never his gift. Your claim is absurd.” His head leaned to the side, slowly, and the brows on his beetle-like face hiked as though begging. “Promise me you’ll never repeat such blasphemy again. I’d hate for your precious spirit to be thwarted.”
I couldn’t help my smile as I inhaled and shook my head. Raj could sing his ass off. He could do that better than he could box, and Ragee McKinnon got busy with one-twos. To further bite my tongue, I took a sip of the scotch. The shit burnt my damn soul. I coughed up a burp and my eyes watered.
“You okay, dear heart?” Jimmy sounded alarmed. “I would pat your back uselessly like mothers do children, but I take it you sat so far away for a reason.”
I managed my index in the air. “I’m fine,” coughed up seconds later. When I was able to breathe again, I examined the glass in my hand. “I’ve never had this before.”
“It’s for adults. You, dear heart, are no adult.” He plucked his cigarette in his mouth and sighed, hand going dramatically to his chest. “This is gonna pucker your asshole. Please don’t tell me your mother’s going to be banging down my door in a few days!”
As though not being able to breathe wasn’t hard enough, I collapsed into the sofa, laughing hard as hell. “No.”
“Good.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’m an old queen. Too damn old to be fighting.”
“What’s he singing about?” I asked about the song. It seemed sad.
Jimmy plucked growing ashes into a tray and let out a deep breath. “About a love a fool’ll never see again. A hope he’ll never have again.” He inhaled quietly, eyes to the large, rectangular rug covering most of the dark hardwood floor. “And a magic he’ll never forget.”
All the humor from moments ago disappeared. “So, you’re Ashton’s….stepdad?”
“Ahhhh…” He nodded, then took another smoke and let it out. “So he, at least, told you that?”
“I guess I figured it. So, you two were married?”
“Yup, although it wasn’t acknowledged much of anywhere legally. We knew it. We exchanged vows for forever. And our forever ended before we imagined.”
Jimmy bobbed his head to a new song that had just begun. It sounded like the same guy, and even sadder.
“Who’s this?”
Jimmy’s chin dipped. “Mr. Vandross again.” He turned to me with a sad smile. “Superstar.” I listened as he enjoyed it. “You know I met him?”
“This guy singing?”
He nodded, pulling in more nicotine. He let it out toward the ceiling. “In 1985 when I hosted a juke joint, which was a club set up for dancing and live entertainment. It was the last of its kind when those types of establishments made an impact on the community. Mr. Vandross came in with his people, just to check it out. Well, honey, before long, I had the man on stage, belting, “If Only for One Night.”” Jimmy’s eyes closed as his little hand clipping the cigarette stretched across his chest. “Mmmm! His cords brought me to tears.”
“Wow,” I murmured, braving another sip. Sounds like Raj, for real. The burn was just as intense on my tongue and going down my throat. “He was that good.”
“The best, hunny. And almost psychic.”
“What do you mean?”
“The week before, a young, tall handsome man swept through the club. He had this magic about him I couldn’t resist.” He began swaying his shoulders, beetle eyes squinted. “Full of confident masculinity, worldly charm, and…dishonesty. The motherfucker was arrogant down to his Italian shoes. And he came in with a full suit and sexy eggplant tie.” Jimmy plucked at his nails.
My mind started working in overdrive. Warm Christmas decorations, sad love song playlist, a tray of food for a small party, two glasses, and one lonely man.
I took a small sip, ignoring the loosening of my guard as the liquid burned on the way down, and licked my lips. “Robert?” I remembered his name from when Jimmy mentioned the last time they’d done Christmas here.
Jimmy didn’t move from his stuck position, eyes to the floor as he whispered, “The one and only.”
I knew it. Experiencing his sadness was as real as hearing these songs.
“What you did at the club: what’s a host?”
“A host is when you do everything from top to bottom,” Jimmy answered right away and with loud attitude. “The owner, an Irishman who lived in Scotch Plains, didn’t think the club would last past a year when he hired me. Shit, was he wrong. Me, along