Inside Out, page 8
Jules nodded when I shared my concerns with him. He said he had felt the same way about the music. He wanted to hold auditions for solo parts but felt in his heart that no one but Curtis could sing the songs he wrote with as much emotion. They were so personal to him. In the end, we decided to sit down with Ellie, Clara, and Curtis to have a discussion about auditions and find out how they would feel about someone other than them performing roles and singing songs that meant so much to them.
After dinner, Jules tried to insist on cleaning up and doing dishes, but I wouldn’t allow it. I didn’t want to waste a minute cleaning when we could listen to music and drink more wine. “Are you sure you’re ready to see what’s hidden behind this door?” I asked, standing outside the largest of the spare bedrooms.
“Unless it’s a headless doll collection then yes.”
I opened the door before I could talk myself out of it. The rest of my house was tidy and orderly, but this was the room I retreated to when I needed things to be comfortable and messy.
“Whoa,” Jules said when I opened the door. He walked into the center of the room and turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
I’d chosen a deep shade of amethyst paint color for the walls, but it was hard to see it behind the rows of shelves filled with books, albums, and CDs wrapping around three walls of the room. I’d pushed my worn-out, brown leather loveseat against the fourth wall and covered the walls above it with framed playbills from my favorite productions. On either side of the loveseat were battered, antique end tables big enough to hold reading lamps and wine. The main focus of the room was my pride and joy. I’d carefully hung the shelves on one wall to direct the eye’s focus on the RCA Victor Victrola record player I’d found at a yard sale when I was foraging for vinyl records. I’d later had it appraised and was shocked that the player I paid a hundred bucks for was worth over three thousand dollars.
Jules turned and looked at me. “I love this room. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Find us some music,” I urged, and he complied.
I sat on the loveseat and propped my feet on the ottoman big enough for two while Jules perused the records. He was so enamored with the selection that he seemingly forgot I was there, but I wasn’t upset. I just loved seeing him in my space. He looked like he belonged, and I could picture endless nights of listening to music and reading on the loveseat together. Julius pulled a few records off the shelf as if he couldn’t quite decide which one he wanted to hear the most. I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to choose just one because we had all night, but I was too busy enjoying the smile on his face when he found an album that surprised him.
In the end, he chose Billie Holiday. Jules refilled our wine glasses while I put the record on. I wasn’t sure how close he wanted me to sit and was prepared to curl up in the corner opposite him, but he patted the cushion beside him. There in the dim light, with the soulful voice of Billie Holiday playing in the background, Jules took my face in his hands and kissed me. He was tentative at first, his tongue gently seeking mine but grew bolder when I gripped the front of his light blue cashmere sweater. Our hands never explored each other, even though our bodies hummed with need and want. He kissed me long after the last song on the record ended, and the only word I could speak was his name.
“Probability is expectation founded upon partial knowledge.”
~George Boole
“Don’t make assumptions and predictions when you only know half of the story.”
~Julius Shepherd
“I’m not listening to any classical crap for ten hours,” Marcus said after getting in my car late Sunday morning. I’d stopped by to pick him up for the drive to Lexington, Kentucky, to see our paternal grandparents.
“It’s only an hour and twenty minutes from here each way. That’s nowhere near ten hours.”
“It feels like it,” he groused, sounding grouchier than normal.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“Nothing I feel like talking about anyway.” Marcus released a frustrated groan. “I’ve met a girl, and I care about her a lot.”
“That’s great, bro. Why do you sound like it’s such a bad thing? Does she not return your feelings?”
Marcus scoffed. “Return my feelings? You sound older than Gram and Gramps. She’s into me too, that’s not the problem.”
“Than what is the problem, Marc?”
“I’m getting a lot of blowback from the team and coach, okay? They think I’m getting in over my head.”
“I’m confused,” I said. “Coach isn’t in a relationship, and no other players have girlfriends or boyfriends?”
“Coach is married and most of the guys on the team are dating.”
“Then why are you being held to a higher standard?”
“Things with Camilla are complicated,” Marc said with a shrug. Talking to him was like pulling teeth sometimes. He preferred to work through things on his own, and I knew he’d come to me if he needed me, so I was prepared to let the subject drop. “She has a kid.”
“Camilla does?”
“Yeah.” His voice had gone soft, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “He’s named Manuel after Camilla’s dad, but they all call him Manny. I call him my little man. I love her, J. I love Manny too. They make me happy.”
“Bro, I consider myself to have an analytical mind, but I’m just not computing here. She loves you too?” I asked. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Marc nod. “And you love her. What is the problem? Why does anyone care about you dating Camilla?”
“They said Camilla’s just using me for a free ride out of poverty. That’s not true, J. I met her at the diner where she works. Camilla had no idea who I was. She just called me peanut butter pie guy. I’m a good judge of character, right?” he asked.
“You are, Marc. If you say that Camilla cares about you, then I believe you.”
He blew out a relieved breath. “I haven’t told Mom about Camilla and Manny yet. How do you think she’ll react?”
“Mom loves who we love; no questions asked. She’d told us both that a thousand times at least. Tell her when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m letting outside influences mess with my mind. I’ve never caved to that kind of pressure, and now isn’t the time to start.” He turned his head and studied me silently for a few seconds. “What’s different about you? You look more relaxed than the last time I saw you.”
“Nothing,” I said with a casual shrug.
He sucked in a quick breath, almost gasping. “You got laid.”
“No, I didn’t.” Well, not the way he was thinking. I spent hours making out with a gorgeous man with an equally beautiful soul until my body throbbed and my cock ached. I’d gone home and relieved the tension while reliving the feel of Rome’s lips on mine and imagining other places on my body he could kiss.
“You’ve met someone then,” Marcus persisted.
“Why don’t we talk about your stellar football game yesterday,” I suggested. “I didn’t find you afterward to talk since we had plans today.”
“Bullshit. That’s never stopped you. You didn’t find me because you had plans with some dude. What’s his name? Where’d you meet?”
“You sound as bad as Mom,” I chided my younger brother, but I couldn’t keep the goofy grin off my face. “I have met a guy, and he’s really special.” A kaleidoscope of images crossed my mind. Rome listening to the music I wrote for the play with so much awe in his expression, his awkward attempts at conversation the nights before, and the way he melted in my arms on the sofa in his library.
“Where’d you meet?”
“He’s the superintendent of schools.”
“In Whereville?” Marcus asked, making fun of the town I’d chosen to teach and live in.
“You know damn well the town is called Blissville, and yes, Rome is the superintendent of schools there.” I could see Marcus fiddling around with his phone and knew he was doing the same thing Mom did when I told her about Rome.
“Dr. Romeo Bradley,” Marcus said then blew out a whistle. “His mother must’ve been a fan of Shakespeare.”
“I didn’t ask.” I might the next time we chatted though.
“He looks like he’s quite a bit older than you.”
“I think he probably started to turn silver early like a lot of dark-haired men do. He’s only forty-five.”
“Our mother is fifty,” Marcus pointed out. “That doesn’t bother you?”
My kneejerk response would’ve been “of course not” but I gave it some thought. Julius’s age didn’t bother me, but I was acutely aware that his experiences were vastly different than mine. I didn’t think experience was necessarily a bad thing though. Before I could answer, Marcus was speaking again.
“And why is a handsome, successful guy like him still single? Is he divorced or just a player? You’re not the one-and-done kind of guy, Jules. You practically live like a monk.”
“He’s not a player,” I responded, or at least I didn’t get the impression he was by the clumsy way he handled the beginning of our date. “He’s a widower.”
“Oh,” Marcus said then got quiet as he thought about that. “Is that weird?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s weird, but it’s different dating a man who shared an entire lifetime with someone else.”
“Someone they’d still be with if given a choice,” Marcus added, earning a glare from me. “Sorry.”
I recalled the conversation I had with Rome the previous night. I’d told him I trusted him to know his heart and mind. Only time would tell if I was making a mistake.
“Have you been dating long?”
“Last night was our first official date.”
“I hope it works out for you, Jules. No one deserves happiness like you do.”
“Thanks, bub,” I said, reaching over to mess up his hair. “Rome told me to pass along his congratulations for breaking the school record in career interceptions.”
“Are we back to football again?” Marcus asked, sounding hesitant to discuss something he used to love so much.
“We don’t have to talk about football, but we usually do. What’s going on?”
“Just tired, I guess,” he replied, sliding down lower in his seat. “There are just a lot of expectations and people wanting me to make some tough decisions.”
“Such as?”
“Whether or not I plan to enter the draft.”
He meant the NFL draft. “What’s the deadline?”
“I have to commit by January fifteenth.”
“It’s only September and the season has just begun,” I reminded him. “The first response that comes to my mind is that you tell people you’re focused on winning football games and the conference championship. Anything beyond this season isn’t relevant right now.”
“That’s the approach I’ve taken with coaches and reporters, but I can’t seem to get my brain to agree with that logic.”
“Marc, what do your coaches think?”
“Let’s put it this way,” he said, turning to look out the window, “my coaches have already been contacted by scouts who are interested in seeing what I can do at the combines in February.”
“There’s obvious interest on their part, but are you interested in playing football professionally?”
“Depends on the day of the week,” Marcus said with a snort. “When I’m playing, I can’t see myself doing anything else. When I’m tired and sore after a grueling practice or physical game, I can’t imagine putting my body through this for any longer than I have to. It just depends which Marcus Shepherd shows up.”
“You have plenty of time,” I told him. “I have every confidence you’ll make the best decision for yourself.”
“Thanks, J. It means a lot to hear you say that. Can we talk about you now?”
“I composed music for the school play the drama club is going to put on next spring. The play and songs were written by three of the kids in the school. It’s called Inside Out, and it’s similar to The Outsiders, except the students don’t just explore the difference between social classes. They look at race, gender, and orientation. I’m telling you, Marc, these kids are so ahead of their time. The lyrics this boy started writing in eighth grade are just…stunning and heartbreaking at the same time. No kid should know that kind of hurt and rejection.”
“He’s in a good place now?” Marcus asked. I liked that he cared about a kid he didn’t even know. Maybe it was because of the shit we heard growing up. We were too black, not black enough, too white, or not white enough. We didn’t fit in any of the molds people wanted to shove us in. Or maybe it was because our parents taught us to be compassionate and giving people, even when we weren’t on the receiving end of it ourselves.
“It seems that way. I haven’t met his parents yet, but he seems happy unless it’s time to take a test. I’m sure I’ll get to know him better once the play gets started. I’m nervous for him to hear the music, but I’m going to play it for him during his lunch period tomorrow.”
“I bet he’s going to be blown away by your talent. Is the music on your phone? I want to listen to it.”
“I thought you didn’t like that classical crap?”
“I do when it’s something you play, bro,” Marcus said.
I handed my phone to Marcus and instructed him where to find it so I could keep my attention on the road. It wasn’t long before the first song with its haunting melody began to play. When the songs finished, I glanced over to see Marcus wiping his eyes.
“I don’t even know the lyrics to these songs and I’m moved to tears. That’s so powerful and beautiful.”
“I hope Curtis likes it.”
“How could he not?” Marcus asked.
“It might not be what he had in mind, but I’ll find out soon enough.”
Marcus replayed the songs a few more times before we reached Gram and Gramp’s house. Our father’s parents wouldn’t be considered wealthy, but they were a bracket or two higher than middle class. The lived in an older neighborhood with bigger yards and well-maintained brick homes, unlike the new subdivisions where the houses were practically built on top of one another and you could mow the back yard in three passes. It was a lovely, safe neighborhood to raise a kid, and the photos adorning the walls showed our dad had a happy childhood. He carried that same infectious smile into adulthood, and it was often followed by a booming laugh. God, how I missed his smile, his laughter, and his hugs.
“You okay?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah, bub. I’m good.”
Gram was already waiting for us on the front porch by the time we got out and rounded the hood. Marcus reached the porch first and scooped her up in a hug. “Hello, Gram.”
Gram held Marcus tight then pulled back to look into his eyes. “How’s school going?” I gave her credit. She didn’t start every conversation with football like everyone else did with Marcus. She was more interested in his grades and the things going on in his personal life. Later, she’d get around to talking about football, but not until she established that Marcus was more to her than a standout athlete.
“It’s going pretty good so far. I’m going to have some tough classes this year, but I’m looking forward to the challenge.”
“You sound just like your father. He never shied away from something because it was tough.”
“We learned it from our mother too,” I said softly.
“Of course you did,” Gram said. “How is Sherice?”
“Mama is doing well.” I stepped forward and reached for her, opening my arms.
She smile warmly and closed the distance between us, resting her forehead on my shoulder as I hugged her gently. “I’m so happy when you boys come for a visit. It’s like having your father alive all over again.”
“We’ll try to get here more often once Marcus’s season is over.”
“Quit hogging the boys,” Gramps said from the doorway. I lifted my head and met his joyful gaze.
“Hi, Gramps,” I said, stepping back from Gram’s embrace. “It’s good to see you.” I hugged him too.
“It’s been too long. I hope you guys are in the mood for smoked beef brisket, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, and homemade peach cobbler,” Gramps said eagerly.
“I thought I smelled smoked meat when we got out of the car,” Marcus said, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
“I got a smoker for my birthday,” Gramps responded excitedly. “This is his maiden voyage.”
“Smells delicious,” I said, following him inside with Marcus and Gram behind me.
“We’ll have every stray cat and dog in a five-mile radius prowling and howling in our back yard before the day is through,” Gram teased.
“It’ll be worth it,” Gramps said.
His smoked brisket was every bit as good as it smelled, and the side dishes Gram made were delicious. During the meal, Marcus talked about the game from the day before and was pleased to hear they had watched the game online. I noticed he didn’t discuss the turmoil he felt about committing to the draft nor did he bring up Camilla or Manny. I told our grandparents I loved my new town and job but didn’t say anything about Rome. It was still too new.
I offered to help Gram clean up just as I had with Rome the night before, but unlike him, she didn’t refuse. Gramps and Marcus went into the living room to watch the Bengals game while I followed Gram into the kitchen. I could tell she had a system down. Her movements were fluid and graceful as she pulled down the plastic containers and lids from the cabinets. I started rinsing dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher while Gram stored the leftovers in the refrigerator. We worked quietly until we finished our tasks and the only dishes left to wash were the ones that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher.
