I was in the nation’s capital ready to blow the roof off

Blackplatinum Café. By day I’m Gerald Washington,

magazine publisher. By night, I am Blacksax, the marauder of

melodies. I play the saxophone and woo anyone who walks into

Georgia Avenue’s finest jazz club.

I relocated from Florida and started a quarterly literary

magazine in a one-bedroom condo in D.C.. Block Writers is

now in a separate facility on U Street thanks to my dedicated

staff and a few grants. I wanted to be in the midst of the next

generation of Harlem Renaissance writers. I know. I know.

Harlem is in New York City. I just couldn’t pay a Big Apple

mortgage with my Little Johnny Apple Seeds. D.C. was as

close as I was going to get to the Mecca of writers. Besides,

there was plenty of raw talent in the city in order for me to

gain capital. I was blessed to have my homeboy from college to

set up the computer networking system for my office pro bono.

Moses was an IT Master. He was one of many resources to help

me with the start up of Block Writers.

The magazine’s subscribers came mostly from metropolitan

areas on the east coast. Many high school and college creative

writing classes were our primary readers. There was, however,

always room for improvement.

I’m a hands-off CEO. I remain low key and let the writers

stand in the limelight. My staff is encouraged to explore and

embrace their creativity. I trust they will keep Block Writers

positive by producing quality work that will keep the checks

rolling and me out of the courtroom. Monday through Friday

they rotate the wheels of the publishing machine. I keep Block

Writers financially afloat. Occasionally, I’ll contribute a few

poems or some commentary in one of the sections. Friday

nights, however, are my moments in the spotlight as a musician;

and there was one night in particular that began to change my

life. It was my third set at Blackplatinum Café’s members-

only night and I was hyped. They say three is a charm. When

the curtains opened, I saw the reason my soul danced with

anticipation. She sat in the third row bordered by two other

ladies. Her hair was long and flowing passed her shoulders.

Her eyes twinkled even from the dimly lit candles on the table.

I pretended not to notice her, but found it challenging to do

so while checking out that one leg laying seductively over the

other in her Carolina blue pants. There was a slit on the side.

I had a sneak peek of her right thigh from the center stage.

She was tapping her feet to the sound of the music and the slit

constantly winked at me. I enjoyed watching her move every

limb of her body. She was figurative language in motion.

Like the sound of ocean waves splashing against rocks,

her presence mesmerized me. Her beauty was a ray of sunshine

dancing to my rhythm. Her soul called to me and mine played

a silent tune for her to hear. While on stage, I played the sax

with my eyes closed. I was envisioning our first encounter. I

imagined the lovely melody we’d make without sounding a

word.

The band and I played for what seemed an endless two

hours before taking a break. I wiped my brow and made a beeline to the bar.

“Hey, Jimmy. How ya doin’ tonight?”

“I guess I’ll make it I reckon. The usual, Black?”

“Club soda, man. And uh Jimmy,” I began while scoping

out my chocolate Jessica Rabbit, “let me get another one of

whatever that lady is having.”

SUGAR RUSH: LOVE’S LIBERATION

“You talkin’ ‘bout Dolly?”

“Is Dolly the honey wearing the hell outta that blue near

the stage?”

“That’s Doll.”

“Then you got it! I’m fixin’ to make my move.”

I paid Jimmy and took the drinks. I had a small window

to impress this lady and leave with a number before the end

of the night. Time slowed down with each step I made toward

Dolly’s table. I smiled at club goers who complimented me on

the show. The smile grew wider upon reaching my destination.

One of her girlfriends tapped her to let her know that I was

coming her way. Seeing them together reminded me of me

and my boys back home in Auburndale. In slow motion, she

flipped her hair away from her face and positioned herself to

turn around.

“Bonsoir,” one of her friends greeted me while pushing

her thick hair behind her ears. The other was scanning me

with her eyes. As tough as she tried to look, the butterfly clip

that held her short hair in place gave away her innocence. Her

nonverbal communication just let me know she had her girl’s

back if I said something stupid.

“Dolly, I have less than a minute to give you this,” I began

while handing her a glass of cranberry juice. “and to convince

you to stay until the end of the show so we can talk.”

She smiled a priceless smile and said, “Thank you for the

drink.” She turned back to face her friends.

I kept my cool but didn’t stay and wait like a puppy after

a bone. I let out a brief laugh and headed back to the stage.

When I heard my name being called, I slowed the pace of my

walk and then stopped without turning around.

“Oh and Sax,” Dolly began, “if you can come up with

something original before the clock strikes four, consider the

offer sealed.”

I nodded because I was confident I could hold up my end

of the deal. I just hoped she didn’t renege on hers.

For the next hour, I played as if my life depended on it.

I didn’t look in her direction while my hands caressed my

instrument. I wanted her to understand the messages I was

sending through my music. I wanted her to know that I was

gently explosive with my hands. The saxophone screamed in

ecstasy. Every note played was perfect and complimented the

other instruments in the background. The thump from the

drums was the heartbeat of the song. It was my motivation. I

know she heard the score because my soul felt hers. By 3:50am,

I was ready to have her blanketed in my musical review.

I turned just enough to face the band and the audience at

the same time and asked, “Hey fellaz, do you mind if I take

the last ten minutes to share a little sumpthin’ sumpthin’ with

these lovely people tonight?” Jupiter, the drummer, gave me

the go-ahead to proceed. He got his nickname because his

skills are out of this world. I took a sip from my glass and

prepared to collect my winnings. Dolly sat patiently and for

the first time since speaking with her I looked directly in her

eyes. I was locked on my target as I spoke to the audience.

“Blackplatinum Café, you’ve been a wonderful audience

tonight. So, let me send you off with a new tune I call Doll’s

House.”

The corners of her lips stretched into a smile. Dolly

was impressed. To maintain my position, I never took my

eyes off her. She needed to feel more important than anyone

else in that room. It was my duty to pretend that the space

in Blackplatinum Café was occupied only by Dolly, my

saxophone, and me.

I played flawlessly while the band accompanied me. The

audience gave us a standing ovation. At the end of the show,

the band and I greeted those who rushed to the stage to chat

with us. There was a line of women waiting for me. Although

I was only interested in the attention of one lady, I spent a few

minutes shaking hands, hugging those who extended arms

toward me, and took a few business cards only to quickly

stash them in my back pocket. Of all the dimes vying for my

attention that night, none compared to my caramel dream. I

tried earnestly to attend to my fans and cleared a path to get to

Dolly at the same time. My efforts were in vain. She was gone.

At first I was disappointed. Then again, I felt challenged.

“Yo, Black!” Jimmy called from the bar. “’Honey in blue

left you a note.”

I took the slip of purple paper from Jimmy’s hand. He

continued to wipe the counter. I read the note written in blue

ink. The sweet fragrance that once graced the lining of my

nose was all over it. My heart was happy.

Sax,

Thanks for erecting my house. We’ll speak soon.

-Dolly

Copyright © 2005 by Yolonda D. Coleman.

All Rights reserved.