DIDN’T CHA KNOW
Amos Pilgrim said, “You look like shit.”
It was three days after the concert and his torture/rescue from the bloody basement. D was sitting on a sofa in a room on the fourtieth floor of the Trump Soho with a spectacular view of lower Manhattan and Brooklyn to his right. Pilgrim was facing him.
“I hear, and now I see, that you had a problem after Night’s show in Brooklyn.”
“It’s handled,” D said. He tried to look as poker-faced as he could with a broken nose.
“You handle things, no disputing that. You need help with the medical bills?”
“I have insurance.”
“This isn’t an offer of charity, D. You have been so helpful in helping get Night back on track. I think that young man is the missing link—not just in R&B, but in black culture. Having him back onstage and making music gives me hope for the future.”
“I will be fine.”
“You still hold me responsible for Dwayne and Amina’s deaths?”
“Your stupidity started that whole mess that killed Dwayne.” There was an awkward pause in the conversation.
“Okay,” Amos finally said, “I accept that.”
“What choice do you have but to accept the truth?”
“Can I show you something?” Pilgrim disappeared into a bedroom. A woman’s voice could be heard and then some laughter. He emerged with a leather case an attorney might use for legal briefs.
“You gonna sue me?”
“No. Make you some money.”
The businessman sat down, unzipped the case, and removed three 45rpm records bearing the Motown logo. “I hear you’ve been looking for one of these.”
D peered at the ancient vinyl and then picked up one of the records. A wry smile crossed his face. “Why three?”
“I got a copy as a gift from someone at Motown many years ago. Then someone else hipped me to how valuable it had become in the collector’s market. You know how I feel about black history. We haven’t agreed on a lot, but when I heard about you searching for it I grabbed the remaining two.”
“That’s all that’s left?”
“That’s all the copies I could find,” Pilgrim said. “I been around this music business some fifty-odd years. I know a lot of people and this was all I could locate. So, you gonna make that British cracker happy?”
“Should I?”
“You took his money, D. You wouldn’t wanna be a renigger.” The two shared a laugh, which made D uncomfortable but he couldn’t help it. “Here’s what I suggest—if I may?”
“Go on,” said D.
“I’m gonna keep mine. You give one to that cracker. You keep one for yourself.”
“What would I do with it? Collecting isn’t my thing.”
“You are not a historian but you know the importance of legacy as much as the next man. You deserve a piece of it.”
“This doesn’t change anything that happened between us,” D said.
“One day I hope you’ll feel different. Until then, take these.” Pilgrim slid two of the 45s back in the leather case and passed it to D. He offered his hand, which the big man looked at and then, reluctantly, shook.