STRINGS of COLOR Read Online Free Page A

she had some spunk about herself.
    That night at The Clue, he learned two things about her. The first being that she wanted Simone awfully bad and the second, was that she didn't take kindly to losing.
    He really liked that about her.
    A week later, Jake read in the papers that she lost her record label.
    Jake went back to watching her as his mental check list for women emerged inside his head.
    She's mature. I'll give her a check.
    She's pretty. She gets double check marks for that.
    She's got a nice car. Never really mattered to me, but it doesn't hurt either. I'll give her half-a-check.
    She's fierce. She is that and then some, another check.
    She's fabulous in every way imaginable, check.
    Should I? Absolutely!
    Jake got out of his car and walked up to her passenger side window and gave it a light tap.
    Misty wondered who this white man was, knocking on her car window. When he bent over, she recognized his cocky smile. She had seen it in the paper every Thursday.
    It's that columnist, the one who wrote that stupid article on the 'return of Jazzmyne.' What was his name? Jake, that's it, Jake the fan of Jazzmyne.
    She smiled at him as she started up her car.
    Jake took a step back and watched as Misty pulled off like a race car driver. He waived.
    He knew she was looking.



Chapter 3
     
    "The only thing that keeps me sane is the love I have for one man. A love I pray will last for an eternity."



Keeping Simone Sane
     
    S imone walked into her small apartment, kicked off her four-inch silver stilettos, and placed her purse and keys on the long narrow table, which sat against the wall of her hallway.
    Those shoes were not made for parks
, she thought to herself.
    Down the short hallway, in what was called her den—she could hear her phone ringing. She knew it could only be one of two people, Carl or…her Mother.
    Can I still call her that?
    Her body found its way onto the cold and worn-out hardwood floor.
    She stared at her toes.
    Then she stared at the wall.
    She allowed her guitar case to capture her attention
for a second or two. It had been sitting in the corner, unopened for a few weeks.
    She thought about screaming.
    Knew soon she would be crying.
    Tried hard to catch her breath.
    She slowly pulled the tape recorder out of her purse and stared at it for another hour or so before reaching to turn it on.
    Her voice was shaky, unsure of what to say but she knew that she had so much in her that needed to be spoken.
    "My name is Naya Simone. But everyone just calls me Simone. I am the daughter of two women."
    "One of which is Naya Monà whom the world has passionately embraced as Jazzmyne, the Jazz singer, and the other of course is Monà Naya Simone, who I have known for over thirty years as my mother."
    "I was born in what some might call the suburbs of New York. Mother and I lived in a small two-bedroom apartment, which boasted as being large but always felt more like two closets connected together with a tiny kitchen in the center."
    "Mother put bread on the table and kept the cabinets fully stocked by working two jobs she hated. During the day, she took orders as a customer service rep for a power company. At night, two to three days a week, she took orders as a waitress at a diner that was just a few blocks from our apartment."
    "Everything in our apartment was old but carefully chosen."
    "I can even remember this old Mercedes that we had. We were so proud of it, although it was worth less than one month's rent on our apartment. It ran as smooth as butter and when mother would sit behind the wheel of that car, I swear I could see her hair blowing softly in the wind. Her smile was wider and even her laughter was cheerful and filled with sincere happiness. Mother always said that we didn't have much but what we had was paid for and was quality. Truth be told, most days we struggled to find a dime or make a penny turn into something more than the copper it was worth."
    "It's funny, but just a week or so ago I was