“Here you go,” said Simmons. “Groove on this.”
Simmons passed Strange a lit joint. Strange looked at it for a moment, then put it to his lips and hit it deep. Smoke was still streaming from his nose when he hit it again. It was smooth to his lungs, which meant it would be good to his head.
Strange passed the joint to the man in the beret, who looked at Simmons first, then took it after Simmons made a small go-ahead motion with his chin. Simmons, who’d played end for Dunbar when Strange was playing safety for Roosevelt, smiled at his former adversary. There had always been respect between them, especially when a game had been on the line.
“My man’s all right,” said Simmons to his companion.
“I am now,” said Strange.
“Heard you been keepin’ the streets safe,” said Simmons.
“Streets gonna have to do without me for a little while,” said Strange. “I’m layin’ back tonight.”
They talked about football and who was coming out of what high school and what colleges they were going on to. The dude with the beret never did warm up to Strange, but that was all right with him. Strange was higher than a motherfucker by the time he finished his beer and could muster no bad will toward anyone. He shook hands again with Simmons and went to the kitchen, where he found another High Life and opened it. He drank its neck off down to the shoulders and drifted into another room.
It was an all-couples room. Someone had cleared the furniture and changed the bulbs in the lamps so the room was bathed in blue. Solomon Burke was on the stereo now, singing “Tonight’s the Night,” Solomon telling his woman, “And when the lights are low, I’m gonna lock all the doors,” and some couples were slow-dragging on the hardwood floor, others just holding each other, standing still, kissing each other deep. Strange smiled and leaned his back against the wall. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned his head. What he saw made him smile even more.
“Carmen,” said Strange. “How you doin’?”
“I’m good.”
She had a little blue ribbon tied in her hair, the same color as the dress. She had big dark eyes, dimples in her cheeks, and smooth, deep-brown skin. She had a figure that caused his breath to come up short. Carmen Hill had it all. The memory of her naked in his bed made Strange’s mouth go dry. He had a sip of his beer.
“What you doin’ in the blue-light room all by yourself?” said Carmen.
“I was waitin’ on you, girl.”
“Go ahead, Derek.” Carmen laughed, looking into his heavy-lidded eyes. “You’re high, aren’t you?”
“A little.”
“I just had some nice smoke myself.”
“You gonna be a doctor, you need to quit it. Can’t be, like, operatin’ on people with your mind messed up.”
“I’m just an undergraduate. I got time to have fun. Anyway, what you gonna do, write me a ticket?”
“I’ll let you off with a warning tonight.”
Strange held his beer out to Carmen. She took it, drank, and gave the bottle back. Strange reached out and wiped his thumb across some foam that had gathered at the corner of her mouth. She leaned a little into his touch. She looked at him and looked away. Then she looked back into his eyes.
“I was thinking of you last December,” said Carmen. “The day Otis died.”
“Yeah, December tenth,” said Strange. “I was in my squad car when the news came on the radio, said his plane had gone down in Wisconsin.”
“He left some music, though, didn’t he.”
“Always gonna be there,” said Strange. His eyes went to one of the speakers in the room, where King Solomon’s voice was still coming out strong. “This is real pretty right here, too.”
“Sure is.”
“Wanna dance to it?”
“Okay.”
He placed the beer bottle on the floor and as he stood tall she came into his arms. He trembled a little as she put her head against his shoulder. He smelled that shampoo of hers and her dime-store perfume. Her breasts were firm against his chest, her fingers warm through his. They moved slowly and easily, as if she’d never left him, as they’d danced all through high school and beyond, until the trouble had come between them and she’d told him to go.
Otis Redding came on the box, the song with that beautiful piano introduction that always gave Strange chills. “Nothing Can Change This Love.” It had been one of theirs. Strange held Carmen close and breathed her in.
“I been missin’ you,” said Strange.
They kissed. Her lips were warm, and he felt the heat come off her face. Otis sang to them and there was no one else in the room.
LATER, AS THE crowd thinned and the music notched down, Strange and Carmen Hill sat outside the house on the front steps, sharing another beer. Lydell had gone back to Strange’s place with a girl he’d been on and off with for some time. The alcohol had brought Strange down nice, taking the edge off his high. His thigh touched Carmen’s as they talked.
“Tonight was good,” said Strange. “Good to relax some, you know? Good to see you.”
“Was for me, too.”
“It’s easy with you, Carmen. Always has been.”
“You can pick up the phone, Derek. You want to talk, you can call me.”
“I feel like I need to sometimes. Been rough, with my job and whatnot, these last few months.”
“You knew it would be.”
“I knew some of the white police would resent me. I was ready for that. What I didn’t expect was my own people lookin’ at me like I’m the enemy. I’m just trying to do my job and I’m duckin’ fire from both sides.”
“Then do your job,” said Carmen. “That’s what you always told me. Keep your head down and go to work. That’s what grown folks do.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Anyway, you always did want to be like one of those dudes from those westerns you love. ‘A man who protects the community but can never be a part of it his own self.’ Isn’t that how you described it to me once?”
“I might have,” said Strange.
“You’re luckier than most, then. You’re the man you wanted to be.”
She found his hand and laced her fingers through his. He looked her over with deep affection.
“Where you stayin’ at now?” said Strange.
Carmen Hill nodded across the street. “I’m right there on the corner, up on the third floor. See that light up there? That’s me. Finally got a place that’s walking distance to my classes.”