by Tiana Laveen
“No, I know, I know.” She waved him off. “I’m not mad about that.”
“Then what is it?”
She closed her eyes and rubbed them, a sudden chill coming over her.
“We haven’t been talking long at all, so it’s probably not even worth worrying about, but… if this actually goes somewhere… I don’t know…”
“Promise, what in the hell are you talkin’ about?”
She took a few moments to gather her thoughts.
“If you’d made a mistake in your past, Wes, and you met, hell, I don’t know…” She threw up her hand, “let’s say Keyshia Cole. Would you tell her?”
“Well, shit. It depends on how big of a mistake we’re talking. Some shit is left better unsaid, and some shit needs to be said right away. Right out the gate. What did you do?” She took a deep breath but remained quiet. “This has somethin’ to do with that punk ass ex-husband of yours, doesn’t it? I shoulda beat his motherfuckin’ ass when I had the chance.”
She hated how her big brother was looking at her. His brow rose, and his unyielding stare unnerved her. Perhaps he wasn’t judging her as she felt he was though, and paranoia was slinking in, getting comfortable and making itself at home within her. Suspicion has entered the chat…
She shrugged. “It was nothing, really, and it happened a long time ago. I shouldn’t even be worried about this. It’s not like six months from now me and this man will be engaged and planning our lives together. It was one date. I mean, yeah, we’ve been talking, but we know how these things go. At worst, I’m his flavor of the month. At best, we remain friends.” Her brother nodded in agreement. “I’m overthinking this. You want some popcorn?”
“Hell yeah.” She got to her feet and made her way into the kitchen again. “You know I always want something to eat.”
Grabbing a movie theater style butter popcorn package from a cabinet, she prepped it and set it in the microwave. While busying herself, her heart beat faster as she recalled what Gutter had stated about honesty and getting things out of the way in the beginning. The hard questions and truths. The ding of the microwave shook her out of her deliberations. The snack was ready.
“Yo, Promise! Put extra butter on it for me. It’s never enough,” Wes called out.
“You act like I’m your maid and cook! I hope you find another woman to drive crazy, and soon,” she teased, retrieving a stick of butter from the refrigerator.
She placed it in the microwave and watched it go around and around in the glass bowl, getting hotter and hotter as it melted. All that pressure, all that heat, breaking it down…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Green Tea Served in Heaven
Gutter set a fistful of ice cubes free inside his gin glass while listening to his song, ‘The Jester’s Chaos.’ Sipping on the drink, he paid attention to the sound to see if there was anything he wanted to alter. The demo hadn’t yet been released to the public, but Universal, his record label, allowed him a bit more time to work with it. He had a history of wanting to sit with a song for a few days before unleashing it into the world. Live with it. Sleep with it. Wrap himself up in it.
He sat down on the black sofa, legs stretched, enjoying a drink in his modern penthouse. The air was touched by a cool kiss as summer and autumn fought with one another for dominance. It seemed the summer was losing its hold on the city.
When the song finished playing and his drink was half gone, he replied to several text messages he’d received earlier. Then, he got up to pour a second drink when there was a knock at his door. I’m not expecting anyone. Maybe it’s the doorman.
He made his way to the front door and looked at the security camera to see who was standing out in the hallway, and found Mrs. Ruth Goldman, who lived in a penthouse on the same floor. She was one of two other neighbors on the forty-second floor. Standing in an oversized navy-blue jacket and white turtleneck, her dyed short hair brushed back, she looked rather perturbed as she crossed her arms and looked sternly ahead. Much like a schoolmarm. Gutter removed the locks on the door and swung it open.
“Zake.” Her thin lips curled in a forced smile. “Isaac wanted to know if you were going to come by this evening and play Klaberjass?”
Isaac was the old woman’s husband, who he barely saw or knew. They’d had no more than four encounters, and yet, every time he saw Mrs. Goldman she claimed that Isaac wanted something. The woman had developed a strange curiosity about him it seemed, for whenever he was in town she began to make appearances, offering covered dishes that he wasn’t particularly interested in eating, games to play, and movie watching invitations. Add to that a big dose of gossip she felt compelled to share about their fellow neighbors, people he didn’t know and didn’t give a shit about. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why this woman had singled him out.
“Are you coming? Or are you afraid he’ll beat the pants off you?” she teased.
Zake couldn’t help but smile at the old Jewish woman who looked pretty proud of herself at that moment. “I appreciate the offer, Mrs. Goldman, but I can’t. Please tell Isaac that I have to work tonight.” He moved to close the door, but she reached out an arm to stop him.
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
His body jerked to the side as she suddenly brushed past him and forced her way inside his home, like she was some geriatric police officer on an important investigation. He shook his head, then closed and locked the door. Fuck whatever I was doing, huh?
“Can I get you something to drink?” he offered. What else could be done? The lady was inside now.
“Yes! Do you have any Kosher wine?”
Wine? It’s ten in the morning…
“I doubt it. I have some cans of tea though. I could pour you some over ice.”
“It’s not flavored tea, is it?”
“Nah, just green tea. No additives.” Do I look like fucking Starbucks? I don’t have time for this shit. Look, nobody asked your ass to come up in here in the first place…
“Perfect.” She clasped her hands and smiled broadly, then began to hop about his home, picking up various items she had no business touching, and checking out his living room wall that featured various singing awards, statues, plaques, and trophies.
She peered down his dark hallway, as if contemplating trotting her nosy ass over there to see what lay behind the mysterious closed doors. Yeah, you go on. Open my fucking bedroom door and don’t say a gotdamn word if you see that big fishbowl of condoms on my nightstand, and the big ass bottle of lube.
But instead, she turned back around and made her way towards him.
She trailed behind him in the kitchen where he fixed her a drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her watching him as he grabbed a glass from a cabinet, rinsed it, filled it with ice, retrieved a can from the large stainless-steel refrigerator, opened and poured it. “You have such an amazing kitchen, Zake.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s spic and span. Maid service?”
“Yeah.”
“Double oven?” She pointed over at them.
“Yes.” He forced a smile as he handed her the drink. “It was designed that way. I didn’t specifically ask for double ovens.”
“Oh. Well, do you cook?”
“Not often.”
“Well then, those double ovens are going to waste. I thought maybe you were a great chef! Too bad.” She shook her head as if it were truly tragic. “A man who cooks is a great thing!” An old woman who minds her business is even greater… “You know, if you were Jewish, I’d introduce you to my granddaughter, Zake.” The woman rolled her eyes dramatically, took a loud slurp of her drink, and stood there with a limp wrist. “She’s single and gorgeous! Intelligent, too.”
“Mmmm, okay. That’s great.” He shrugged and went to refill that glass of gin he was going to take care of before the uninvited guest arrived.
“I might introduce you to her anyway…” She lifted her chin high and reviewed him from head to toe, as if tr
ying to determine if he were worthy. “My daughter would be livid, but I think you two would make an awesome pair. At least, on paper.”
“Really? Wow, that’s interesting.” Get the hell out of my house. “I hate to end this discussion, Mrs. Goldman, but I have some work to do and—”
“I’m sorry about your mother,” she blurted, then placed her hand on his arm. Her eyes pooled with sadness. Damn! Who DOESN’T know?!
“…Thank you.”
“When my mother got sick, the entire family had—”
“If you don’t mind, I really don’t want to discuss that, all right?”
She gave him a perplexed look, then nodded in understanding.
“Zake, I know what you think of me.” She picked up the glass from the granite counter and took a small sip of her drink, then set it back down.
“What I think of you? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He grabbed the bottle of gin and got to pouring.
“You think I’m some nosey old lady who always pops up when you’re home.” Are you not? That’s EXACTLY what you are. “You think I’m intrusive and need to mind my business. You probably think my husband and I are weird.”
They stared at one another for a few moments. Mrs. Goldman’s eyes were at times haunting. Not light blue, not a dark blue, but somewhere in between, and it seemed as if they could pierce his damn soul at that instant. They’d forever haunt him from that moment forward.
“It’s true, right?” she urged, her brows furrowed.
“Some of it.” He tasted his drink, then again. Wanting more.
“What part wasn’t true?”
“I don’t think Isaac is weird.”
She sighed, looked down at the floor, then back up at him, her shoulders slumping.
“Look, it’s cool. I just have a tight schedule more times than not, Mrs. Goldman, and when I’m home, this is like my sanctuary,” he gestured around them, “and I want to control who is here, why they’re here, and how long they visit. My privacy is also important to me. I don’t like people popping up on me without warning, and that goes for everyone, even close friends. I need time to myself. I’m going through a lot of shit right now, sorry… stuff… and my patience is kind of thin.”
“I know that I barged in here, Zake, and you probably want me to go away. I know I get on your nerves with my constant offerings of desserts and casseroles, which you probably toss in the trash,” she rolled her eyes, “and invites to do things you don’t wanna do, like the Hanukkah celebration last year and card games with Isaac and me. But I do it because honestly, I’m lonely!” She laughed mirthlessly. “Isaac barely speaks anymore. He’s on one hundred medications, so he sleeps a lot and secondly, you just, I don’t know…”
She shrugged. “You seemed so approachable. See, when you moved here, the first thing you did was come to me, with a joke. You must’ve noticed I feared you when I first saw you, and you said to me, ‘I know I look like Andre the Giant, but I promise to not body slam you. My name is Zake.’ I was so shocked by that. All I could do was laugh.”
And she laughed again at the memory. It was contagious—he couldn’t help it.
“There was this huge man with all of these tattoos, muscles and piercings, and ya have those strange, stretched-out earlobes that hang with these damn pencils or whatever jammed in them. I saw boxes being moved in the day you came, and all of these musical instruments, and I thought, ‘He must be a musician and a damn good one if he can afford to live here.’ And then, soon thereafter, people were coming to visit you. Lots and lots of people, and women, many of them practically naked. All hours of the night. Maybe you shouldn’t meet my granddaughter after all.” She looked him up and down with a stern stare of disapproval. He wanted to laugh but kept control of himself. “So, the manager of the property reassured me and Isaac that even though you’re a musician, you’d be making the place soundproof. Which it seems you have because I can barely hear a thing.”
“I did. I have to practice here sometimes, so I was given permission to sound-proof the walls.”
“Thank you, that was considerate of you,” She took another gulp of the tea, then another before setting the empty glass back down. “But the main reason I try to engage you, Zake… The real reason I keep coming around is because you remind me of someone I cared for, a long time ago. Not physically—you two look nothing alike—but there’s just something about you. It feels so familiar.”
He didn’t know whether to be moved or convinced the woman truly was insane. Either way, he was feeling out of sorts, perhaps a bit anxious.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been overstepping my bounds. I know you’re a very busy man, and well, Isaac is long retired, and my days of taking care of children and being a homemaker are long gone. We’re old.” She guffawed then offered a warm smile. “Each day that passes, I am reminded that I’m that a bit closer to death, so I try to live well.” He nodded in understanding. “But, there’s no such thing as death. We never really die.” She looked away, as if suddenly caught in a daydream, pinching her jacket with her thumb and forefinger before settling her gaze upon him again. “What do you think happens when we die?”
“I don’t know.”
“When I heard about your mother, well, I had to come over. I wanted to, I don’t know, maybe make you feel better. I knew you wouldn’t invite me in. You never invite me in.” She looked rather perturbed about that fact. “Can I hear one of your songs?”
Gutter cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms. Surely, if she had heard about his mother and seemed to know all of his comings and goings, his friends’ visitations and more, she’d heard a song or two of his, too.
“I was under the impression you’d already heard some of my music. You told me a long time ago that you’d heard some songs on the—”
“No, not on the radio. I mean, can you sing to me? Right now?”
He wanted to tell her no. He wanted to tell her to leave. Any other day, he probably would have, but something about that didn’t sit right with him. Something about the way she was looking at him, through him, the words she was sharing, made him second guess showing her the door. Mrs. Goldman was more than just the nosy old lady who lived on his floor. She was a part of something bigger.
“I’m not sure my music would be the type you’d enjoy. But I could be wrong.” He shrugged. “I could sing you something by someone else. I do pretty good covers.”
“Have you heard of Eric Clapton?”
“Yeah, of course. I know his work. Was there one particular song of his you like that you want me to sing?”
“Yes.” Her eyes glossed over as she clasped her hands together. “‘Tears in Heaven.’ Can you… can you sing it for me?” Her voice broke as she spoke.
Something was driving these emotions in her, so he felt compelled to oblige.
“Have a seat on the couch.” He led her by the wrist and let her get situated. Grabbing one of his guitars from a closet, he sat down across from her. She clapped when he began to strum, then sing the lyrics. “‘…Would you know my name…’”
He closed his eyes, falling into the slow, haunting rhythm of the tragic, heart-wrenching song written about the singer’s young son who’d died after falling out of a window. He kept on strumming and singing, gripping the words with his mind, fingers, and soul, and when he was finished, he opened his eyes…
Across from him, Mrs. Goldman was sobbing quietly into her hands. He stared at her, at the way her knees turned inward, the knobby knuckles of her hands so pronounced as she covered her face, and the thick waves of her hair falling forward. Her body was wracked with intense feeling, so he let her process that. He said nothing. He didn’t move. He barely breathed.
Something was happening.
Something he couldn’t control.
Like Jenny, the woman was crying in front of him, and he wanted her to stop. At the same time, he didn’t want to interfere. She was feeling emotions he had no clue about, and yet, everything seemed con
nected.
He slowly got to his feet, laid the guitar against the couch, brought her a box of tissues. She accepted it without raising her head, then dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. He sat back down across from her. After a while, she pulled herself together and looked at him.
“Thank you. You’re an incredibly talented young man.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Thank you also for the tea and so much more.” She got to her feet, wiped her nose, then jammed the used tissue in her pocket and headed towards the door. “I’m going to get out of your hair now, Zake.” He followed behind her to let her out. As he unlocked the door and swung it open, something troubled him. He needed an answer.
“Mrs. Goldman?”
“Yes?” she asked as she stepped out into the hall.
“Earlier you said I reminded you of someone. Who is it?”
With a sad, crooked smile, she said, “My eldest son who died in 1982. That’s who you remind me of. We didn’t get along. I tried to be a good mother to him, but I failed.” She shrugged. “I wanted to hear that song you sung because it gives me hope. Zake, I honestly don’t know if Heaven is real. I believe our souls exist forever, but I don’t know if we go to a special place. I pray that we do. Because then if we do, I’ll get to see Adam in Heaven. The first thing I’m going to tell him when I lay eyes on my precious son again is, ‘I’m sorry for not being the mother he wanted… so, so sorry…’”
And then, she walked away…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fresh and Clean
Promise settled in the front row as Gutter came on stage in the middle of Prospect Park. Glowing white lights and wisps of fog surrounded him. The crowd cheered and yelled his name, “Gutter!”
The evening air was sweet, and she was bathed in the mixing scents of humans all around her. Donning a pale pink poncho covering a black form-fitting catsuit, her 1950’s style fringe hairstyle reminiscent of the late, great Bettie Page, she was ready to enjoy her evening. Her body was on fire, from her head to her toes, radiating with excitement as she urged him on with a few well-placed cat calls. Her two friends, Aria and Babette, clapped and cheered around her, their exuberance hilarious and endearing all at once.
