Shanell nodded. “Thank you.” Tears suddenly burned hot against her eyelids. “The girls are why I asked you to come see me. I was hoping you’d tell me about my daughters. My mother says that you’ve become very close to them.”
Cilla nodded. “They’re amazing young women. You should be very proud. They’re resilient, independent, intelligent, spirited, and they both have big, big dreams. Claudia wants to be a doctor and she has such a compassionate spirit that I imagine she’ll have an amazing bedside manner. Cleo’s torn between being a pilot or a marine biologist. I actually think she’ll eventually have a career in law. That one likes to argue.”
“I never meant to hurt them. I can’t believe I did what I did. I can’t forgive myself for putting Cleo in such a horrible situation. I’m her mother and I failed her.” Tears streamed down the woman’s face, contrition heavy against her narrow shoulders.
Cilla wasn’t sure what to say so she didn’t say anything at all. She swiped at her eyes, fighting to keep her own tears from falling.
“I wrote them but I don’t think Malcolm is going to let them read my letters.”
“He’s going to need some time. The girls are everything to him and he can’t get past the fact that they weren’t everything to you.”
Shanell flinched, the honest assessment gut-wrenching to hear. She nodded her head.
There was an awkward moment of silence that wafted between them. Both shifted their gazes to eye the others in the room. Cilla found herself watching an elderly inmate sitting with a young woman who appeared to be her daughter. There was an uncomfortable air between them. Cilla suddenly imagined that their visits had become rote, the woman fulfilling her mother’s expectations even though it wasn’t what she really wanted to do. She suddenly wanted to cry for them both. Instead, she turned her attention back to Shanell who’d resumed the conversation.
“I’ve gotten past the withdrawals and now I’m doing a twelve-step program. It’s a daily struggle. But I’m going to be here for a while and I hope that when I’m able to see my girls again that they’ll know I’ve been working really hard to be a better woman. I hope one day they’ll be able to forgive me.”
“Your daughters love you. They’ve already forgiven you. They just really want to see you healthy and they want a relationship with you. You’re their mother!”
“So are you.”
The two women locked gazes for a brief moment before Shanell continued. “I hated you when I heard Malcolm had married you. And I really hated you when I heard how close you were to my daughters. But I realize I was just jealous that you’re able to do for them what I couldn’t do.”
“You know Malcolm and you know he would never have let any woman close to the girls who wasn’t capable of loving them like they were her own.”
“And that’s the other reason I really wanted to talk to you. Malcolm trusts you with our daughters. And even if I didn’t show it, I have always trusted Malcolm. He’s an amazing man. I really screwed up there.”
Cilla smiled, her head bobbing. “Yeah, you did. I hate to say that but your loss was definitely my gain.”
Shanell laughed and the lilt of it brightened her face. “I hope that you and I can be friends one day. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future but I do know that you’re going to be able to have a relationship with my girls that I will never have. You’ll be there for their first dates. Prom. Graduations. First day of college. I’m going to miss all that and I only have myself to blame. I would really like to be friends with the woman who does get to share all that with them.”
“I would like that too, Shanell. I really would.”
Shanell took a deep breath. “When they were little, Claudia liked to play the game duck, duck, goose. And when she got goose, instead of running, she’d spread her arms and would say she was flying and she couldn’t be caught if she was in the air.
“And Cleo was obsessed with the Ying Yang Twins because she thought they were really twins like her and Claudia and she would go around whispering everything, doing her own version of ‘The Whisper Song.’ It was crazy but it made me laugh. They might not remember but we had moments that were very special. One day I hope they remember.”
She stood up and gestured for a guard. “Thank you for coming.”
Cilla stood with her, reaching to give her a warm hug. “Take care of yourself, Shanell!”
Shanell nodded, her tears falling one last time. With a slight wave of her hand she exited the room and disappeared from sight.
Back in her car Cilla sobbed. She cried for Cleo and Claudia and their mother and all the love they had for each other. Her tears were hot, burning down her cheeks, and all she wanted in that moment was to hurry home and be back in Malcolm’s arms.
Malcolm was sitting alone in the club when his cell phone vibrated atop the bar. It had been going off for the last few hours and without looking he knew it was Cilla trying to call. They’d been playing phone tag for longer than either would have liked and even as he raced to answer it, knocking over two chairs in the process, he just knew that it would stop ringing before he could get to it.
He blew a heavy sigh as he stared at the blank screen. He redialed her number, and the call went right to Cilla’s voice mail. He cursed, hitting the redial a second time. When she didn’t answer he tossed the phone back to the bar top and moved to pick up the chairs.
Music was still playing in the background. Malcolm hadn’t seen any need to turn off the sound system. He wasn’t ready yet for the quiet. He had spent most of the day trying not to think about Cilla’s trip to the penitentiary to see his ex-wife but he couldn’t stop wondering what the two had needed to talk about. He didn’t trust Shanell and her motives gave him reason to pause.
There was a knock on the outer door, the heavy rapping drawing Malcolm’s attention. For a brief moment he thought about ignoring it but something about the urgency of it pulled him in its direction. He used his key to unlock the front entrance. He pushed it open slightly, preparing to tell whoever it was that they were closed for the night. His eyes widened as Cilla stood on the other side. She smiled, giving him a slight wave of her hand.
“Hey, you!”
“Hey, yourself.”
Malcolm opened the door wide enough for her to step inside, locking it securely behind her. She wore faded jeans that hugged her firm legs and a white silk blouse with the top two buttons undone. He couldn’t help but notice the way the dim lights overhead played against her skin, warming her complexion a brilliant shade of gold. A heated tremor crept through him, making him shiver.
Cilla stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly. “Were you busy?”
“I was trying to call you back. It kept going to voice mail.”
“My battery just died,” she said, gesturing with the device.
He took a deep breath. “How was your trip?”
She nodded. “It was good. I really think you’ll be pleased.”
He shrugged. “I trust your judgment. And I should have supported you. I’m sorry.”
She pressed a hand to his cheek. “We can talk later. Right now, I just want you to hold me. I missed you.”
Malcolm gently grabbed her hand and pulled her into the inner sanctuary. In the background the Danish singer Ayoe Angelica was singing her song “Get a Hold.” The beat was thick and sultry, the seductive vibrato reminding them both of a really good time.
Malcolm turned and pulled her close. He had missed her more and there were no words to express just how much. He didn’t need to speak, his body saying everything that needed to be said.
He eased his body against hers and eased both of them into the music. He wanted to touch her skin, to feel her graceful body pressed against his own. He pressed his check to her cheek, breathing in her sweet scent. He felt her body grow warm and languid at the prospect of what would eventually come. They did a slow drag across the dance floor, their movements reminiscent of the dances that made a blue-light basement party me
morable. They danced until they were all danced out.
Leaving her car, they rode home together. Cilla leaned her head against his shoulder, holding tight to his arm as he maneuvered his car through downtown Raleigh. Lights flickered in the dark sky, everything more intense as both their senses were heightened.
Malcolm whispered her name in the late-night air.
“Yes?” She lifted her eyes to his, catching a glimmer of her reflection in his stare.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
“You have.”
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
She nodded. “You tell me every day.”
He turned his focus back to the road.
Cilla smiled. “Why do you ask?”
“Just making sure I’m taking care of business.”
“You’re doing a great job,” she said softly.
“You’d tell me if I wasn’t, right?”
She laughed. “I would.”
Malcolm reached for her hand and held it as he pulled the car into the driveway. Exiting the vehicle he moved from the driver’s side to the passenger door and opened it. He extended his hand to help her out.
They walked arm in arm into the home, laughing easily as she caught up on all she’d’ missed. She’d tell him all about Shanell tomorrow. But tonight was about them. The home was dark save for one light in the family room. Everything was quiet, the mood easy and relaxed.
Cilla grabbed his hand and pulled him close, walking him backward until his back hit the refrigerator door. She pressed her body against his, still moving to the beat of the music that resounded in her head. Lifting her mouth to his she kissed him hungrily, having missed his touch more than she could ever have imagined. She shivered as he slipped his hands beneath her shirt, his palms heated against her flesh. Each craved the other’s touch, the moment moving them both to want more.
The lights in the room suddenly flickered on, illuminating the space brightly. Standing in the entranceway Cleo and Claudia were giggling emphatically, the palms slapped over their mouths.
Malcolm and Cilla blushed profusely, feeling like they’d been caught with their hands deep in the cookie jar.
“Uh, why are you two still awake?” Malcolm snapped.
Cleo laughed. “We were waiting for Mimi to get home,” she said as both girls rushed to Cilla’s side, wrapping their arms tightly around her.
She laughed with them, kissing one and then the other. “You two should be in bed. You have school tomorrow.”
Claudia nodded. “We just wanted you to know that we love you, Mimi!”
Cilla smiled. “I love you both too.”
“And you missed story time.”
“I did, didn’t I!”
The girls nodded.
“Let’s move it!” Malcolm exclaimed.
Cilla shot him a look, amusement painting her expression. “We have to do story time, Malcolm!”
He rolled his eyes, his expression incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”
She shook her head.
Mama Claudette’s voice suddenly rang from the upholstered wingback chair in the corner. “Once upon a time there was a king and queen who thought they were sneaky.”
Cilla and the girls laughed.
Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Okay. Y’all think you’re funny!”
“Say your line, Daddy!” Claudia admonished, her smile full and wide.
He shook his head. “The king and queen had two daughters who had devilish ways that always got them in trouble.”
“But the daughters had a fairy grandmother who protected them and kept them safe from harm,” Cleo said.
“One day the queen came back from a long trip bearing gifts of gold and diamonds for the two daughters!” Claudia added.
They all turned to look at Cilla. She looked from one to the other and grinned. “But the best gift the queen gave them was a golden goose with wings that flew sky high and a whisper song that they could sing every day.”
There was a loud pause as they all stared at her. Malcolm nodded, understanding washing over his spirit. He leaned to kiss her mouth.
Cleo suddenly burst out laughing. “Mommy was never any good at story time either!” she said.
Claudia laughed with her sister. “Once again, Mimi. We’re going to need a little more creativity from you. More creativity, people!”
“That’s it. Bedtime! Hit the sack, ladies,” Cilla said as she tossed up her hands. “There’s nothing wrong with my creativity!”
Cilla grinned as the girls hugged their father, and then her, before racing up the stairs to their beds.
Mama Claudette cleared her throat. “Well, I guess I’ll let you two get back to what you were doing before you were so rudely interrupted.”
Meeting Mama Claudette’s gaze, Cilla felt her cheeks become warm, a blush of color flooding her face. She tossed Malcolm a quick look, smiling as she noticed the glint of red that had risen in his face as well.
The older woman gave them both a nod and a wink of her eye as she rose to follow behind the girls. Wishing her son and daughter-in-law a good night, she kissed them both, then eased her way out of the room, shutting off the lights behind her.
Malcolm laughed heartily as he turned his attention back to her. He stared down at her before leaning to recapture her mouth with his own. Breaking the connection he hugged her tightly. “Welcome home, baby! Welcome home!”
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Chapter One
The line into the Playground Jazz and Blues Club extended past the bolted doors and barred windows of Lem Young’s Chinese Cleaners and Harper’s Florist, which neighbored the old brick building. Except for the patient souls waiting to get inside, the street was bare. A crisp breeze blew teasingly under tight-fitting skirts, while firm bodies, suited to the nines, paced anxiously, examining the evening’s offerings.
Once inside, having paid the ten-dollar cover charge, the privileged few permitted admittance walked a dimly lit corridor, past a mirrored wall reflecting a kaleidoscope of characters. Romeo Marshall, the club’s owner, stood in the entranceway, greeting each of them personally, many by name, as he pointed them to the few remaining tables and the stools at the bar.
Within the inner sanctum of the club, a pale blue light cast an eerie glow over laughing, crying, flirting faces. On the dance floor, couples clutched each other tightly. Shuffling in small circles, their bodies melted one into the other. The heavy aroma of strong perfumes and stale tobacco filled the air, and vision was dulled by swirls of thick smoke that clouded the room. It was Saturday night and the room was filling to capacity as scented, powdered bodies swayed eagerly inside. The audience pushed toward the stage, rollicking to the music, bodies bumping shoulders to shoulders, hips to hips, barely enough room remaining for a swallow of air to pass between them all.
Heads bobbed in time to the music. Bodies swayed to the beat. The music was hot, the room was hot, and the heat was rising with each new body that entered the room. The sounds were low and husky, the guttural strains pressing at skin moist with perspiration. The vibration of the music could be felt deep down inside, creeping from the pit of liquor-filled stomachs, up into haze-filled minds, spreading its infectious spirit copiously throughout relaxed muscles, down into tingling limbs.
Along the rear wall, bodies were pressed tightly against the salmon-colored stucco. At many an occupied seat, creeping hands could be caught pressing along trembling thighs, groping anxiously at knees pressed tightly together. You could smell the passion, a heavy, musky aroma of wanton lust, its dampness glistening like stardust against sun-blessed skin drenched in salted sweat.
Romeo guided his staff with lingering looks, slight nods, and every so often a slight gesture of his hand. His body spoke for him, his eyes mouthing his words. He stood imposingly, his six feet, six and one-half-inch stature long and lean. Taut muscle massed his soli
d frame, his smooth, sable complexion complementing the vibrancy of his blue black eyes. He had a penetrating stare, piercing through the chaos of the crowded room. His eyes missed nothing, catlike in his observations, and observe he did. The Crayola cast that paraded about from night to night fascinated him.
The Playground was his personal concourse, nurturing the childlike qualities hidden within his soul. Moving passively from table to table, he’d instigate the games and establish the rules. His massive hands would tease, the long chocolate fingers stroking a bare back or resting lightly atop a crossed knee. Laughter danced on his thick lips, curling past snow white teeth lined perfectly in a row. His laugh was deep and rich, echoing in the hollows of his dimpled cheeks.
Born Lawrence Alexander Marshall, he’d been called Romeo since he’d been four years old. His mother’s best friend had blessed him with the nickname, proclaiming the moniker his as he’d batted his long, ebony eyelashes at the old women in the Laundromat for a small piece of candy or an extra sugar cookie.
“He’s going to be a Romeo,” she’d remarked, pinching his dimpled cheeks and planting kisses on his curly head. “Going to romance all them pretty girls, he will.”
For him, it had always been a game. A game he could play better than most, and now he only played whenever it suited him. Music had always fascinated him, but he had no particular talents in that direction and his mother had insisted he focus his attentions elsewhere. He had excelled athletically, baseball and track being his fortes. An athletic scholarship, betrayed by a knee injury his sophomore year, had opened the doors for a degree in engineering. After graduation and two years of starched white collars and navy blue suits, he’d realized the corporate boardroom was definitely not his calling.
Taking a yearlong hiatus, he’d traveled across the United States, settling for brief periods in the bars of New Orleans, New York, St. Louis, and Chicago. He’d spent his nights studying people who wandered as aimlessly as he did, searching for something that belonged only to him. Then one day, shortly after returning home to North Carolina, he’d found the Playground. It had been a deserted shell, inhabited by a dark infestation tainted with dirt and grime. Together with his fraternity brother Malcolm Cobb, they’d nursed it to health with the help of their savings, a small bank loan, much backbreaking labor, and their own salted sweat. Everything else had fallen into step with the music.
Playing For Keeps Page 26
