Searching for Tina Turner by Jacqueline E. Luckett Read Free Book Online

other executives’ wives worked. “I know you’re ready to launch your business. Put your plans
     on hold. For a while. Forever if you want. At least until I’m established, more trusted at TIDA.”
    His scattered and disjointed phrases were so unlike him that Lena wondered if he was nervous. She watched his face, the clear
     skin, the absence of wrinkles that made so many people mistake him for much younger than his then fifty-three years. His eyes
     focused on the stone on her chest. His expression affirmed his satisfaction in the incline of his head, the angle of his neatly
     clipped mustache, and she wondered what other sacrifices she would make for the sake of his career.
    The diamond pulsed with the rapid beat of Lena’s heart. Randall’s lips moved but she could not hear what he said. She fingered
     the yellow stone and smiled. “Is this a bribe or a thank-you?”
    “Both.” Randall grinned. “You’ll have more time. You can come with me on my trips. We’ll see the world on TIDA’s dime. When
     the time is right, I’ll help you start again. I promise.”
    The cigar smoke wafted closer to their table. Her second, deep breath brought back John Henry and the white smoke that had
     streamed from her father’s lips between sips from his Saturday night glass of Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He had doled out
     advice on life while she tried to figure out racism or Catholicism or problems as simple as boys and dating; and later, how
     hard she had to fight for the life she wanted. “What the hell did you expect, Lena Inez?” John Henry fussed one night. “You
     want the life, you got to pay the price.”
    f   f   f
    “Maybe
we
could get away when you come home.”
    “I’m not going anywhere any time soon. Unless I have to.” If punctuation marks could be heard, Lena thinks, exclamation points
     would have banged like a firecracker at the end of Randall’s sentence. Fatigue and irritation slip from his voice. “As a matter
     of fact, right now, I’m sick of hotels, of people who don’t look or sound like me. I’m sick of the stares. I need a dose of
     black people. I want a party when I get home. Ten, maybe twelve people, that standing rib roast you make.” At their last party
     months ago, their guests refused to leave until well after three in the morning. Reluctant to let go of the good feeling,
     Randall opened another bottle of wine. Lena retrieved the remains of dessert, and they stayed up until the rising sun tinted
     the sky pinkish yellow.
    “I’d really like to wait until the situation is… smoother between us?” Or, she thinks, until her funk moves on.
    “Make sure you invite Candace. I get a kick out of her theatrics.”
    “I saw her the other day. She had some sad news.”
    “Don’t tell me: she needs more jewelry.”
    Lena cannot read the signs of his strong voice. There is no strain, although she can’t deny its edginess. “It’s not always
     about what you can buy, Randall. Dana and Carl are getting divorced.”
    “Well, scratch them off the list. It’ll be good to see our friends.”
    “Please, Randall, can we decide about the party when you come home?” Three. Lena counts on her fingers, three more days.
    “Nothing to decide. Just handle it.”
    f   f   f
    Almost as soon as Lena presses the seventh digit of the number written on the bottom of the enrollment slip, a man answers
     the phone. The instructor’s voice is twangy and aged when he answers with his full name instead of hello. She offers an explanation
     for missing the first class with a very adult excuse: “For personal reasons.”
    “Are you a serious photographer?”
    The instructor listens without comment while Lena takes five minutes to summarize why she wants to hone her rusty skills.
    “There are Saturday labs. You can develop your film at home. I’m not interested in people who need to fill their empty schedules.”
    If she thought he would care, Lena would tell the cranky instructor