Making Music (written by me as a woman, I need feedback)

Music at Fort Knox

I knew it was going to be a long night when he walked in the door, but to be fair, he was everything Karen promised. He was tall and slim with nut-brown skin and not unattractive. However, when he opened his mouth to say hello, I crossed Karen off my list of friends. Charles Roosevelt Cameron had a mouth full of gold teeth that made his tongue look like it was at Fort Knox and one of his eyes looked everywhere in the place except at me. On top of that, his breath was strong enough to hold hostages. I could see this could turn into one of the longest nights of the year. Still, he was mannerable and very nice. I had no idea that my blind date with Fort Knox would change my thinking about men and make me take a closer look at myself and who I was.

Charles Roosevelt Cameron may have been a disappointment but he knew his way around the music scene and unknowingly he saved the evening from being a total loss, even though I nearly passed out twice because of his breath.

We went to a small jazz club called “Vamp” on the east side. “Vamp” was best described as uptown modern. The lighting was subdued, but it was not dark. I could clearly make out the polished aluminum molding and fixtures along with the “throwback” black leather furniture. On the dropped level stage, a quartet led by a tall soprano saxophonist dressed in a mid-length dashiki was doing a version of Grover Washington and Bill Withers’ “Just the Two of Us.”

Everyone seemed to know Fort Knox because we were seated center stage. Charles ordered drinks and we set in relative silence just listening to the band as they breezed through several old standards and a couple of cuts from their own CD. We applauded politely when they finished their set.

“I see you like jazz,” Fort Know said.

“I’ve always been a fan. My father played for years before giving it up to teach,” I said.

“Where does he teach?” Charles asked.

“At the city university,” I answered.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Vamp is proud to present Sonnet recording artist, the prince of the night, give it up for Niles Long,” the announcer broke in.

The place came alive with applause and whistling fans. I hadn’t realized there were so many people in the place until I heard the clapping. All of the lights went down until the entire club was dark. The murmur of the crowd mixed with the clinking of glasses rose until a single spotlight shined a circle of light over the edge of the black Yamaha piano, illuminating an empty piano stool. In the anxious silence, a small bronze-skinned man stepped into the circle of light.

The crowd went silent. Without a word, the man sat and began playing an up-tempo riff. I watched in fascination as his hands danced across with the practiced ease of a virtuoso. As he drifted from one piece into another, I watched and listened with rapt attention. When the song ended, he stood and stepped to the house microphone.

Dressed in black, Niles Long stepped from the darkness into the main spotlight. Now that I could see him clearly, he wasn’t what I expected. His skin was the color of amber and his face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard which ended abruptly where his shaved head began and—he was short. He couldn’t have been more than 5’7”, which would make him about three inches shorter than me without my heels.

 Under the spotlight, his skin now glowed amber.

“I’m Niles Long and I thank you for this night,” he said in a soft voice night.

With that, he walked to the piano, pulled out the stool, sat down and promptly launched into an up-tempo version of “This Masquerade.” The crowd clapped wildly, apparently quite familiar with this version of the song. Occasionally, the spotlight ricocheted off his clean scalp or the diamond stud in his ear.

Without missing a beat he segued into a version of Johnny Gil’s “My, My, My” that silenced the entire venue. For a moment, he opened his eyes and looked directly at me. Behind the thin rimless rectangle glasses, his onyx eyes seemed remote, distant like he was communing with someone who wasn’t there. I felt as if he touched me in that instant, but when I blinked, his eyes were closed. For the next hour, he melted from one song into another, barely giving the audience a chance to applaud.

It was hard to believe so much music resided inside such a small man. He literally commanded the audience and the piano. As he played, an occasional satisfied smile slipped across his face and a sporadic “mmmm” escaped his lips. He was enjoying himself. It was hard not to be taken in by the sheer joy and emotional range of his playing.

I found him mildly attractive even though he wasn’t my type. I don’t particularly care for men with bald heads and most important he was far too short, but there was no denying the air of authority he displayed behind the keyboard. He had been playing nearly an hour without stopping, when, suddenly; the spotlight went black along with the music. Then just as suddenly as it stopped, the music started again and with an amber spotlight spraying down on him. The crowd loved the theatrics and applauded wildly.

At first, I didn’t recognize the tune, but after a few moments, I recognized “My Funny Valentine,” which was one of my favorite songs even though it was older than me. Each note he played stroked me gently along my ears and resonated inside of me. I crossed my legs and clenched them tight. My stomach was in my throat as he stroked the keys with a passionate delicacy, rolling, trilling and lightly manipulating the melody with the ardor of a consummate lover.

In the amber spot, his skin blended in and out focus with a life of its own. My palms were perspiring as I listened, totally captivated by the sound and the style. I felt light headed and I forgot that Fort Know was even at the table. In fact, he wasn’t at the table. He was gone and I had no idea of where he was or when he left the table. It embarrassed me. I looked around the club, but I didn’t see him. When I looked back at the stage, Niles Long was looking at me.

Even in the amber light, I could see the dark intenseness of his eyes. They were locked on mine in an onyx embrace I couldn’t shake and I didn’t want to. The black fire burned in his eyes and at that moment I was consumed.

Niles Long played 90 minutes without taking a 60-second break. When he finished, he finished abruptly, barely giving the audience a chance to catch its breath. He stood quickly as the house lights came up and bowed from the waist as the audience clapped loudly. When it was over, Charles mysteriously appeared, smiling and in good spirits.

“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he asked.

I started to speak, but my words seemed locked up.

“That’s all right. Niles does that to people. He’s something, isn’t he?” he asked.

I found my words and answered, “That’s an understatement. He was fantastic. Great! I’m sorry. I don’t mean to carry on so. I’m sorry. Please forgive me?” I said.

“Nothing to forgive,” Charles answered.

“But we had . . .” I started.

“What? Had a date? Come on now. A blind date? Both of us know how it works, although I must say that for once Karen was right. You’re everything she said,” Charles said.

“I feel so bad. I didn’t . . .” I started again.

“There’s nothing to feel bad about. We both knew in the first five minutes that you and I were a bust, but I decided there wasn’t any reason we couldn’t have a good time,” Charles said.

“Well, I’ve had a good time and you have excellent taste in music,” I said.

“Thanks. I’m a musician myself, but nothing as serious as tonight. I just like to play. Funny, Niles and I started at the same time .” he started.

“You know Niles Long,” I asked, totally unaware of my rudeness.

“Of course,know him. He’s my cousin and we grew up across the street from each other. Would you like to meet him?” Charles asked.

Before I could answer he jumped out of his seat and headed toward the stage where a small crowd of people had gathered probably waiting for Niles Long to reappear. This was awkward, even though Charles seemed not to mind. In fact, he seemed almost anxious to be rid of me. Maybe I was the one who needed a favor. What had Karen told him? I could almost hear her telling Charles, “Please meet my friend for dinner and show her a good time. She’s desperate.”

The more I thought about it, the more I believed that I was a “mercy date.” It had been over a year since I even went out on a date and longer yet since I had been intimate with a man.

I’m not unattractive. I have a good figure. I’m firm in all the right places men like. I’ve caramel skin and stand just under 6’ tall. I admit that can be a problem, but most people say I’m cute, whatever that means. I just haven’t had good luck with men.

I was still thinking about the evening when Charles walked up with Niles Long. He was even shorter than I imagined and I could se that his dazzling smile was marred by a slight overbite. He still had on his stage clothes.

“Kelly Rivers this is my cousin and musician extraordinaire, Niles Long,” Charles said with a gold-capped smile.

“Just Niles,” he said in a quiet voice as he extended his hand to shake mine. I noticed the white gold band on his ring finger as I took his hand, which was warm and smooth.

“I really enjoyed your music tonight,” I said.

“Thank you,” he said with a subtle lisp. “I’m glad you could come.”

“Do you mind if I sit,” he asked.

“What? No, not at all. Please have a seat,” I said.

He sat, casually crossing his legs and clasping his hands at his knee where noticed he also wore a white gold band on the ring finger of his right hand. Charles had disappeared again, leaving Niles and I alone at the table. We sat there in comfortable silence until he spoke.

“Do you like fishing?” he asked.

The question threw me off balance. I was ready for “Do you come here often” or “How did you like my music,” but not a real question. When I looked up to answer, he looked directly into my eyes. His black eyes locked mine in place and I felt that same lightheaded feeling I had experienced earlier. The intensity of his eyes was almost palpable.

“I’ve never fished,” I stuttered.

“Never?” He asked and smiled.

“Never,” I said and returned the smile.

From there we launched into a discussion about wildlife and nature. I was amazed by his range of knowledge about other things other than music. He was a virtual encyclopedia. I had long forgotten that he wasn’t my type of man as he dazzled me with his crooked smile and a warped sense of humor.

“When I finish this tour, I’d like to come back here and spend some time getting to know you, if you don’t mind,” he said.

I couldn’t believe when I heard myself saying, “I’d enjoy that.”

“Would you mind if I called you when I’m traveling?” he asked

“Not at all,” I said. I knew then that I’d lost my mind.

Me and Karen and Men

“What we’re you thinking. You don’t know that man at all,” Karen said.

“I met him and talked with him,” I said.

“That ain’t nothing but coochie talking. What’s it been? Ten, eleven or twelve years?” She and laughed out loud.

“You got me on that one, but that’s not the case with this man. I feel that I already know this man,” I said.

“You don’t know any man. That’s why you’re in the shape you’re in right now,” Karen said.

“That’s not fair,” I snapped.

We’d had this conversation before and Karen was right. My choices in men left a lot to be desired. Somehow, I managed to pick men who mistreated and abused me. The last man I dated tried to rape me and the only reason he wasn’t successful was because he couldn’t hit as hard as me, but he hit hard enough to fracture my jaw.

Obviously, I swore off men after that, but after about six months my heart was ready to try again, only I didn’t know where to start after having so many bad ones in the past. I had many false starts—dates I didn’t show up for and dates I broke 15 minutes after making them. It wasn’t until Karen setup the blind date that I actually went and even then, it was because of her.

I was right about Charles. He was my “mercy date.” He went on a blind date with me primarily because of his friendship with Karen. It was just a way to get me out of the house in male company. I didn’t know it then, but there was another good reason Charles and I didn’t hit it off even though he turned out to be very sweet and a load of fun—he was gay.

“Jesus Kelly, the man’s a musician,” Karen said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked sharply.

“Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t look nice on you,” Karen said.

“I’m not,” I said.

“You know most musicians don’t exactly have a sterling track record when it comes to fidelity,” Karen said. “Most of them have two or three women in every city.”

“I don’t think that’s the case with Niles,” I said. “He’s not a typical musician.”

“You mean because he talked to you about fishing and teaching and didn’t ask you back to his room, that he doesn’t want your drawers?” Karen asked.

“I know most men want to have sex with you, but I didn’t sense that in him. He seemed more like we already had a relationship and sex was part of the deal, even though we came nowhere close to talking about it,” I said.

Niles Long was in all the magazines with a different woman in every picture. It was rumored that he had two illegitimate children and maybe even more. However, the most disturbing thing to me was the reports of violent incidents with women. I knew from reading that he had never been found guilty, but I believe where there is smoke, there’s fire. There had to be some truth in it.

From the outside, Niles Long wasn’t my kind of man. He was short and sharp. His face was a study in angles, blending from subtle curves to a 90-degree jaw. His voice was softer than mine and I could tell he was used to having things his way. I suspected he was temperamental and moody, two traits I couldn’t stand.

Physically, there wasn’t much there to attract me, except those eyes. His eyes smoldered with dark secret passion, desire and danger. I sensed an untamed physicality that was wild and predatory. Actually, it was more than his eyes. There was irreverence in his conversation and even in his playing. It was if he thumbed his nose at the rest of the world and that bothered me.

Rainy Days and Puppy Dogs

The rain beat like drum on my roof rasping my already aching head. Niles called from Chicago just before the rain started. It was a strange conversation. Although he called me, I did most of the talking. He was pleasant enough but he seemed agitated, like he had changed his mind about me.

He wouldn’t be the first man who had changed his mind about me. They were probably the ones who had been good to me because the ones who stayed weren’t worth a damn. Maybe Niles would only stay around long enough just to make me hurt.

Alone

“Alone,” that was the title of Niles’ new CD. The cover art was simple. The word “Alone” floated in the upper left-hand corner. Almost unnoticed in the lower right-hand corner in small letters, it said Niles Long. Looking off the cover was a black and white silhouette of Niles. Most of his face was in the shadows. Only his shaved head was clearly visible. The entire side of his face and head faded into darkness. Only the flash of a diamond solitaire dotted the darkness in a lonely sparkle.

The dark elegance of the cover art captured a soulful singleness in Niles. It showed a side of him that at once was more interesting and disturbing. The tracks were haunting I their simplicity, featuring Niles unaccompanied on acoustic piano. I didn’t recognize any of the tunes as any I heard at his performance. Some were wandering excursions into places most of us only whispered about. It was like secretly watching someone undress. Niles exposed himself with each track, until the title track.

It seemed “Alone” didn’t belong on the CD. Hidden under the soothing texture of the piano an angry and dark current flowed. I couldn’t help but think of his eyes, those eyes and how they captivated me. When the phone wrang I was on the precipice of self-pity. It was Niles.

“Hey baby, it’s Niles, “came a bright voice through the telephone. I’m sorry that I haven’t called as much as usual, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to call, he said.

“I understand,” I said when I really didn’t.

“No, I could have found time to call and I should have,” Niles said. “I had my cell turned off the whole time I was there,” he said.

“Why,” I asked.

“My contract with HillSide expires in three months and I don’t think they are going to extend it. In fact, I know they’re not going to extend it,” he explained.

“What?” I asked. “How can they do that when you are the best-selling jazz artist they have?”

“Kelly, there’s little money in jazz these days and they know it and I know it,” Niles said. “

Niles went into detail about how he pulled together some of his favorite local musicians and recorded 15 tracks. They were in the studio until 4 am every day. In addition, after a few hours’ sleep, he was out shopping his new recording while his manager tried to call in favors from record executives he knew.

I didn’t what to think but I was glad that he would be home. I was also anxious to hear the new music he recorded. He promised me it would be something I never expected from him. In the year we had been seeing each other, Niles was always considerate and loving. I also let Karen know that the 12-year draught she teased me about was over. In fact, it was over three months after we started seeing each other.

I’m Coming Home

“What did you think of that,” Niles asked.

“I didn’t know what to say. It was so different.” I said.

“Different good or bad,” he asked.

Different good,” I responded. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I don’t do it much but my manager tells me it is one of my better assets,” he said.

“Your manager might just be right,” I said. “You changed your piano. I can tell the difference.

“I figured if we’re going after a younger audience then I needed break out of the worn out stuff I played. So, I borrowed an electric piano, rounded up some top-flight musician and put together what I am calling jazz funk,” he said, his eyes sparkling like they did when I first met him.

“I thought you might like it and I’m sure Karen would like it too,” he said. But, on a serious note, I needed to apologize and ask you to marry me,” he said.

I couldn’t move my lips. My tongue was stuck to the roof of the mouth. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t thought about it, but now here it was right in my face. I started crying and couldn’t turn off the tears enough to see Niles clearly. Finally, my tongue and brain synchronized and I said,

“Yes.”

The marriage was a simple affair and heart felt just as I imagined. We honeymooned in Aruba where Niles has less chance of being recognized, but there was always some jazz aficionado lurking in the crowd. Niles didn’t mind and neither did I.

Back in Style Again

It’s been twenty years now and we’re still going strong. Niles still records, but doesn’t tour as much because he wants to be home with our two children, Tasha and Niles Jr. After all this time, we’re still making music.

Will Power

I played organized baseball until I was nearly 21 and I was good. I was an excellent infielder and a for average hitter. 

A couple of days ago I saw something I hadn't seen before--a man carrying a pistol on his hip in the grocery store. I couldn't help myself because I broke out laughing right behind him. 

This man was shorter than me and appeared to be in worse shape than me. I couldn't stop laughing. As much as I tried to fight off dark thoughts, they came anyway. 

I wanted so badly to hit him in the back of his head with a baseball bat. He'd never see it coming and his pistol would still be holstered as I beat him to death and took his gun.  You better be wearing rear view mirrors when you show what you have and where it is.

The license to carry a concealed weapon is certainly much more effective thwarting possible attacks simply because no one knows if you are carrying a weapon. Still, I couldn't get this man off my mind. 

I ended up walking behind him to the parking lot chuckling all the way to my car. As I drove away, I wondered if he knew how vulnerable he made himself with a visible weapon. 

Playing in a band took me to unsavory places. Too often, I heard someone announce they were going to get their gun and then proceed to get their ass whipped to the ground. Of course, nowadays the shooting would have started immediately. 

Bad guys always figure it out and find ways to impose their will. I've always believed to know an enemy's plans by their behavior and take appropriate action to nullify it. As Machiavelli said, "If you must stab someone, be sensible about it and stab them in the back."

REVIEW: THE HATEFUL EIGHT

Already nominated for three Academy Awards, The Hateful Eight, directed by Quentin Tarantino, is a nominee for Best Cinematography, Best Actress in a Supporting Role and Best Original Score. “In The Hateful Eight, a few years after the Civil War, a bounty hunter is taking in a female outlaw in Wyoming when their stagecoach is stopped by a former Union officer and a Southerner. The quartet is then forced to seek shelter from a blizzard at a waystation, where four more travelers greet them, and as tensions rise, the eight realize that they may not all survive.” That’s all that needs to be said.

If you're not familiar with Quentin Tarantino movies, this might not be the best trainer, but for those familiar with his style this movie will not disappoint. First, there isn't a single character in the movie worthy of the label human. That’s only a small point considering the underlying plot.

The movie brings Tarantino’s dark humor tied together with graphic violence leaving the viewer unsure of who to cheer for if anyone at all. Of course, I cheered for Samuel L. Jackson, but he was just as rotten as the rest.

I’ll leave it at that and say, if you like Tarantino movies you’ll love this one. For those unfamiliar with his work—stay home and wait for it on pay-for-view or pick it up at Wal-Mart.

A THOUSAND WORDS

Relationships! Who the hell needs them? Years ago, I swore I'd never get involved in another because the cost was just too high in terms of emotional extermination, financial depletion and plain old bad feelings. It had been ten years since my last steady relationship with any woman and I don’t feel bad about it in any way.

Some would call me selfish, afraid of living or even hostile to women, but that would be far off the course. Beautiful women surround me nearly every day because I'm a fashion photographer and if I wanted, I could have a different woman in my bed every night, but that's not something I need or want.

Being a sought after photographer has it benefits and being around some of the most beautiful women in the world was just one of them. For me, my job it was the worldwide travel it afforded me. I have been to some of the most exotic and beautiful places in the world. Today, I was in perhaps my favorite, the Bahamas.

When breaks in shooting came, I retired to my beach bungalow to relax. Feeling the soft Caribbean breezes drift over my skin. The thin linen drapes blew with breeze and revealed the multi-colored blues of the ocean ranging from pale aquamarine to deep indigo where the ocean bumps the sky. Who couldn’t enjoy this? I was about to take a sip of my Cuba Libre when a troubled voice shattered my peace.

"Jake!" "Jake!" I heard someone calling my name. It was Rubio.

"What's up now," I asked.

"We got trouble on the set," Rubio said.

"Who," I asked.

"Petra and Zoe," he said.

I should have guessed it before he told me. Both of them had been a pain the ass since we arrived in the Bahamas. Although, I'd already sold the photographs I would shoot there, I also had real expenses including my time and rental for a small island for the shoot.

By themselves, each was sweet and personable, but putting them together was fire and gasoline. Zoe was from Argentina and had a flare of sexuality about her that radiated from her pores. She knew it, I knew it and so did everybody else on the shoot. Raven hair flowed to the middle of her back. She was the kind of girl I might have pursued ten years ago.

Petra, on the other hand was a striking Romanian beauty standing 6' 2" tall with nearly white blonde hair. With me, she was always sweet and fun, but she didn't get along with the other girls. That makes it especially difficult on a shoot when time is short and money slips away with each hour. She was a general pain in the ass with the other girls who tended to ignore her, but it was her attraction to me that caused me concern especially knowing the personalities I'd be dealing with.

With that in mind, I shook off my relaxed state and got into my business costume, which also doubled as my daddy costume as some of the girls were barely past twenty. After slipping through the sand, I finally made it too the shoot site, which was less than 200 feet from my bungalow. Though I always tried to keep temper neutral, this shit was getting on my last nerve.

"What the fuck is going on," I shouted. "Just what the fuck is going on," I asked. "You start acting like fucking children the minute I go. This fucking shoot is costing me and you're costing me. I don't give a shit if you hate each other, get your shit together and act like professionals." No one said a thing as Ii stalked off fuming and cursing under my breath.

When I came back a few minutes later, all was well in the Garden of Eden. I finished the shoot and packed up ready to get the hell off that island, but I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. It seems that Miss Argentina and Miss Romania decided to get my interest. They already had my interest or they would not be here, but rarely did I ever mix business and romance, especially when there were indications that a casual fling was not the intent.

For a moment, I thought about making them a permanent part of Roving Eye photography studios, but one woman is tough enough for me as far as I'm concerned and two would be untenable. They would stretch my nerves to the breakage. Besides, how many times could I shoot the same models? There were plenty of clients who would be willing to use them for everything from hand modeling to expensive jewelry neck shots. I’m sure they could pay their keep. It was inviting them into my life that gave me pause.

Fifteen years passed since then and life has changed. I live in the Bahamas permanently with my three teenage children. It is an idyllic life that suits me well. Zoe and Petra live here too, just not at my house. They have their own homes and lives. Both come by to visit the kids often just as the kids go to visit them, but in the end, those children belong to me.

"Poppi," It was Raul. All of my teenage children call me Poppi and always have. They are the long-term relationship I was seeking.

PARTY OVER HERE!

"I can't believe you're going over to Miss Turner's house for the lawn party with me," Pete said. "There will be a bunch of girls there and some from out of town."

Pete was my best friend. He was always there when I needed him. It's trite to say that he was there through thick and thin, but it was the truth. I tried to live up to being his friend, but I think I failed miserably. Still, we did everything together, including going to parties where I danced with the walls.

"I don't know why I continually let you talk me into going to these parties even though I want to go, but sometimes I wonder, what for? All of my relationships end up in the funny papers or leave me feeling like someone shot me in the stomach," I said.

"Man, you have to let that shit go. I know Janna slammed the door on you and so did Tanya, but that doesn't mean you have to stop living," Pete encouraged. "Those were just bumps in the road."

"Yeah, I guess you're right, but it still hurt nonetheless. But, in some ways, I'm glad Janna is gone. There's no more guessing why she's mad. No more jealousy about any girl that speaks to me and best of all, no more crying about nothing," I said.

Pete saw me driving down the road of self-pity and quickly changed the subject. We were headed to a party and I was actually looking forward to it. I just got off track thinking about a couple of past relationships, which now after some quick reflection I actually found some humor in them.

"Man, they've got lawn decked out," Pete said. "I came past Miss Turner's on my way to get ready. It was barely dark and there were plenty of people there already."

Yard parties were fun and curious. Young and old attended with kids as young as five mixing with their elders of 70 and older. Whoever held the party would hang up strings of colored light bulbs mounted on poles above the ground and arranged in a square or rectangle in the backyard. The grass would be freshly mowed and raked. Usually, just outside the square of lights a 45-rpm record player sat on a card table to provide music. The table was also the same place that held the punch in a five-gallon crock. Some adults brought their own punch.

"It looks like we've got a nice crowd," Pete said.

That was good for Pete because he was a talented dancer and even better conversationalist. Everyone liked Pete. When we showed up at a party, everyone our age flocked to Pete. He tried to include me in the fun, but no one is attracted to a corpse.

"Jimmy Lee. You lookin' awful dapper this evening," Wilson Henderson said to me. Wilson was also a good friend. He wasn't as close as Pete, but I still counted him as a staunch ally.

"That's about it for me," I laughed at myself. "But, I swear I'm getting out there to dance tonight. Someone is going to know they danced with Jimmy Lee Washington," I said, and laughed to myself knowing it wasn't going to happen.

Wilson disappeared and I stood by the punch bowl and protected the record player. I stood there for nearly a half an hour before I noticed a young woman off to the side of the dance area at the edge of the light. I couldn't see her plainly, but decided to watch her. Several young men approached her, but they left almost as soon as they got there. I kept watching until I made up my mind to introduce myself and see where it went from there. I knew it could be a real short trip.

"Hi, I'm Jimmy Lee Washington," I said.

She jumped as if I had scared her, which was not out of the question considering the party was held in darkness except for the colored lights. I had already started on the wrong foot.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," I said.

"You did give me stir me for a moment, but I'm alright now," she said.

"Would you mind if I started over," I asked.

"I don't see how that could hurt," she smiled and laughed.

She had me at that moment. For me, her smile was electric. Nut-brown skin and gleaming white teeth almost made it difficult for me to break contact with her hazel eyes.

"As I was trying to say, I'm Willie Lee Washington, but most of my friends just call me 'Wash'," I said.

"Well Wash, I'm Sarah Hampton," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

I had no more words. I spent them all just making my introduction. Thinking quickly I asked lamely,

"I haven't seen you around here before. Where are you from."

"I'm from St. Paul," she answered.

"What are you doing here besides coming to a party," I asked.

"I always come to see my aunt every summer," she said. "At first, after you introduced yourself, I thought you came to ask me to dance."

"I never made it that far. That's something I thought I might ask you after standing here boring you for a few minutes," I said. "I saw those guys coming over here and leaving so quickly, I figured you weren't dancing."

"That's about right, but it didn't have anything to do with them personally," she said. "It's because this is the very spot where my uncle was killed. Every time I come here in the summer I always stand out here and hold a private moment for him."

We stood there in silence standing on the slight rise and looking at the dancers. For some reason I felt totally comfortable with this girl that I'd known for all of 20 minutes. As we stood there watching the party below we inched closer together until we were touching. Without looking down, I took her hand and held it lightly.

"Would you like to dance," I asked. Then I heard the Flamingos singing "I Only Have Eyes for You" playing and immediately wished I had kept my mouth shut. Women rarely danced with men they didn't know on a slow song.

"Why not," she said.

We walked down the slight incline and joined on the newly mowed grass. She held me like she'd known me for years and I did the same. I remember wrapping my arm around her and touching myself feeling swept away in the moment. We danced several more songs and went back up to the knoll.

We stood there watching until she squeezed my hand tightly. I was hoping I didn't read that signal the wrong way, but taking a chance I leaned forward a kissed her softly.

That was the beginning of a great summer and a romance that continued for 30 years until cancer took her away from me. I was sad, but I was also grateful to have had so many years with her. Sometimes, I walk into the closet just to smell her perfume. Memories of that night on the hill still pleasantly haunt me.

Always Ever

"You need anything before I go in the back," Tasha asked. 

"No. I'm just about finished," I said. "Maybe we can have a little fun before I fall asleep."

"No maybes. That's what I enjoy doing," she said. And, it seems you enjoy it too."

I don't know what I'd do without Tasha. She was my partner, my friend and my lover. If had known it could be like this, I would have brought her into my life a lot sooner. She was highly intelligent, personable and beautiful. 

I often wondered if she stayed around me because I was an easy touch or because she felt obligated. Whatever the case, she made me extremely happy and I was pleased. 

The next morning I awoke refreshed and pleasantly energized. Of course, Tasha was already in the kitchen with breakfast ready. She was amazing. Sexually, she did things I only read about, not that I cared as I was the beneficiary. 

She was extraordinary. She got things done and helped me with my research. She never slowed down, but that was fine with me because I operated pretty much the same way except I always ran out of steam. 

"So, what's on the menu today," I asked. 

"I thought you might want to see the Great Pyramids," Tasha said. 

"I've been there, but never with the tools I have now to examine it," I said. 

It didn't take us long to prepare and get to our travel ports. If there is an invention that came just in time for me, it was port technology. Being able to get from here to there in seconds changed my life and those of so many others. 

"Tony, do you want me to pack something for lunch," she asked. “You know how you are once we arrive.”

"Yeah," I said. 

Travel ports always made me hungry. I'd no sooner arrive and I'd be starving to death. So, I'd eat as soon I got my feet my feet beneath me. It didn't seem to bother Tasha, but she'd eat too, just not as much as me. 

"Do you know where we are," I asked.

"We're about two miles away by taxi," she said. "We could go by camel."

Tasha had a wicked sense of humor. Sometimes, it slipped past me in its subtlety, but it was always a killer when I figured it out. 

When we finally arrived, the pyramids seemed even grander than I remembered. We stayed all day admiring the workmanship that we could only guess. After a pleasant day, we hit the ports and went home. 

"You getting in the shower," Tasha answered. 

"Yeah. I got dessert sand in my ass," I said and laughed. 

"I bet. You want some company," she asked. 

Of course, I wanted her in the shower. First, it was fun. Secondly, it was fun and third, it was highly sexual. It wasn't just sexual, we had romance. True romance. My feelings for Tasha ran deep, much deeper than I ever planned. 

We dried off together and rubbed bodies intimately. It would have been difficult for me not to do so. From her hair to her toes and everything in between, she was made just for me. 

I wasn't ready for the evening to end so I asked, “Do you want to get some dinner and maybe go dancing later?"

"I'm a bit run down right now," she said. "Just let me switch into something and I'll be ready to go."

I put on my tuxedo, poured myself a drink and parked myself in front of the 120" screen. I don't think I'd been setting there more than five minutes when I noticed my bow tie didn't match my cummerbund. No big deal, I'd just go back to the bedroom and get the right one.

When I came in Tasha stood there in a carmine gown with diamonds about her neck. As always, she took my breath away. 

"What's your rush," she asked. 

"I got the wrong bow tie," I said. 

"Third drawer on the left in the second cabinet," she said. 

I'd lose my ass if I didn't have Tasha. As I pulled my tie from the drawer, I couldn't help but look at my Tasha's lined neatly along the wall being rejuvenated. 

As I stepped from the walk-in closet I asked, "Are you ready."

Ain’t it a Bitch

by Don Barbera, ã1999

Derrick McGee was a genuine tough guy and had the credentials to prove it. He had a short temper and was a brawler by nature. Standing over six feet tall and weighing a solid 220 pounds, not many people wanted to fight with him.

He was the worst type of bully. It wasn’t enough to intimidate and belittle; he needed to hurt physically. He had a record with the police that was a mile long but he had no convictions. His parents put him out of the house at 16-years-old. With no place to stay and no money, he stayed alive by strong-arming people on the streets.

It was enough to keep him in candy bars, beer and potato chips. Robbing convenience stores didn’t make him happy. In fact, robbing a store was a blow to his enormous ego. Derrick McGee was meaner than a boot-stepped snake but he wasn’t a real criminal. He was just a kid who grew up doing whatever he wanted simply because he was bigger than most people.

Out of frustration, Derrick gave up his criminal activities and joined the Army. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do but it beat running from the police and sleeping on the street at night.

His first day in boot camp was uneventful. Stand in line. Get out of line. Hurry up. Wait. Eat. Stand up. Sit down. Derrick thought he had made a big mistake if this was a preview of military life. It was boring and uninteresting. Just the type of thing he despised. He had a drastic change of opinion later that evening when he slipped outside the barracks for a smoke.

Before he could draw two puffs into his lungs he felt himself levitate from the trash can on which he was sitting, fly through the air and land roughly on his back, kicking up dust in all directions. All the air rushed from his body like a rat leaving a sinking ship. Instantly, his temper flared. There was going to be an ass-kicking and Derrick McGee planned on handing it out. As he struggled to get his feet under him the heel of an Army combat boot landed solidly against his throat cutting off his air.

“I suppose you want to get your ignorant ass up and do something about it,” a voice said.

McGee wanted to answer but all he could manage was an indecipherable croak. Suddenly, the boot was off his throat but before he could raise himself the ebony face of Sergeant First-Class Maceo Parker appeared about two inches from his nose.

“Boy. I catch you out here again and it‘s going to be me and you. I don’t fuck around soldier. You want to get yourself killed, then go somewhere else to do it, but if you stay here, your ass and everything else belongs to me. Do you understand?”

McGee said nothing.

“I don’t hear you son. Do you fucking understand me?”

McGee nodded.

“Does that mean something or does your chin itch. You answer me, ‘Yes drill sergeant’. Now, what did you say?”

“Yes, drill sergeant.”

“Again!”

“Yes drill sergeant,” McGee shouted.

Sergeant Parker stepped back and turned to walk away. McGee scrambled to his feet and attacked, but Sgt. Parker easily sidestepped the wild rush and buried a nerve paralyzing blow under McGee’s ribs which sent him to the ground gasping for air.

“I told you boy, do not, I repeat, do not fuck with me. I will flatten you before you have time to stink. I make my living putting tough guys like you out of the service and if you ever attack me again, I will take you to within an inch of your life before you can spell no.”

With that, he walked away turning his back on McGee. McGee didn’t move. He thought about getting up but he was afraid to do it. Finally, he got up and staggered back to the barracks. Nobody had whipped his ass since he was a little boy. No one dared challenge him once his growth spurt hit. When he reached the barracks, he was crying tears of anger and shame. Still, he went to sleep easily.

At 4:30 AM the sound of rattling trash can woke the entire barracks. For the next 20 minutes, it was a mad scramble of assholes and elbows as the new soldiers prepared for reveille. In those few moments, all the men shaved, showered and dressed in freshly starched fatigues standing at the ready. “Fall in,” came the command. “Attention.” You could hear the stomp of boots and the swish of starched fatigues as they stood to attention.

There were six drill instructors positioned strategically around the platoon. Standing on the rostrum was Sergeant First-Class, Maceo Parker, all five feet seven inches of him. His boots glowed and his fatigues looked custom-made as they hugged his body in neat military fashion. His drill instructor hat sat at a perfect rakish angle that was far enough down to be intimidating but not far enough to look foolish.

“Gentlemen. I’m Sergeant First-Class, Maceo Parker. I am,” he paused, “the head drill instructor. I have served two tours in Vietnam. I have been shot, stabbed and tortured. I have escaped from two prison camps, eaten snakes and killed three men with nothing but my hands. However, of the more than 900 men I’ve had the privilege of leading, only nine were wounded and three were killed. You people are my responsibility now. I won’t be going with you but I’ll do my damndest to make you people keep my good record intact.

I will do everything I can to push you to your limits. Then I will push you even further. You will hate me if you survive this training, but those of you who survive will have a good chance of seeing me again. Now, we’ve already had two attempted AWOL’s and an attack on a drill instructor. Those people are still part of this unit. However, as of this moment if it ever happens again—you will be gone.

Today is your first day. Some of you will be leaders but most of you will be followers. More importantly, you will know how to work as a team when you leave here. The man standing next to you or any of these men in this platoon could be the difference between staying alive or coming home in a body bag. That’s all I have to say this morning, but we’ll have these cozy little chats every day until you leave. Now each squad, prepare to fall out to your drill instructor. Attention! Dismissed!”

If McGee didn’t know he was in the Army last night, he knew it this morning. To McGee, all the DI’s hollered at the top of their lungs and directly into your face. McGee didn’t mind. He found the hustle and bustle to his satisfaction. This morning after seeing SFC Parker for the first time, he was embarrassed that such a small man had taken him out so easily, but after hearing of Parker’s military exploits he felt the tension drain. That man probably had more medals and awards than he could put on his chest, McGee thought. After thinking about it all, he considered himself lucky that he survived his first day.

McGee graduated at the top of his platoon and left for Vietnam about a month later. Unfortunately, he didn’t keep Sgt. Parker’s string going. He received a field promotion to sergeant after displaying his bravery and intelligence on the battlefield. He received the Silver Star, Purple Heart, and a Bronze Star for his performance. Still, after enlisting for a second tour in Vietnam, his luck ran out. Now he was on Sgt. Parker’s casualty list. Although two men died on hill 117 and four were wounded, including himself, McGee’s actions saved at least 40 men and helped the infantry grab a crucial foothold. It also won McGee another Silver Star.

As he rode the plane back to Hawaii for a little rest and relaxation, he thought of Sgt. Parker. It was the letters he and Sgt. Parker had exchanged during his time in Vietnam that had kept him going. As the plane started its final approach, McGee looked out the window and chuckled aloud,

“Life is really a bitch sometime.”