Chapter 3
Charlie walked into the empty club and the sound of the band warming up sparked excitement in her soul. She carried her guitar at her side, but she sat in the back in obscurity as she allowed the band to finish their set.
She hadn’t been singing with them long. Before she had picked up a mic at Karaoke Thursdays six months ago, she hadn’t even known them.
The bass guitarist, Justin, had heard her sing that night and had offered her a gig on the spot.
She had been singing every Saturday with the four men ever since.
Charlie loved it. She loved everything about singing to live music, in front of drunken crowds, as the sensuality of her voice brought out the sensuality of them.
They were playing a live rendition of a Summer Walker joint and it was the drums for her.
Her heart thudded with every high-hat and she swooned.
There was nothing like soul-filled music.
It was her first love. She remembered writing down the lyrics to Lauryn Hill’s album as a kid while singing the songs, matching her sultry tone.
It was how she had learned to sing. Matching the voices of her favorite singers and then eventually discovering a voice of her own as she got older.
No matter what she had been through, through her father leaving, through the death of her mother, through lonely and misunderstood teenage years, and through years of being mistreated by men, music had never left her side.
That notebook with song lyrics from songs she wanted to learn only grew.
Charlie emerged from the shadows as Justin played a solo on his guitar at the end. The way he played took her breath away. His hands seduced the strings with expertise. Fitted jeans, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a beanie hat in the summertime, he was an artist if Charlie had never seen one.
“It’s a shame for someone to be so talented,” she said, smiling as he finished, and she stepped onto the stage.
“I say that every time you sing over these strings, Charles,” he said. “You want to lay some vocals over this sound?”
Charlie smiled, grabbing the microphone, and fell right into the rhythm of the song. She had been singing it in her head anyway, so she knew exactly where to come in.
“What an addiction, so high a cost, gambled it alllll just to be lost, but no loveee lost, no bridges burned, you live and you learnnn I learned from my hurt,” she sang. Eyes closed and she let the band play for a bit before she added. “Waste of timeeeee my loverrrrr...”
“Wrap it up, clubs closed for the night!”
Charlie’s eyes popped open as Frankie walked into the room. His hand was wrapped in gauze and medical tape.
“What happened to your hand?” she asked.
He looked down at it and up at her. “Nothing, don’t worry about it. Club is closed ‘til next weekend. No rehearsal, no nothing,” he said.
“Weren’t the inspectors just in here last month?” Justin asked.
Frankie nodded. “They pop up when they want to. We got some wiring issues I got to take care of this week. I’ll still pay you for your set, but the club’s doors stay closed,” Frankie informed.
Charlie frowned but didn’t contest it as long as she was getting paid. She didn’t miss his energy, though. He was talking fast and trembling a little. She didn’t think he was giving them the full story but she wouldn’t question it. It wasn’t her business to know.
“Charlie, let me holler at you in the office,” he said.
Charlie nodded and followed him into the privacy of his office.
He handed her a small tote bag.
“Tell your boyfriend I won’t be late again,” Frankie said. “Make sure he knows.”
“My what?” Charlie asked, frowning in confusion. She opened the bag and blew out a sharp breath at the money she found inside. “Frankie, what is...”
“Just tell him,” Frankie said, practically yelling as he sat at his desk, struggling with a pack of cigarettes. His nerves were bad. She didn’t miss his shaky hands.
“Tell who?” she shouted in exasperation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Demi. I don’t want no problems with that nigga. Just take the money and give it to him. He told me to give it to you. I’ll have another twenty-five by next weekend.”
Demi?
“I can’t take this. I don’t even know him!” she protested.
“He said to give it to you. He was specific. Just take it and close the door on your way out,” Frankie said.
Charlie took the bag and rushed to the table where her guitar and tote bag sat. She unlocked the guitar case and put the bag inside.
Her hands shook a little bit, and she didn’t know why. It was just a feeling. Like this money was bad. Like the man who had given it to her was worse.
Did he do that to Frankie’s hand? What is this money about?
Justin placed a hand on her shoulder and Charlie startled.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yeah, umm… I’ll call you. Maybe we can go over next week’s set at my house since the club is closed?” Charlie proposed.
“Yeah, that’s a date, just hit me,” he said. “You need a ride?”
“No, thanks. My car’s out front,” she said. “But you can come by in about an hour,” Charlie said.
“Bet,” Justin said. “I’ma run by the crib, grab some food, then come through.”
Charlie walked out, rushing over to her old, raggedy car. The old-school, blue Corsica was nothing fancy, in fact, it was falling apart. Rust at the bottom of all four doors, evidence from the many winters it had survived.
She hopped in and started her car. She couldn’t get to her house fast enough. She practically sped the entire way. She hadn’t stored Demi’s number and she had thrown the card in the trash.
“The one day I want to take my trash to the dumpster,” she mumbled as she pulled into her apartment complex. She parked, racing over to the dumpster that was now full.
“Damn it!” she said, stomping her foot in frustration.
“Stassi ’s punk-ass,” Charlie fussed, needing someone to fault for throwing the business card away in the first place.
Charlie fought the air. “Son of a bitch,” she mumbled as she gripped the sides of the dumpster, grunting as she lifted herself onto the side.
She sat on the edge, staring down at the mountain of trash beneath her. “This motherfucka.”
The sound of a car horn startled Charlie and when she turned and saw Demi parked next to the dumpster, standing outside his open car door, one hand on the roof as he stared up at Charlie in perplexity, she lost her balance falling into the pile of trash.
“Aghh!” she screamed, landing in something wet.
This would happen to her. The nigga had literally caught her in the garbage. Charlie shook her head and planted her face in her hands.
“Demi?” she called out, wincing in embarrassment from her throne of trash.
“Yup,” he called back, laughter in his tone.
Charlie grabbed the edge of the dumpster and peeked out over the side. He was so damn fine, standing there looking up at her, and Charlie shrank in embarrassment, lowering back down.
Just throw the whole day away, she thought.
“You want to tell me what you doing, Bird?” he yelled.
“Nope! Nothing I can say makes this moment any better,” she said, finally climbing out, struggling to gain her balance as she slipped all over the trash.
Demi cringed, wiping his hands down the top of his head. He would help but nah. He didn’t do shit like this. She would have to clean this mess up on her own. His skin was crawling just looking at her.
“Yo, you got some kinda bullshit...” He fingered his cheek to motion to the spot where something white marked her cheek.
She hopped down, feeling disgusting, as she wiped the spot on her cheek.
“You’re probably hella grossed out right now,” she said.
“Emphasis on hella,” he answered. “What you doing out here?”
“I threw your card away,” she said, shrugging in defeat.
Demi bit down on his bottom lip and nodded. “You feeling the kid that much where you diving in a fucking dumpster to get at me?”
“The kid?” she teased, laughing. “Oh, you’re real cool, speaking about yourself in third person.”
He snickered. “Now’s not the time to talk about cool, Bird. You’re covered in baby shit and old sour cream.”
Charlie frowned and flicked goop off her fingertips. “Come in. I need to shower, but I have… umm... just give me a minute, please?” she asked.
“Take your time,” he said. “Take a nice, LONG, shower.” She chuckled as she watched him pull into a parking space. Charlie retrieved her bag and guitar case and then led him inside. Bails barked instantly as soon as Charlie stepped in the door.
“Hey, Bails. Hey, baby boy,” she cooed. Always so eager to see him.
“Five minutes,” she said, rushing upstairs.
“Nah, Bird, you gon’ need a few more. I’m not going nowhere, wash ya ass,” he said.
Demi sat on the couch, eyeing Bails as the dog inched near him. “The fuck on, man,” he said, body tensing. Bails only inched closer to him, until he was sitting directly at Demi’s feet, head leaned onto his palms, big, emotion-filled eyes looking up at Demi.
“This fucking dog shit,” Demi mumbled. He sat there, going through his phone as he heard music floating from the second floor and the sound of the shower running.
He was glad she took her time. He would be more comfortable with her that way.
She tended to like to touch, and at least he’d know her hands were clean.
The knock at the door lifted Demi’s eyes and he looked back toward the stairs.
The second knock lifted him from his seat.
He climbed the stairs, headed to her bedroom.
Of course, she showered with the door open.
The silhouette of her body through the frosted glass door burned into his mind but he didn’t look long, averting his eyes out of respect.
“Yo, Bird, somebody at your door,” he said.
“Can you answer it? It’s probably my friend. I’m almost done in here,” she shouted.
A third knock and this time her doorbell. Whoever it was, was persistent.