CHAPTER 24
“C
amille, it's now or never,” John David barked through the phone. “I've given you months to get me the demo. I told you I had an interested client. If you can't give me the demo this week, I'll pass the opportunity on to my next prospect.”
No!
“I'm trying. It's not as easy as Iâ”
“It's not that difficult! Don't you have, what, five or six friends you could ask to sing?
“You could
hire
a choir, for cryin' out loud.”
Yeah, if I had some money.
Nevertheless, she promised, “Okay. I'll get it to you by Friday.”
“Friday at
noon
.”
“Okay.” She disconnected the call. John David was trippin'. Up until now, he'd been pretty casual about this recording. Camille wasn't stupid. He'd probably lost a prospect, and now he was trying to fulfill a promise with Camille. No matter, she needed to come through for him.
She made a second trip to the library and checked out the digital microphone again. After her last experience with this thing, she'd almost wondered if God Himself wasn't trying to stop her from making the demo.
She couldn't think about that now. As she walked through the apartment, dressing and warming up her vocal chords, she blocked out all thoughts of impropriety and questionable motive. “La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.” Up an octave. Repeat.
Cat followed, meowing as though she were talking to him. He tried to match her, syllable for syllable. Camille looked down at him, leaned over, and sang in his face. “La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.”
Myyaaa! Myyaaa!
She cracked up laughing. “Cat, you really think you can sing, don't you?” Maybe she should have added his vocal abilities in the description she'd posted at the recreation center. Sadly, Tyree's observation about black folks and cats had proven true. No takers there, either. Now that she'd actually purchased a kitty litter box, Camille almost hated to give all that good money away. But if someone called, she'd have to let Cat go. For as much as she disliked anything on four legs with whiskers, Cat might be the exception. For somebody else.
No time for pondering Cat's future. Choir rehearsal and her own future awaited. Camille slid guilty second thoughts to the furthest recess of her heart and positioned her digital equipment for action. She walked into choir practice with one thing on her mind: get this stupid recording over with so she could satisfy John David and her conscience once and for all.
I gotta do what I gotta do.
Practice flowed as usual, with Ronald guiding the young-adult choir through its separate parts, then having them sing altogether.
Camille marveled at his ability to stay in choir director mode despite their personal connection. No one could have guessed that he was closer to Camille than any of the other choir members. Come to think of it, his dual personality could be a problem.
What if he's dating several women in the choir? Probably that skinny new alto!
He might have had a different woman in every choir, for all Camille knew.
Wait. We're talking about Ronald here.
He didn't have time for her, let alone a bunch of other women. That wasn't how he rolled, anyway.
I'm trippin'
. Her ill motives had obviously sparked suspicions about everyone else's MO.
Mercedes hugged most of the sopranos after practice and chatted with Camille for a while. This was good news for Camille. She needed the people to kind of clear out a little before approaching Ronald.
“Well, I'll catch up with you later. I see you're hanging around to talk to your ...
friend
.” She winked, smirked slightly.
“What are you talking about?” Camille whispered.
“You. Ronald. Stevie Wonder can see what's happening between you two.”
“How? We don't even say anything to each other.”
“First of all, there are people all over the city who belong to Grace Chapel. Second, don't forget the Brittney factor.”
“Should have known.”
“But don't worry about it. We're happy for Ronald. We're glad to see him getting back in the swing of things. I, personally, can't think of a better person for him.”
Camille smiled uneasily, told Mercedes she'd talk to her later.
When there were only a few tenors left, stacking up chairs so the custodial staff could vacuum, Camille made her moves. First: activate the recorder. Second: approach Ronald before he could close the top on the piano.
“You remember that song by BeBe and CeCe Winans? âHeaven'?”
“Yeah,” he said, tinkering with the ivories a bit.
“I was thinking the choir could sing a modified version next month, during the church anniversary. It's right in line with Pastor Collins's series theme, live with heaven in mind.”
Ronald struck up the chorus for “Heaven” on the piano. He definitely knew the song.
Camille didn't waste any time. She jumped on the first line. Ronald fell in place right behind her, giving her all the space she needed to showcase her vocal capabilities.
They both sang the chorus. “That's what I live for.”
Yes! This is perfect!
Okay, maybe Ronald wasn't a choir, but he was definitely great backup. John David would have to get over himself.
“Willing to die for.”
Faison hopped his happy behind in the song and took Ronald's part for the next refrain. Though he sang the correct words in key, his voice wasn't nearly as rich as Ronald's. Another tenor, whom Camille didn't really know, added his two cents and almost ruined the song. Camille turned from him so his mouth wouldn't be so close to the microphone. Thank goodness this wasn't a group audition.
Ronald changed up the ending a bit, choir-ized the melody so it could be sung in three-part harmony. Camille adlibbed the soloist's part so she'd shine through.
When it was all sung and done, Camille had a good five or six minutes of herself singing and singing well!
John David is going to love this!
“Wow! That song is perfect for the anniversary,” Ronald complimented. “Good lookin' out.”
“Why, thank you.” She was so excited, she almost grabbed him in front of everyone.
Calm down.
“I'll put âHeaven' on the agenda for our next unity choir rehearsal.”
Still high on her overwhelmingly successful accomplishment, Camille floated out the building and to her car alongside Ronald.
“Hey, you want to go get some coffee?”
“Mmm, I don't know. I was trying to get to the gym tonight.”
“You look fine to me,” he flirted.
“Thank you, but that's only because I've been working out lately.”
“It's definitely paying off. But I was really hoping we could grab a bite since Brittney's still in practice.”
How could she resist. “Cool.”
Finally, some time alone with her “friend,” as Mercedes had referenced him.
She hopped in Ronald's truck. As she secured herself, she realized the recorder was still in place. She switched the lever off but knew she couldn't remove it right then without putting herself in a questionable position. No problem, though. She'd been super-smart this time, taping it directly to her chest so it wouldn't slide around.
Starbucks coffee, cookies, tea, whatever. Sitting in Ronald's presence was a treat all by itself. The strawberries and crème frappuccino added little to the moment.
They unwoundâshe talked about work, he spoke of the upcoming youth summer musical workshop, which he'd actually delegated to another musician on staff. He wasn't sure if his designee could pull of the task, but he had to give the younger man a chance.
“If I ever expect to have a life outside of church, I'm gonna have to learn how to trust other people,” he acquiesced.
“Have some faith in him,” Camille cheered. “He has to learn, just like you did. Room for growth?”
“Room for growth. You know, you always got something constructive to say. What's up with
you
? What problems can I help you solve?”
“I'm straight. No issues here.”
“Hmm. A woman with no issues? I don't think so. I'll be right back.”
If only he knew he'd just solved her biggest problem about thirty minutes ago when he sang with her.
Hmmm ... maybe I should tell him
. Really, he wouldn't be mad. He probably would have done it if she'd asked. Problem was: She didn't ask. The worst-case scenario played out as Ronald gabbed about the upcoming basketball season. If she told him, he'd want to know why she didn't ask, which could lead to questions about why she needed it so badly in the first place. She'd tell him the truth, that John David wanted the demo. He'd probably ask why she couldn't just go home, get in the shower, and record herself singing. She'd have to say she needed a choir. Before you know it, he'd put two and two together and discover her original purpose for joining Grace Chapel.
Naaa. I ain't sayin' nothin'.
It wasn't absolutely essential for Ronald to know about this. No harm, no foul.
With Ronald gone to refill his drink, Camille attempted to reach into her shirt. A little blond-haired boy at the next table looked up and studied her movements, almost in awe that a woman had put a hand down her blouse. His big, blue eyes studied her every move, as though she might expose herself at any moment.
Owww!
Some kinds of tape weren't made to be stuck on skin. No use.
Between the adhesive and the child's gawking, the recorder couldn't be removed.
Wonder if his momma will let him have Cat.
She'd never seen anyone look so good carrying a cup of java. Seriously, Ronald could have been a spokesmodel for Starbucks. He was fit, masculine, looked smart.
“Hey. We gotta run. Brittney just sent me a message.”
“Okay.”
Camille grabbed her purse and slid out of her chair.
He stopped shy of the passenger's door. “We might as well say our good-byes now, before we get back on church grounds.”
She laughed. “Oh my goodness, I haven't heard anyone use the term âchurch grounds' in a minute. Remember when people used to turn down their radios if they were listening to FM radio when they passed the church?”
“Yep. Back in the day, even if people weren't living right, they used to have respect for the house of God. No cussin', no smoking. Our neighborhood wino used to take off his hat when he passed the church,” Ronald recalled, a hint of nostalgia crossing his complexion as he pulled her into a hug.
Instantly, she felt the bulky metal against her chest and realized Ronald had probably felt it, too. She backed up, but it was too late.
“What's that?” Ronald asked, trying to maintain respectable eye level.
“Oh.”
Dang!
“It's. I didn't want to say anything about it, but ... I have”â
I can't tell him!
â“a pacemaker.”
“A pacemaker? Wow! I mean, wow. I didn't know they could be so ... big. I mean, I'm sorry. Did I mess it up? Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes.”
Ronald redirected his gaze as she settled the device.
Oh my gosh! A pacemaker! Anything but a pacemaker.
“I'm really sorry. I'll be more careful, now that I know.”
“It's okay. I need to get it ... tightened up.”
Tightened up? This ain't no weave!
“They can dislodge slightly, I mean. But don't worry. You didn't cause the problem, and it's really a simple procedure for them to fix it.”
Relieved, he opened the door for her and held out an arm so she could steady herself on the step rail and be seated.
“You in?” he asked. Already, he treated her with kid gloves.
“Yes. Thanks.” Camille slapped her hand against her forehead as her unsuspecting date trotted to his side of the vehicle.
What have I done?
CHAPTER 25
T
hree weeks earlier, they'd buried her father's lifelong best friend, Mr. Otis. His death had reminded Alexis that she wouldn't have her parents forever. Her mother's sassiness and her father's stubbornness on top of their medical issues was a handful to deal with, but she'd rather have a handful than none at all.
Mr. Otis's son, Jackson, had been submerged in grief throughout most of the service. Alexis used to wonder why people cried so hard at elderly people's funerals. After all, they had lived good lives. One look at Jackson's distraught face gave the answer. The longer someone lived, the more memories you shared. The more you'd miss them.
Jackson's older sister, Jetta, seemed to handle their father's death much better. She outright comforted her brother, laying his head on her shoulder. For as long as Alexis had known Jackson and Jetta, they had been a close pair. Alexis imagined that, as children, Jetta must have pumped him on her bicycle, beat up bullies for him, tied his shoes until he was able. With so many years between Alexis and Thomas, she'd never really experienced the kind of sibling camaraderie that people laughed about, where they fought like cats and dogs but wouldn't let anyone else mess with their brother or sister.
She was jealous. She'd been jealous of Camille and Courtney when she first met them, too. Courtney's faith in his little sister's singing ability, Camille's confidence in her big brother's business know-how. When Alexis really thought about it, neither Camille nor Courtney really needed the Sweet Treats ensemble. Those two could have made it all by themselves.
Too bad they didn't recognize.
“That's not true. They
will
recognize and be reconciled,” Alexis spoke to the doubts creeping into her mind.
“Who betta recognize?” her father asked.
“Oh, I'm sorry, Daddy. I was talking to my negative thoughts.” She grabbed a magazine from the stack resting on the coffee table in the doctor's waiting room.
Her father rolled his eyes. “You young folks and your positive-thinking craziness. Never seen so many broke, can't-stick-to-a-job, can't-stick-to-a-marriage folk always talkin' about self-esteem and stuff. What y'all need is to get a job! When you work hard, you won't have time to go around talking to yourself all day.”
“There are a lot of people without jobs right now. It's not their fault,” Alexis whispered, trying to model an appropriate indoor voice for her father. He was worse than her students, sometimes.
“Yes, it is,” he squawked. He'd missed her hint to lower his voice. “If y'all had some kind of loyalty, America wouldn't be in this mess. Ain't loyal to the job, shole ain't loyal to the country, all these foreign cars on the road.
“And you ought to be shame. Public school teacher driving a Honder. Teachin' your kids math and science, then turn around and give the Japanese kids more jobs to make more Honders. Might as well shoot yourself in the foot.”
Daddy's ranting reminded Alexis to ask Dr. Ewell about the side effects of the medication her father had recently been prescribed. Alexis had taken advantage of Mr. Otis's death to convince her father he needed to schedule a full physical. Now, with another drug on the list, she wondered if Daddy's medications might be interacting negatively, yielding the crabby old man who'd fuss about the color of the sky if somebody would listen.
A nurse poked her head out of the door leading to the main portion of the office. “Nevils?”
“Here.” Alexis laughed at herself. School habits die hard.
She stood to accompany her father, but he insisted he could handle this appointment on his own. “I don't need you standin' behind me while I got my hospital gown on.”
The sitting area fluttered with snickering.
“Okay, Daddy.” Alexis flopped back down into her seat, almost embarrassed at herself. Her father was right. She could only sit and wait now.
Times like this, she wished Thomas was with her. She also wished he'd take a more active role in caring for their parents. At one point, she had even grown resentful, but her coworkers convinced her that it was normal for daughters to bear the brunt of the responsibility when it came to parents. Not
right
, but normal as it happened in many families.
If only she had a sister.
A text broke her train of thought. Tonya. Courtney called. Call me.
Immediately, Alexis responded. “What did he say?”
“He's open!” Tonya hollered.
“Yes!”
“He didn't promise anything,” she warned, “but he's already got some foreign labels interested.”
“Great!” Alexis could barely contain herself. “Praise God. I'm so happy I'll be able to cash my checks without feeling guilty.”
“Me, too. And I'm glad to get this whole thing with Camille behind us, you know? I didn't lose any sleep over it, but it's not about me, you know?”
“True that,” Alexis cosigned. “So when do we call her?”
“Not yet. He wants to work out the business details first.”
“Okay. I won't say anything. Thanks for the great news, girl.”
“Bless God.
“Did you talk to him about the other thing?”
“Yes,” Tonya said. “Since he owns the lyrics, he can revise them, or we can do kind of a dance remix to reduce the number of suggestive phrases. Courtney was like, âY'all serious about the Lord, huh?'”
“He got that right.” Alexis laughed. “I can't be singing stuff I don't want my future kids to hear. I still haven't played every song on our CD for my parents. They'd have a cow and have our old managers up against a wall somewhere.”
“I know, right?”
Alexis reiterated, “Thanks again. I'll keep quiet until I hear from you again. Love you, girl.”
“Love you, too.”
As she hung up the phone, she smiled to herself. She did, after all, have a sister in Christ.