From Africa Ch. 07

London, 1951

'I have every recording you've released, and I just want to say how much I enjoy your music...' I was trying to give this nice elderly woman my full attention, but my eye kept wandering to the crowd standing behind her, waiting to get the chance to meet me.

'Thank you,' I smiled at her, still distracted by the endless line of admirers.

Anna was standing beside me, looking grim and disapproving as always. Mr. Stanley had arranged this entire event, and I had already been standing in my stiff new high-heeled pumps for so long, that my back was beginning to hurt. Anna must have seen me wavering, because I felt her hand push at me a little, furtively ordering me to improve my posture. I cut my eyes at her, aching to tell her that the breath constricting corset and the pinching girdle I wore beneath my evening gown were more than enough to keep me from slouching.

'Oh, sorry, Miss...' A rather homely young man took my hand a little too firmly. 'I know those things are valuable...quite valuable... they should be cast in gold, in my opinion...'

'Thank you...'

These meeting events after performances were Mr. Stanley's idea of the perfect way to gain notoriety, and to sell more concert tickets. The trick was that I was supposed to present the image of a wholesome, personable, and cultured lady who still had enough time in her busy day to shake hands with her adoring admirers.

'Anna,' I whispered. 'I need to sit down for a moment.'

'Soon,' Anna whispered back, without changing her flat facial expression.

'...You've grown into such a lady, I was just telling another acquaintance of mine, Mon Amie, how you've blossomed...'

I had been looking down at her hands, when I heard her voice. When I looked up, I smiled at Henriette. I hugged her, since it had been almost two years since I had seen her.

'What are you doing here?' I asked her, taking in her lovely visage. She was more beautiful than ever.

'Visiting my friends, of course. And I came to see you play. You are wonderful, Olivia. I'm so proud of you!' She smiled for a moment, before taking my hand again. 'I suppose I have to move aside now, for your other admirers...'

'I want to see you. Will you come?'

'Of course, Mon Amie. I only need your address...'

'Anna will give it to you...' I turned to see my sister's face grow even paler as she stood face to face with Henriette.

'I will see you soon...' Henriette blew a kiss at me before she walked off with Anna.

I watched her move away from me, blindly shaking the hand of the next person in the endless line.

Henriette did visit me at my tiny flat the next week, confused by the modest décor.

'What are you doing with your money, Mon Amie? You're definitely not spending it on furnishings...'

'My neighbors are partial to piano music, so I'm more than happy to stay here,' I smiled.

'But, it's so small,' she looked around with wide eyes.

'I wouldn't know what to do with a large house, Henriette. Don't you remember my father's house? I still have bruises from bumping into the furniture because all of the rooms were too crowded.'

'Ah, yes... your father's house... How is he?'

'I'm sorry...' I look down, suddenly remembering how Henriette left suddenly, that summer two years before. I had been left to guess what had happened between them, finally assuming that Dad had still refused to marry her.

'I am over it, Mon Amie. Some things are just not meant to be...'

When she said this, I immediately thought of Olu. I couldn't help blushing, and Henriette seemed to be reading my mind.

'...As other things seem to be destined by the fates...'

I shook my head.

'You don't think so, Olivia?'

I remembered how Olu broke my heart, how he left me, without saying goodbye. I thought of it every night, in the moments before I fell asleep, wondering how he could have just left like that. I'd refused to speak of him until now; Anna never had any reason to talk about him, and Dad would bring him up occasionally, but he never went into any details.

'Do you speak to him often? Do you write to each other?'

'Who are you talking about?' I feigned ignorance.

'Olusegun, of course.'

'No.'

'Where is he now? Is he still working with Leonard?'

'No.'

'Olivia? What has happened?' she touched my hand with a look of concern on her face.

'Olu left a few months after you did. He was just gone one day. He left a note for Dad, but said nothing to me...' I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

'What did he say in the note?'

'He just said that he wanted to be his own man. He said that he loved my father, and that he was indebted to him for all that he'd done for him, and that he'd make my father proud one day...'

'How did Leonard take it?'

It had broken my father's heart as well. Olu was like a son to him, and his sudden departure left my father depressed and confused for weeks.

'Not well...'

'I am sorry to hear this, Mon Amie... I wish I could have been there to provide some comfort.'

I remembered how I'd cried, for days, wondering if I had done something to anger him, something to make him want to leave. Dad was too consumed with his own grief to wonder much about mine; I'd tried to hide it as much as possible. After he'd gotten over the initial shock, he spent the next few weeks trying to find another assistant, but he was never satisfied with any of the qualified candidates.

I poured myself into my music, practicing late into the night, until my fingers would begin to cramp. Dad had the presence of mind to recruit a French teacher from a school in Lagos to tutor me, but I had to travel all the way to the city for my lessons, because he refused to come out to the wilderness to see me. Between traveling and practicing, I'd assumed that I would be too tired to think about Olu, but I still grieved his departure.

My father and I lived this way for a long time, ignoring the void that had been placed in our lives when Olu left. He told me that I had become more serious, behaving more like a mature woman than a playful young girl. Anna returned after her honeymoon to distract us for a while, planning my London debut, and all of the necessary stylistic changes that had to be made. Mr. Stanley was often huddled over the desk with my father, convincing him of a sure path to my success as a concert pianist. I was always busy, always preoccupied, but yet, always thinking of Olu, in the back of my mind.

After another spring and summer had passed, Mr. Stanley deemed it time for me to move to London. Anna would be with me for the first six months of my stay, and then, Miss Peake would return to be my chaperone. I felt so numb, that I didn't even care if William was the one who had to watch over me; I didn't feel the desire to do anything outside of performing, anyway.

Dad saw me off, with a strange look on his face. He was going to be alone, now, with no one to talk to but William, who was so deferential all the time, that he never really said anything intriguing or original. I worried about my father, wondering if he would go crazy from the boredom of being on the ranch all alone, with no chance for stimulating conversation on a day to day basis.

I moved to London, under Anna's watchful eye. She chose the neighborhood that we were to stay in, the places we ate, and the leisure activities that I took part in. She even chose the hairstyle I would have, when we spent an entire day traveling from one salon to the next, in her quest to change me from the wild, untamed country girl to an urbane, polished and poised lady.

Hence, the armor that I had to wear everyday, to tuck in certain parts and to enhance and expose others. I was sore for the first few weeks that wore my new wardrobe; Anna kept trying to assure me that I was at the height of fashion. She'd thrown all of my old clothes out, dismissing them as faded rags that weren't fit to clean with. Whenever I looked at my reflection, I would stand mesmerized at the transformation. I looked like a movie star, with powder to conceal my freckles, bright red lipstick to accent my lips, a haircut and a permanent wave to lift my hair from my shoulders and leave me with bouncing curls. A new set of brassieres pushed my full breasts up so far, that I had to stretch my neck in order to see over them. At first glance, I looked quite similar to Henriette, only, I wasn't quite as buxom as she was. Anna must have noticed the similarity, because she had a dismayed look on her face after she saw the initial transformation. She ordered the stylist to cut my hair shorter, telling her that I looked like a gypsy with my dark curls draping my shoulders.

I went through a series of photo shoots and other publicity events. Mr. Stanley was always there, directing traffic and answering questions. If there was anything I wanted, I was always provided with it, a fact that never ceased to amaze me. I felt guilty, demanding things all the time, so I was hesitant to ask for anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. I tried to be as frugal as possible, suddenly learning from my father the value of money.

Through all of this, I wondered if Olu was following my career, reading news clippings and collecting posters and records. I liked to think that he was; I had a certain amount of vanity, and I secretly hoped that he was pining for me, wherever he was. It helped me to make it through the nights that were so lonely and boring without him.

During the short time that I'd had with Olu, I learned that I loved all things sexual. I would get wet, just thinking of him, and I spent many days fighting to keep my mind focused on my work. If he was away at a dig during the day, I'd spend the afternoon touching myself, imagining his strong hands on me, his deep voice and wet breath in my ear, and his hard cock in my pussy. My brush hardly did the trick anymore; I had developed an attachment to Olu's penis, and he never failed to make me come by pumping it deep into me, climaxing with that deep sigh that always followed his frenetic grunting.

'You should try to find him, Mon Amie,' Henriette interrupted my memories.

'Olu?'

'Yes.'

'Olu doesn't want to be found. He's made that plain to see,' I frowned.

'He would not have left a note if that were true, Olivia. You should try to find him... I can help you...'

'No. Just leave it alone, Henriette. It's for the best.'

I'd also found life in London completely different from what I'd known as a child. The weather seemed to be colder, as were the people. I quickly realized that someone like Olu would not be welcome. I noticed that the black people there were vilified and shunned. We were a long way away from Africa, now, in an entirely different world. Anna wasted no time telling me that I could no longer be seen with anyone who was black; it would be the end of my career, before it had even begun. I resented this, but from what I could see and hear, I knew that it was true. It had been the same in America, but I hadn't mattered to me then, because I hadn't been so close to Olu. He was gone, anyway, so I thought that I wouldn't have to worry about it.

I managed to last about five months without tempting the fates. I was having a rare evening out, enjoying someone else's musical performance, with Anna and Mr. Stanley flanking me, watching my every move. Mark was visiting for a few weeks, so Anna had let down her guard a little, but not enough to allow me to venture far from her view for too long. Mr. Stanley had an interest in different types of music. He thought that American jazz was too popular to ignore, so he made it a point to expose himself to it, to learn more about it.

This band lacked the flash and pomp of others I'd seen; there were only five or six players, and they performed in a subdued manner. I liked the mellow quality of the performance. It was calming, soothing, almost. Mr. Stanley had procured front row seats, so I was too close to be completely comfortable. The music was too loud from where I sat, and I had to crane my neck in an uncomfortable position to actually look at the performers and not at the stage floor. I was surprised that Anna had allowed me to come, because the band was a group of American Negroes from New York.

I imagined that the pianist was looking at me whenever he turned toward the audience. He was handsome, in a crisp dark suit, and a muted blue necktie. He had a delicate mustache, highly trimmed, and barely there, enough to exhibit his masculinity, but not so much that it was distracting from the rest of his face. He had a nice set of full lips, which curved into a delightful smile when the bandleader introduced him. His nose was broad and distinctive; I secretly wondered what it might feel like pressed against mine. His eyes were narrow and dark; I tried not to think of Olu when I caught sight of them. He was brown skinned, dark, like chocolate, but not black, like an African. I looked away, blushing, when I found myself wondering what the rest of his body looked like.

He was smiling at me. I could finally tell, because he had locked his gaze upon me during a short break and never looked away, until they resumed the music. Just before he turned to strike the first chord, he winked at me. My throat was suddenly dry, and I felt nervous, afraid that Anna had seen it all, and would immediately whisk me away to the safety of my flat.

'Olivia,' Anna whispered.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the bad news.

'Mr. Stanley will escort you back to the flat... Mark is going to take me to a friend's for cocktails after.'

I heaved a sigh of relief, happy to realize that Mark was going to take Anna to a hotel to fuck her silly. They hadn't seen each other in two months, and Anna had been in a rather pleasant mood since Mark had come to visit. My relief was short-lived, as I remembered that I always felt uncomfortable being left alone with Mr. Stanley. He looked at me in a way that made me feel dirty, and his reassuring hugs and touches always lasted a few seconds too long.

'I can go on my own,' I muttered, but my voice was drowned out by the music.

After the concert, Mr. Stanley managed to secure a few moments to speak with the band members. Anna and Mark went along to be polite, but by that time, they were too distracted to appreciate the chance to meet the band. I scanned the room, looking for the pianist, frowning with disappointment when I couldn't find him.

'Are you enjoying yourself, Olivia?' Mr. Stanley asked me. 'I thought you'd like to meet the members of the group. I know that they are excited to meet you.'

'What do you mean?' I was still looking around.

'You've become quite famous already, Olivia. I think you've gained a few fans over in America already.'

'Oh...' I almost walked away from him, focusing on a certain tall black man in a dark suit.

'I'll be back in a moment,' Mr. Stanley touched my bare shoulders, trotting across the room to catch a man who was leaving.

'I feel honored to finally meet you...'

I turned around to stand face to face with my pianist. I was so nervous, that I couldn't even smile.

'I'm sorry, did I startle you?' his voice was deep and even, and it was unnerving to listen to the staccato rhythm of his American accent.

I looked up at him, surprised to discover that he was taller than I had imagined.

'No. I'm just a little nervous. You play very well.'

'You, nervous? I can't believe I'm hearing this... from none other than Olivia Blythe.'

He took my hand and held it for a moment. I'd discarded my gloves long before, so as our hands touched, I instantly noticed the roughness of his skin. His hand shake was tender but confident; most men tended to squeeze the life from my hand, or crush my fingers, but he almost caressed it, stroking it from the heel to my fingertips, making my stomach flutter, and my clit twinge in a single deft motion. I looked down, as I always do, at how our hands looked together. His fingers were long and squared at the tips, and his dark palm covered my pale hand, making mine look almost transparent beneath his.

'I'd kiss it,' he whispered, looking around, 'but I don't want to be thrown out of here on my ear.'

I laughed at this, finally able to smile.

He released my hand for an instant, to reach into his pocket. He pulled out a tiny folded piece of paper, and furtively slipped it into my palm.

'I'm here for the next few weeks,' he winked at me, and then walked away.

I slipped the piece of paper into my unused glove, hoping to find a solitary moment to open it later.

'Liv, did you want to stay much longer?' Mr. Stanley was beside me again. 'My business here is finished.'

'No...I'm ready to go home now,' I held my gloves, secretly fingering the tiny folded paper inside.

'Did you like this performance much?' he asked once we were inside the taxi, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.

'Yes. Yes, I did.'

'That's good then. I guess I'll have to look into others like it. I think it's important that you are exposed to a full palette of different musical styles. It makes your interviews sound more dynamic. And that impresses people, to hear that their favorite artiste has a fondness for a variety of tastes in music.'

I stiffened my back, to keep his hand from creeping any further down my arm.

'Are you cold, Liv?'

'No. I'm just a little tired.'

'Well,' he squeezed me a little, bringing his face close to my ear. 'You've had a long day... be sure to get plenty of rest. I wouldn't want that beautiful little head of yours to be weary.'

I clutched my gloves even tighter, trying to ignore him and his hot liquor tinged breath.

'Ah, we're almost there,' he announced.

I heaved a sigh of relief. I was ready to walk the rest of the way home.

'I'll walk you to the door, Liv... unless of course, you wanted to invite me up for coffee...'

'No, I think I'll turn in now.' I jumped out of the taxi before he could get out to open the door for me.

Once I was safely locked away in my flat, I hurriedly extracted the paper from my glove, eager to read it's message. I unfolded, and read it several times, almost memorizing it's heavy scrawl, and the name and address listed. My pianist friend's name was Raymond, and I immediately called the number he'd supplied, nervously waiting for the operator to connect me to his room.

'Hello?' a male American voice answered.

'Raymond?'

'Yes... is this who I think it is?'

'Yes...'

'I didn't think you would call.'

'Well, I have. I would like to see you.'

'I'd like that, too. But I think we'll have to find another place to meet.'

'Just tell me where to go, and I'll be there.'

He named another hotel, and I wrote it down, hoping that it wasn't too far away. He seemed to be reading my mind, because he described its location to me. 'It might take me a while to get there, so if you get there first, don't check in, just wait for me.'

'All right.'

'Well, I'll see you later.' He hung up quickly.

My nerves were almost raw now. My hands were shaking as I hurriedly changed out of my evening gown into something much more casual, and I paced around my bedroom for a few moments changing my mind several times in as many minutes. After I'd finally worked up the nerve to put on my coat and leave, I slipped out of my flat and trotted down the street, with my collar raised against the cold.

The hotel was a small, humble place, and the dark lobby was empty, except for the desk attendant. I sat on a sofa and flipped through a magazine until I saw Raymond walk in, tall, handsome, still dressed in the suit that he had performed in. I was careful not to make eye contact with him. I listened as he checked in, slyly repeating the room number in a raised pitch after he had accepted the key. I waited for twenty minutes to pass before I moved across the lobby, searching for a convincing story to tell to the clerk if he happened to recognize me.