CHAPTER ONE
Raisin’ Cain and Nailin’ Tapestry
Avocado green wall partitions with ombre yellow to white lettering spelled out ‘The Spotted Cat Music Club’ across them. Cradled in the middle of the words was the black silhouette logo of a spotted cat standing on its hind legs wearing a hat, playing the trombone. Cain had performed at this venue several times, and it was a place he called his second home, located on Frenchmen Street in Faubourg, Marigny, New Orleans.
He’d just finished his rendition of ‘Tom Cat’ by Muddy Waters on his acoustic guitar. Taking a five-minute break, he glanced over his shoulder at the large window.
The multi-paned baseboard to celling frame behind him was aglow with sparkling Christmas lights with a thin sprinkling of dust, which cast watery reflections of the people in front of him, who were ready to move, dance, and sing. He sat on the low stage, the scent of warmed wood and life surrounding him. He tapped his foot a few times, getting settled to begin the new number and playing the notes in his mind as he often did. Reaching out to the microphone before him, he spoke into it as people drank their strong drinks and smoked their fragrant cigars. Excitement danced in their eyes… that was his fuel.
“Tonight is full of good energy… thank you for that. The vibe is on point. Must be the full moon tuh-night ’cause I feel lucky, wild ’nd free. Welcome, everybody! We’re all family here so kick off your shoes if you want to and let loose.” Applause broke out. “I want to now play for you—”
“Today is Macey’s birthday!” a woman screamed out from the middle of the crowd. People all around began to clap in celebration of the mystery woman, the birthday lady swallowed up by smoke and swarms of human limbs.
“Macey! Come on up here! Lemme see you, darlin’.” He swept his long, black, wavy hair behind one ear and hunkered down, eyeing the crowd as he gently strummed the strings of his guitar. A young lady with fire engine red hair approached him, wearing a form fitting white dress and a shit eating grin. The birthday girl looked proud as could be… and three sheets to the wind. “Well now, it’s your birthday… that’s a wonderful thing.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve been having a blast all day. Thank you.” Her fair complexion deepened to a ruddy hue along the apples of her cheeks as she beamed. “I turned twenty-two today.”
“Twenty-two! When I was twenty-two, I wish I had enough sense to come on out and listen to some music. I was too busy bein’ a loner and lettin’ the world pass by. It’s good that you got out. Shows you’re a bright young lady… got good taste in music, too.”
A few whistles came from the crowd.
“You play very nicely. When my friend realized you’d be here tonight, she told me we had to come.”
He waved to a woman in the audience who was jumping about to make her presence known. He presumed that was the same lady who’d exclaimed it was Macey’s birthday, proud of another year of life granted to her loved one.
Life was definitely precious…
“I can tell from your voice you ain’t from around here. Where’d you blow in from, sweetheart?”
“Arizona… Phoenix.”
“Air-ruh-zone-uh!” He strummed his guitar. “Nice place… I’ve been before. The Grand Canyon is a sight to see. Lookie here.” He peered out into the audience. “I’ve got somethin’ for Macey and everyone else celebratin’ a birthday tonight.”
“Your number!” some woman hollered, causing a ruckus of laughter.
“My number, huh?” He grinned as he strummed the guitar nice and slow in a soothing tempo. “I don’t pay my bill half the time, baby, so Verizon cut me off like an unhappy Sugar Mama. You can call but won’t nothin’ much happen after that,” he joked, causing more laughter. “Here we go!”
He twanged the guitar a wee bit louder and rolled out his own, jazzed up rendition of the ‘Happy Birthday’ song. “Haaaappy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to yoooou!” And so he went, his voice amplified, echoing in the place. He took note of the way the young lady gripped the collar of her dress tight in her palm, crossed her little ankles, and looked down at him as if he were sex dressed in loose jeans and an open button-down black shirt. It was hot as the dickens in the club, but that only inspired him more… Heat was the ignition to carry on, to not stop until everyone in that audience was good and satisfied. As for Macey, he could see it in her eyes. She was enchanted. The spell of his music was a slow, lovely fuck.
“Laissez les bon temps rouler! Haaaaaappppy Biiiirthday, Beautiful…” He strummed the guitar one final time, gently slapped the strings silent, and smiled.
As soon as he was done, she clapped, stepped onto the stage and blessed him with a kiss across his cheek. Another burst of applause broke out and when it settled, he got back into the list of songs he’d planned to perform that night.
“All right… the next ditty I am going to play is by request. Lend me your ear…” He began to strum the strings and bob his head once again, gearing up to something special. “Amy Winehouse’s, ‘You Know I’m No Good.’” His voice merged with the acoustic sound as he hummed along the way, getting into the groove. “Who knows the words?”
People clapped and whistled, their bodies moving, their hands waving and their voices booming. It was hard to make heads or tails of the varying faces and calls to be noticed and chosen, but he wanted a woman from the audience to come up with him on that stage, to be his songstress while he took care of the melody. He enjoyed doing this for he always got to meet interesting people, savor new talent from all walks of life and all over the globe. Sometimes it was a local, just like him. Other times it was a woman from a place he’d never even heard of. The experience made it all the more beautiful, and he never forgot a face.
“All right now! Who out there can really sing and give everyone a good time?!”
“She can!” a gruff, deep voice boomed, but it had a feminine leaning. He raised a brow at the semi-aggressive tone that demanded to be heard, which got him curious.
“Whoever said that, send your victim up. I mean, your friend or family member.” He smiled as pockets of laughter could be heard from various areas of the room.
“Go on, girl!” the deep voice said again.
Soon, the light cast a saintly radiance across a woman with a body that was thick in all the right places. She had large breasts, a small waist, wide hips, and long, shapely legs. Wearing a 1950s style black and white polka dot dress, sexy black strappy heels, and a white necklace that practically glowed against her rich, ebony skin, it was hard for Cain to imagine she didn’t catch attention wherever she stepped foot and turned her lovely head.
Her cheeks were high-set like those of a Cherokee Indian, her long, voluminous, wavy black hair was tossed over one shoulder with a large white flower pinned to the side, and her juicy lips were glossy and ruby red, making her look fuckable and suckable. But the way her hand rested against her hip made her appear sassy and give the impression she wasn’t there to play or fall prey to seduction. Perhaps she was untouchable.
With careful, yet confident, steps, the woman drew closer until she was on the stage, standing before him smelling like sweet lilacs. He looked into her dark brown eyes and smiled. Something about her reminded him of Billie Holiday. Perhaps it was the big flower in her hair, or the fact that her body shape was almost identical. What he did know for certain was that he wanted to hear what those pipes of hers could do…
Caitlyn, a woman who worked at the club, brought up another microphone and handed it to the lady. She seemed to know her way around a stage as she swung the cord just so, then handled it with a firm but not too tight grip.
“And who might I ask will I be performing with tonight?”
“Tapestry…” She smiled wide, exposing sparkling white teeth.
“Now isn’t that a nice name… Tapestry.” He nodded thoughtfully and glanced at his guitar, studying his fingers as he toyed with the strings, strumming a catchy tune. “It’s different, like black cotton candy sprinkled with stardust and bright red strawberry lemonade sunsets in the cold, icy mountains.”
While he sank deep into his thoughts, he snuck peeks at her ample cleavage, the damn things looking as if they wanted to burst free from the confines of her clothing and bra. He could see a bit of what appeared to be a red rose tattoo etched across her right tit.
He liked breasts… the bigger the fuckin’ better…
“Tapestry… Is that a nickname, baby, or your real name?”
“It’s the name my mama gave me soon as I came into the world. It’s written on my birth certificate… daughter of Abraham and Mildred LeBlanc.”
He strummed his guitar nice and slow as she spoke. The way she pronounced her words, the intonation, her smile, her swagger, all made it seem like they’d already begun their duet. She sang when she merely breathed. She sang when she walked, and when she blinked her beautiful eyes there lay a new song, too…
Tapestry LeBlanc… you can’t get no sexier than that…
“All right, Tapestry. You know the words to the late, great Amy Winehouse’s song, “You Know I’m No Good”, right?”
“I sure do.”
“In her short life, that woman was a legend. I expect you to do the song justice. If you don’t, thirteen mangy cats sittin’ under uh crooked ladder on this full moon evening will get you when you leave here tonight… jump right on you and won’t dare to turn ya loose. No pressure though.”
The crowd erupted in laughter, and so did she.
I like her laugh. It’s earthy and rich. I bet those tits of hers are soft as churned butter. You got a man, baby? You look like my next ex… the type of prettiness that after you get ’er home and ride her pretty ass into the goddamn mattress, break her fuckin’ walls and back, you buy ’er breakfast in the mornin’ and start all over again…
“Are you ready, Ms. Tapestry? Need a warm up?” He smiled.
“I got it. Go ’head.”
She nodded to the music he played as she paced the small stage like she owned it, made the damn thing submit to her and roll out an invisible red carpet in her honor. He played loudly now, and the crowd began to clap as he got into the groove. He waited to look in her direction, to give her the cue, and then their eyes locked. He smiled her way and she smiled at him, then he nodded.
“Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt…” The woman’s voice boomed like celebratory fireworks in his damn ears. She rattled off line after line, lyric after lyric, and he played to her words, building her up with each stroke. She became the forefront and he was merely background, and yet, they merged so beautifully, so in sync. The audience bounced about, excited from the same surprise he’d been given. This woman could sing her ass off… and she knew it, too.
The occasional “Blow, girl!” burst from the gathering. Tapestry had soul inside soul, a deep connection to the spirit’s whisper we call music. From her head to her feet, she was an instrument, a vessel to be treasured and held close to one’s heart for safekeeping. She kept on going, each note sounding better than the last.
My God… who taught this angel to sing?!
He could barely concentrate as he fell into a trance from her voice, and then, he simply stopped. He placed his guitar down by his side and listened. She slowed, her eyes full of wonder as he could do nothing more but stare at her in awe.
“Naw, ain’t nothin’ over here for you.” He pointed in the direction of the audience. “Don’t look at me, look at dem.” The crowd looked hungry for more. “Don’t stop… go on. Make the people happy,” he demanded.
She looked a bit confused, but went on about her merry way, a solo act now. Every eye in that place was rested on her as her voice filled that room like blackberry wine in a crystal goblet.
“I cheated myself… like I knew I would…” she crooned on. This woman was belting out the words in a way that hit you in the damn throat and left you speechless. She made one of the best songs on Earth impossibly better. A gift she was—her giftwrap was a flower in her hair and spring in her step. She smiled as she sang, and frowned, too. She became wrapped up in the words, acting them out like a seasoned actress, becoming one with the music, loving it, making love to the meaning behind it all, impregnated with raw talent and giving birth to a song for all to enjoy. When she finished, the audience went crazy.
He was all sick inside… in a good way. Woozy now, he didn’t want it to end. This was his damn time to shine, but he tossed his diamond glare her way and crowned her queen. He knew nothing about her, and yet, it felt like they’d shared something personal… something intimate. How bizarre. She took a bow, thanked him, handed him her microphone and turned to leave the stage.
“Tapestry,” he called out, causing her to stop short.
“Yes?” She smiled—well, smirked rather…
“I think the crowd wants another one from you.”
That prompted a drunken frenzy of enthusiastic claps from the mob. Hiking her dress up ever so slightly, she got back on the stage, standing beside him. He rose from his seat, now towering over her. She looked up, mouth agape, as if she was in awe at his height.
All he could do was pull her close by the waist and lay a kiss on her cheek. He then whispered in her ear, “Girl, you gotta do somethin’ else with me tonight. Never heard a voice like that… not from a woman so young!” He paused and looked at her, only to be greeted with a modest smile. “You sound like a cross ’tween Mahalia Jackson and Dorothy Moore with a dash of Whitney Houston. Hot damn!”
She cracked up that time, then took a bow and the microphone once again.
“Give ’em somethin’. I can play just about anything, so name the song and I’ll follow your lead.”
She stood there for a spell, in deep thought. “All right, let’s do ‘If I Were Your Woman’ by Gladys Knight.”
“You got it.” He walked to the back of the stage and picked up the electric guitar he had in the case ready to go, gave himself a quick sound check, then snapped his fingers to let her know he was ready. Standing by her side, he began to strum and her voice stirred in his soul once again. She reached deep and pulled out his depression, his worries and his pain, and tossed them over that bright, beautiful full moon that shined down on the thirteen mangy cats under the crooked ladder meowing their cares away. She locked her gaze with his as he strummed that guitar and she sang. The chemistry between them awoke his senses in a way that felt like a natural high… Perhaps he’d drank too much before his set. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or his lust clouding the scene. Who knew? But he did recognize his heart was beating faster, his excitement had risen above the clouds, and before that damn night was over, he knew he had to devise a game plan.
He needed to get this woman’s number. If he had to lie, cheat or steal, he was getting those damn digits. There was no way he was letting her leave before she gave it up…