Rooted Saxophonist
He wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into the house. What would his wife be like? It would be possibly insulting to the woman but at the time her money had interested him more than her appearance or even getting to know her at the time. Not, something a woman wanted to hear every day but Jono was a man that spoke truth, dealt with truth. Which was why, he was upset over this marriage being aired before him. He recalled all the times he foolish flaunted the fact that he was single, and now it appeared to the entire world he was nothing more than another rock star leaving his wife at home to deal with things on her own. That upset him more than anything else. Reputation was everything; he learned that from his father years ago. When your reputation was tarnished it was near impossible to make a come back. And, his own forgetful nature over something that hadn’t been important at the time, but should have been, was now coming back to spoil what he worked so hard to build. Not just for the group but for him.
The voice that answered him couldn’t have been American. Well perhaps, through means of legal documents it was American, thanks to him, but other than there was too much of an accent to be called American. Jonothan was a man that knew all about accents. Most of his life, he had been pointed out because of his strong accent. He had been asked over and over if he was Jamaican. It seemed Jamaica was the number one island people knew about in the Caribbean. Well besides Cuba. And, he could understand why with all the popular musicians and great thinkers that came from the Caribbean country. But, he often told people he was not Jamaican, not in the least. His accent was not as heavy not as thick. But, it seemed any man with locks and dark skin must have come from Jamaica. After a while, he simply got tired of correcting them. The accent of the female that had replied was definitely not from the Caribbean. He didn’t think anyone would mistake the lilt of the woman’s voice for anything other than British. Her ancestors must be proud that she still clung to their way of speech, even when she gave up on what they offered her to move to another land. Would they roll over in their grave as his parents often said the dead did when they were not pleased with the actions of the living?
The sarcastic voice that answered him seemed to come from the sitting room. It was one of the larger rooms in the house. They did a lot of entertaining in the room and so there were lots of chairs scattered around the room to ensure the comfort of their guest. A lush carpet had also been installed. Jono always found he was one that preferred the floor to seats. He often found himself stretched across the floor with his back against a seat or propped up on an elbow making jokes or being an enthused member of a heated conversation. The house would soon be filled he was sure. His family; mother, father and possibly cousins would soon fly in to meet this wife of his. They would demand she be made an instant part of the family. He would be scolded for keeping her hidden and then for ignoring her. Luckily, by now Ry was use to the energy his family always bought with them when they came for a visit. They were always thrusting people into the family, welcoming strangers as if they were long time friends. Jonothan knew he could expect no less of them, especially not when the stranger was his wife.
Growling, he stormed into the sitting room. The woman had been swift to answer but, he would lay down the wood work. And, she would have no choice but to do things his way! She would stay and play the role of devote and forgiving wife. They would pretend to be reconciled. She would pretend to be a loving wife and he would pretend to be a loving husband until this all blew over. Then when they were done and in the clear, they would get that damn divorce and be done with each other!
The last thing Jono expected to see was a lean blonde woman standing in the sitting room. She looked like she stepped out a magazine. Perfection, he had seen it before but always at a distance, on glossy pages. But, this woman seemed to bring it to life. There was nothing familiar about this woman, nothing that would connect her with the scattered memory of the women he married. Jono looked over his shoulder to Ry, sure this was his friends wife. Jono was sure this woman did not belong to him. She was too perfect. What was more, she was not his type. He wasn’t a man that was taken by blondes. Indeed, he preferred dark haired women; blacks, browns and red heads. Blondes had never been his cup of tea. But, then again…that would not have mattered had the money been right. And, it had been. She was indeed his wife though he would not believe it.
Looking around the room, he tried to find the woman that belonged to him legally, “ aren’t there two of you?”
