20 Years in 27 Days: A Marriage in Music
#12: Luther Vandross—“Wait For Love”
by Mark Anthony Neal
In my mind, Luther Vandross The Night I Fell In Love (1985) found him at the peak of his powers; nowhere is that more evident than on the stirring ballad “Wait For Love,” notable for his unwillingness to end the song. The extended two-minute-plus riff that he does at the song’s closing should be required listening for every wannabe R&B singer, as an example of how you hold on to an audience, by giving the impression that they’ve yet to get your best.
Too many of the younguns shoot their load in the first verse and there’s little reason to stay around especially if they’re singing badly crafted material. Part of Vandross’ genius was in his patience—and he made us all better listeners because of it.
Patience. I think about that often with regards to the relationship I have shared for nearly 24-years with Gloria Taylor-Neal.
We had survived out first date, foggy windshield and all, and were going through the paces of a new relationship in December of 1987, getting to know each other, though we had been friends for about 5 years. The timing of it all meant that Christmas would take on a greater significance than either of us were prepared for, though there would be no family meet-in-greet over the holidays, simply too soon for those kind of perfunctories. Nevertheless we planned our first Christmas eve together; We’d meet at the Herald Square Macy’s, in "The Cellar" next to the David’s Cookies (can still smell that spot years later) and then head downtown to the Village to dinner at an upscale Falafel spot that she frequented. Sounds perfect, right?
Knowing how crazy parking would be by Herald Square, my idea was to park at a meter on 10th Avenue between 33 and 32nd streets, where I was working for a data imaging company called Downing Data (the dark years). Popped in my quarters, knowing this would have to be a short turn-around if I was to make to Macy’s and back—with the woman—without getting a ticket (it surely wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last—got a few tow receipts to prove it, but that’s for another day). In my haste—I locked my keys in the car (it was the first time, and surely wouldn’t be the last. One day my oldest daughter will tell the story of her father locking his keys in a running car). This is 1987, ain’t no Blackberries or iPhones.
So I’m standing on the corner of 10th and 33rd trying to decide to I get the locksmith to unlock the car or go get the woman; I chose to get the woman, who was just prepared to leave, accepting that she’d been stood up, when me and my tweed jacket, and Khakis with no socks, came running though “The Cellar” at Macy’s (was still in my 5K & 10K days). An hour later, I’m spending my last bit of cash, getting my car keys back—with the woman beside me—as we head downtown to dinner. Alls well that ends well, right?
So dinner is progressing, we exchange gifts; sigh, I’m way too casual about this. She gives me a Macy’s gift—a sweater if I recall, I give her a box of chocolates—the same box of designer chocolates that I had given out as gifts to lady friends throughout my college years, the same box of chocolates that I got for free from the stationary warehouse that employed me throughout college (Pen & Things, formerly on the corner of Astor and Broadway). Thank-God she loves chocolate.
Then come the realization that I have no cash and the restaurant doesn’t take credit. Sigh, shit, sigh is what I recall trying to figure things out in the bathroom. In what my wife will suggest is a recurring theme in our relationship, I asked her to bail me out and then asked her forgiveness (remember those tow tickets, and then there’s the story of the brakes).
That day, I learned that this was a woman that was willing to “Wait for Love;” something that would serve both of us in the future as I tried to figure out what I was gonna do when I grew up.
