Romantically Entangled

Chapter 6

Nicki

Beyonce Knowles is scrambling up the tree like Romeo climbing the balcony for Juliet.

I can't decide if I'm impressed or just pissed at the interruption.

Then she sits on the branch that extends toward my window with her feet on the roof, positions her guitar and begins to sing.

It's ridiculous. And—maybe—kind of hot.

Bey's voice is like her smile, deep and warm, with a gravelly hint of mischief in it.

I've never heard the song she's singing before, but it's a slow, poignant number that should make me tingle all over. Instead, my eyes fill with tears.

Bey stops singing.

"Not exactly the reaction I was going for," she says, dryly. And that makes me cry even harder.

So embarrassing.

I'm sorry," I blubber. "It's a beautiful song, and you sing it so well. It's just that..."

I wipe my nose on my arm and realize too late how disgusting that is.

"I'm feeling kind of overwhelmed right now, I guess."

I snort a couple of times and fight back the urge to wipe my nose again as I wonder why I told her that.

Why I'm crying like a pathetic baby in front of this lady I barely know.

I'd been almost finished writing in my journal when Bey called up to me.

As always, when I write, the words coming out of the pen stirred up memories and a lot of emotion.

I can never just set words on paper or type them in without a bunch of feelings being attached. Words are that powerful to me.

"You want to talk about it?" Bey asks.

Yes. "No."

From her perch in the tree, Bey shoots me an amused look, and I wonder if I nodded just now when I declined her offer.

Do I look as confused as I feel?

Not for the first time, I'm blushing around Bey.

It's hard not to notice how good she looks in the moonlight. Or that she's only wearing sports bra and boxers.

"Jesus. H. Christ."

I didn't mean to say that out loud. It's something Virginia says all the time.

I take a breath and clear my throat, irritated to be imitating her. I seem to do it automatically.

"Thank you, Bey" I say in a pretty good imitation of my grandmother's typically cold, distant tone.

Probably too late to pull that out, but it's all I have. "I really appreciate your concern. But I'll work through it."

Bey doesn't say anything, just sits there idly strumming her guitar.

I hug my knees to my chest, then try to subtly swipe my fingers under my eyes.

"The song you were singing," I say after a moment, wanting to change the subject, "it's beautiful. I've never heard it before. Who sings it?"

Bey looks up in surprise. "Um. . .Frasier Bryson." She says it like it's obvious.

"Who?"

She groans at my blank expression.

"It kills me that people don't know who Bryson is," she mutters, shaking her head and sighing.

"He's the head of Ikana's music department, and one of the great songwriters and folk singers. He never got the recognition he deserved in the sixties and seventies. I don't understand why."

"Oh." My voice sounds small and silly.

Should I have heard of Frasier Bryson? Does everybody else know who he is?

"He dropped out of the scene for a long time and became kind of a hermit," Bey explains. "Then, about twenty years ago, he decided he wanted to teach. He's the one who started the program here at Ikana."

She lets the guitar hang on her chest as she grips the branch above her and dangles her feet.

"Bryson is the whole reason I'm here," she adds, plaintively.

I nod. I've never heard of Frasier Bryson. But I have heard the college has a great music program and that it's hard to get into.

About as hard as the journalism program.

Bey and I sit there for a few moments without saying anything.

From down the street, I can hear the deep bass of someone's stereo system. On the other side of the street, I can hear people yelling at each other.

Almost all the shabby houses around us are probably rented out by hard-partying college students.

I suddenly imagine what Virginia would say if she saw where I'm living. If she saw this house that she's paying for. She'd be appalled.

The thought makes me smile.

"So, Nicki" Bey says in a wheedling tone as I return my gaze to her, "you going to invite me up? Or do I have to stay in this tree all night?"

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