Someone Like Me Page 17

  “Glad to see you made it on time,” she says as I fight to catch my breath.

  “I can’t believe how packed it is in here this early on a Saturday.”

  “Yes, business has been good, and we intend to keep it that way by providing the best live entertainment and service, and even better food,” she proudly says as she scans the crowd. “But enough small talk, let’s go back to my office and talk for real—dollars and cents.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We walk through the kitchen, and I can’t help but notice how impeccably clean it is. Not to say that Jack’s kitchen isn’t, but I’m sure you can’t find even a crumb of food on the floor.

  Her office is another story. Papers are everywhere. Boxes have been thrown into every nook and cranny. I’m not sure how Jazzmyne finds anything among all the papers that are piled high on her desk.

  Didn’t she say that she had an assistant? Maybe she needs two.

  I try to smile as she motions toward a chair that I have to clear off before I can even consider sitting down on it.

  “Just throw that stuff on the floor. I’m sorry about the mess. I’ve been busy and haven’t had a chance to come in here and get organized. I spend most of my time on the floor, greeting our high-profile guests or performing. That’s why I want to hire you; then I can at least take the performing aspect off of my plate.”

  “You know,” I say as I place all the papers that were in the seat on the floor next to me. “I didn’t get the impression that you were impressed with my performance.”

  “In this business, you cultivate a poker face, as they say. I loved your performance. Your boyfriend was right; you can blow.”

  I settle into my chair. “It doesn’t look like Michael still wants to be my boyfriend.”

  She gives me a commiserative smile. “Sorry to hear that. He seemed like your biggest fan.”

  “He was.” I cross my legs and focus on trying to keep my tears at bay. To steer the conversation away from Michael, I say, “I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed my performance.”

  “Did you need to hear me say that? You should know your skill and have confidence in your own ability,” she says, placing her hands on top of her desk and looking me square in the eye. “Frankly, I was a little taken aback by your boyfriend’s push that night. It should have come from you. You should have been eager to show the world what you can do. I also found it unimpressive that your then boyfriend had to practically pull you up out of your chair, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m glad I did. I saw that confidence the moment you opened your mouth and introduced your song. You had the audience feeling you before you even pushed out a lyric. That’s how this business works. You understand what I mean?”

  “I do. I want to sing. It just wasn’t always that way for me.”

  “What changed? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Memories of singing in front of my mother and Jack—a man who is like my father that pushed me to come out of my comfort zone.”

  “Good for him. Or, better yet, good for you.”

  “Yes, good for me.”

  “Okay, so here is what I’d like to offer you: four hundred a show. You’ll do four shows a week since we’re open Thursday through Sunday. It’s a one-year contract, but we do provide a W-9, so remember that taxes will come out of that. After a year, we can see where we are.”

  That’s $1600 a week! Is she for real? Please don’t let her hear my knees knocking.

  “What time would I need to be here?”

  “We open the doors at seven on Thursday and Friday and at six on Saturday and Sunday, so you would need to be here by three each day at the latest. This would allow time for you and the band to go over the songs. These guys are professionals. They’ve done most of the songs played here hundreds of times. We close at eleven.”

  “Who decides which songs we perform?”

  “In the beginning, you and I will meet every Thursday afternoon to make the selections. But, after a month or two, I would like you to run with it. Just keep in mind that we play a wide range of jazz and blues.”

  “I like that.”

  “So, we have a deal?”

  “We have a deal. When do I start?”

  “Next Thursday. I’ll have the contract ready for you to sign when you come in. My assistant will help you with the rest of the paperwork. Welcome to Jazzmyne’s.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  “Hey, kid,” Jack says as I open the front door of their home and smell the food that Mary has already started cooking.

  “It smells so good in here. Mary cooking something different?”

  “Yeah, she took her own advice and picked up some cookbooks from the library. I think we’re having some kind of stuffed fish that I don’t know how to pronounce.”

  “You don’t sound thrilled.”

  “You know I’m not a fancy food kind of man. Give me a steak and some potatoes, or a plate of pasta soaked in a good homemade tomato sauce, and I’m good.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to try it,” I say as I plop down on the sofa and Jack takes his usual chair.

  He keeps staring at me, so I know that he’s waiting for me to tell him about how things went at Jazzmyne’s yesterday. Keeping it from him this long is killing me, but it’s also so much fun drawing out the suspense. I flip on the television and start surfing channels.

  “I thought you would have called us last night and told us how things went,” he says after a few minutes. I pretend like I didn’t hear him. “Mýa?”

  “Yes, Jack?” I force down the grin that wants to make an appearance.

  “I know you heard my question,” he says, turning the television off.

  I laugh, thoroughly enjoying the annoyance on his face. “Okay, you got me. I can’t hold it in any longer.”

  “Hold on,” he says before turning his head toward the kitchen. “Mary, get in here. Mýa’s got news to share with us.” He winks at me. “I thought it better that I tell her this time why I’m shouting.”

  I wink back. “Good idea.”

  Mary comes running into the front room with her apron on. “Mýa, I didn’t hear you come in. How did it go yesterday? And why didn’t you call us last night?”

  “I got the gig, and she’s paying me four hundred a show! I’ll finally be able to afford to buy a home.”

  “Mýa, that is wonderful!” Mary says.

  I look at Jack, waiting for him to say something.

  “You’re fired.”

  “What? Wait, Jack—”

  “No, Mýa. It’s time. I told you that I wouldn’t allow you to keep being a waitress, and I meant it.”

  I look at Mary, hoping that she will jump in here and help plead my case.

  “We’re going to miss having you there, honey, but it’s time,” Mary says with tears in her eyes.

  “Jack, please give me a few months. The gig is only Thursday through Sunday, and I don’t even have to be there until four, so I could still work the breakfast shifts those days.” Jack shakes his head. “Okay, then, let me work at the restaurant Monday through Wednesday.”

  Mary takes a seat. “I just realized this means you won’t be able to come for our Sunday dinners anymore.”

  “Why don’t we move them to Monday?” I say. “And you and Jack can come to see me perform on Sundays.”

  Mary’s face lights up. “It won’t be quite the same, but it could still work. Jack, what do you think?”

  “That’s fine. We’ll move our Sunday dinners to Monday and hear you perform on Sundays. It will have to be earlier on Sundays; you know we have to get to bed early.”

  “The place opens at six, so you and Mary can come for the first part of the show and then leave. But what about me working Monday through Wednesday for the first couple of months?”

  Jack lets
out a long sigh and then smiles. “Three months and breakfast only, starting next week, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. You need a day off, Mýa.”

  “Deal,” I say.

  Chapter Fifty

  September 6, 1994

  I put my journal down and lean my head against my headboard as I listen to the rain coming down outside. It’s soothing and sad. It sounds like the sky is crying. Maybe it’s crying for me, shedding the tears that I can’t allow to fall as I push through each day without Michael.

  I pick my journal back up and carefully tear out a few blank pages from the back.

  Dear Michael,

  I pray this letter doesn’t go unopened. I wish I knew if you were missing me as much as I am missing you.

  I can’t even look at the black velvet box. It sits on my nightstand, waiting for you to come back and slip the ring on my finger. Please, Michael. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.

  You once showed me a picture you took of an older couple kissing on a bridge. You called it Love Endures. But I guess you didn’t mean for that to apply to us.

  Aren’t I worth it? You once said that I was.

  Isn’t our love strong enough to get through this? Strong enough to help us find a way to see our future together?

  Since that night, that fateful night, I’ve come to realize how much I needed to forgive myself. How much I needed to let go of the past. I learned that the past couldn’t keep me warm at night.

  Real love doesn’t come often. Some never touch it. But we did. We wrapped ourselves in it.

  Real love has an aroma. Some never get to smell its beautiful scent. But we bathed in it.

  I could go on and on describing real love, but all I have to do is think about you and what we shared—the way you made me feel.

  So now I ask you to think about me. The way I made you feel.

  Come back to me.

  Love,

  Mýa

  Chapter Fifty-one

  My life is changing. It’s a hard reality for me to grasp. Knowing that this detour is good for me should make it easier for me to wrap my head around, but it doesn’t. I feel strange walking into Jack’s and knowing that for the next three months, I’ll only be here two days a week, and then that’s the end. A four-year journey has brought me to this point, but now it’s closing. It’s even harder for me to accept that this exciting new chapter in my life is being written without Michael.

  I keep telling myself to snap out it. To accept it. To find happiness in myself and let go of the things that I have no control over. Like Michael’s decision to walk away from us.

  From me.

  “Fall is coming in soon,” Jack says as he begins taking the chairs off the tables in preparation for the breakfast crowd.

  “Just a couple of weeks away,” I say, putting my purse down so I can help him. I can tell there’s something on his mind. “Everything okay, Jack? You look deep in thought, and you were pretty quiet at dinner last night.”

  “Nothing is wrong, kid. You decide where you’re going to buy your house?”

  “It’s all still too new. I’ll wait until after I’ve signed that contract on Thursday and have been working there a good six months before I even consider it.” I wait for him to tell me to go for it now, but he doesn’t say anything.

  It’s almost silent when Mary comes up front with the flowers and starts putting them in the vases. Finally, I can’t take the awkwardness anymore.

  “What’s going on here?” I demand.

  Mary looks up. “Nothing. Why?”

  “You two are never this quiet.”

  “Jack has a doctor’s appointment today. You know how he gets when he has to see the doctor. He’ll never admit it, but I think he’s afraid of needles.”

  The simple explanation makes me feel a bit better, and my shoulders relax. “I don’t blame him. I can’t stand them, either.”

  “He’ll be back to his normal grumpy self once it’s all over.”

  “I can hear both of you,” Jack says. Mary and I look at each other and grin.

  “By the way,” she says to me. “Jack’s nephew is coming by the house tonight. Why don’t you come over, too? We might as well start having our family dinners on Mondays now.”

  “Sounds good. I’ve never met Jack’s nephew before.”

  “That’s because he lives in New York. He moved out there to study under some well-known chef. We haven’t seen Matt for thirteen—no, fifteen years.”

  “That’s a long time. Is he here for good or just visiting?”

  Mary glances over at Jack. “He’s here for business. It will be so nice to see him. He was such a quirky kid, but boy, could he cook.”

  “He’s a spoiled kid who doesn’t appreciate the family business, is what he is,” Jack says as he storms into the kitchen.

  “Wow. Now I know exactly how Jack really feels about him.”

  “Don’t pay Jack any mind. Matt helped Jack here all through high school, but once he graduated, he left. Jack hasn’t forgiven him.”

  “Jack’s the most forgiving man I know, so there has to be more to the story.”

  Mary edges closer to me, lowering her voice. “Jack will never tell anyone this, but he pleaded with Matt to stay. He loved having him in the kitchen with him. You should have seen the two of them. When Matt decided to go to New York, he and Jack got into a nasty argument, and some hurtful words came out of both of them. Matt told Jack that making pancakes was not real cooking, and that he wanted to be trained by a real chef.”

  “Ouch. I can see why Jack is still hurt.”

  “Yeah. They haven’t spoken since. But I’m hoping that tonight they can find a way to forgive each other. It’s been long enough.”

  “Apparently not, according to Jack,” I say.

  “Jack knows what he has to do. He’ll do the right thing.”

  “I hope so. You know how stubborn Jack can be.”

  “I’m not worried about Jack’s stubbornness. What needs to happen will happen,” Mary says as we head into the kitchen.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  I arrive at Jack and Mary’s house wearing jeans and a blue floral shirt.

  “Looks like you finally washed your clothes,” Mary says, glancing my way as she covers a couple of thinly sliced chicken breasts with olive oil.

  “I know, right? It feels good to finally get back into my jeans. Dresses and skirts were starting to take over my life. Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s in the bedroom, lying down.”

  “He okay?”

  “He’s fine. Just a little tired from his doctor’s visit. You know how those physicals can wear a person out.”

  “It’s hard to imagine Jack getting worn out.”

  “We all have our limitations. Sometimes it just takes some of us longer to accept them.”

  “So true.” I had a feeling she was speaking more about me than Jack.

  “Nothing from Michael yet?” Mary says suddenly, turning the oven on. “Did you send him the letter?” she asks as she moves toward the counter and folds her hands on top of it.

  I pull a stool out from under the counter and take a seat. “Not a sound from him, but yes, I finally sent him the letter. I imagine that, by now, it’s probably sitting on his dresser, unopened, or in the trash.”

  She frowns and then glances back at the oven to check if the warming light has gone off or not. “He just needs time.”

  I rest my hands on top of the counter as well. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. It’s been weeks. I’m starting to wonder if Michael loved me as much as he said he did.”

  A crease forms on her forehead. “I don’t think that’s a fair assessment to make,” Mary says as she makes her way back over to the oven and then places the chicken inside. “It’s not like the situation is an easy one. It was his brothe
r, after all.”

  “I know. I just miss Michael so much.” I can’t help but feel like a little girl pouting because she can’t have something she wants.

  “Mýa, I think you might have to prepare yourself for the worst. Michael may not ever be able to forgive you. I’m sorry. I know that sounds harsh, but you need to hear it.”

  I frown, but I know she’s right. “It’s not harsh. I’ve thought a lot about that possible reality. If it wasn’t for journaling every night, I don’t think I would be able to stop crying.”

  “Journaling helps.”

  “It sure does. But enough about my dead love life. Where’s the quirky nephew?” I ask as Mary starts making a mushroom cream sauce for the chicken.

  “I’m right here,” he says, placing his cell phone in his pocket as he walks into the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a white shirt. I take in his round blue eyes, curly brownish-blond hair, and nicely toned build. Our eyes meet and linger for a second or two before he focuses back on his aunt. “Sorry, Mary. That call took longer than I expected.”

  “Everything okay?” she asks him as I look away.

  “Yes, everything is fine. I just wanted to see if the airline found my clothes yet,” he says.

  “What did they say?”

  “They haven’t, so it looks like I’m going to have to go and buy this quirky boy some new clothes.” He glances my way and winks.

  I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I was just—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says with a grin. “I was a quirky kid when I was younger, but I think I’ve grown out of that now, don’t you think?”

  He’s got the confidence thing down pat.

  I feel myself blushing as my eyes roam his face and watch the movement of his throat when he swallows.

  “Of course you have. You’ve become a handsome young man,” Mary says with a slight grin, having caught me watching him as he walks over to taste her sauce. “Matt, did you say hello to Mýa?”