by Zuri Day
Jan laughed. “Are y’all done now?”
“Hubby wants more, but I told him if that happened, he would have them.” Jan laughed. “How’s work at the new location?”
“Like I thought it would be. Slow. Boring. I miss the bustle of being downtown. Plus, that was closer to a lot of my gigs.”
“But you’re closer to home.”
“True.”
“And the people you work with?”
“Nice, so far, for the most part. Though one guy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women is already on my nerves.”
“On your nerves or on your radar?”
“Trust me, I’m not interested.”
“Why not? Is he married?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. After all it took for me to get over the womanizer? I’m there to make a paycheck, not a love connection. Plus, the man for me doesn’t work in a post office.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” Jan honked her horn as a car bogarted its way in front of her from a merging ramp. “Crazy Cali drivers,” she mumbled under her breath.
“You’re on the highway?”
“Yep.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Where I’ll be every Monday for the next nine weeks. On That Note’s Open Mike Night.”
“You’re still doing that? I thought when you started working at the post office last year you’d put all of that behind you.”
“All of that, as you call it, is my dream. My passion. I’ll never stop singing. Ever.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you’ll always sing. But isn’t that where they’re holding the auditions for Nick Starr’s new reality show?”
“Yes. And?”
“Are you sure this is less about singing and more about the crush you’ve had on him since you were twelve. You were going to marry either him or Usher. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember, and no, this isn’t some little schoolgirl crush. Although since he was only fourteen at the time, marrying him is within the realm of possibilities.” Jan waited. Silence. “You were supposed to agree with that.”
“I would if I believed it.”
“Forget you, heifah.” They both laughed. “At any rate, getting that recording contract, heck, even all the exposure of just getting on the show could change my life.”
“Do you really want to make a fool of yourself on one of those shows? Reality TV is my guilty pleasure. They’re going to bring the drama to get high ratings. Arguing and fighting with kids and slinging the B word? They don’t know any better, but you’re thirty years old!”
“And the Apollo was ten years ago. Thanks for the reminder. Yet again.”
“Jan, you know I’d never try and make you feel bad. I’m your number one fan. That voice you were blessed with can put all of these young stars to shame. But you know how today’s industry works. They want someone who looks good on TV.”
“And I wouldn’t?”
“Of course you would. You’d look amazing. It’s just—”
“I know. I’m an over-the-hill thick chick. And you’re my ride-or-die cuzzo not wanting me to set myself up for yet another disappointment.”
“Hey, when I was seven you beat up the neighborhood bully for stealing my jacket.” Jan laughed. “I’ve got to hold you down.”
“And I love you for it. But singing is all I want to do. I’ve got to try. Listen, I need to call Mom and check on Lionel. I’ll talk with you later.”
Jan hurried the good-bye to get off the phone. Crystal meant well, but they’d had similar conversations to this one a thousand times. It always led to Jan feeling badly. She should have been successful by now. When calling her mom and brother and getting voice mail it was almost a blessing. No need to let her spiraling mood drag them down.
Twenty minutes later she arrived at On That Note, where the Open Mike Night was held. Because so many singers had made it past the preliminary rounds, making the list of twenty singers who were able to perform each week wasn’t guaranteed. The bartender making sure her name got on it was huge, which is why once inside she headed straight to the bar. She waved at a few regulars along the way.
“Hey, Rome.”
Rome barely looked up from the frothy beer filling the glass from a tap. “Damn, about time you got here.”
“I should have texted that I was on my way. Sorry about that.”
“It’s all good.” He handed the mug to the waiting patron with one hand while the other grabbed a glass and scooped up ice. Watching him was like watching poetry, or a fighter, bobbing and weaving between pours and scoops, glass washing and counter wipe downs, all while carrying on several conversations at the same time. “All right, man.” He scooped up the money, which included a tip. “Appreciate it.” He added a splash of cranberry to the vodka he’d poured, winking at the customer as she reached for the glass.
“Did you add my special?”
“I’ve got you covered.” Whirling around for a bottle of wine, he poured a glass of chardonnay and set it before Jan. “How’s the job?”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s going to make you this late every week?”
“Looks like it. Which is why I so appreciate you looking out for me.” She pushed a twenty toward him, unusual because Rome never charged her for the single glass of wine she drank each week.
“What’s that?”
“For the wine, and the favor.”
“Get out of here with that nonsense. Just remember me when you hit the big time. That way you can add a couple zeros to that payback.”
“Ha! You’re a fool, Rome. And my favorite bartender. When I have the party celebrating the release of my first single, I’ll hollah at ’cha.”
Rome nodded with a smile, set a mixed cocktail in front of another customer, and walked to the other end of the bar. Jan sipped her wine, watching Starr hold court at his usual table surrounded by the type of women her cousin mentioned—young, beautiful, made for TV. Sure, some of them would undoubtedly make the cut. But Starr was a Grammy-nominated singer-turned-producer. He knew real talent when he heard it. He’d complimented her last week and had encouraged her to return. She’d straight out asked if he thought she had a shot in the music business. He’d said yes. That from the lips of the man who could make it happen! The type of power he wielded excited her. That he was easy on the eyes and her preteen crush just two years her senior didn’t hurt either. When Crystal had brought it up she’d downplayed how much she used to fantasize about Nick Starr. But the truth of the matter was she’d date him in a heartbeat. Not some joker who worked at the post office, whether a pretty boy, like Joey, or comfortably handsome, like her supervisor, Doug. Not that her super had flirted, or acted interested. And not that she would have cared if he had, something she felt the woman who yelled out the mouth comment would be pleased to know. Nobody in that building had to worry about Jan Baker wanting their man. She had big dreams and wanted a man who could help her make them happen. A man like the one she now looked away from, to center herself, prepare for the stage, and show him that whether or not he knew it she was the perfect artist for his label, to help him continue his big comeback.
* * *
“About time you got here.” Doug dodged a punch from his brother, who took a seat across from him.
“It wasn’t because I wanted to work late,” Nelson replied. “Another travel alert. Extra precautions. Plus, somebody left a bag unattended, so we had to sweep the whole dang airport.” Yawning, he looked around his and Doug’s favorite late-night diner, surprised to see it almost empty, even on a weeknight. “Where is everybody?”
“A group was sitting at that table when I got here.” He nodded toward the recently vacated corner booth. “They just left a few minutes ago. I thought the same thing, though. This place stays packed.”
If anyone would know the restaurant flow, it would be these two single Carter brothers. Of the five male siblings, Doug and Nelson worked afternoo
n shifts, schedules that made eating after midnight a common occurrence. They ate here at least once a week. The physicality of Doug’s job helped him keep the weight off. Nelson wasn’t as lucky. His less-than-healthy eating habits, and addiction to his brother Marvin’s desserts, were showing up around his waist.
“So, what’s going on, bro? Anything exciting?”
Doug reached for one of two menus on the table. “Same stuff, different day.” He began to flip through the myriad of choices. “New girl transferred to our branch this week. That’s about it.”
“Is she fine?”
“She’s a pretty girl . . . with a bad attitude.”
“Why, she turned down your offer for a date?” Nelson laughed as he, too, began to scan the menu.
“Asking her out hasn’t crossed my mind, or anybody else at work for that matter. I’m still dealing with the fallout from getting with Melissa. Got reminded what a mistake that was just today.”
“How so?”
“By doing the same thing that shut us down in the first place . . . running her mouth. Tried to make it sound like we still had something going, just because Joey and I were talking to Jan.”
“Jan . . . that’s the new girl’s name?”
Doug nodded. “Pat tried to warn me about Messy Mel, but I didn’t listen. Had to learn my lesson the hard way.”
“You know what Mama says. A hard head makes a—”
“Soft butt,” the brothers finished together, laughing.
Both took a moment to scan the menu. Decision made, Doug laid his down and rested against the comfy leather booth. “I don’t know, man. Maybe ‘bad attitude’ is the wrong way to describe her. She’s one of those serious, focused kind of women. No-nonsense. No fun. After getting to know us, who knows?” He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll loosen up.”
“Don’t make up your mind too fast about her. Those quiet, serious women are sometimes the biggest freaks.” Nelson wriggled his brow.
Doug slowly shook his head. “Trust me when I tell you that is not the case with this one.”
“You never know. Who does she look like?” Nelson picked up one of two glasses of water the server had set down.
“Who does she look like?” Doug stroked his freshly trimmed beard. “She kind of reminds me of that actress who used to be on Martin, what’s her name?”
“The one who played his wife?”
“Yeah.”
“Tisha Campbell?”
“Yeah, Tisha. The one married to Duane Martin. She reminds me of her a little bit, maybe a shade darker, a few pounds heavier. Got those nice, thick lips and hips.” Doug made an hourglass shape with his hands.
“Hot lips and hips? Sounds like somebody I need to meet!”
“If you wait for me to make the introduction, you’ll be waiting a long time.”
“Why?”
“As if you don’t know. Chasing every skirt you see. Just like Joey.”
“I bet that fool was all over her!”
“I wanted to punch him out. Been using the same lame rap for the last ten years. She shut him down like a vice squad raiding a drug house.”
“Ha!”
“Surprised me, to be honest. I saw a little heat beneath that cool façade.”
“But you’re not interested.”
“No.”
“Because she’s your coworker.”
“You got it.”
“If you saw her in a club, would you buy her a drink?”
“Hell yeah. I’d buy her two.”
“What? She’d get you to come off of twenty dollars? Right out the gate? She must be special.”
“I’m not that cheap.”
“Oh, right. You and Byron call it frugal.”
“Financially conservative.”
“Aka cheap!”
The waiter came and took their orders. The conversation shifted after that, from family to air travel to who would make the AFC playoffs. Though her name was not brought up again, Jan stayed on Doug’s mind. On the way home, he still thought about her. Hell yeah, he’d buy that girl two drinks. Maybe even three.
3
The next day, Doug whipped his blue Kawasaki into the post office parking lot. Seeing an open space, he barely hit the brakes as he turned, skidded, and screeched to a stop.
The quick action of the driver beside him saved her opened door and swallowed the scream brought on by his unexpected arrival. Doug laughed, dismounting from his bike amid a cloud of dust. The smell of burnt rubber wafted around them.
He took off his helmet, reached for the car door, and opened it. “Sorry about that. Didn’t see the door until the last minute. If not for your quick reflexes, I might have gone flying.”
“And you think that’s funny?” Jan got out of the car and slammed the door. She brushed by Doug on her way to the building, tapping the key fob to lock the doors without looking back.
Her unexpected anger caught Doug off guard, but only for a second. “Jan, wait up.” He rushed to catch up with her. “I was only kidding. I’ve been riding bikes since I was twelve years old.”
“Like a maniac?”
“Even if you hadn’t closed the door, I wouldn’t have hit it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Actually, I do. Like I said, I’ve ridden bikes for a long time. I’ve got skills.” He broke into a ’70s strut, an act that usually evoked laughter. Not this time. Even the birds kept silent.
“I’m sorry if I scared you.”
In answer, Jan increased the length of her stride. The post office anchored a string of businesses on a corner lot. By the time they arrived for their afternoon shift the lot was almost always crowded, so they’d been forced to park some distance from the door. No matter. Her five foot five was no match for Doug’s five eleven. He easily kept up with her.
They reached the post office building’s employee entrance. He opened the door to let her enter. They continued down the hallway. “I noticed that Sonata yesterday in the lot and wondered who owned it. My sister was thinking about getting one of those. How do you like it?”
She reached her locker.
Doug stopped, too. “You’re that upset about what happened? It’s not like I actually hit your door. No harm no foul, right?”
She gave him a look, then continued placing her items inside the locker before closing the door and securing it with her newly purchased lock.
“So you’re just going to ignore me, and not answer my question.”
She turned to face him. “I suggest your sister do as I did: go to a car dealer and try one out. A test drive with a competent salesperson should be able to provide any answers that can’t be found online.”
Doug rose his hands in mock surrender. “Wow, all right. I thought your opinion, as a consumer, might be more valuable than someone who stands to make a commission on the sale, but no worries. Like you said, there are a lot of other ways to get information. Again, I apologize for scaring you.”
A curt nod was her only reaction. Doug turned to leave, then stopped. “I know you got trained downtown, but later on, after the counter closes, there are a couple things I want to show you.”
She met his eye, her demeanor professional. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. If you run into any problems, either Pat or I can help you.”
Another nod as she came toward him before turning down the short hall and out to the customer counter to begin her shift.
Doug placed his personal items in a locker, then walked over to the mail sorter. Joey started right in. “I guess she told you,” he mumbled, a hand over his mouth, his eyes shifting as if to make sure no one else heard. This in a place where even the floor had ears. “It has to be frustrating to work so hard for that which for me comes so easy.”
“Shut up, fool.”
As proof that Joey’s voice had carried beyond them, Melissa, three tables away, turned around. “Doug, are you trying to hit on the new girl?”
“No, so that little quip
you threw out yesterday was totally unnecessary.”
“What?” Melissa batted her eyes as though innocent or ignorant, when she hadn’t been either since dog was a pup. Doug shook his head and pulled out his phone. “Oh, about that mouth of yours and knowing how to use it?” She turned off the processing machine, swayed over to where Doug stood, and pushed her natural DDs against his arm. “Did I lie?”
Doug’s eyes didn’t move from his cell phone screen. “Go back to work, Melissa.”
“That’s right,” Joey said. “Before your man comes around the corner and sees you flirting.”
“What man?”
“The one I saw you all up on yesterday in the break room. The maintenance man, that’s who.”
“Boy, please. We were just playing.”
“That’s your problem. You play too much. And then broadcast your business. Not cool.” Doug’s side-eye glance confirmed that he wasn’t talking about video or board games.
“Don’t be jealous, Doug.” She reached up and ran a manicured nail down the side of his face.
Doug quickly removed it. “Stop.”
“You know you miss this.” Melissa ran her hands down her sides, then flipped her hair as she walked away. She reached her table and turned around. “But if you play nice . . . you just might be able to get it again.”
Doug swallowed a sarcastic answer, one that was true but uncomplimentary. One thing his father, Willie, had instilled in all of his sons was to have respect for women. “Even a floozy is somebody’s daughter,” he told them once, when passing by a woman who looked to be a lady of the night. “Maybe someone’s mother, too.” Doug was only nine or ten years old when this happened, but it’s a message he never forgot. It wasn’t until after he and Melissa had added a one-night set of benefits to their friendship that he found out how many other coworkers had this status as well. Still, he wouldn’t judge Melissa for being “sexually liberated.” He wouldn’t take advantage of her benefits again either.
After putting out an administrative fire, he settled into work. A few hours later he was ready for a break. To ensure everything was running smoothly before leaving, he chatted with a few workers in the back room and then headed to the counter. There, Pat was dealing with the lone customer. Jan fiddled with her register.
