Promise Broken, page 16
CHAPTER 19
Thirty minutes. That’s how long Keys had been working his magic on the piano. The room was now packed, with some folks even standing in the back to listen in. He started out light, playing some old show tunes just to warm the crowd up. For as quiet as Keys was normally, he became a master showman when he got behind a piano. He engaged the crowd, cracking light jokes and telling stories that he had heard which accompanied some of the songs he played. Once he had the audience worked up, he switched tempo and went into some of Ray Charles’s catalog. When he played “Mess Around,” some of the older people even got up and started dancing. He was killing it, just as Abdul had hoped that he would.
“Where did you say you found this kid, again?” Don B. asked, suddenly very interested.
“The Lord sent him to me,” Ab crossed himself.
“I’m serious,” Don B. insisted.
“So am I,” Ab told him.
The story of how Ab discovered Keys was one of sheer luck and good fortune. After his mother had come on the avenue and made a scene about Keys hanging out that night, Ab got to thinking. He wasn’t too familiar with Keys, but he knew who Bernadette was because she and his mom attended the same church. Bernadette was well-liked in the neighborhood and had a lot of pull with the congregation. If she wanted to, she could raise a hell of a stink in the community which might’ve presented a problem for Ab and his operation. The last thing he needed was a bunch of holy-rollers picketing his corner and making the spot hot. He needed to make sure that nothing would come of it, so he decided to throw the family a bone.
He approached Bernadette one day while she was at the gas station filling up the family vehicle. He apologized to her for the scene that night on the corner. Of course, she went into her spiel about Ab doing the devil’s work. He didn’t want to hear it, but he let her get it off her chest. He told her that he understood and wanted to do something for the family so as to get him right with the Lord. He told her about a friend of his who worked at the hotel who could give her son a part-time gig to keep him occupied and out of harm’s way. Bernadette was skeptical, but when Ab promised her a weekly for the church to do with as she pleased, she went along with it. For Ab, it was a small thing. Just something to make sure he and Bernadette were good and to keep the old broad off his back, then he heard Keys play. Ab had struck gold and all it had really cost him was an act of kindness.
Keys had the crowd turned up and then things took a turn for the morbid. The waitress had brought him his third drink of the night, which he took back. It was like the alcohol had caused a shift in his aura. When he started playing the opening cords of “Strange Fruit,” darkness settled over the room. You could literally feel the temperature drop. It was as if Keys had called down all the ancestors to sit in on his performance. He pushed out the lyrics from somewhere deep in his soul and the feeling of sadness infected everyone who was listening. Some people started crying, and an older white couple who had been previously having a good time got up and walked out. Bagley made to stop him, but Abdul motioned for him to stand down and let Keys do his thing.
“Nigga, I know you ain’t crying?” Don B. looked at the Devil whose eyes seemed moist.
“Fuck out of here. I got smoke in my eyes.” Devil motioned to the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. His grandma used to play Billie Holiday’s version of the song whenever she was feeling sad. Back then Devil was too young to understand the significance of the song and what it meant to Black folks, but when he was older it made sense. Whenever he heard it he thought of his dear, departed granny.
When the song was done Keys gasped like a drowning man who had finally been granted the gift of air. There were a few claps, but for the most part everyone wore expressions that ranged from sadness to shock. He stood on drunken legs and gave a mock bow and walked away from the piano.
“Damn, youngster. That was some hellafied playing.” Tone gave the young man dap when he arrived at the table.
“Thanks,” Keys said sheepishly.
“How do you come up with your set list?” Tone wanted to know.
“Set list?” Keys didn’t really understand the question. He knew what he thought it meant, but didn’t want to misspeak and sound stupid.
“Yeah, the list of songs you decide to play before every gig,” Tone explained.
Keys shrugged. “I dunno. I kinda just sit at the piano and it tells me what I should play.”
“What? You some kind of clairvoyant or something?” Devil asked. He didn’t care for Keys. Not because of anything that he had intentionally done, but because of the emotions he had stirred in him with his music. It felt like witchcraft. There was something about Keys that gave him the creeps.
“No, he’s a fucking genius! That’s what he is,” Don B. answered for him. “Grab a seat, kid, and let’s talk about your future.”
The group sat and spoke for about twenty minutes on the subject of who Don B. was and what he could do for Keys. Ab, Don B., and Tone did most of the talking, while Keys listened and interjected only when necessary. He’d never really had a head for business. All he wanted to do was play his music.
“I gotta admit, your boy can play the shit out of a piano but his voice . . .” Don B. extended his hand and teetered it back and forth, indicating that his voice was shaky.
“That’s the best part, Don. Keys is a writer too, and a damn good one at that!” Ab bragged. “I’m thinking maybe you can have him write for one of them R&B groups you been trying to break into. I hear you ain’t had a lot of success in that lane since Lady Monet.”
Devil and Tone flashed Ab a look almost simultaneously. The subject of Lady Monet was a sensitive one. She was one of the first R&B acts that Don B. had tried to produce. She had the look, the swag, and the talent to be the next big star, but she also wrestled with a lot of demons. In the end, her inability to let go of her past killed her future. After the performance that was supposed to be the one that put her on the map, Lady Monet was found murdered outside of the venue. It was a tragedy, but also largely her fault. This wasn’t a case of a starlet being senselessly murdered, but one of a vindictive woman who tried to settle a personal score on company time.
“I didn’t mean no disrespect,” Ab said, noticing the tension after his remark.
“None taken. We just don’t like to dwell on the past, only the future,” Don B. said. “Near as I can tell, the future for young Keys is looking real bright. The kid impressed the Don and that isn’t an easy feat.”
“I tried to tell you that I’d never waste your time coming out here if I wasn’t sure that my guy was the real deal,” Ab said, sounding more confident now than he had been when they first sat down.
“We can start him out doing some writing, while we work on fine-tuning his sound. And for God’s sake, we gotta do something about his look.” Don B. was dissecting Keys. The boy smelled like money, but it would take some polishing for him to reach his potential.
“You’re the expert, Don. My only job is to make sure me and Keys land in the best situation possible. There are a few people looking at him, but I’d love to see him with family. Still, the deal gotta be the right one,” Abdul told him, letting Don B. know that they would have to break out the checkbook if they wanted Keys.
“Any situation the Don offers will be the right one,” Don B. checked Ab, letting him know that he picked up what he was throwing down. Don B. wouldn’t be pressured.
“Say, how old are you, kid?” Tone asked unexpectedly. He hadn’t noticed when Keys was playing how young he looked, but now that he was up close you could tell.
Keys looked to Ab, uncertain how to answer.
“Why are you looking at him and I’m the one talking?” Tone leaned in so that Keys had to look him in the eye. The boy looked shook.
“It’s okay, Keys. You’re amongst friends.” Ab told him.
“Seventeen,” Keys answered.
“Aw, fuck, he ain’t even old enough to sign without the consent of a parent or legal guardian. I don’t suppose that you got no papers on this kid?” Tone asked Ab.
“Nah, I’m just a friend of the family. I ain’t got no legal power, but I’m sure his mom will go along with it,” Ab assured him.
“If it’s okay with you, we’re going to need to hear that from her,” Tone said.
“That won’t be a problem,” Ab assured the Don, but he wasn’t so sure. This was an unexpected fly in the ointment. Ab had been able to sway Bernadette into letting Keys play the weekends at the hotel, but getting her to go along with him signing to a hip-hop label was a different animal, especially Big Dawg. All it would take was a quick Google search and all kinds of scandalous things would pop up about Don B. This was going to be something that would require more than money to make it happen. At that point it didn’t matter what Ab had to do in order to secure the bag, even if it involved some grimy shit.
The group continued to chat for a bit. Ab was only half in and out of the conversation because his mind was still on how to get Bernadette to sign that contract. His phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Yo,” he answered, placing one finger against his other ear so that he could hear. “You outside? Come in, we at the bar,” he told the caller. They responded with something that made him frown. “Wait . . . what? A’ight, I’m coming.” He ended the call. “Excuse me for a minute, fellas.”
“Where you off to and we’re in the middle of talking business?” Don B. asked.
“I’ll be right back. I gotta walk this bitch in,” Ab excused himself.
“Can’t trust a nigga that’ll put pussy over a dollar,” Devil remarked once Abdul had gone.
“We all got our vices, Devil. Relax,” Don B. told him. He felt the same but didn’t want to risk souring Keys on signing with Big Dawg by saying it. “So, what’s up with you? You in school? You work? What’s your story?”
“Yeah, I’m in school . . . mostly. Outside of that I don’t do too much but go to church and come here to play,” Keys said with a shrug.
Don B. didn’t respond immediately. He was thinking of the right way to cut into Keys while Ab was gone. Not that he would’ve minded breaking bread with Ab, but if he could cut out the middleman it would be all the better. “When I was seventeen I was doing everything but going to church and staying out of trouble. I was real heavy in the streets back then though. See, when I was growing up I didn’t have dudes like Ab to look out for my best interests. Only thing I could look at the old heads in my hood for was a pack to move. I guess that makes you lucky to have Ab, huh?”
“I guess,” Keys said, but didn’t sound too confident. His response was the first drop of blood spilled into the water, and like the shark that he was, Don B. moved in.
“I’m saying, ain’t he taking care of you and making sure you’re okay out here while you’re pursuing your music career?”
“He got me this job,” Keys told him.
“Yeah, a good manager should keep you working at all times. But what about your other needs? Your family straight? You got a girl you’re trying to look out for?” Don B. pressed him. He saw the light come on in Keys’s eyes when he asked him about his girl.
“I got somebody . . . Well, she ain’t my girl but I do like her a lot,” Keys admitted, thinking of Promise.
“What? You like her and she don’t like you back?” Don B. asked as if he were actually interested. He had only been talking to Keys for a few minutes and could already read him like a book.
“We used to be close, but I did something. She ain’t really rocking with me anymore,” Keys said sadly.
“What you do? Stole some money, or smash one of her homegirls?” Don B. questioned.
“Nah, nothing like that. We had words and she stopped talking to me for a while. That’s all.”
“Aw, that ain’t nothing major. You can still get her back. One thing I’ve learned about women is that nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ like a good gift.” Don B. dug in his pocket and pulled out a knot of money. He counted out two hundred dollars and slid the bills across the table to Keys.
“I can’t take that.” Keys eyed the money.
“Why not?”
“Because I know that nobody gives you anything without expecting something in return,” Keys said.
“You hear this little nigga?” Don B. chuckled, looking back and forth between his crew. “I like you, Keys. You’re a sharp young dude, and I respect that about you. Ain’t no secret that I want you on my team, but that ain’t why I offered you the money. I offered it to you because I know what it feels like to be a young broke nigga who can’t do shit for his lady but keep her company. It makes a nigga feel less than, and I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anybody. Take the money or leave it for a waitress to pick up,”—he raised his hands—“that’s up to you.”
Keys looked down at the money, weighing what he should do. Don B. talked sweet, but Keys knew his type. He lived with a man who was much like Don B. They were good at masking their ugliness in their hearts until the moment suited them. Still, Keys couldn’t front like couldn’t use the money. The hundred dollars per weekend he made at the bar was barely enough to carry him from week to week. Between contributing to his household bills and supporting his new habit, the money was usually gone in two to three days. “Thanks,” he slid the money from the table and put it in his pocket.
Don B. knew then that he had Keys in prime position to steal him away from Ab. He would break the gangster off a few dollars as a finder’s fee, but Keys had to belong to Big Dawg. He was a rare talent and Don B. would be remiss if he wasn’t the one who figured out a way to bottle that talent and sell it. He was about to seal the deal by asking Keys to introduce him to his mother when Ab came back into the bar with the people that he had gone out to walk in. This is when it all went bad.
CHAPTER 20
“Promise, I wish you would bring your slow ass on!” Mouse said over her shoulder. Her tall red heels clicked over the floor of the hotel as she passed through the lobby. She drew more than a few curious glances dressed in a skirt that was way too short and a top that barely covered her breasts. The only thing saving her from showing off all her goodies was the short faux fur jacket she was wearing.
“Or maybe you should slow down?” Promise tried to keep up with her but was having trouble navigating the hard floors in the stiletto boots Mouse had gassed her into putting on. It was like ice skating getting across the lobby. Mouse’s black leather pants that Promise had squeezed into didn’t help with mobility either. They were so tight that it took the combined efforts of Promise and Mouse to pull them on. She couldn’t even button them. It was a good thing that she was wearing a blouse long enough to cover the front of the pants, under the short leather jacket she had also borrowed.
“Girl, we already late. I told you I wanted to be on deck before the rest of these thirsty bitches,” Mouse reminded her.
Promise finally caught up with her friend near the entrance of the hotel bar. There was a line, but Mouse weaved her way through to the front with Promise on her heels. People were watching them with mixed emotions which made Promise uncomfortable. “Why is everybody staring?” she whispered to Mouse when they had made it to the front of the line.
“Because when some bad bitches show up on deck, these regular hos get put on notice.” Mouse said, flipping the black wig she was wearing. It was so long that it almost hit Promise in the face when she did it.
“Ladies, the line starts back there,” Bagley told the two girls.
“We’re invited guests.” Mouse rolled her eyes.
“Sweetie, we don’t do a guest’s list here. Everybody waits in line and pays their five bucks.” Bagley said dismissively. He proceeded to look past them and waved the next person forward.
“No, the fuck this nigga didn’t!” Mouse said loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Mouse, it’s no big deal. Let’s just wait in line. No need to cause a scene.” Promise tried to calm her. They had been sipping on the way to the hotel and she knew how Mouse could get when she was too loaded.
“Fuck that, P. We were invited and this nigga is going to respect our position,” Mouse declared.
The girl’s escalating voice drew Bagley’s attention. It wasn’t unusual for them to have prostitutes wander into the bar, but for the most part they stayed quiet and tried to blend in to apply their trades. These two looked like they would be trouble and he needed to nip it in the bud. “Ladies,” he said in a quiet voice, “this ain’t that type of party. Now if y’all wanna come in here and do your thing, I’m cool, so long as you kick a taste back to the house. As far as all that loud talking, I’m going to need you to take it down a notch before I have to call vice down here,” he threatened.
Mouse gave him an indignant look. “Nigga, did you just low-key try and call us prostitutes?”
“Mouse . . .” Promise saw this going left. She still wasn’t sure how Mouse had managed to get them invited to the hotel, so there was no way of knowing whether their invitation would hold up under scrutiny. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene and draw more attention to them. Of course, Mouse wouldn’t hear it.
“Nah, I’m about to humble this nigga,” Mouse said and pulled out her phone.
* * *
Abdul heard her long before he saw her. For a girl who had been named because of her soft voice, she could certainly get loud when she wanted to. He could see a crowd of spectators forming just outside the entrance of the hotel bar. In the center of it, Bagley was trying to put out a grease fire by throwing water on it.
“Lady, I already apologized for you thinking I was calling you a hooker. What more do you want from me?” He could hear Bagley’s frustrated tone as he neared them.
