oldest child Yvette.
“Jesus wept!”, quickly came from the mouth of her little brother Billy, Jr.
“No fair, I was going to use that one,” protested Terri.
They all had a hearty laugh at the joke and Terri’s pretense of being upset. It got so nice up in there, Terri even let Chapman fork feed her some sweet potato pie, and anybody who knew Terri, knew that she did not go for that puppy love kind of stuff.
Blue Night
“I guess it felt like one big blur between Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year. I am sitting here smack dab in the middle of my...excuse me...our spacious den. I’m working on being a more kinder, gentler Terri this year. Nice music, the sweet sofa set my man had imported straight from the motherland, the man of my dreams preparing me a plate of food, and I’m still not happy. I’m tired of playing games. Oh...here I go again. Put on the face that grins and smiles, put on the face, put on the face.”
“What’s up Chick?”, bellowed Chapman with his deep voice.
Terri for some strange reason is moved by Chapman’s verbal display of affection. But, then again she always would be, as long as things were going according to her plan.
“I made this just for you. This is your favorite Saturday meal. The Sweet-Man’s special. Grilled sirloin tips, grilled veggies, and grilled shrimp. This wicked combination of surf and turf, coupled with my secret Sweet-Man’s dipping sauce is one erotic combination of oral delight. Now you eat this while I play a little something for you.”
Terri reared back in the big leather lounge chair while Chapman walked across the den to two black instrument cases on the floor in the corner. The first case he opened contained an alto-saxophone. Putting the sax back into its case, he reached for the case at the bottom of the stack. With a firm, yet gentle grasp, he pulled out a purple lacquer flugal horn. He handled the horn as if it were a part of the Tut-Ahnk-Amun treasure. It was obvious that he really liked this unusual looking horn. He began rubbing over the texture of the etching on the bell. The inscription read, “Daddy’s Man”. Chapman smiled and chuckled to himself. That’s the name his father used to call him when he was a very little boy.
“Daddy’s little man”, he whispered, and then shook his head as he returned from a momentary dream-like state. Reaching back into the horn’s case, he retrieved a mouthpiece and a harmonic mute. Blowing a large breath of warm air through the horn, he fluttered the valves with his fingers in order to warm the cold brass piping. Setting the mood, Chapman dimmed the lights so that Terri could still see her food.
“What are you doing? I can’t see my food,” Terri softly protested.
“Um, just settin’ the mood,” he mumbled. “This is for you babe.”
Chapman carefully placed his horn close to his mouth and instinctively gave the cold, dry mouthpiece a preparatory lick with his tongue, and then he placed his warm brown lip against it. He began to blow a tune that was somewhat out of time and tune. Chaos and confusion is what it would have been to the untrained ear and heart. Terri began to makes faces, but the sounds were sliding toward making sense. Organized chaos or disorganized genius or whatever it was, began to pull itself together. When it did, Terri inserted a pleasurable fork full of surf-n-turf into her mouth and softly tossed her head back in what was pure ecstasy. She chewed her food with an ever-so-slight smile on her face. All the while, Chapman was playing his arrangement of the old Billy Joel tune, “Just the Way You Are”.
This was one of the rare moments when an artist becomes a spiritual conduit for God’s voice. Chapman was making a definite joyful noise. His eyes were closed. The hair on his arms literally stood on end. The combination of the food he prepared, dim lights and God’s spirit of love emanated through Chapman and his horn to create a trance like state. It was as if Chapman were in the midst of worship service and he began to speak in musical tongues. Terri could see and feel that something good was going on, but God knows, only Chapman could understand that something completely. As he played on for what seemed like eternity, not another sound could be heard. And Terri appeared to be saying amen to his prayer.
What Terri saw looked like a scene from an old black and white movie. Chapman was perched on a stool under a blue light. Beads of sweat on his forehead resembled blue diamonds on brown velvet. He held a white handkerchief in his left hand as he continued to preach through his horn. A single tear rolled down his face. The emotion felt thick enough to touch. Terri began to see Chapman in a light she hadn’t seen him in, in a long time.
“Now that’s who I fell in love with,” thought Terri. Pure Passion, is what the caption would have read if what Terri was looking at were an old black and white photograph of a jazz man on stage in some smoke-filled dive with a name like “The Parrot Club”, hanging on a museum wall. She was feeling a lot warmer after seeing her man spontaneously combust right in front of her eyes. Wiping her hands, she walked over and squeezed Chapman’s face, signaling to him that she received his offering well. Tilting his head back to receive the full gift of her face moved him to conclude that her expression was communicating her heart’s feelings and thoughts of how beautiful she thought his love offering was.
”...Mmm.”
She intended to say something profound, but her primitive utterance was more profound than any statement her education would have enabled her to create. She hugged him. He placed his horn on its stand and hugged her back. They leaned back and smiled at one another before she took Chapman by his hand, and led him back across the den to the lounge chair where she ate her dinner. Patting the seat of the chair was her signal to him as she insisted that he sit down and relax. Accepting her invitation, Chapman eased into the seat, and then reclined with his face toward the ceiling and his hands behind his head. Resting for a moment and gathering his thoughts, Chapman slid his hands over the top of his head and down his face to wipe away the leftover tears and sweat. Stepping back from the chair, Terri looked him over with approving eyes before she crossed the room to the sliding glass doors. She opened the vertical blinds just enough to undo the lock. Opening the door about six inches in order to let some of that cool South Florida breeze whisper in and possibly fan the smoldering passion that somehow entered their space. Her arm and leg were spattered with raindrops as they crashed through the screened portion of the sliding glass door.
Gliding to the stereo, she gently pressed the power button and the electric show of, green, red, and amber lights pulsated to the rhythm of the music. The timing was perfect. The sound of one of Chapman’s good friends and a fan of Chapman’s band, Hank the Hawk from WLOV FM was announcing the play list for the next half hour. The first song out of the box was Anita Baker’s, “Been So Long”. Hank had one of the smoothest voices ever to grace the radio airwaves. He not only announced the songs, but he gave you history lessons at the same time. That’s why Chapman liked him so much. Chapman loved people; generous, open minded, smart people and especially the kind of smart people with smarts that were not defined by schools, degrees, or some formal system. Making her way back to Chapman’s side; she curled up next to him like a little kitten trying to steal some of his body heat.
“I need to talk to you,” whispered Chapman in a weak strained voice.
Terri snuggled a little closer to Chapman. It had become cooler than she thought it would be, but she definitely was not about to get up and close the sliding glass door.
“I have been thinking about...You know?”
“If I knew, you wouldn’t have to tell me,” Terri poked in a soft voice.
“...Well, I’ve been thinking about what we have been talking about.”
“You
