Читать книгу Surrender To Me - Donna Hill, Donna Hill - Страница 11

Chapter 3

It had been several months since he’d been to the DMV area. Driving through the streets of DC brought back a mixture of memories.

He’d partied hard in the nation’s capital, frequenting the many clubs and after-hours spots, either as a musician or one of the revelers. He’d been enamored with the city since his youth, enough that he left Tulane’s grad school and enrolled in Howard University, much to his father’s disappointment, which suited Rafe just fine. The only saving grace was that Branford believed he would be able to keep an eye on his son if he was in the city where he wielded power and also claimed as a second home. Neither reality fazed Rafe in the least. If anything it fueled his bad boy ways: speeding tickets to tabloid news to barroom brawls. Yet somehow he managed to graduate with his master’s degree in music history and composition and built a reputation on campus as one of the most talented sax players of his generation. He’d even been offered a teaching position after graduation, but he turned it down. As much as he loved everything about music he wasn’t ready to be tied down to one place.

The rows of town houses, in a range of browns and dusty red hues, stood in perfectly proportioned squares of grace, adorned with flower-bearing urns all shaded by century-old trees. The neighborhood was reminiscent of times gone by when the roads were cobblestone and horse-drawn carriages were the preferred mode of transportation.

Rafe parked his rented Mercedes out front and took his carry-on from the trunk. He opened the black gate and walked down the short path to the door. Even though he did not stay in town often, he had Alice come twice per month to clean and air out the rooms. He’d called in advance of this visit to make sure the fridge and the bar were stocked. Alice always did an outstanding job, and as usual today was no exception.

When he walked in he was greeted with a vase of fresh flowers in the foyer and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. He dropped his bag in the hall and followed the scent.

Alice was busy at the sink washing vegetables for a salad. Rafe eased up behind her and slipped his arms around her thick waist.

Alice gave a slight squeal of surprise and giggled like a schoolgirl rather than a grandmother of three when Rafe placed a kiss behind each ear. She playfully smacked his hands.

“Still being a rascal, I see. Half scared me to death.”

Rafe kissed her again. “Aw, come on, cher.” He turned her around and looked her over. “Still the prettiest girl at the party.”

Alice’s cheeks flushed. “Oh go on.” She shooed him away.

Rafe lifted the cover of the simmering pot and inhaled pure bliss. “Will you marry me, Ms. Alice?” he teased when he saw the jambalaya.

“I have no intention of standing at the end of the line waiting my turn.”

“Aww, Ms. Alice, if you promise to fix your famous jambalaya at least once a week, I swear I’ll put you right up front.”

Alice’s round face crinkled with laughter. She wagged a finger at him. “One of these days you’re going to run into just the right woman to make an honest man out of you.”

“You really think so?” he asked, growing serious.

She looked him in the eye. “If you slow down and stop running so fast you’ll see her.” She lightly shoved him aside. “Now go on and let me finish up. I’m meeting some friends in town.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rafe retrieved his bag from the hall and went upstairs. His room, like the rest of the house, was as he’d last seen it. But he knew it had been dusted and polished and the linens changed. He went over to the walk-in closet and was pleased to find that his clothes had arrived ahead of him and were neatly hung. He smiled and closed the door. What would he do without Alice?

Rafe slid out of his jacket, tossed it on the club chair by the window then unbuttoned his shirt and let it join his jacket.

A quick shower, a change of clothes and then he needed to get with Quinten about tonight. He was pretty certain that Q would be more than cool with him joining the set tonight, but he didn’t want to take anything, especially their friendship, for granted. He wanted to be sure just in case Avery did show up.

He didn’t understand why it mattered that she cared or whether she showed up. The very idea that he’d gone through his kid brother to find out who she was, rearranged his life to fly to DC to see her and was feeling like a horny teen just thinking about her gave him pause.

This was not his MO. Totally out of character. Although he’d been known to be impulsive at times he was always deliberate when it came to the women in and out of his life and the relationships he chose to pursue. In those instances he’d never been driven by emotion but rather need, desire or simply the wish of a woman that he wanted to see satisfied.

Avery. He was uncertain and he didn’t particularly like it, but he felt challenged to venture down this new avenue.

* * *

Rafe found a parking space a little more than a block from Blues Alley, then took a slow stroll back to the club. As he’d figured when he called Quinten to let him know he was in town, Q was more than happy to have his best friend join him onstage, and Rafe was really looking forward to playing in front of an audience.

He adjusted his sax case over his shoulder and pushed through the doors of the club. He was momentarily delayed by an overzealous security guard who advised Rafe that the club didn’t open until four, but quickly offered his apologies when Quinten walked over, embraced Rafe in a one-arm hug and introduced him.

“This is my man, Rafe Lawson. He’s with the band. Rafe, Phil... He keeps an eye out.”

Rafe extended his hand. “Phil.”

“My apologies.”

“None needed for doing your job.”

They shook hands and then Rafe followed Quinten to one of the back rooms.

“How you doing, bruh?” Quinten asked while he pulled open the door to the mini-fridge and took out a bottle of water. He handed it to Rafe and grabbed one for himself. “Glad you called, man.”

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s good. Can’t complain.” He sat on the side of the desk and twisted the top off the water bottle. “It’ll be like old times tonight.”

“Truth.”

“How’s Rae?”

“Fine as evah,” he said with a grin. “Jamal is in his second year of college. Can you believe that? Tall as me and swears he’s all that.”

The two friends laughed.

“Chip off the old man’s block,” Rafe joked. “I’d love to see him.”

“Yeah, you need to catch up on your part-time godfather duties.”

“Aw man, easy. You got to admit I have never missed a birthday, holiday or graduation.”

“Yeah, yeah, you right. Just messing with you.”

“Talk to Maxine?” Maxine Sherman and Quinten once had a tumultuous relationship, but Q’s heart had been with Nikita. When Nikita died in that car accident, Rafe wasn’t sure if Quinten would ever be right again. Him, their buddy Nick Hunter and his then-girlfriend Parris McKay rallied around Q. Then he met Rae and she literally breathed life back into him. It was well after Nikita’s passing that he found out about Jamal—his son with Maxine. Stressful times, but everything worked out. Maxine married Taylor, a great guy who loved Jamal like his own, and Q and Maxine knew that the most important person was their son. When Jamal started high school he came to live with his father and Rae, and then went to Howard.

“Maxine is doing real well. We talk a couple of times a month.” He smiled wistfully.

“Ever have any regrets about your relationship with Maxine?”

Quinten gave a shrug. “I used to when J was a kid, but we all made choices and when I met Rae...” he grinned “...that was it. Hooked.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “Guess it happens for a chosen few.” He pushed up from the side of the desk, took a swallow of water and looked at his friend. “Me? Not happening. I like my life just the way it is, free, easy, no commitments.”

“That’s what we all say, my brother.” He chuckled from deep in his chest and took a band from his pocket to gather up his mid-shoulder-length locs. He fastened them at the nape of his neck. “Come on up front. Let’s check the stage and the mics. The rest of the band should be here in a few.”

The Quinten Parker Quartet had made a name for themselves touring the States and Europe. Q’s wife, Rae, a star in her own right, added a bit of splash to the quartet with her provocative spoken word.

Quinten asked him more times than he could count to join the band. Each time Rafe graciously turned him down. He enjoyed the liberating feeling of playing where and when he wanted, recording in the studio when he was ready, popping up at clubs to be a featured performer, being his own man with his own business. Totally independent. Being tied to anything or anyone didn’t work for him. He’d tried it. Once was enough.

“Hey,” Quinten said, his tone softened. He anchored his hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time.” He looked his friend in the eye, knowing.

Rafe’s jaw reflexively clenched. “Yeah, it has. Doesn’t change anything.” His brow arched to punctuate his point.

Quinten held his hands up in submission. “I hear ya.” He pushed open the back-room door and they entered the club space.

Rafe stepped up onto the stage. Q was right. It had been a long time, sixteen years and counting. But like he’d said, time didn’t change anything. So he filled those years with music, good food, expensive liquor, beautiful women, world travel and trying to forget. That was the life he’d created for himself and he was fine with it.