“Jimmy gave me a credit card,” Little Hank said, waving the bill away without pausing on the register. His long fingers moved so fast on the keys that they sounded musical.
I leaned into Jimmy and handed him the bill. He bent his head down toward me, glancing at the bill. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to leave so badly, he would bust out of his own skin and abandon his body in the store if he could.
“What’s this?” Jimmy whispered.
“I’m paying for Izzy’s records. They’re a gift from me.”
“Okay.” Jimmy looked up, with his eyes only, as a woman, a customer, wedged her way into the circle to talk to him. She was in a jumpsuit that was unzipped almost to her waist, revealing breasts that were smashed together like two loaves of bread on her chest. The woman immediately started talking in a run-on sentence, as if she wanted to say everything she could before someone moved her away from Jimmy.
“My babysitter brought Running Water records to our house ’cause we didn’t have any, see, and she’s a heroin addict now too, just like you, see, and I still listen to Running Water. . . .”
“Uh-huh.” Jimmy nodded. His eyes seemed unfocused and fogged over. He reached his arm toward me and I felt a small tug in my back shorts pocket. Jimmy had slipped the bill in there.
One of the bodyguard guys escorted the woman away from Jimmy and then moved other employees aside so Jimmy could sign the receipt. Izzy and I carried the two bags of records as the employee mob walked the four of us out of the store and to the car, the crowd of fans and shoppers trailing behind.
Gabriel laughed when Sheba put the key into the passenger-side door. “You gotta be kidding me, man. Jimmy and Sheba drive a station wagon!”
“Well, we got the kids.” Jimmy nodded at me and Izzy and then got in the car and didn’t roll down the window. Izzy and I got in too. Izzy rolled down the window and leaned half her body out, watching everyone give Sheba hugs or kisses goodbye.
When Sheba finally got in the car and closed the door, Jimmy said, “Let’s roll, baby, roll, roll, roll.”
Sheba pulled the car out slowly. The crowd walked behind us, their hands on the back window and hood. It took a long, slow time to get out into the street and finally pull away.
Once we could no longer see Night Train Records behind us, Sheba slapped the steering wheel with her hand. “That place was fabulous. I mean, there was nothing missing there. Nothing they didn’t have. And Gabriel knew everything about anyone who’s ever made a record. He knew everything about music.”
“Yeah, it was cool.” Jimmy rolled down his window and took a deep breath. “If we go back, I’m calling Gabriel ahead of time and we’re going in after hours.”
“Will he do that?” I asked.
“Oh yeah,” Sheba said. “Jimmy and I usually only shop in closed stores.”
“I don’t think we need more.” Izzy slid the records out of one bag and spread them across our two laps. She picked up Hair and stared at the cover, at the man with a neon-red-and-yellow Afro that radiated like a burning sun. The green lettering above his head repeated the word hair hair hair hair hair—upside down and right side up and sideways. I imagined people singing that word in ten-part harmony. My head felt a little dizzy and full of static, in the happiest way.
Mrs. Cone seemed hurt that we had gone to the record store without her. For the rest of the afternoon, she acted like she was a stranger in the house. As Sheba, Izzy, and I played the new records on the turntable in the dining room, Mrs. Cone sat on a chair at the table, a glass of wine in her hand. She rarely sang along and didn’t seem to be enjoying herself.
I was worried about Mrs. Cone, but mostly I was excited to hear the new records. There were so many that we started off by playing only one song from most albums, and two from some. Sheba picked the songs. I thought each one was the best song I’d ever heard, until she played the next one and then I’d think that was the best song I’d ever heard. Izzy requested that we replay “Family Affair” by Sly and the Family Stone three times because she loved singing it and holding hands with me and Sheba. “We have to sing it because we’re family,” she explained. Once we finished trying all the albums, we went back to Joni Mitchell’s Blue. Sheba wanted to practice the harmonies in “A Case of You,” and she wanted me to memorize it so we could sing it together tonight.
I had the melody memorized after only hearing it once. The words took me a little longer, and I couldn’t figure out what they meant. Once I had them down, Izzy and I went off to the kitchen to make baked mac and cheese.