by Linda Verji
“Thank you.” London finally let her hand drop from his. With a smile, she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe.”
“See you.” He watched her walk away, feeling bereft and disappointed that he hadn’t had more time to talk to her.
Tomorrow, he’d make the time.
CHAPTER 6
Tiptoeing around someone else’s apartment is weird enough. Tiptoeing around your own is just wrong. But there London was, her heart pounding and her blood racing so fast she could hear it in her ears as she crept into her apartment at three p.m. the next afternoon. It was only after she quietly closed her bedroom door behind her that she took her first easy breath. Even with the door closed she could hear her housemates chatting in the kitchen.
“I think we need a special long-term roster for cleaning the curtains and the windows.” Farah’s high-pitched voice pierced the wood. “And cleaning the fridge.”
“That’s a great idea, Farah!” Amani, the head-bitch in their little household exclaimed. “We should also make one for emptying every drawer in the house and cleaning them. What do you think of doing it every Saturday?”
“Ooh! I’m already excited,” Farah screeched. “It will be such a party. We can even order in pizza.”
Ugh! London shuddered as she set her purse on her bed. These two women had obviously never been to a party if they qualified cleaning windows and emptying drawers as one.
“I’ll get my laptop and start drawing up the roster,” Amani said, her voice deepening with her excitement. “This is going to be such fun.”
No, darling. No, it won’t. London shook her head as she wandered to her closet. There was no way she was getting involved in those ladies’ cleaning party. Mentally shutting out her housemates’ conversation, she scanned the array of dresses in her closet trying to decide which one made her look best.
Which one her audience at Landa-Heron would love more.
Which one Zeke would love more.
An unconscious smile tugged at her lips at the thought of him. She hadn’t noticed him entering the bar last night, but the moment their eyes had met across all those tables, he’d had all her attention. Everyone in the hotel bar had disappeared until she was singing only to him.
No, she didn’t still have a crush on him. She wasn’t foolhardy enough to fall for him after he’d expressly stated that she was not his type. But saying there wasn’t a spark of something would be lying.
So let’s just say, he had her attention.
She settled on a short, white off-shoulder dress and gold strap heels. Should she shower? She pulled her white and red baseball tee to her nose and sniffed. The smell of burnt hair and hair products immediately clogged her nostrils. Yup! Definitely shower.
Some might say that she had too many jobs; hairdresser, singer and phone-sex operator. And often it felt like she was living on caffeine and sleeping on buses as she moved from one side of the city to the other. But to her, it was worth it. Being able to buy the stuff she liked and live the way she wanted was well worth the bleary eyes and wrecked body. Maybe someday when she was a gazillionaire or had someone who required her attention she’d quit hustling so much. She tossed her t-shirt into the laundry basket, kicked off her boots then reached for the zipper of her jeans.
“Didn’t I hear London come in?” asked Farah. London’s finger’s paused on the zip of her jeans. “That sounded like her bedroom door opening.”
Damn.
No. London attempted to telepathically convince them. It was the neighbors upstairs closing their door. Or maybe just the wind.
“I think I heard her too,” Amani said, dashing London’s hopes. “Why don’t we go ask her what she’d like to do?”
Inhaling sharply, London dashed towards her bathroom. She’d just turned on the shower when she heard loud rapping on her door over the rush of water.
“London. Looondon, are you there?”
London increased the pressure of water.
“Looondon,” Amani called out, sounding even closer now, as if she’d entered the room. “Looondon.”
“Showering,” London screeched, even as she quickly stripped out off her jeans, tossing them on the mat, before clambering into the bathtub still in her panties and bra. Sss, she hissed as icy cold water smacked her right in the back.
Proving herself quite determined, Amani, official captain of Clean Freaks United, pushed the door open and thrust her head round the door assertively. “We were just wondering-”
“Didn’t you hear me say that I’m showering?” London snapped, as she pushed aside the shower curtain slightly so only her head was visible.
“This is important,” Amani retorted as she pushed her way into the bathroom. At five-eight and over two hundred pounds heavy, she was not the type of woman you wanted to get on the wrong side of. Hell, her one arm was the size of London’s thighs. Amani continued, “We were wondering, since we’re dividing up weekly tasks, if there was anything you like doing.”
The average-sized, high yellow-skinned, afro-haired Farah sniffed noisily behind her. “I’ve already booked the drawers and Amani wants the fridge.”
London considered retorting that she didn’t like doing anything, but after two years plus of living with these two she knew how the conversation would go; arguments, more sniffing, Farah would start crying, someone would stomp out… Honestly, London wondered how she’d survived so long with them. The only reason she continued to stay with them was because finding a nice apartment like this in New York at this price was like finding a Unicorn. It didn’t happen every day. It was too bad the lease was in all three of their names because she would’ve already kicked them out and found herself some untidier roommates.
Mentally sighing, London said, “How about I take emptying the trash and brushing the carpet?”
“Ooh, that sounds good,” Farah squealed. But when Amani shot her an irritated stare she quieted abruptly.
“Yes, it sounds nice.” Her straight-lipped smile dripping of fakery, Amani added pointedly, “But we thought you might prefer windows and curtains. Brushing the carpet isn’t that much of a contribution is it?”
Not about to be intimidated by a woman who lined her lips with black eyeliner, London eyed her steadily. “That’s why I added and emptying the trash. I work on Saturdays, Amani. I can’t clean the windows every weekend.”
“You could do them before you go to work,” Amani suggested helpfully.
“Yeah,” Farah agreed. Throwing a tentative glance at Amani, she added, “Like at five a.m.”
“Mm mm.” Amani gave her a nod and an encouraging smile.
“You want me to wash windows every Saturday at five a.m.?” London leveled a narrow-eyed look at the dynamic duo. “You have lost your damn minds.”
Amani countered, “It’s the only way-”
“Get out of my bathroom,” London cut in sharply. “I have to be at work in the next hour and I need to shower.”
“But-”
“Out.” London roughly tugged the shower curtain back in place and increased the water pressure.
“Fine, we’re going,” Amani yelled over the rush of water. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
Yeah, it is. Considering that she washed the dishes every night despite rarely eating here, wiped down all the surfaces before going to sleep, and cleaned the floors on Sundays, London felt she was doing her fair share of housework. If those two wanted the house to look like a hospital then that was their business and she wasn’t getting involved.
After her shower, she slipped on her dress and uggs, put on a beige trench-coat over her dress so it wouldn’t get ruined on the bus. Once she’d tucked her heels into her purse, she exited her room. Thankfully, the Cleaning Police were in Amani’s room assessing the state of her drapes, so London was able to make her escape without a repeat of the bathroom conversation.
The bus ride didn’t take long. She arrived at Landa-Heron with thirty minutes to spare. At the lobby, Charlie, the concierge gr
eeted her with a smile and let her know that most of the Xin Monsters were already in the backroom preparing for the show. London wasn’t surprised to find that what Charlie meant by most was Saif, D’Angelo and Enzo. Maurice, who loved to make, an entrance showed up mere seconds before the show.
The moment London stepped on stage a familiar fear passed through her as it always did in the brief seconds before she began singing. She closed her eyes, imagined herself in a large amphitheater all alone except for the curtained walls, the empty seats, the blaring lights and the microphone. Then she began to sing.
From the first note her fear was silenced and there was only the music. A strangely euphoric calm eclipsed her as the honeyed words of the song pulsed through her and infected her. She took control of those words; moved them, made them dance on her lips, sent them out into the crowd. Ecstasy swirled inside her as she gave to her audience and her audience gave back their enraptured attention. It felt… it felt like being home.
They were well into their second set when Zeke strode into the room. Immediate awareness flared through her and her whole body came alive at the sight of him. He was dressed as usual in a suit; a gray one to match his black shirt and stripped tie. She didn’t know how he did it, but the man had the dark brilliance of a king in control of everything around him. The world seemed to stop at his entrance and hold its breath as if waiting for his orders. And the way his gaze immediately zeroed in on the stage - on her - well, it set her pulse racing. He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled
Lord. Her heart almost stopped beating. The man was fine.
It was a wonder she managed to keep singing without her breath catching in her throat or forgetting the words. As had happened the previous day once he entered the room, he became her sole audience - the one member of the crowd that she cared about pleasing. She tried to divide her attention equally among her audience, but her gaze kept wandering back to him.
At around eight p.m., London traded place with Enzo at the piano to allow her voice to rest. The beauty of being at the piano was that most of the audience concentration was on the singer so she was free to look in whatever direction she chose. She chose to look in Zeke’s direction and found him waiting for her. He was looking at her so intensely that heat flushed up her face and she had to look downwards. It took her awhile to realize that she was actually blushing. Damn! It’d been awhile since she’d blushed. Usually she was the one causing the blushes in others. And for Zeke to be the one making her blush…. Well, damn!
Towards the end of the show, London and Enzo performed a duet about a man asking his lover to come back to him, and she was playing hard to get. As usual Enzo was too touchy-feely which left her feeling uncomfortable. However. London let it ride because they were on stage and the cheering audience seemed to love his exaggerated expressions of affection. She did notice however that Zeke didn’t smile through that performance. If anything his expression had returned to its usual unreadable state.
“We killed it,” Saif whooped the moment they exited the stage. “Did you see that crowd cheering? Did you see them?”
“Man, you were just slapping that stick on your drums. It was London and I who did all the work.” Enzo laughed as he slung his arm across London’s shoulder. “Wasn’t it, babe?”
“Everyone put in major work,” London refuted as she shrugged his arm off her shoulder.
“You got that right,” Saif said. “Try singing without us and see if it will sound as good.”
“Forget him.” Maurice kissed his teeth as he tucked his violin into its case. “He’s just pissed cause the only instrument he can play is his mouth.”
“I play the piano,” Enzo protested.
“Badly,” D’Angelo countered. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but it’s painful to hear you massacre those poor keys.”
The group teased each other as they packed up their stuff and prepared to leave. London kept her eye on the door as she slipped off her heels and put on her uggs. She waited for Zeke to walk in as he had the previous day, but by the time she’d shrugged on her trench-coat there was no sign of him. Disappointment tugging at her, she followed her band-mates out of the backroom.
“Do you want me to give you a ride home?” Enzo asked as they exited the hotel.
“Nah! I’ll go with Saif. He’s closer,” London said. Though Enzo and Saif shared a house, Saif part-timed as a DJ at a club that was close to London’s place.
Enzo said, “I don’t mind giving you a ride.”
Normally, London would’ve jumped on the offer but she was trying to create some distance between her and Enzo. Letting him do her favors was not the best way to do that. She was mulling over the best way to reject his offer when her phone rang. The moment she saw the name flashing on screen, an instant smile creased her face.
“Give me a minute.” She strode a distance away from Enzo before swiping her thumb over the screen to answer the call. She pressed the phone to her ear. “I was beginning to think you were trying to duck out of the drink you promised me.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” Zeke’s deep voice echoed over the line. She could hear his smile on the phone as he said, “Tell me you haven’t left yet.”
“No, I’m just outside the hotel.”
“You still up for that drink?”
“Mmm...” She pretended to hesitate. “I guess.”
“I’m still with a guest here, but I won’t be long,” Zeke said. “Charlie will show you up to my place. We won’t be interrupted there.”
“Trying to get me up to your place before you’ve even bought me dinner?” London teased. “You naughty boy.”
“Damn. It - it’s not - not,” he stumbled over his words. “It’s not like that. I just wanted you. I mean I wanted us - I mean you.”
“I’m playing with you,” London cut him off with a laugh. “I know what you meant. Can I start without you?”
“Sure. Sure,” he said. “Everything’s in the living-room. Just make yourself comfortable.”
“Okay,” she added, “and don’t keep me waiting.”
Phone-call over, she tramped back to where the rest of the band were. “Guys, I’m staying back. Why don’t you just head out and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Instant anger flashed across Enzo’s pale features. But he didn’t say anything - at least not yet. He waited until everyone else had said their goodbyes and wandered off before he confronted London, “Are you staying for that guy?”
“What guy?” London pretended cluelessness.
“Zeke.”
“No,” London lied, instinctively knowing that the truth would only bring on more drama than she was willing to deal with at this moment. “I’m waiting for Shakira. She’s coming to pick me up.”
“At this time of the night?” Enzo shot her a skeptical glance. “Isn’t she married?”
“So?” London returned evenly.
Enzo must’ve seen something in her eyes because he didn’t answer the question. Instead he said, “I’ll wait for her with you.”
“No, thanks. I don’t need a babysitter. I’m going back inside the hotel to wait, and you-” She stuck a finger on his chest. “- are going home. Goodbye.”
Without waiting for his response, she turned and marched back into the hotel. Fortunately, he didn’t follow her in.
“Ah, Miss Pistol,” Charlie greeted her when she stopped in front of the concierge’s desk. “Mr. Hollis said you’d be going up to his apartment. This way-”
“Just a minute,” London stopped him as she snuck a glance at the entrance of the hotel where Enzo was still standing and watching her. “Pretend that we’re chatting or something.”
“Of course.” The concierge nodded graciously. The smile still on his lips and without even glancing Enzo’s way, he asked, “Is that young man giving you trouble? I can have someone take care of him.”
“No. He’s a friend.” Leaning one elbow on the counter, London asked, “How do you do that?”
“Do
what?” Charlie asked.
“You didn’t even look towards the door yet you knew that Enzo was still there?”
The concierge chuckled. “It’s my job.”
She and Charlie stayed by the counter chatting for a while until Enzo finally got tired of stalking her and headed off. Once Enzo was gone, Charlie led the way towards the elevators. They stopped in front of an elevator marked private. He took a keycard from the inside of his beige vest and pressed into a slot and the doors slid opened.
“This way.” He stepped aside to let London into the wall-to-wall wood paneled elevator first. A short while later the door closed behind them and the elevator began its journey up. When they came to a stop on the seventeenth floor, the doors slid open and London found herself facing Zeke’s living-room.
The expansive space was like a showroom. Stark white leather seats merged easily with the backdrop of mint green drapes, and gray-accented walls. Everything was in perfect order; from the paintings hung in perfectly equal distances from each other to the vase perfectly centered in the middle of the coffee table, which was - of course - centered perfectly on the gray patterned rug. In fact London would’ve bet her last dollar that the two identical vases on the mantel piece were the exact same distance away from the edge of the mantel piece. Farah and Amani would have an orgasm if they ever came here.
After showing her where the bar was, Charlie bade her goodbye and left via the elevator. London found herself alone in Zeke’s apartment. Not really feeling like having alcohol, she picked up a bottle of water from the little fridge behind the bar before plopping onto the sofa. Sipping on her water, she swept the living-room with her gaze looking for something interesting to do. TV? She searched the room for the remote controls but couldn’t find them so she turned to the magazines on the rack next to her. Car. Financial Times. New Yorker. Honestly, who read this boring crap? Shaking her head, she put the magazines back where she’d found them.
With so little to occupy her mind, London lifted from the couch and wandered over to the window and peered out into New York’s streetscape. It was beautiful out here; the concrete jungle melded seamlessly with night’s shadows and the twinkling stars. She was on her way back to the couch when she noticed the small cavern cut off from the living-room. Even from her position by the window, she could see that the cavern only held a white desk facing the wide window, a leather chair ,and a bound book lying open on the desk.
