small bathroom somewhere in the back. Bedrooms upstairs, he guessed. The furniture was worn but proudly polished. The beautiful framed abstract art hanging on the walls immediately caught his eye. The work, filled with muted reds and blues, was outstanding and he wondered who the artist might be even as he continued to shake from the cold.