NYU Black Renaissance Noire NYU Black Renaissance Noire Vol 17.2: Fall 2017 - Page 124

“Yeah… but?” “Yes?” “What?” “You play like you talk, but I never knew it, because I never heard you talk like this before. Like I’m meeting you, the real you for the first time, although I hear this you come out of your tenor. Maybe that’s why I love it so much.” Joe smiled the same color of the shadow of the hill, as suddenly a jack rabbit hopped across the highway in front of the car. Joe quickly swerved out the lane just in time not to hit the frightened animal. “Wooh! Good God! You almost hit ‘im,” Easter cried out. “Nawww. Those jacks are fast” Snuggled again under his arm, “I didn’t know you heard me like that. It scares me a little, knowing. Not scared like I can’t cut it, but like being, especially out here, calling myself an artist and all the business having to go through men. I really don’t expect anyone to believe in me. Can’t. Sure, I do most of the time in myself, but why should anybody else? Not counting Wilfred and Ronnie. You know, it’s not like I got doors open for me like Rosemary Clooney or somebody like her. I know the deal. Oh, I hear you better than you might think I do. It goes deep like a fatal cut what you were saying. Like Abbey Lincoln said: ‘…they’ll steal your ancestors, if you let them…’ but knowing doesn’t make it any less lonely, hard.” “I believe in you, East. I would not be here, if I did not” “I know, Joe, but it’s another kind of lonely, when you have to trust some man.” Looking down at her from the lakeside of his eyes, “Well… I am not some man.” “No, you’re not. You already know I trust you, but Joe, do you know I need you, and I admit I do and don’t want you to know that” “And wish you did not have to have that conflict.” “I can’t explain it.” “Your managers. I bet they could, easily,” with a whisper of sarcasm. “This is me and you out here in the middle of nowhere, and I think we are being as real as real can be right now. So my managers ain’t here to tell me what to think or how to feel.” “But they make it pretty clear they do not need me. Maybe those two trust me, but I can be replaced. Yes, honey-girl, replaced any time.” Jerking herself away from under his arm, Easter’s shoulder shot straight up. “Now hold on a minute! Nobody tells me who to hire or play with, man! No, not Wil or Ronnie. Nobody! You hear me, Joe? Yeah, the bottom-line is I need you, and it doesn’t matter what I wish or think about it. And you should know the reason, I hope, I wanted to make this road trip alone with you wasn’t business, at least not the nature of the business that has to do with my managers.” Reaching from the steering wheel, again with his right hand, its thumb gently touched her bottom lip. “Calm down, honey-girl. Hello, this is me. No, I am not stupid, but right now, between those two needing you, I do not know what to think. You have to admit it is not easy for a man to be, well, to be true about his nature with those two. Do you hear me? I hope so… because I am not going anywhere, East; and you do not have to worry. This is a one-take recording, and we don’t need to do another one. I think we got it down the first time.” Easter’s face went mellow, when his thumb touched her. A little sadness took away her eyes, made her mouth smaller. “Right now, I don’t want to lose where we are this moment. I know you must trust — no, that’s not the right word. You think much of me to take me seriously enough to share what you did. Means more than you know. Thanks, Joe.” “More than trust, Easter. Inside more than trust,” and turned and winked at her. “Everything comes down to that. So why should I trust any of them? Producers, record companies, the club owners, writers. Why should it be important to them? They just riding off my insides, mostly, and that’s cool. But this is my life. Our life, whether they know or give a damn, gives them life. Gave them, each and every little rocker and roller and sexpot that comes along, all of them, life.” “Yes. Just do not allow knowing that or them to rob your joy, East. God wants you to have joy. The thing you have to hold onto is inside.” “That’s it, but don’t worry. They can’t get to that. It’s too spiritual, and what no one seems to want to come out and say is: imagination. Oh, how right your father was! Inside, where freedom really is, comes out from that mystery. How the spiritual and imagination hook up together… from Little Richard to Miles Davis. I mean, how does any black stay in it? )聽)ݡѕٕȁԁ݅и%ӊé)ɴȁQ Օ̰)ԁͅ$܁ѽ䁵)ɽ́P))Ёх她PPݡ)ЁѼݥѠQ Օ̰Ё$e)$͡ձͅ奻dݡЁ̰)ͻeаȁ͔Ѽѡӊéݡɔ)'eɕЁɽ]I))t!ȁɕͥݕѕ)͵+qḛt+q ձԁѽͽ͔QЁѱ)Ёѡѽѡt+qMɔչѡ݅䰁ѡЁ)չх䵝ɰЁt+q]ѕٕȁЁϊ$фt)QɽЁչ)ѡɐѡѕɥ́)Qȁ́ѡЁݥ͡)ѡ)եɕ胊qeԁt+qMѥ̰$Ёٔԁ)Ё܁ԁɔѡɔɥЁͥ)ѡ Օ̸5Ё)聵ͥ)ѡՕ̰ЁѡЁ́)ѡ䁭܁ݡЁЁ̸Qͥ)́ݡЁ1䁡ܰ)͡ɑ䁕ٕȁͅQ Օϊt+q)ԁ܁ͽѡt)Aɕݸѡȁ)ɹ݅䁅́ѕȁɕٕ)ѡѡЁѡQ)ɝȰ́ѡ䁅ɽЁݸѡ)ѡ݅䰁́ɽݹ)ͅ܁՝ɕQɱ)ӊé͡ɕٕ́͡)e)ͱ́qQͥͥ)Ёѕ́ԁݡԁɕ䁅ɔ)$ݥѠ԰͔$ͥ)ѡЁѼѡЁѕ丁Mɔ)$܁ѡȁ̰Ё$܁ݡ)ѡՑ́ɕ͕䁥́)ѕɹQյٽͥ)́ѡɕЁյиeԁ)͕ݸ䵝ɰeԁɔͼ)ٕݡݥѠͥɔѼٕȸ)eԁeЁɕѽѼѡ́Ё)ɔ٥ѡа݅䰁́)ѥհѡѽ$ѡЁѡ)ѡͥ́Ёȁɥɥ)QɕɔѡЁ́ݡ)ѕ́ѡЁѼԸM٥)ɥЁ́ѱ䁽ȁиM$)ݥѠ԰͔$݅ЁѼeԁͅ)ݽɑ́ݡЁ$݅ЁѼͽչ́)ͥѕ̻tQȁѕɕѡ)͡܁ѡѼձ)ѡ݅