Free Frost on My Window by Angela Weaver

series of lines. Impressive. I sat back and turned my attention to the conversation between Rena and Traxx.
    “Damien didn’t tell me how long you were going to be in New York, Traxx,” Rena said.
    “Yeah. We decided to leave that open.” Traxx began to chuckle. “Sorry, private joke. Damien wasn’t sure how this Texas boy would take to big city life.”
    I could hear the frown in Rena’s voice. “But you went to Stanford.”
    “Yeah. I guess that doesn’t count.” He smiled.
    “Doing damn good so far,” I commented as he smoothly exited off the expressway and pulled to a stop at the light.
    “Amen,” Rena echoed.
    “Thank you, ladies. Now if you’d like to continue singing my praises, I could use the backup on Monday.”
    “Monday?” Rena questioned.
    “I’m gonna be in the studio with Quentin Marks. Wants me to lay out a track on his new blues album. Some really old school, sweet rhythm and blues sound.”
    “Nice,” I commented.
    “Yeah. It’s just you don’t work with artists like him but once in a lifetime. My Dad would listen to his records all day while working in the garage.” His voice was filled with muted awe.
    Quentin Marks, the blues man dubbed America’s Beethoven of Jazz, could make a piano cry. Pop had all his records lined up on the shelves in the den. Sunday afternoons when Rena and I would help in the kitchen, the sound of a piano, the smooth deep rasp of the singer’s voice, and the wail of a saxophone would fill the house. Rena and I would mimic Mom’s slow swinging hips. Our houseshoe-clad feet would tap to the beat of the low-sounding bass. All the while the piano man would play.
    “Your dad is a mechanic?” Rena asked.
    “Naw,” Traxx replied. “He just likes to fix up old cars. Says it’s the only vice my Mom will let him have. Dad’s a doctor and my Mom’s a child psychologist.”
    Rena and Traxx continued the conversation as we entered the apartment. Taking a moment to turn up the air conditioner, I watched, amused, as Simba stared at Traxx before strolling over to the tall man and rubbing up against his legs.
    “So have I passed the test?” Traxx asked, looking down towards the cat.
    “Looks like it,” I heard Rena answer as I entered the kitchen.
    “So what happens to those who don’t pass?” he asked.
    I laughed after handing glasses of iced tea them. “Well, there was this one guy that Rena…”
    “Ahh, don’t want to hear it,” Rena interjected. I closed my mouth and took a seat as Traxx looked back and forth between Rena and me.
    “I’ll save that story for later. So Traxx, how did you get into the music business?” I asked curiously.
    “I was discovered three years back at a church choir competition in Dallas.”
    “How did that happen?” Rena questioned.
    “I was home for a minute and my mom’s choir director needed another alto, so I volunteered. Damon, the talent scout who was checking out the competition for a back-up singer for a new group his label had just signed, found me.”
    “Talk about luck,” I commented.
    Traxx nodded his head before leaning back on the sofa. “Yeah, it just kinda happened. Damon gave me his card and asked me to call him. I figured I had nothing to lose. Everything just fell into place after that.”
    “So what do you do when you’re not working, Traxx?” Rena asked.
    “Please, call me Trey.” He smiled at my cousin. “I help run a YMCA in our community. I like hanging out with the kids and shooting hoops.”
    My eyes drifted closed as he and Rena talked about giving back to the community and being involved. When I woke from my light doze, I was careful to keep my eyes closed.
    “You’ve got to be kidding. You actually liked Vanilla Ice?” Rena exclaimed.
    “Come on now,” Traxx challenged. “You’ve got to admit you thought his beats were pretty good.”
    “No way,” Rena denied.
    “So you’re telling me that you didn’t get your little groove on to a few of his songs?”
    “Okay,