Prologue Where does the hope for love begin? In the heart? Where our insides are shaped like honeycombs with people buzzing in and out, turning our emotions into a syrupy sweet that drips out for us to taste?
Or is it in the mind? Where emotion sticks and stains like paint splatter against walls of doubt?
For nine-year-old Imani, it began both in her heart and in her mind. It was 1988, in a Maryland town that was the urban seam between Baltimore and D.C.
Imani was sitting on the front steps of her best friends house with the other little girls in their downtown neighborhood. Imani had her ankles crossed and her knees up, needle-thin legs knitting the air. Her reddish-brown hair was unraveled and being tamed into long, even rows. Imanis best friend Shari was doing the braiding. A little boy named Taz stopped by to tease.
How come your hairs always standing on top of your head? How come?
How come your stomachs always growling? I can hardly think in school cause your stomachs always growling.
All the girls laughed.
Taz was embarrassed. Maybe youre just stupid.
Shari tugged on Imanis braids. You gonna take that?
Imani bolted off the steps and pushed Taz.
Taz wasnt about to be punked either. So he pushed her back.
Imani fell to the ground and bumped her elbow.
Shari dropped her comb, lunged off the steps, and slapped Taz upside his head.
Taz didnt want any part of Shari. She was two years older and, at age eleven, bigger and badder. But Taz knew someone bigger and badder than her. He threatened, Im telling Biggie.
Biggies your friend but hes my big brother, remember? How you gonna get Biggie on me? We familysomething you dont know nothing about.
Taz was really hurt now. Everybody knew he lived in the group home up the street. Why did Shari have to broadcast it? And he didnt mean to push Imani that hard. He didnt. Now shed never like him. Never.
Tell Imani youre sorry, Taz.
He shook his head no.
Sorry didnt do it. He did, Imani yelled as she got up from the ground, tears streaming down her cheeks. And he did it on purpose.
Well, Taz, Shari reasoned, you gotta give her something.
Why, Shari?
Cause thats the way it goes. When a boy hurts a girl hes gotta give her something. Thats what my mama says.
Imani dried her eyes. Something like what?
Like flowers.
I dont want no flowers.
Shari thought a second then whispered in Imanis ear. Imani blushed. I dont want none of that neither.
Well my mama likes it.
How do you know?
I heard her through the door hollering, Dont stop. Dont stop.
The girls laughed.
Taz took off running. Ill get you something good. I promise.
But you dont know what I like! Imani yelled after him.
Imani, dont waste your time on that silly boy.
Im not. I dont like Taz.
As soon as Imani said that, a familiar voice came riding the wind. It was her father calling her from across the street. Imani saw the outline of his stout body. The down-and-out musician had his horn in one hand and was waving her home with the other hand.
Aww shoot. I gotta go practice the piano.
Skip it and come jump rope.
Cant. See ya, Shari. Hey, dont forget were sneaking out Saturday. Dont fake me out.
I already told you, Imani, Im in.
But at home Imani wanted out. She tried to talk her father Maceo into letting her skip piano practice.
Cmon, Daddy, please? Its nice outside.
Her father Maceo was old school. Hed been born in the South and left home when he was sixteen to play with a band. The group traveled the single-lane highways of the delta, headlining joints in the backwoods where the crickets played the bass line. Maceo learned a lot about music and about life.
I like any kind of music; you know that, Imani. But I promised your mama that Id make sure you learned piano. That woman loved the sound of a piano.
Maceo knew he was slick. He knew that anytime he really wanted Imani to do something, all he had to do was say her mother did it or liked it. Imani never really knew her mother. A little girl like that would always want to latch on to something of her moms . . . her likes . . . dislikes . . . maybe even her dreams.
Maceo missed his wife something fierce. She died when Imani was three from a sudden heart attack and lingering hard times. Theyd met fifteen years before, on Easter. The band had broken up. Maceo decided to take a part-time job playing for a little church in town. He had no intentions of staying. But you know love and its crazy ways. Love will make intentions grow roots.
The super soprano with the heavenly pipes was named Mae. Maceo just adored her gorgeous voice and her big pretty eyes. A shy but engaging personality sealed the deal. When Maceo looked at Imani now, he saw Maes eyes and that same undeveloped talent. What did I say about music, Imani? Its gotta be worked. So work.
Imani opened the songbook and her tiny shoulders slumped.
Put in one hour. Ill be upstairs listening.
And drinking more than youre listening, Imani thought.
Imani began to play, hitting a foul note about every three or four keys. Shed much rather be listening to Salt n Pepa or Run DMC.
Hey, Imani!
Imani turned around and there was Taz at the window screen. He held up a lollipop.
Imani slid off the piano bench, happy for a reason to get away. She wanted the lollipop bad tooit was one of those big, swirled, multiflavored kinds. But the junior diva decided to give Taz a little attitude first. Is that all you gonna give me?
Taz heard Biggie say a true player always told a woman to take it or leave it and she never left it.
Take it or leave it.
Imani took it.
I dont hear nothing! Maceo called out from upstairs. Dont make me come down there.
Imani cocked her head to the side and twisted her lips. See ya, Taz. I gotta go practice the stupid piano.
I like piano.
I dont. Its keeping me from playing.
I could practice for you. Then wed be cool about the pushing down thing.
Imani liked the idea. For real?
Yeah.
Okay. All you gotta do is play the first three songs in the songbook over and over again.
Thats it?
Oh and mess up a lot. Ill be back in an hour.
Imani lifted the screen and Taz crawled through the window.
Taz had taught himself to play by ear. It was a wonder, considering the kid boomeranged from one foster home to another with very little comfort or stability. He did live with a nice family once but unfortunately wasnt able to stay with them for very long. That family had an old piano in the basement. Taz was able to learn notes and tunes by listening to the radio. He took that knowledge and ran with it.
Taz began to make up songs. Raps. He loved rap music the best. The nice family hated to see Taz go to another foster home but they were moving out of state. Taz sulked when he found out, but didnt cry. After years of rejection, he was all cried out. The nice family gave him a Sony Walkman as a going-away present. He kept it under his pillow and listened to it at night. The music became a lullaby that chased away his loneliness.
Taz played the piano now, messing up for the first thirty minutes just like Imani said to do. Then he just forgot where he was and why. Taz began to play a song he heard on the radio. A Michael Jackson song. It had a booming beat he loved. Taz pounded the bass line on the piano and twinkled the keys.
He played and played . . . all the while he heard the pop star singing in his head . . . Beat it . . . boom-dah-dee-dah boom- boomdaboom . . . boom-dah-dee-dah boom-boomdaboom . . .
Outside, Imani was having a good old time playing with Shari and the girls. She was jumping double-dutch. Imani was in the middle of the rope, making up her own rhymes, jamming, her feet pounding the gravel pavement. Without warning, Imanis playmates dropped their rope ends and ran. Imani tumbled to the ground.
Hey, she said jumping up with her hands on her hips like the little Sally Walker she was. I turned for yall. Come back here!
Imani bent down to pick up the rope. She saw shoes. Shed know those shoes anywherea pair of dirty Nikes and a pair of black leather loafers with both heels on a flat.
Her throat went dry, but her eyes had to look.
Maceo had Taz by the back of the shirt so he couldnt run. Quiet as its kept, she wouldve tried to run too if she had somewhere to go.
Maceo fussed at Imani all the way home, shaking her arm and fussing. He dragged Taz along; letting him know he was about one inch off his ass too.
Imani sat on the piano bench near tears.
Dont start that crying or Ill give you something to cry about.
Imani sucked in air like she was drowning, her chest heaving, trying not to let a single tear fall.
Maceo took a drink out of the flask he kept in his back pocket. He drank and sized Taz up. Youre new around here. How old are you?
Nine. Me and Imani in the same grade.
And yall in the same trouble. Maceo took another long drink.
I didnt do nothing.
You ah story. It was all your idea, Taz.
I didnt do nothing.
Both of yall, shut up. Theres enough wrong to go around.
Tazs stomach growled.
You hungry, son?
No.
Daddy, they dont feed him half the time. Hes a foster kid.
Taz hated her for saying that. For giving voice to the thing that he despised being mosta child that the world didnt value or love.
Maceo thought before taking another swig. Tell you what, son . . .
Taz. My name is Taz.
Okay, Taz. Im gonna give you a job. Ill trade you dinner every night, starting tonight, if you come by here in the evening and give Imani piano lessons.
Taz acted like he was mulling the proposition over. He asked, Can you cook?
Boy, I cook the best red beans and rice on the Maryland side of NOrleans.
Maceo scooped Taz uphe almost cringed when he felt the boys bony rib cageand sat him down on the piano bench next to Imani. Taz put bass in his voice. Okay, Im the teacher. You play lousy, so from now on you need to practice two hours a day.
Daddy!
Let Taz show you.
And from those lessons, the childrens relationship would grow and grow, and so, too, would their dreams.
Children are blessed because they can dream with their eyes wide open.
That Saturday, Shari and Imani crept out of the house into the night just liked theyd planned. They rode their bikes to the secret spot far from home, their home where the streets are littered with garbage and the mailboxes are filled with government checks. Poor but proud, the neighborhood loved and cherished its children, children like Imani and Shari.
The two downtown girls went uptown, stopping outside the fence, which bordered a historically black university. Imani and Shari sat on the fence near a window.
Inside, the alumni charity ball was being held. The two little girls had ridden their bikes to see . . . to see the beautiful black women of various shades gowned in spectacular colors as they emerged from the limos and the Lincolns, latched on to the arms of tuxedoed black men.
Elegant. Glamorous. Magical. To the girls it seemed as if the pages of Essence magazine had come alive.
Shari, Imani said to her best friend, its my turn to sit the closest.
They swapped places and Imani watched mesmerized, the moonlight dancing along the roots of her hair. Her heart leaped with excitement as she watched the women and men laugh and dance inside the ball. Imani gazed and whispered, Someday . . . Someday . . .
Children are blessed because they can dream with their eyes wide open.
Chapter One
Imani grew into a young woman who desired to be a star in the world and an endless torch in her lovers heart. Those conjoined dreams made up the center of her flower and its petals are all lifes possibilities.
Imanis voice was velvet on fire. Her brown skin was minted copper by the sun. For her, the world was music. For her, the lover was Taz.
She glanced at him now from the stage of the underground music club. One look and Imani swallowed her nervousness and began to dance on magic legs.
Taz matched each of her fantasy moves step for step. Rugged hips rolled inside his baggy jeans. The hands that stroked her neck and back beneath the sheets now swung on beat at his sides. Tazs dark and brooding eyes focused with a hint of light. Why? Because he was turned on by the sight of Imani performing his music.
If the world loved me, Id bring it to its knees . . . Making it my niggah, doin as I pleased . . .
Imani rapped his songs because Taz found unspeakable joy in beats and rhymes. She gave them voice, a voice that called out to their world.
Their world was right there, front and fabulous. Young men and women were jammed up against the stage. They let the grits meet the gravy, baby. They did their natural-born thing. Up against the wall. Up against other bodies. Up against the world hating on them with a passion. But it didnt matter. Because no matter what, they were still glorious.
It was a freeze-frame I dont give a damn to the world. It meant, Im getting my groove on whether you like it or not. Because at that very moment, a generations story was being sermonized onstage; the words were etched in culture, commandments of lifestyle documenting what it is to be inner-city hip and hopeless, fearless and fine.
Imani was serious; blowtorching out her rap the way ministers preach fire and brimstone from the Bible. The hip-hop congregation was digging on her sermon. But in his head Taz heard the gospel according to his critics. They had surfaced to the big time while Taz struggled.
Yo-yo-yo Taz. Your girl got skills no doubt. Makes your rhymes sound better than they are. But you gotta get harder, dog, if you wanna make it out of here. Your sound is too wangsta wanna-be gangsta.
Nothing can bring down a persons mood faster than the thought of a bunch of folks hating on their dream. Pleased with Imanis performance, but not the fact that she went on first, or the chump change the club owner paid, the couple got in Tazs beat-up car and rode over to Lovers Leap to unwind. Imani tried to tighten up Tazs unhinged spirits.
Baby, were gonna make it. Stop worrying, hear? I dont care what nobody else says, were gonna make it.
Taz smiled. Then he drew Imani to him. Taz pressed his tight muscular body up against hers. He kissed her passionately before stopping to whisper in her ear, I wanna be with you. I wanna give you every inch of my talent; every inch of my body until you scream for more. Im gonna show everybody I got juice by making you a star.
Imani was saved by Tazs words and washed in his rugged aroma. He smelled like natural earth in bloom. The pressure of his thighs against hers, the wetness of his lips against her skin made Imani wish for endless love the way children wish on a falling star.
Imani was a dreamer and she wore her hopes like speckled jewels. Anyone who met her was nearly blinded by the potential she showed and wound up hoping that the young diva conquered the world. Imanis desire for success was engaging.
Tazs desire for success was different. He had been orphaned by parents who were old enough to feel love, but who were too young to be responsible. So Taz felt life owed him.
It was in the world of rap that he wanted to thrive, to find intimacy. Beats and rhymes were his brothers and sisters. A song was the family he never had. He was determined to show that he belonged. His talent was awesome, the talk of the neighborhood and all the buzz in the underground music scene. But somehow Taz kept missing the big time. And that made his desire for success grow furiously.
Almost as furiously as the mad craving he had for Imanis body. She was a woman of stature; her breasts were mountains majesty and her hips curved from shore to shore. Her soft body was Tazs cushion. Her gentle spirit was his comfort. He wanted to shape, mold, and make Imani his own.
Taz peeled back the flimsy straps of Imanis tank top. The loosened material slipped down the way clouds slip away from the setting sun. Taz kissed every place that beckoned to him and left no pleasure call unanswered.
Yo, Taz? Imani? That yall?
They both turned towards the voice that had come from the drivers side.
Its me.
Go away! Taz yelled. He knew damn well who me was.
The car door was yanked open. The man with all the nerve had a booming body that was biglike powdah. But all of his facial features were Gerber Baby. This was Tazs best friend, Biggie.
Whatchall doing?
Imani quickly pulled up her top. Taz answered sarcastically. Whatdaya think were doing? She lost something and Im helping her find it.
Need a hand looking, brah? Biggie teased. All I find all I keep?
Taz jumped up and smacked his head on top of the car door. Ouch!
Biggie roared with laughter. He sang teasingly, Hey, E-mon- ie.
Hey, Biggie, she growled. Imani slammed the door shut after Taz fumbled his way out of the car.
Aww, come on, baby, dont be like that! Taz groaned at her. He turned around and threw an elbow at Biggies chest. Niggah what!
Biggie laughed, falling on the car trunk. Whats up, player?
Nothing now. Get your fat butt off my ride.
I aint thinking about this wreckmobile. Im about business tonight. Heres the dealio. Youve gotta do something about Maceo and the money he owes.
Taz grabbed Biggies arm and pulled him away from the car. Cmon, man, be cool. Imani doesnt know her father borrowed that money or that he messed it up gambling either.
Thats a problem, dog. Maceo has gotta come up with some cash or Mister Watson is gonna start tripping.
Talk to him, Biggie.
Like I havent. Thats all Ive been doing is running my mouth on Maceos behalf. Thats the only reason hes been able to get by this long.
Youve been holding it down for him?
Oh yeah, without a doubt. But time is ticking, Taz. The loan sharking business aint no church charity. That Jeep Im driving didnt come from the Goodwill. Mr. Watson wants to see some of his money or no telling what hell make me do.
You? But youre my best friend, Biggie. You wouldnt hurt Maceo; hes been like a father to me.
Hurting Maceo aint in my heart, but be real. You vouched for him and I vouched for you. Mr. Watson likes Maceo from way back, says he showed him how to hold a hand of cards and his liquor too. But a mans pity for another man dont roll down like water. It falls in drops.
Like tears.
Right. And I dont want us to be the ones crying for Maceos ass.
I feel you, Biggie.
Cmon, Taz. Talk to him. You practically run the place for him. You make him pay the rent, bribe the liquor license man, pay all the insurance. He must have some money somewhere, dont he? None.
What about your girlie?
No! I just told you, Biggie; Imani aint hip to none of this. And dont tell your big-mouth sister either. Theyre best friends and Shari cant hold water.
Okay, relax. Lets split up. You go talk to Maceo. Ill go talk to Mr. Watson and stall for some more time. Its worth a shot.
Taz scratched his head then waved Biggie towards his Jeep. Go ahead. Ill ride with you. You can drop me off first. Ill have Imani drive my car over to Sharis house and wait for me there.
I know what you mean, Taz. A female can mess up a mans business in a heartbeat.
Right. I dont want Imani nowhere around. You can drop me back over there later. Ill take her home then.
I dont know, Taz. Theres liable to be a whole lot of yacking behind this. Whats Imani gonna say?