a soda, or die of thirst. Her plan had been to
go around to her mama’s place after work so she could
practise the Schubert piece on her piano for Monday’s lesson.
Only it was a ten-block hike and she was meeting Tachel at
seven – damn nearly that now.
It would have to wait till tomorrow.
She went by the house most days to practise and more
often than not stayed to dinner – the lure of her mama’s
cooking sometimes giving her the extra motivation she needed
to keep up her music. Jelly dreamed of one day owning her
own piano – not some cheap upright, but a fine old instrument
like the Chas M. Stieff baby grand she’d grown up with which
had a tone modern pianos couldn’t touch.
She walked slowly on, listening to the Andante on her MP3
player, following the score’s intricate phrases in her head,
knowing exactly when to turn the imaginary pages. It was
her fingering that needed work – exercises, scales . . . not
playing around on a goddamned computer. She was still mad
at herself for blowing the fifteen bucks – half the money she’d
set aside to pay Mrs Cato, her piano teacher.
In a roller-coaster mood, Jelly felt light-hearted one
moment, down the next. She’d only stopped by the cyber
cafe to check her e-mail, but then the man had shown up,
they got talking and somehow she’d lost track of time. Shit,
the whole point of pretending she’d gone away to DC was
to give herself a break from the Ed situation, which any fool
could see wasn’t healthy.
She unplugged her earphones and smiled. She’d spotted
Tachel a couple of blocks ahead, standing at the entrance to
the subway, trying to keep her distance from some Jamaican
kids playing loud dub-mix on the stereo of an old TransAm
parked at the kerb. A tall, dark-skinned woman, generously
upholstered and proud of it, 'T’ had on tight white jeans and
a fuchsia halter-top, accentuating a rack that was already like see-what-happens-when-you-pray-for-boobs. She looked
sizzling hot.
As she caught up with her friend, Jelly did a little Caribbean
dance-hall routine on the sidewalk, laughing and acting crazy.
She wasn’t sure why but the scene struck her as funny and
beautiful.
'What the hell’s wrong with you?’
'Just happy to see you, I guess.’
Tachel rolled her eyes. 'What kept you? We’re gonna be late for the show.’
'I was playing piano at Mama’s, forgot the time.’
It surprised Jelly how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
She’d been friends with Tachel since high school and they
could say almost anything to each other. She hadn’t gotten
around to admitting she was still chatting to the English
guy she’d told her about early on, who wouldn’t leave her
alone, who was becoming more persistent, who wanted to
get face to face now in real time – afraid T would laugh at
her – but neither of them had ever managed to keep any
secret for long.
She knew the best solution would be to delete Ed Lister,
just take him off her buddy list. Only she couldn’t quite bring
herself to do it. She felt sorry for him on account of his tragic
loss and, though there was really nothing she wanted from
him – Ed had brought up Paris again, hinted at being able
to help with her musical career – she enjoyed hearing about
his glamorous millionaire life.
She told him she was going to succeed by her own efforts,
or not at all.
While they were on, she’d checked out the Hotel Cipriani
in Venice. She liked the look of the suites, even if they weren’t
huge and the site didn’t show bathrooms.
Tachel shot her a suspicious glance. 'If I didn’t know better,
I’d say you were seeing someone.’
Jelly just shook her head, afraid a verbal denial, even though
it was the truth, would come out sounding all wrong. T could
read her like a book.
'Well, if it ain’t love,’ her friend observed as they descended
into the stifling gloom of the subway, 'then, girl, you need to
get laid.’
They could hear the rumble of an approaching train.
'Oh shush.’ Jelly, hand on hip,
go around to her mama’s place after work so she could
practise the Schubert piece on her piano for Monday’s lesson.
Only it was a ten-block hike and she was meeting Tachel at
seven – damn nearly that now.
It would have to wait till tomorrow.
She went by the house most days to practise and more
often than not stayed to dinner – the lure of her mama’s
cooking sometimes giving her the extra motivation she needed
to keep up her music. Jelly dreamed of one day owning her
own piano – not some cheap upright, but a fine old instrument
like the Chas M. Stieff baby grand she’d grown up with which
had a tone modern pianos couldn’t touch.
She walked slowly on, listening to the Andante on her MP3
player, following the score’s intricate phrases in her head,
knowing exactly when to turn the imaginary pages. It was
her fingering that needed work – exercises, scales . . . not
playing around on a goddamned computer. She was still mad
at herself for blowing the fifteen bucks – half the money she’d
set aside to pay Mrs Cato, her piano teacher.
In a roller-coaster mood, Jelly felt light-hearted one
moment, down the next. She’d only stopped by the cyber
cafe to check her e-mail, but then the man had shown up,
they got talking and somehow she’d lost track of time. Shit,
the whole point of pretending she’d gone away to DC was
to give herself a break from the Ed situation, which any fool
could see wasn’t healthy.
She unplugged her earphones and smiled. She’d spotted
Tachel a couple of blocks ahead, standing at the entrance to
the subway, trying to keep her distance from some Jamaican
kids playing loud dub-mix on the stereo of an old TransAm
parked at the kerb. A tall, dark-skinned woman, generously
upholstered and proud of it, 'T’ had on tight white jeans and
a fuchsia halter-top, accentuating a rack that was already like see-what-happens-when-you-pray-for-boobs. She looked
sizzling hot.
As she caught up with her friend, Jelly did a little Caribbean
dance-hall routine on the sidewalk, laughing and acting crazy.
She wasn’t sure why but the scene struck her as funny and
beautiful.
'What the hell’s wrong with you?’
'Just happy to see you, I guess.’
Tachel rolled her eyes. 'What kept you? We’re gonna be late for the show.’
'I was playing piano at Mama’s, forgot the time.’
It surprised Jelly how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
She’d been friends with Tachel since high school and they
could say almost anything to each other. She hadn’t gotten
around to admitting she was still chatting to the English
guy she’d told her about early on, who wouldn’t leave her
alone, who was becoming more persistent, who wanted to
get face to face now in real time – afraid T would laugh at
her – but neither of them had ever managed to keep any
secret for long.
She knew the best solution would be to delete Ed Lister,
just take him off her buddy list. Only she couldn’t quite bring
herself to do it. She felt sorry for him on account of his tragic
loss and, though there was really nothing she wanted from
him – Ed had brought up Paris again, hinted at being able
to help with her musical career – she enjoyed hearing about
his glamorous millionaire life.
She told him she was going to succeed by her own efforts,
or not at all.
While they were on, she’d checked out the Hotel Cipriani
in Venice. She liked the look of the suites, even if they weren’t
huge and the site didn’t show bathrooms.
Tachel shot her a suspicious glance. 'If I didn’t know better,
I’d say you were seeing someone.’
Jelly just shook her head, afraid a verbal denial, even though
it was the truth, would come out sounding all wrong. T could
read her like a book.
'Well, if it ain’t love,’ her friend observed as they descended
into the stifling gloom of the subway, 'then, girl, you need to
get laid.’
They could hear the rumble of an approaching train.
'Oh shush.’ Jelly, hand on hip,
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