Rhythms of Love. Beverly Jenkins
“You want to produce Reg?”
“Maybe, but I need to talk to her.”
“Hold on.” She moved aside a stack of white towels piled neatly on the cleaning cart and took out a cell phone hidden beneath. “Do you mind if I come in?” she asked him while punching up a number and placing the phone against her ear. “Not supposed to be on the phone. I get caught one more time, Ms. Harold’s going to fire me for sure.”
Jamal, wondering how anyone could be so animated this early in the morning, stepped aside to let her in.
“She isn’t answering.” The woman listened for a few more silent seconds then ended the call. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Can I have her number?”
“No. You may be famous, but I don’t know you like that.”
He understood, and, truthfully, applauded her caution. “Can I ask your name?”
“Trina Maxwell.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Maxwell.”
“Same here. Does Reggie know how cute you are?” she asked slyly.
He laughed. “We didn’t talk about that.”
“And you didn’t get her number either?”
“No. I did give her my card. She promised to call, but didn’t.”
“That’s because no woman in her right mind keeps a promise to a stranger. You live in L.A.?”
“Yes.”
Jamal was accustomed to women hitting on him, and he could see Trina sizing him up. “What’s Reggie’s real name?” he asked.
“Regina. Regina Vaughn.”
“Will you let her know how serious I am? All I want to do is to put her in the studio, nothing more.”
“You must be blind then, because girlfriend is gorgeous, even though she refuses to work it.”
“No. Not blind. Just professional.”
“Okay. I’ll track her down and see if I can’t hook you up. Just remember I get to carry her moneybags once she gets famous.”
“Noted.”
“Good. I’ll come back and clean your room after you finish your breakfast. Ciao.”
“Ciao.” A pleased Jamal closed the door. He now had an ally.
Seated at the piano, Reggie stopped playing in the middle of the song and glared at the reason. “Shana Thomas, why are you singing with the sopranos?”
The nine-year-old tried to look defiant for a minute, but in the face of Reggie’s obvious displeasure seemed to think better of that approach and looked away.
Reggie sighed. “How many times do we have to do this, girl? You have a beautiful alto voice, please use it the way you’re supposed to.”
“Yeah, you’re making the rest of us sing flat,” ten-year-old Alta Wayne snapped at Shana.
Grumbles sounded from the rest of the twenty-five-member choir of the Madame Sissieretta Jones Elementary School of Music. It was unanimous; Shana was getting on everybody’s last nerve.
“Okay, settle down,” she warned the grumblers.
Shana’s twin, Shanice, gave her sister an impatient look. “Quit it, or I’m telling Mama.”
Good, Reggie thought to herself. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t going to be happy hearing that her joke-loving daughter was cutting up at rehearsal again.
“All right, let’s start over.” Reggie played the opening chords and the children raised their voices in the singing of “Peace Be Still.” The sweet angelic tones filled the old gym and the purity gave Reggie goose bumps. They were fine-tuning the gospel concert scheduled for tomorrow evening. “Beautiful,” she said quietly as she accompanied them.
Madame Sissieretta Jones, for whom the school was named, was one of the most famous singers of the nineteenth century and the first black woman to sing at Carnegie Hall. The staff’s emphasis on academic excellence and music had resulted in much praise, but like most big-city schools, it struggled to pay its bills. There were infrastructure issues, too. The old building they were using was in dire need of a new furnace. The staff and parents hoped tomorrow’s fundraising concert would help with the purchase of a new one.
The choir was in the middle of Kirk Franklin’s “Brighter Day” when Reggie noticed Trina’s quiet entrance into the gym. Trina waved and Reggie smiled in response, but the jaw-dropping sight of Jamal Reynolds entering on Trina’s heels almost made Reggie lose her place on the piano keys. How in the world? Focusing on the faces of the kids in an effort to calm herself, she did her best to concentrate on the music and not on the tall, dark and handsome man standing by the door, but it was hard.
As the rehearsal continued, Jamal and Trina took seats on chairs positioned a short distance away from where the kids were practicing. Sitting quietly, an enthralled Jamal watched and listened. He couldn’t decide which was more impressive, the voices of the choir or the musical skills of the woman seated at the piano. He knew her name now—Regina Vaughn. From a producer’s point of view, the name had a good sound. Trina had described her as about five foot three, ponytail, cute little body, and that was in her favor, too. He could already envision her draped in a gorgeous gown on stage. He noted the flawless autumn-brown skin and ran his eyes over her erect posture at the piano. He could tell by the way she was beaming at the students that she loved what she was doing.
This wasn’t what he’d expected when Trina invited him to tag along. She’d told him Regina volunteered at a school on her days off, and he assumed that meant in a custodial capacity. Was he ever wrong. He was blown away by her expertise on the keys and the way she directed the children’s intonation and pace. Regina Vaughn was multifaceted; something else he found surprising. Where he came from people were about one thing—getting that break and making it to the top by any means necessary. No one he knew had ever volunteered their time to work with an elementary school’s choir unless there was something in it for them, but that didn’t appear to be the case here. She seemed genuinely enthused.
He also noted that after initially making eye contact with him upon his entrance she hadn’t looked his way again, not even once. More accustomed to women clamoring for his attention, he was beginning to see that a man’s ego was not Ms. Regina Vaughn’s priority, and he kind of liked that. A rousing rendition of “Wade in the Water” ended the rehearsal. Before the children could disperse, Reggie stood and asked, “What time does the concert start tomorrow?”
Twenty-five kids answered as one. “Seven.”
“And what time are you supposed to report to the music room?”
“Five-thirty.”
She cupped her hand around her ear. “I didn’t hear you.”
Giggling, they shouted, “Five-thirty!”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. You sang like angels today.”
The grinning kids grabbed up their coats and backpacks and headed out the door. Only after they were all gone did Reggie turn to Trina and Jamal. “Trina, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
Trina told Jamal, “If she kills me, my flatirons go to my cousin down in Atlanta.”
Reggie rolled her eyes. “Will you excuse us for a moment, Mr. Reynolds?”
He gave her a nod and she led Trina out into the hallway.
“What the hell are you doing with him?”
“He wanted to see you again, so I obliged. All he could talk about was you. Promised him I’d hook you two up.”
“And suppose I don’t want