is one. If Ahmet decides to offer you a place on his label, the time will most likely be covered by the contract. I’ll negotiate a percentage with him on the songs.” I was making shit up. Ahmet had said nothing like that, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. If I had to, I’d foot the bill for the session. I’d been planning to all along. It would ease my guilt when I split.
“I can’t believe I met Ray Charles—and sang for him—and I wasn’t even wearing my shoes.” She started to laugh.
“He can’t see, Baby Ruth. He had no idea you weren’t wearing any shoes.”
That caught her up short, the truth of my words shaking her momentarily, and then she laughed harder. “I wanted to slap you so hard, Benny Lament.”
“I know.” I started to laugh too.
“I wanted to slap you and break Mr. Ahmet’s glasses and throw that microphone at the wall. But mostly I just wanted to get out of there.”
“But you sang instead.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. And I got to meet Mr. Ray Charles in my bare feet.” She sighed, the sound a happy moan, and she closed her eyes like she wanted to relive it.
“Thank you,” she added softly. She didn’t open her eyes, and I wondered if it was easier for her that way.
“For what?”
“You didn’t have to do any of this. I really don’t know why you are doing it. You don’t need me. That’s perfectly clear. You got your own thing going.” She paused for a moment, like she was gearing up to jump. “You don’t need me. But I need you. I need you. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, ignoring the little voice that wanted to argue with her, the part of me that wanted to warn her that I wasn’t sticking around, that I was out just as soon as I got her squared away.
I started the car and pulled out onto streets that weren’t nearly as busy as they’d been hours before. Esther wasn’t frantic or angry anymore either. She wasn’t even laughing. She was contemplative and quiet, and I didn’t know how to be with this Esther.
She began to nod and slump about five minutes later, and I realized with a start that she’d fallen asleep. All her starch was gone. Her stiff spine and her haughty chin had collapsed beneath her fatigue. I was afraid she would rap her nodding head against the dashboard, and when we stopped at a red light, I hooked her legs with my right arm and turned her body toward me, so her head and her knees rested against the seat. She looked about twelve years old.
I remembered the way to get her home, and I let her sleep until we pulled up in front of her yellow building on Striver’s Row.
When I said her name she didn’t even stir. I turned off the car and walked around to the passenger side. I gathered her things from the back seat—the uniform, the torn hose, the rejected red dress—and put them in her bag, and still she slept.
“Esther?” I shook her gently. It took me several more tries to rouse her, and when she finally opened her eyes, it took her a moment to fully register where she was.
“You’re home.”
“Did I fall asleep?” she gasped. “I never do that.”
“Come on.” I held her arm as she wobbled from the car. “Here’s your bag. I’ll wait here to make sure you get inside all right.”
“I never do that,” she repeated, her hands going to her hair. The laces of her black shoes had come undone, and I crouched to tie them, afraid she would trip, especially in her current state.
“Do you have your keys?” I said, standing once more. She was staring at me like I was crazy. She looked down at her feet and back at me like no one had ever tied her shoes before.
“I’m not drunk, Benny. I’m just tired, and yes. I have my keys,” she said, but there was no bite in her tone. She climbed the steps like they were Mount Everest, but she made it to the top and unlocked the door.
“Good night, Benny,” she said.
“Good night, Esther.”
She paused, her hand on the door, and looked back at me. “You can call me Baby Ruth if you want to.”
Esther had her brothers waiting, instruments in hand, outside Atlantic Records on Saturday morning, and she was wearing high-heeled lime-green pumps and a matching