Playing With Fire (8 page)

Aleta watched Piano Man walk away, wanting to call after him. Knowing that it would be of no use, she pushed her key into the door, twisting it in the lock. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched until he rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. She shuddered, the midday breeze suddenly feeling cold, then headed inside, locking the door behind her.

Tossing her keys and hat onto the dining room table, Aleta dropped onto an upholstered chair. The tears she'd held back all morning dripped down her face, irrigating the front of her dress. She watched as the dark spots watered the silk fabric, blossoming into large buds against the faille backdrop. Rising, she wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, the wetness coating her tiny fingers.

Inside her bedroom, she pulled the silk dress over her head, tossing it atop the quilted bedspread. Standing in a full slip and white pantyhose, she reached inside the closet, pulling a large trunk from the back corner. Lifting the lid, she peered inside. A photo of two lovers clasped arm in arm was perched on top. Pulling the heavy brass frame toward her, Aleta wiped lightly at the dusty glass. Irene and Piano Man laughed easily, his arms wrapped possessively around the young girl's teenage shoulders. Aleta's own youth-filled reflection peered back at her, tucked neatly behind the shoulders of the two people she had loved most in her lifetime. She sighed heavily, pulling the picture to her chest.

Beneath the picture lay an assortment of remembrances that whispered secrets many would have said were best left forgotten. Aleta had known better though. Time may have stolen the larger moments, driving away all but the memories, but Aleta had known the keepsakes would one day be important to them all. Her hands brushed against the memories.

“No, sir,” Aleta whispered into the empty room, her voice echoing against the backdrop of floral wallpaper. “Some secrets ain't meant to be taken to your grave.”

 

 

Although the flow of traffic rumbled to the left of him, and the loud screams and laughter of small children playing on the swing sets rang on his right, Piano Man was filled with stillness. Aleta's words had burned like sharp daggers throughout his flesh and the memory of them remained like festering blisters.

His coming back had been a mistake, he thought to himself, pushing the sounds around him up and away as he sank deep into depression, welcoming the dark silence that filled the nether lands of his mind. “I don't need to be doing this,” he said out loud, causing more than one mother to eye him cautiously as he walked through Brier Creek Park muttering to himself. “I need to be leaving.”

Taking a seat on an empty bench, Piano Man twisted his hands nervously, pinching and pulling at the length of his fingers. His feelings were hurt and he was not sure how to handle the pain that throbbed like a sledgehammer in his chest. She had told him he needed to do right. “For once, James, you need to do what's right,” she'd called after him, stabbing each word into his soul.

Piano Man could feel the warmth of tears rising to his eyes, but he refused to cry. He refused to cry because he knew that he had tried to do right. He had tried for years to do right, but Irene wouldn't let him. She wouldn't give him half a chance to do what he knew he needed to do. And so he had stopped trying. Had ceased all efforts to do what was right. But he had never stopped caring. Had never stopped loving. Had never stopped wanting to do, and to be, what his child had needed.

Irene and her proclamation to keep his son from him had been difficult to deal with, but he had understood. What she had wanted for herself and their child had not been what he'd wanted for himself. Many would have called him selfish, but he had honestly believed to go against the nature of his spirit, to leave the beauty of the music behind, would have been the most selfish thing that he could have ever done. He would have never forgiven himself, or her, if he'd not been able to follow his heart. It would have killed him if life had dealt him a soundless hand, the bitterness of no music hiding behind his woman's wants and that little boy's needs. He had known enough about himself to be certain that he would have blamed them, might even have allowed his love for them both to be tainted by his own anger, and that would have been far more selfish than doing what he had done could ever have been.

He heaved a heavy sigh. His chest hurt. His limbs were heavy and, as he sat on the bench, watching children playing on the swings and parents gossiping among themselves, he knew what he needed to do. The decision had been made for him. Aleta's words had left him with no other alternatives. Hanging his head against his chest, he clasped his hands together in his lap. His body rocked from side to side, the rays of the midday sun painting warmth against his weary flesh. All he wanted to do was will enough energy back into his body to get him to a piano.

 

 

Sweat saturated the cotton fabric around Romeo's neck and under his armpits, turning the surface of the pale gray sweatshirt into damp patches the color of charcoal and ash. He swiped the back of his hand across his brow, never breaking his stride as he rounded the track for the eighth time. The half-mile laps were beginning to take their toll, but he was determined to complete a five-mile run. He panted lightly, blowing warm air against his clenched teeth.

Romeo pumped his arms harder, digging his toes against the blacktopped turf. The metal bleachers at the edge of the field were a faint blur out of the corner of his eye. He pushed his body down the length of the track, completing the last fifty feet with little energy to spare. Coming to an abrupt stop, he rested his hands on his hips, gasping for oxygen. The fresh morning air tickled his throat as he gulped large breaths of it, sending him into a fit of coughing. He was desperately out of shape. Operating the Playground now took up a good bulk of his time, intruding upon the regular workouts he had faithfully scheduled and followed so very long ago.

As his breathing eased, he started a slow stroll toward his car. Glancing down at his watch, he realized the morning was rushing by. It would not be long before the afternoon would take control, leaving him helplessly behind. He'd have to hustle if he wanted to make it back in time to shower, change, and straighten up before he had to head to the club and his date with Taryn.

Romeo beamed, his face breaking into a wide grin. His memories of Taryn went back farther than her chance visit to the Playground with Roberta. As he'd thought about her it had dawned on him that she'd attended an event a year earlier—a Chamber of Commerce function hosted by the Playground. Again, she had come in with some associates from her job. She had only briefly caught his attention, serene and regal, with large, round, blue black eyes that had shone brightly. Back then he'd been dating someone else, a woman who'd been a serious distraction from those things he should have been focused on. That relationship had lasted a minute longer than it should have and then, like all his others, she was gone and he had moved on, the memory of Taryn lost until now.

Feeling somewhat foolish for standing there grinning like he was, he looked about quickly to see if anyone was watching. Across the way, an elderly couple walked hand in hand, being led by a large German shepherd just as elderly. They chatted quietly between themselves, occasionally tossing back their silver heads in laughter.

Years ago Romeo could never have seen himself walking in that old man's shoes. There had been no woman with whom he could remotely imagine growing old and cranky. There had never been any woman with whom he wanted to grow flabby and bald and toothless. He chuckled lightly, wondering if a woman like Taryn would still want him when he was flabby and bald and toothless.

As he watched the couple walk off into the distance, a jolt of envy struck him square in the chest. He knew for the first time that he wanted what those two people—with their poor hearing, cataracts, and wrinkled skin—possessed. He knew he wanted an opportunity to walk in that old man's shoes. He wanted a woman by his side who'd be there with him through the best and worst of whatever the remainder of his life had to offer. Wiping the perspiration from his eyes with the lower half of his sweatshirt, he jogged toward the car and headed home.

 

 

Romeo was apologetic as he unlocked the door and let Taryn inside. He flipped the lights on and gestured for her to take a seat. She'd been standing outside the door when he'd pulled up. She was wearing distressed denim jeans that had been fashionably ripped across each leg, paired with a black T-shirt, tailored blazer, and stylish heels.

“Really, I just got here,” Taryn said. “It's so pretty out I thought I'd enjoy the weather while I waited for you.”

Romeo smiled as he pulled up his own chair to the table, taking the seat directly across from her.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, gesturing toward the bar.

She shook her head. “It's a little early,” she said, “and it's Sunday.”

He nodded. “I'm in the bar business. It's never too early no matter what day of the week it is.”

“You've got a point there,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Romeo smiled with her. “I'm really glad you called,” he said. He spun a pencil between his fingers, rolling it back and forth.

“I'm glad you asked.”

He took a deep breath. “So how was your trip?”

“Successful.”

“What do you do?”

“Sales and marketing for Cooper-Benson.”

“The home building company?”

She nodded. “The design division. We're responsible for acquiring and promoting all the finishing touches that make each home unique. I was in Paris learning about a new organic flooring material much like cork. It's a plant-based medium that's great for areas where you might want some flexibility. Like a gym or dance studio.”

Romeo nodded. “You like your job,” he said, the comment more statement than question.

“I love my job. It's afforded me the opportunity to travel internationally and I've been able to grow and move up the ladder since I've been with them. I'm one of the youngest presidents, male or female.”

“So what do you do when you're not working?”

She shrugged. “It's not often that I'm not working. But I'm sure you know what that's like.”

He nodded. “I do. I usually only get home to lay my head down for a quick nap, then I'm right back here.”

“I hate that I woke you up then.”

“I'm not.”

She smiled brightly. “So how long have you known Roberta?”

Romeo leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “A few years. How about you?”

“Just since she joined the company last year.”

He nodded. “She's been a good friend.”

“She says good things about you as well.”

Romeo laughed. “I just bet she does,” he said, humor tinting his tone.

Their conversation continued easily, both asking questions about the other. Taryn was amazed at how quickly they found a rhythm with each other. Romeo liked how open she was and how his own guard had fallen down in her presence. She made him comfortable and he liked that she seemed at ease with him. Both were looking forward to getting to know each other better.

“Do you play any instruments?” Romeo asked as he suddenly reached across the table for her hand. He studied her fingers as they rested gently against his palm.

She shook her head, the feel of his large appendage heated and teasing. She felt like she'd been burned as she pulled her hand too quickly from his. Romeo lifted his gaze to stare, her own gaze locked on his face. There was a moment's pause before she shook her head a second time. “No. Why do you ask?”

“You have fingers like a piano player. I was just curious.”

“No instruments, but I do paint. It relaxes me.”

“What medium?”

“Acrylics mostly. Sometimes oils.”

“I painted once.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “A bathroom. It took me six hours, then I got fired.”

Taryn laughed.

“I haven't picked up a paint brush since,” he finished.

She nodded, her face bright with glee. Romeo was funny and he made her smile. She was already liking what was happening between them. “So tell me more about you,” she said, leaning forward across the table.

 

 

When Piano Man entered the club, it was just after two o'clock. Inside, Romeo and Taryn sat across a table from one another, deep in conversation. There was no missing the growing connection that was beginning to bond them together. It wound aromatic links of lavender and jasmine about their bodies, weaving an intricate medley of balsam and myrrh. Piano Man stood off in the shadows, quietly watching. He breathed deeply, remembering a time when he had sat close to the woman he loved, his arms wrapped about her shoulders, the satin of her cheek pressed next to his. Inhaling sharply, the perfumed memories coated his senses, warming his insides.

The elderly figure smiled, the edges of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. They made a nice-looking couple, he thought to himself, admiring the way the two young people flattered each other. Painting a powerful delineation of respect and understanding, they were successfully managing to balance themselves upon an easel of hope, faith, and prayer and it showed without either realizing it. They stood out in their surroundings, their presence a focal point in an otherwise empty room. Piano Man was distracted from his thoughts as Odetta and Sharon rushed in behind him.

“Hey, Piano Man,” Odetta said loudly. “What you doing standing in the doorway for?”