Kingston and Barbara Jean began to date regularly. He had invited Barbara Jean to tonight's show. She was the envy of many young lady when it was noticed that she was with Kingston. He treated her like a queen and all of his attention was focused on her. When he sang, it appeared he was singing to her only. She basked in the attention she was getting. Later, after the show Kingston took her home. On the doorstep, he kissed her goodnight, again...and again...and again. Barbara Jean whispered in Kingston's ear, "Guess what?" "Mmmmm...." Kingston responded. "Mama's at work...and we can have the house...all to ourselves." "Girl...what's taking you...so long...to open the the door!" Kingston said as he gave her one more long, passionate kiss. They went into the living room and put on a stack of their favorite 45s. Kingston sat on the couch and Barbara Jean planted herself on his lap. They resumed what they started on the porch. The stack of 45s had played themselves out; they never even noticed. Kingston began to spend an enormous amount of time with Barbara Jean. He no longer had time to chill with the fellas. They began to tease him and accused him of being whipped. Kingston assured them he was a long way from that, he was going along for the ride.Cephus was in turmoil. He wanted more than anything to be in the group, but he was tied down with his job at the Post Office. Working put a damper on his social life. He was out of synch with everyone else. They wanted to hang, he wanted to sleep. When time came for rehearsals, he had to work. Off days were few and far between. He found it hard to make friends at work. The majority of the people couldn't fathom why he wanted a career in the music business. This job was secure, he could make all the overtime he wanted, and the benefits were fantastic. They came from the same school of thought as hi father had. It seemed as if these people were brainwashed. How his father had survived 20 years doing the same boring shit everyday was beyond him. He had only been there a few months and already he was bored senselessly. He could liken this to his father's stories of picking cotton in the fields of Mississippi as a child. Only now, the cotton was indoors. The job was getting the best of him. He glanced at his watch; he should have been back from his break ten minutes ago. Now, he would have to hear his stupidvisor's mouth. He had been reprimanded for one thing or another since the day he was hired. Cephus had some serious thinking to do.
Byron and Peaches has just taken in a movie at The Met. They decided to drive over to the lake afterward. "Come on baby, you can move a little closer to me, I don't bite," Byron whispered to Peaches. "Your biting me is the least of my worries, Byron," Peaches huskily said as she slid her warm body toward him. He drew her closer as he began devouring her luscious lips with warm, gentle kisses. She responded eagerly and more passionately with each hungering kiss. The flames of desire burning deep within each of them intensified with each sigh and moan. Please, don't let her stop me tonight, Byron silently prayed. He wasn't sure if he could contain himself if she did. Just as suddenly as he had that thought, they were blinded by a bright light shining in the car. SHIT! If it ain't Officer Friendly! "OK kids, let's move it along, the park closed over two hours ago." Byron sighed heavily and reluctantly started the car and headed out of the park. There was no chance of resuming; Officer Friendly didn't seem as if he were in the mood tonight. After he dropped Peaches off at home, Byron decided to call it a night also. In his darkened bedroom, he laid on his bed, clad only in his shorts, staring at the ceiling; sleep refused to come. Aaah! Peaches...she was on his mind, she was under his skin, she was in his heart, yet, she was out of his reach. He had never had a yearning that burned so deeply. There just had to be a way he could have her. He stared into the darkness as the cool breeze wafted through the window, searching his soul for answers. He finally drifted off after he arrived at the perfect solution to their dilemma.
James, the more serious and social conscious of the group, actively pursued his education as a music teacher. He had begun classes at Chicago Teachers College. He looked forward to the day he would help children discover the joys of music. It was his life's blood. Both parents sang in the adult choir. His mother was soloist and organist. She would have preferred her son limit his music to gospel. She tried to convince him of this. She didn't want him singing 'the blues.' "Ma, I don't think God will mind if I sing R & B. This group's routine is tastefully executed, Pastor Bishop has even complimented us on our performance," James offered as he tried to convince his mother. "We pride our selves on being clean and polished." Mom was losing ground, she sought assistance from her husband, he offered none. "As if singing the blues isn't enough, you have to spend the rest of your time demonstrating and marching for 'the cause.' It's a wonder you have anytime left over for your studies." Mr Bass then came to his son's defense. "Mabel, James' grades aren't suffering, and I think it is important for him to be involved in the Black Student Coalition. There are a lot of other things he could become involved in, you know. Lighten up, besides, if his mind is set on something, you know he's going to do it anyway." They had begun to discuss him as if he wasn't in the room. Mr. Bass laid his wife's fears to rest when he told her that her son was no longer a child. "We have already raised him, and so far, he has turned out fairly well. Now it's time to let him spread his wings and fly." With that, Mrs. Bass gave James a warm hug and promised to always support him in his efforts. He had not disappointed them so far, why should she start worrying now ? After all, this was the son who had made them proud year after year, with various awards and accomplishments.
Kingston barreled up the stairs to his apartment. He could hardly contain himself. He couldn't wait to tell Mumzee! He burst through the door, there sat Mumzee and Trina, his sixteen year old sister, both sitting in rocking chairs, looking at the evening news. Mumzee rocked, Trina creaked, Trina rocked, Mumzee creaked. They reminded him of a then and now picture. He looked at Mumzee and saw what Trina would look like in years to come. He was worried about Trina. Her only activities were going to school and being Mumzee's shadow. At times, he wish he could force her out to have a little fun. Enough of that, he'll deal with her later. He grabbed each by the hand and pulled her up and started dancing with them. "Guess what ?" he gleefully shouted. "We're going to be the opening act for James Brown at The Regal Theater next month! Finally, we're getting the break we need! The pay isn't that great, but we'll be getting the opportunity of a lifetime! Think of the doors this exposure could open up!" Grandma Mumzee was overjoyed. She was proud of Kingston. He seemed to have adjusted to his parents' accidental death, she was sure Trina never had. Kingston was eight at the time; Trina was only four. Kingston was a carbon copy of his father, a club singer, in thier home town, Kingston, Jamaica. He was tall and of medium build. His mocha tinged skin, high cheek bones, and keen features gave him a sculpted look. Although Kingston turned out fairly well, there had been times she thought he would surely end up in a ditch somewhere. He was level headed; but his temper got the best of him at times. He didn't take NO SHIT from NO BODY! He even had the audacity to try her a few times. She quickly brought him back. She was happy for him. Singing kept him focused and out of trouble.
Kingston went straight to his room and cleaned his floor to ceiling mirror. He began to change into different outfits and made note of which cuts complimented his body. Not only did he sing well, he could cut a mean rug. He began to execute moves. The fact that he was the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome was the cream on top. He fervently practiced his moves. he knew he was good; but he wanted to be perfect, and he considered himself a long way from perfect. He labored continously, each performance better than the last.
