“I know where I’ll take you,” he said against my lips.
“I’ll stay with you the whole time,” I said, unsure if it would be welcome or insulting.
“Good.”
A few blocks later, Caleb pointed to the right and said, “I used to live four blocks that way.”
We walked in silence, the sounds of the city spilling out from balconies and open doors, from street corners and car stereos. It felt like time had stopped somehow, as if we’d been here forever, and also for no time at all. We passed a huge house, its balcony windows flung open to the night, and saw a couple dancing to big-band music, laughing as they twirled.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Caleb said.
“Sorry, what?”
Caleb snorted. “That was all dramatic in my head.”
“Oh, the song? Yes? For real?”
He took my hand and tucked it against his side.
“Yeah, I mean, what’s the worst that could happen. Not like I ain’t been booed off a stage before.” He shrugged, all casual bravado, but I knew there was nothing casual about his decision.
“This is it,” Caleb said a few blocks later. We’d turned right as we got to a highway overpass, and it was dark and less populated. The street was strangely quiet, houses and darkened businesses all along it, but when the door opened, the sounds of the bar spilled out. The man who let us in had a hat pulled down low over his eyes, but when the door shut behind us, a woman whistled.
“Caleb Whitman. We all thought you was dead, boy.”
“I was,” Caleb said. “Hey, Dot.”
Caleb leaned in and hugged the woman, and she kissed him on the cheek. She had luminous dark skin and short natural hair bleached platinum blond. On the tall side, she emphasized her muscular arms and toned stomach with a tight white dress that wrapped around her like bandages.
“Who’s your friend?”
“This is Theo. He’s with me.”
I couldn’t help but smile at how firmly Caleb said it.
“Hi,” I said, reaching to shake her hand. Her grip practically crushed me and I winced. She shot me a little smile.
“Hey, he needs that hand,” Caleb said, dropping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. Dot relented and Caleb gave me a firm pat on the back, but didn’t leave his arm around me.
Dot was considering Caleb and her gaze was intense enough to flay him bare.
“Music. You out?” she asked.
“I have been. But”—he shot a look at me—“I’m maybe wading back into the Mississippi. You know how it goes.”
“I do,” Dot said. Then she cast a glance at me, quick as a knife blade. “You watch yourself in there, see. She muddy. And she changing course.”
“I’m a big boy, Dot. And I can swim. But thanks.” He kissed her cheek.
“Is this metaphor gonna stretch any thinner?” I asked. “Because the river would like to get a damn drink and listen to some music.”
Caleb snorted, shaking his head, and a smile teased the corners of Dot’s mouth. She inclined her head toward the archway and followed us through.
The club was dim, and what light there was had a bluish cast. It lit up the smoke in the air like crepuscular mountain fog, and made the red-lit stage gleam like a ruby. We ordered at the bar, then stood at a high-top table that a server cleared the moment Dot made eye contact with him.
Onstage, a woman sang and played piano, the music bubbling forth like magma, her face contorted like she’d opened a vein. Her voice was silken, ethereal, the piano smooth and dark. She sang with her head tipped back, never looking at the keys or the crowd. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“That,” Dot said, pointing with a red-tipped finger, “is Belladonna Prejean. You heard of her?”
Caleb nodded. “I’ve seen her here before. Had to have been four or five years ago. She had a trumpeter then—a white man, small. Different music, but I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”
“Mm-hmm, that’s her. She’s solo now. It’s better.” She tapped her chest over her heart, and I sensed a long story behind her straightforward words.
Belladonna Prejean played for an hour or so more, one song bleeding into the next, sometimes without the audience noticing. Perhaps without her noticing, herself. It was like she cast a spell over the whole club, without ever opening her eyes. When she stopped playing, it was abrupt—as if she’d simply run out of notes. She stood shakily and bobbed a half-bow-half-curtsy to the audience. Then one of the servers walked on with a glass of water, handed it to her, and led her offstage.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.
“Yup,” murmured Caleb.
“Mm-hmm,” Dot said.
And I could still taste her music on my tongue.
Chapter 18
Caleb
“God, I’ve missed these,” I groaned, licking powdered sugar off my fingers. We were sitting by the river, sipping coffee with a bag of warm beignets between us. Theo’s black-jean-clad thighs had been dappled with powdered sugar immediately, and there were streaks now where he’d tried to wipe it away. He muttered in annoyance and held the beignet off to the right, twisting awkwardly to take another bite and nearly knocking over his coffee.