STRINGS of COLOR (16 page)

She could see the excitement on the driver's face through the mirror.

He repeated, "Mrs. Naya, you have a fan outside the house."

"Okay," Naya said back to him as she planted a smile on her face. She tried to smooth out her clothes as best she could and hoped that her eyes had cleared up from all the crying she had been doing at the hospital just a few hours ago.

JK watched in horror.

Naya hesitated for a moment.
Maybe it's a trick
? She thought.
The media has been blowing up my phone since….

She couldn't even bring herself to say his name.

The driver stepped out of the car door and began to walk over to Monà's car.

What in the world is this? Is that fool coming over here? You've got to be kidding me. Please be kidding
. Monà went into a panic. She tried to hit the button on her window to raise it up but her hands acted as if they didn't want to move.

Why is my age trying to show out on me now!
All Monà could do was sit there. Legs rattling, heart nearly coming through her blouse.

"Wait, Naya," JK said. "It could be someone from the media."

It was too late; Naya was already stepping out of the car.

"True, you only know what pieces of paper say about me, but that can be changed. You have to let love in, Misty."

M
isty had just laid her head down when she heard her doorbell ringing. She looked at the clock–it was after ten.

Whoever it is, it had better be a matter of life or death.

She took a step back after she looked in the peephole.
What in the world is this
? She said to herself.
You have got to be kidding me. I know this fool isn't at my door at ten o'clock at night! I don't even know him. Better yet, he doesn't even know me.

Jake knew she was looking through the peephole. He put on a big smile and held up a full boutique of flowers.

"Who is it?"

"Jake Pitts."

"Do I know you, Jake Pitts?"

"You know of me."

"I don't do interviews at my personal home. You can call my assistant and make an appointment like any human being with respect for a woman's sleep would."

Jake laughed.
At least she has a sense of humor
.

"I'm not here for an interview, Misty. I need to speak to you."

"What is this about?"

"It's about something that can't be shouted through a door."

"How did you get into my building?"

"Your neighbor let me in as he was coming out. I told him I was your new boyfriend and I had the flowers to prove it."

"He has never seen me with a white man. I know he didn't believe that."

"Regardless, he let me in. For a white man, I have a good looking face."

Misty caught herself, she almost agreed with him.

The door opened slowly.

Jake caught himself staring at her.
Man, she is beautiful with a hint of some good-old fashioned feistiness
.

"Thank you. I was beginning to think you were going to leave me out there all night."

"It was a thought."

"You sleep in jeans?"

"I was tired, it's been a very long day, didn't feel like changing. Why?"

"Nothing, I was just trying to make some small talk."

"I don't do small talk, speak your mind please, I have a lot to do in the morning."

"Do you have a beer?"

"This is not a social visit."

"No, but it is polite to offer a person something to drink isn't it?"

Misty glared at him as she walked toward her kitchen.

Jake followed.

"How do I know you aren't some serial-killer?"

"I highly doubt that a serial-killer would ask for a beer."

"People do worse things. It could happen."

Jake looked at her with a grin.

Misty tried to hold it in.

They both laughed at the same time as Misty handed him a beer.

"Why did you take off like that the other day when I saw you outside the coffee shop?"

"I make it a point not to talk to strangers. Especially when it's some man trying to talk to me."

"Some man or some white man?"

"Just men in general, right now."

Jake found her response encouraging. He took a few sips of his beer before putting it down.

"I've read your columns." Misty couldn't believe she was making small talk.

"And?"

"You can write."

"Thank you."

"I heard you were writing a book about Jazzmyne."

"Yes, I'm still trying to put it all together."

"Is that why you are here? I know you had a private investigator scope me out."

"I've read about you in the papers."

"Yeah well, it's all true, if that is what you came here to find out."

"No, that's not why I'm here."

"So why are you here Jake?"

Jake liked the way she said his name. It sounded as if she had been saying it forever. He took the tape recorder out of his pocket and laid it on the counter.

"So you did come here for an interview. You could have waited until tomorrow."

"No Misty, I didn't come here to interview you."

Misty stared at Jake. She saw the serious look on his face and it was the first time in her life that she was scared.

"Can we just sit and talk for a minute?"

"What is this, Jake? What is this all about?"

He walked over to her and reached for her hand. "Let's sit first. I promise I will explain everything."

Misty shocked herself by leading him to her living room.

What is wrong with you, girl?
She secretly hoped that her mind would provide her an answer, real fast.

"Okay, so now tell me what this all about."

"Will you go out to dinner with me tomorrow?"

"I know you didn't come over here at this time of the night to ask me that?"

"No, but since I have you, I figured I would take the opportunity while it was available to me."

"I don't know about that, Jake."

"Why, is it because I'm white?"

"No again. I told you before that it's because you're a man."

Jake looked at her rather oddly.

"I'm not sure I understand that."

"I mean," she said, after realizing how it sounded, "that I don't have time for dating. Dating leads to marriage, and I'm not ready for that at all."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"I think it's a rather good one. So have you?"

Misty looked away.

"Was his name Ken?"

"I am not going to talk about my personal life with someone I don't even know."

"Come on Misty. You do know me. You've got my file. You probably even know my blood type by now. What is it by the way?"

Misty tried not to smile. He was so right, but she didn't have his blood type.

"Were you going to marry him?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. He had asked a hundred times but I would never let myself..."

He cut her off. "You would never let yourself—let someone in. I bet that was what you were about to say, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was."

Misty grew quiet for a moment. The past was racing through her mind, tearing at the strings of her heart. Warning signs were going off in her head. She found herself looking down at his shoes. She almost laughed when she saw that they were dull and lacked any sort of luster.

It's the shinny ones that get you in trouble
, she said to herself.

"I can't," she hesitated for a second to gather her thoughts; "I can't believe I'm going to tell you this, but I was taught that love spoils success."

"Who in the world told you that?"

"It doesn't matter who. What matters is that I listened. I'm on a mission. A mission to take the world and all the fame and fortune it can offer me. Once again the world is going to know my name. I am going to accomplish more than my father ever could."

"Wow. Just listen to yourself. You sound like some mad woman out of a comic book."

Misty looked at Jake.

"I had done it before you know. I was there, right there."

"Sure you did, but at what price?"

"Who cares about price? Nothing is free, everything we do or not do comes at a price!"

Jake noticed the change in her pitch but he didn't let it bother him, instead he cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

"You know, when I first started writing this book on Jazzmyne, all I could think about was making it as a bestselling author and having my father finally look at me with pride and admiration. I longed for the day when he would tell his friends how proud he was of me, but, as I met the people in her life, I realized that this book is about something so much more than my dreams or even my past. It's about telling a story about how the colors of our lives can make or break us. I didn't realize that until earlier today to be honest."

"I guess you know what my father and I tried to do to her?"

"We all make mistakes, Misty. There are some good things about mistakes whether we believe it or not…we can go back and try to correct some of them or at least learn from them."

"Yeah well, I have too many of them to try to correct."

Jake took Misty's hand. It caught her off guard but she didn't pull back. He took this as a sign to continue.

"If you don't try to correct your mistakes or learn from them, then your mistakes will win. They will control your present, challenge your future and force you to always feel as if you are living in the past. Is that what you want—to always be living in the past?"

Misty felt like that was a two-edged sword, type of question.

"I wish it were that easy."

"Admitting we were wrong is never an easy thing. Trying to correct our wrongs is even harder but in the end, it helps us cultivate something precious—peace."

Misty stared at Jake. Her phone began to ring.

What are you doing girl, stick to the plan. Get back on track and get him out of here.

"Whatever," she said, trying to get herself back in control. "I lost everything and I'm determined to get it back, so your coming here, trying to give me what you consider your words of wisdom, is not going to make me change what I need to do."

Jake, rising to fight the battle in front of him, gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"What? How are you going to get back everything you lost without hurting more people? In the end, you will lose it all again because it was all received through ugliness." Jake thought about his own words.

"So now you're judging me?" She removed her hand quickly and stood up.

"No, I'm doing what I know needs to be done. I'm telling it to you head on. It's the only way I know you will understand it. Think about it, what did you lose, a recording studio, a jazz club— which you sold by the way, I checked—and perhaps your reputation? But let's just be honest about that, it wasn't a good one anyway."

"You want to try and change me like Ken. I won't be changed!" Misty walked over toward the window.

Anger was beginning to brew inside her.
This fool, doesn't know who he's talking to
, she said to herself.

"No one is trying to change you, Misty. He saw what I see right now—a heart."

Oh man, why did he have to say that
? She said to herself.

"How do you know that I have a heart? Everyone claims that I don't. In fact, one reporter wrote that that my heart was as hard as stone. All of my employees thought so too. Like I told you from the beginning, it's true what they all said about me. All true."

"Do you want to know how I know that you have a heart?

He waited until he was sure he had her full attention.

"I know, because the other day at the coffee shop you had a photo of Ken in your lap and you were crying. A person with no heart wouldn't care. It's been over five years. You would have let him go by now."

Misty turned back toward the window. Her hands were trembling. She braced one against the glass. She could feel the wind.

It took her several minutes to come back from the pain.