Enigma Jones
Chapter 1
You don't know me, and you wouldn't recognize me if I walked by you on the street, but you've heard my name. Well, not my name, but my 'professional' name.
Enigma Jones. Yeah, that Enigma Jones, lyricist on five of the top twenty songs published in the last four years, and three more in the top twenty, all sung by the fantastic duo Starshine. Oddly enough, Starr is her real name. Star Winston, to be exact. She told me once they added another R to the end of her name for effect. I didn't think it would really matter if her professional name were Bucket Of Toads With Huge Slimy Warts. She'd still be one of the hottest singers in the universe, but Starr suited her.
She and I went to college together, a very liberal arts college in the mountains of North Carolina. We were even required to do at least eight hours of physical work weekly. Starr and I met on a tree-planting crew. She was a light-skinned stunner with a fantastically sculpted body, and I was a tongue-tied, skinny white nerd of epic proportion. At least, that's the image I projected. I didn't speak a word the first three weeks we worked together.
One thing I never could get in check was being brutally honest, and on the fourth week, she confronted me. "Are you afraid of black women?"
The comment startled me, and then I surprised her by grinning. "Oddly enough, very little scares me except women. But tell me, what would I say to you? That I love your hair? That when you move, you exhibit lithe and grace unimagined? That even in ripped jeans, hair in that messy bun, and a dirty tee shirt, I think you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, and we have nothing in common? All true, but that would be incredibly cheesy, wouldn't it? No, I prefer to bask in your presence and be happy for the little favor God did for me today." Our day was over by then, so I told her to have a good weekend and left her standing.
I may be young, but I learned early that the thing people hate most is a mystery. Deep down in our DNA, something profound makes us want to know. What are they doing? What are they thinking? Why are they attracted to this person but not that one? She was all over me the next time we were working. "You never did answer me the other day. Are you afraid of black women?"
"I'm afraid of all women, especially the beautiful ones. Once you get past the basics, your thought patterns are completely foreign to any man. I guess that makes me terrified of you."
Once again, she had to work it out in her head. "Let me rephrase that. Have you ever dated or been intimate with a black woman? Do you date at all? I never see you with anyone."
Now then, had she been checking up on me? "I have dated black women. I've also dated white women, a charming woman from Bombay, an Arabic princess from Dubai, and was briefly considering marriage with a woman from Taiwan."
"A real princess? Why didn't you marry the Chinese woman?"
"Miss Winston, where is this need to know coming from? And no, she was a metaphorical princess, and Miss Lee decided she loved her home country more than me. Have you dated men or women of other colors, if that's the case? And I could say the same about you. I haven't seen you in the company of others this semester."
She grinned. "You've watched me?"
"Don't be immodest. It doesn't suit you. Of course, I noticed. Every man and many women watch you and wonder what it would be like to be attached to you."
"I'm like you, concentrating on my career post-college. Romance and commitment are on the back burner, and I'm not a switch hitter." We worked for a while, me punching the holes while she dropped the seedlings in. We were the best team in the program, and we both liked the thought that if we returned to the college in later years, we could see a forest where we planted most of the trees.
Once the block was removed, we talked freely. "You're not nearly as shy and nerdy as you let on. Why?"
"Because it keeps me from being bothered. People look at me and think, no, he doesn't need to be at my party, and they let me be."
"That's important to you?"
I waved my arm. "Look around, Star. This is a liberal college, and half the people we're working with are at least partially high. Nine times out of ten, the education they get here won't help them in later life. I don't want that."
"So what do you want to do, then?"
I couldn't surprise her any more than I did. "I intend to be a potter. You know, coffee mugs, plates, whiskey jugs, pitchers, that sort of thing. I may do a little sculpting for my pleasure, but no face jugs. I hate those things."
She seemed amazed. "There's money in that?"
"More than enough for a good living, and if you get famous, like Burlon Craig or Sid Luck, you make really good money. I don't have to worry about clay; my uncle owns sixty acres in Catawba County, and there are enough clay deposits on it to last me a hundred lifetimes. I've been accumulating equipment since I was sixteen. I even got a mule-powered old-fashioned grinder, but I won't go that route. I'll put an electric motor on it instead. I've got several modern and antique pottery wheels, one that's foot-powered, scales, and shapers. I need a building when I graduate, and I'll be good to go."
"Are you any good?"
I showed her a series of photos of work I'd done. "Most of these are at the museum in the state capitol, part of an expo on up-and-coming state potters."
Star admired the jugs and liked the seasonal figurines I'd done of snowmen and Christmas trees. Then, I switched the conversation around to her.
"What's your major?"
She didn't seem that enthused when she said she was studying music, even though the college had one of the best programs in the region. The department chairman was a well-known roots musician with probably twenty albums to his credit and was a guest player on the recordings of many famous musicians. "Don't you like the program?"
"It's one of the best in the state, but I don't want to study music; I want to make music. I've got a perfect set of pipes; I could be a star with the right combination of management, production, and songs.
I grinned. "Star the star. Tell me, are you more interested in the songs or the stardom?"
"I want both. Good songs that will still be remembered in fifty years, and all the money to go with it."
"It's good to have a dream, but from everything I read, it's tough to achieve. I wish you luck."
Chapter 2
We drifted into an easy, uncomplicated friendship. She lived in the dorms, but I had a little money, so I rented a two-bedroom apartment right off campus. The bus ran right by my front door. I had a car, but this was just so much easier. She'd never been to my apartment, and I was surprised to find her at my door one evening. It was pouring rain, cold rain, and she was soaked.
"Star! What are you doing here?"
"Seeking shelter from the rain. Gonna let me in?"
"What? Oh, sure!"
It was a miserable October evening, the leaves long gone, leaving gray trunks against a background of gray rain. It was my least favorite time of the year. She came in shivering and couldn't seem to stop. After a few minutes, I showed her the shower, gave her a sweatsuit, and shut the door. I'd just about bet there was no hot water left when she was done. She looked great in the living room, still toweling her hair. "I guess a hair dryer is too much to ask?"
