Nasty (12 page)

The drummer, percussionist, bassist, lead guitarist and three “healthy-looking” sisters who looked like they belonged in the front pew of a gospel choir, were the first to appear on stage. While waiting for Tarik, they performed a sound check.

Back in the dressing room, Sherry gave Tarik the pep talk he had grown to depend on before his concerts, “Now, baby, look me in the eyes and say, ‘I was born to do this.’”

Tarik looked at his wife adoringly and repeated, “I was
born
to do this.”

Sherry hugged him and whispered in his ear, “Then go out there and do what you supposed to DO!” Seconds later, warm, robust applause greeted Tarik as he joined his band on stage.

Seated at the keyboards, Tarik dropped his head in a meditative pose. He entered the zone where his hands and instrument reached union. Not classically trained, Pops had taught him just enough piano for him to develop an inimitable style of his own. The solo piece hinted of jazz, blues and classical music weaved with rhythm and blues basics. There was literally something for everybody’s listening pleasure in his music.

Increasing the tempo, the other members of his band joined in. In a perfectly planned moment of crescendo, Tarik and his background vocalists burst out in an ecstatic, joyful blend of harmonies that rocked the crowd into a mad frenzy.

Sitting next to Carlos in the front row was Jeff Moses, president of Mo-Sound Records. Jeff was a well-respected, powerful player in the music industry. His label was a major company known for standing behind its artists. Carlos knew, if Jeff liked what he heard, Mo-Sound would be the best place to park his brother’s awesome talent.

“I told you he was bad,” Carlos yelled into his ear.

Jeff, a short, well-built Black man, who spoke with a booming commanding voice, said, “From what I’ve heard, he’s sold over fifty-thousand CDs.”

“For the record, Jeff, if you factor in the internet downloads, the number is closer to two hundred and fifty thou’, but then, who’s counting?”

“Very impressive; very impressive. Call me Monday and let’s set up that showcase for the suits and get this show on the road. If I have anything to do with it, and I do, you can consider Mo-Sound your partner!”

Carlos worked hard to suppress a strong desire to jump up and down and spin cartwheels all through the park’s lawn. Happy could not describe the joy he was feeling. He and Tarik had worked long and hard to hear those words. And now it was happening.

He could not wait to share the news with Tarik and the love of his life, Nicola. After the party at his mother’s house, he was going to kidnap her and take her to one of the finest hotels in the city. This was turning out to be the best night of his life.

Turning around and surveying the crowd, he tried to single out Jonathan and Nicola. So absorbed with details of the con-
cert for most of the day, it finally dawned on him that he hadn’t seen them that entire evening. A seed of concern the size of a golf ball slowly began to expand inside of him. Where were they? Was she all right? Had she changed her mind about coming? He pulled out his cell phone and checked for calls. None from either of them. Trying not to appear anxious around Jeff, he forced his eyes and attention to focus on the show.

Nicola and Jonathan stood in the back of the crowd. The little detour to his aunt’s house cost them two hours. They arrived too late to get a seat. Why had he mentioned to Nicola that his house would be empty and that everybody would be at the concert? And why did he go against his wisest judgment and bring her home?

Nicola had insisted it was all innocent. She suggested she could help with last minute details of the after-party. Surely his mother needed assistance. Jonathan agreed that his mom had mentioned she’d wished she had an extra person’s help with setting up for the occasion. Why not Nicola?

But honestly, the only help he needed was “help” getting his dick sucked and licked as many times as the temptress could handle. Thankfully, there was no one home but the catering crew. Jonathan literally dragged Nicola upstairs to his room. She unabashedly repeated her earlier performance. When he came, it was better than the first time.

Tarik was onstage performing an up-tempo dance number. Jonathan and Nicola rocked back and forth with the enthusiastic crowd. All was going fine until Nicola deliberately moved her French-manicured hand across his crotch. Jonathan’s attention instantly shifted from the stage ahead to the growing bulge inside his pants. Shocked, he could not help but enjoy the sen-
sation and the naughtiness of what she was doing in public. It gave him a rush that caused his intimate flesh to expand and greet her hand properly.

“Jonathan!” Ophelia appeared out of nowhere and scared him so, he almost fainted. Nicola, always cool, always in control, slithered away from him.

“Ma…Mother…Mama Ophelia…uh…uh…it’s…it’s good to see you.” Jonathan’s deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression was evident for miles around. Certain his mother had caught him and Nicola in the act, he nervously proceeded with the introductions. “This is Nicola. Carlos’s…uh…Carlos’s girlfriend. That’s right. This is Carlos’s girlfriend.”

“I know who she is. Carlos described you…uh…perfectly. You are beautiful.”

“Why, thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Singleton.”

“I’d love to chat but, I’ve got to deliver this first-aid kit. Can you believe it? They were short a person on the emergency health team. I volunteered at the last moment. Oh well…better to do that than have the concert cancelled. Well, I’m off. Hope to see you at the after-party, Nicola.”

“I wouldn’t think of missing it.”

“See you, Jonathan.”

Ophelia walked away in a trance of disbelief.
Was that woman feeling up my baby’s crotch? Was that real?

It was such an absurd thought. Ophelia shook her head and dismissed it immediately. Not her baby. Jonathan was too pure. He wouldn’t let someone do that to him; especially not his brother’s girlfriend. No…it was dark…her mind was playing tricks with her eyes…and besides, she was long overdue for a trip to the eye doctor. No, it did not happen.

But why was Jonathan so nervous?
The possibility was so disturbing, Ophelia made a mental note to keep her “mama” eyes on Nicola at the after-party.

As soon as his mother was out of earshot distance, Jonathan turned on Nicola.

“Look, you can’t be doing to me what you’re doing, and where you’re doing it!”

Nicola smiled devilishly up at him and playfully squeezed his cheeks. “You are so delightful when you’re mad.”

“Nicola!”

“My fine, tall drink of comfort, why do you insist on confusing me?”

Puzzled by her line of reasoning, Jonathan inquired, “I…I confuse you? How so?”

“Why, it seems like you were enjoying the whole affair.” Batting double-thick, natural eyelashes, she looked up at Jonathan in teasing fashion, and added, “How’s a poor girl ’s’pozed to know when to do ‘what’ and where to do ‘what’ and when and with whom to do ‘what,’ hmmm?”

Even more confused than before, Jonathan reluctantly replied, “Never mind; never mind.” He slowly began to realize two things. He absolutely enjoyed this woman and the things she did to his body. But he could forget about ever being able to control her behavior. Hell, he really didn’t want to anyway. An uncontrolled Nicola was far more pleasurable.

E
li couldn’t believe his luck. He had a great spot at the concert, away from the main crowd but close enough that the binoculars he brought along helped him get a good view of the stage. And he liked what he saw through the lenses. His boy was talented. The article had not used enough superlatives in describing what he brought to the stage. He enjoyed himself immensely as his son effortlessly entertained the crowd. Eli even managed to put two of his boniest fingers together and snap them to the rhythm of his son’s music.

After sixty minutes of performing to the crowd, Tarik introduced his last song of the evening. It was a tribute to his wife and son. Hearing the news about Tarik’s son for the first time, confirming that he was a grandfather, Eli wept. He would never get a chance to meet either his son or his grandbaby. He’d given up that privilege many years ago. A view with binoculars was all he could hope for. It was all he deserved.

Momentarily feeling sorry for himself, he barely noticed that the young man standing next to him had passed out. His body jerked in a typical seizure pattern. Eli yelled for help as he tried to keep the man from banging his head on the ground. As the seizure subsided, the man stopped shaking. A group of curious lookie-loos gathered around Eli and the sick man, all yelling various incorrect remedies that promised speedy recovery.

The medics responded seconds later. Ophelia, a member of the team, took control of the crowd and pushed them away to make room. Two emergency technicians prepped the man for transport to the hospital.

Trying to get information, Ophelia, questioned the crowd. “Did anyone see what happened?”

Eli spoke up…he was so excited he at first didn’t realize it was Ophelia. “Miss, I was standing right next to him…and he… he…” Ophelia turned around and looked dead at him. He knew instantly who those dark-brown eyes belonged to. “Miss…Miss Ophelia?”

Ophelia looked at the frail man before her. She knew what she didn’t want to know. This was Eli. And just like the first day she had met him at that Hampton University Sweethearts Ball, her heart danced and twitched. It was the tiniest part of her heart that had refused to let the love they once shared die. “Eli…is that you?”

He smiled. “It’s me. Old Eli. Yes, I saw what happened.” He explained how he had suddenly noticed the man lying on the ground. Ophelia passed the info on to the technicians who were now putting the man in the back of ambulance. With lights flashing and the siren loudly booming, they drove off.

“It’s good to see you,” commented Eli. He immediately admired how attractive Ophelia still looked. She was close to fifty…but yet she appeared much younger.

“Yeah…Eli, what the hell happened to you?”

“Still shooting from the hip?” Ophelia hadn’t changed a bit, thought Eli. She never was one for beating around the bush. But this time he was in control. He didn’t want to talk about his health or lack of. He ignored her. “Tarik was wonderful up there. I’m so glad I came. And seeing you, too…what a treat.”

He needed his cane to walk. It was time to go. “Well, it looks
like Tarik’s concert is about over. That’s all I came here for. Just to see him. So I must leave you now.” He had held up for as long as he could. The strength he’d felt earlier was rapidly leaving him. The shock of seeing Ophelia had drained his battery. He fell back on the bench.

Ophelia rushed toward him to help. “Are you all right?”

He motioned for her to stay back. “No, I’m okay. Just a little winded. You could help and get me a cab though.”

She did that. Helped him into the taxi as well, as he obviously could not do it himself.

Once inside, wanting to shake Ophelia’s hand, Eli extended his almost pencil-thin arm. “Well, Mrs.…it’s still Singleton… isn’t it?”

Ophelia gasped to herself as she shook the hand that was attached to an all but wasted body. She could not help but compare it to how Eli used to be when they were both young and he was her handsome, robust lover. She heard herself answer, “Yes, no, well, it’s Singleton but I’m…I’m a widow…he passed a year ago.”

“Sorry to hear that, Ophelia…well.”

The Pakistani cabbie interrupted, “Where to, Mister?”

“Hilton Arms corner of Monroe and Franklin.”

Ophelia almost collapsed. She knew then exactly what was wrong with her ex-husband. Only AIDS patients lived at the Arms. She had trained nurse case-managers for their program. Ophelia also knew that its tenants usually were in the end stages of the disease. Eli was dying.

With the same solemnity that one closes a casket, Ophelia slammed the door shut. Trying to sound strong and virile, but failing at both, Eli called out as the cab pulled away. “Good seeing you, Ophelia.” As the taxi faded from sight, Ophelia, shaking her head in disbelief the entire way, headed back to the stage.

T
he after-party back at Ophelia’s house was catered by the folks from Makwaba, the renowned company known for providing the best food and service to its customers. Carlos and Ophelia had planned the evening to celebrate what they knew would be the outcome of the concert: a real bite from a serious company. Thanks to Jeff Moses’s endorsement, they were much closer to their dream.

Over a hundred of their closest family and friends congregated in Ophelia’s beautifully restored brownstone. Ophelia, a lover of African culture, had taken several trips to the continent to collect the furniture and art that was now tastefully displayed in her four-story home that boasted original woodwork, fifteen-foot-high ceilings and a working fireplace in every room.

When Tarik and Sherry arrived at the party, the invited guests greeted them in the exquisitely decorated parlor area with robust applause. Nicola forced her way up to the front of the crowd and planted a big, sloppy congratulatory kiss on Tarik’s lips. Tarik blushed and Sherry’s blood boiled as she pondered: W
hat the FUCK is going on? We just met this heifer.

“Nicola, why don’t you stand back and give my man some air?” Sherry’s request, though delivered playfully, had serious homicidal overtones. Nicola reluctantly pulled away and stared straight
down into Sherry’s eyes. She could literally feel the claws that Sherry mentally dug into her back. Not the least bit intimidated, all she returned was a smile.

Carlos burst into the foyer to find Nicola chatting with Sherry and Tarik. He was so happy. It seemed that Nicola fit in with his family like she’d known them all of her life. Jonathan looked up to her like a big sister, and Tarik and Sherry seemed cool with her. “Looks like everybody’s having a good time here.” He pulled Nicola close to him.

Nicola smiled, never taking her seductive eyes off of Tarik. “I was congratulating your brother on his performance. He was simply…,” she added in her most seductive tone, “…super.”