are not getting in that man’s car, Esther,” she insisted softly, but not softly enough. Maybe it was a color thing. Everyone I’d ever known was suspicious of everyone else. I understood her mistrust, but her reaction to me didn’t feel like a general lack of trust. It seemed specific. I didn’t try to reassure her. How could I? I had no idea what she was afraid of. My size? My color? My interest in Esther? Maybe it was all three, but she stepped between us once more.
“Please just go on, Mr. Lament. I know who you are. I know who your daddy is too. I knew the moment I saw you. Just go on. We don’t want any trouble.”
“You know who I am?” I asked, flummoxed.
“You know his father?” Esther said, frowning.
“I know his k-kind,” Gloria Mine stammered. She grabbed Esther’s arm again and began pulling.
“Mama. Go on ahead. I’ll see you at home,” Esther said. Whatever her “mama’s” problem was with me, Esther didn’t share it. I had a feeling it had something to do with Bo Johnson and my father. But that was none of my business, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to start asking questions or offering up explanations when I didn’t have any.
“No.” Gloria Mine shook her head. “I won’t leave you alone with him.”
“I’ve been alone with him before, and I survived just fine,” Esther retorted. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’ll walk you both to the bus,” I offered. “No problem. I just need a minute. We’ll walk and talk.”
Gloria nodded, reluctant, but she started walking, looking over her shoulder to make sure we were following.
“Shall we?” I asked, offering my arm. Esther rolled her eyes but didn’t take it, and we trailed after the woman, widening the space slightly so she wouldn’t hear.
“Goodness’ sake. You’d think I was five years old,” Esther said under her breath.
“She thinks she knows me.”
“She knows your type.”
“And what type is that, Baby Ruth?” My question was sharp; I used the nickname to soften it.
“You don’t get to call me that,” she muttered.
“Then you don’t get to tell me what type of man I am.”
She looked up at me, eyes searching, and then nodded. “Fair enough.”
“I have an appointment for you. Tomorrow. Five o’clock at Atlantic Records. Can you do it?”
“Me? Or the band?” she asked, hesitant.
“Not the band. Just you,” I said. I didn’t want to deal with Money. Not until I knew if Ahmet was interested. And if Ahmet was interested, I could turn Esther and Money and the rest all over to him and be done with it.
“No. They have to come too.” She was already shaking her head.
“I’m not trying to cut them out, Esther. But I have a half hour—that’s all—with the main man at Atlantic tomorrow afternoon. If he likes you, maybe we’ll get more. This isn’t recording time, though he’ll need to hear you sing.”
“Sing . . . without the band.”
“I’ll play for you. We’ll do a stripped-down version of the songs we worked on at Shimmy’s . . . just so he can hear you and know what we’ve got.”
“We?”
“Minefield.”
“Not you?”
“I’m a songwriter. Minefield needs a label if you’re going to get airtime. Atlantic’s the best. This is a big opportunity. Take it.”
Esther stopped walking. I stopped too. Her mother kept trudging along, not realizing we weren’t following anymore.
“I said I’d do anything,” she muttered.
“Yeah. You did,” I said, wry. “And this will be much easier than what you offered. I promise.”
She closed her eyes, lifting her face to the dark November sky like she was praying for guidance. Her lips were free of paint and her corkscrew curls were covered with a scarf, most likely to preserve them and keep them clean. Yet she was so damn pretty I had to look away.
“I clean that house back there. And that one”—she pointed—“and two on the next row. Mama and I wash clothes and tend children and scrub floors. And then at night I sing so that in twenty years I won’t be where she is now. At this rate, I don’t have much hope. So I’m going to trust you, Lament, that you aren’t going to make me choose between my family and my future.”
“Esther?” Gloria Mine had noticed the halt in our progress. The bus was coming.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, right here, at four fifteen,” I said, turning back toward my car. “I’m not making any promises. But bring your power shoes and leave the