Can't Stop the Shine (12 page)

Flipping through the several other applications, one for Clark Atlanta, another for Howard University in Washington, D. C., and one more for the University of Pennsylvania, she thought about what her father wanted for her. They'd had another wicked argument several nights ago about where she should go to college. He was of the get-a-business-degree-so-you'll-have-something-to-fall-back-on mindset. Her mother, lamenting her dance career, was on her side. That didn't bode well for either of them in the conversation. Her father launched into a diatribe about how because he had a degree in business, he could always get a job and had some skills that could be used in a variety of industries. What was she going to do if she ever lost her vocal ability or if she couldn't play for some reason?

Kalia, not really having thought of that, was taken aback at first, then she became livid. It was the first time in her life she could remember raising her voice at either of her parents, but she did go off on her father. How could he not be more supportive of her talent and her dreams of becoming a professional performer? When her mother stepped in to try to explain that her father just wanted her to have security, Kalia shouted her down, too, telling them both they didn't believe she was talented enough to succeed and storming out of the room.

She remembered the ugly scene now, sitting at her desk and crafting her answers to the essay questions for the applications, and wondered if she was too hard on her parents. She knew they only wanted the best for her, but she also knew she'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least apply to Juilliard. As soon as she finished the applications she could concentrate on what to wear on her date. She wrote furiously, promising herself that she'd reread and make corrections the next day so she could mail them off the following week.

Hours later, Malcolm was holding her hand as they walked through Piedmont Park. He'd taken her to the movies and out to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant with white tablecloths and candles and now they were having a stroll in a park. No guy had ever treated her like this much of an adult before, she thought, looking down at his large brown hand covering hers. Of course she'd only been on a few dates anyway, she admitted to herself, but they all should have been like this.

She and Malcolm had talked about everything that night: parents (he was raised by a single father), college (he had two more years), even the three first date no-no's: relationships, religion and politics, which she knew little about, but to her surprise he was well versed in. Where they really connected was their shared dream of getting a record deal. Malcolm was a very driven young man who was well on his way. As they sat on a bench under a streetlamp on one of Atlanta's strangely pleasant November evenings, Malcolm laid out his plan to her.

“These CDs of my mixes that I've been burning, they're selling out. I can't burn them fast enough,” he said, “so I think I'm going to talk to this guy over at Soul Soundz about selling them at his spot. You ever been up to Soul Soundz?”

Kalia shook her head, playing with the puffy-ended ties on her fuchsia pullover shawl.

“That's cool, baby. I'll have to take you up there. It's in Little Five Points. They've got some really funky stores over there. I bet you'll like it. The guy who owns it is this cat who is really knowledgeable about independent artists. He imports music from all over the world. He's got hip-hop from all these different places like Paris, Cuba and even some places in Africa.”

“Do they rap in English?” she asked, trying not to stare at his perfectly groomed locks.
How does he sleep and keep them so neat?
she wondered, not paying any attention to Malcolm's answers to her questions.

She tuned back in to hear him saying, “…a lot of it is in whatever language they speak, but the music, the beats are unbelievable. They're spitting lyrics over their styles of music, like house music, drum and base, Soca, all kinds,” said Malcolm, rubbing her hand between both of his.

Kalia was extremely interested in what he was saying, but everything about him was so attractive—his Sean John style, the way he looked directly in her eyes when he spoke to her, his impeccable manners and his cultured attitude—that she could barely take his touch. She heard what he was saying, but it was like in a dream. She couldn't even speak.

“Yeah, so anyway I'm going to talk to him, and maybe he'll stock my CDs, you know. What I really want to do is get one to the Nite Bandit on Hot 103.5. You know he plays local deejay mixes on his show on Saturday nights?”

Kalia shook her head again. She'd never even heard of the Nite Bandit's show. Malcolm smiled down at her and put his arm around her shoulders.

“That's cool, baby,” he said again. “I guess I'm going to have to turn you on to some things.”

Kalia wanted to tell him that she was already turned on, but her voice was continuing to be uncooperative.

“Come on. Let me take you home. I don't want to get you in any trouble that's going to keep me from seeing you again,” he said, standing and pulling her up off the bench. Unready for the motion, she tripped a bit in her bone high-heeled boots and fell right into his arms. His closeness rushed to her head.

“If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask.” He chuckled, hugging her and steadying her at the same time.

“Oh I—I…didn't mean to do that,” she stammered, pulling away from him.

“So you don't wanna hug me?” he teased, folding his arms across his chest.

“No…I mean, yes…but not right now…but…” Kalia was so flustered and embarrassed that she didn't know what she was saying. “So do you wanna tour and stuff?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Well, yes,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her down the path toward his car, “but I don't really want to get into all that groupie type stuff. The industry is so whack now. You really don't hear good lyricists; one company controls all the radio stations, so you hear the same playlists. I miss the creativity back in the midnineties. When I was a kid, my cousin used to play Tribe and De La Soul and KRS-1. Even Tupac and Biggie had something to say, but today it seems to be all about who's got the spinning rims and the phattest cribs and stuff—not that I don't want those things, but you know what I'm saying, right?”

“Umm, hmm,” Kalia nodded. “Yeah, I don't like those popcorn singers—you know the ones, the studio artists. When you see them live, they sound like somebody's killing a cat or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, we're on the same page, but I saw you getting wicked on the dance floor.”

“You were spinning what I was dancing to—and it wasn't some conscious Lauryn Hill stuff either. You were killing the crunk.”

“All right, you got me,” he said. “It's the beats though, you know. Those booming beats are so fire sometimes that I don't even care what they're saying.”

“I feel ya.”

“So what about you? What do you wanna do? Do you wanna tour and stuff?” he asked.

“I'd love to do something like the Alicia Keys thing,” whispered Kalia.

“Why are you whispering?” Malcolm asked.

“Because it's a secret. I've never told anybody really what I wanted to do.”

“Ooh, I feel special.”

“You should,” said Kalia. “I think I want to go to Juilliard and really study voice and the piano. I want to be able to perform all kinds of music.”

“That sounds real cool. So when are you going to let me hear some of these skills you've got?”

“I don't know,” said Kalia, not sure if she was ready to let Malcolm that far into her life. “But I bet you didn't know that I'm one of the finalists for Who's Got That Fire?”

“For real?”

“Yep. We have our first competition in a few weeks,” she said.

“Oh, I'm gonna have to come and check you out.”

Walking along, holding hands with Malcolm, Kalia was in a dream world. What if she and Malcolm got married? They could be a power couple like Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith. They'd have a maid and a mansion, and they'd spend all their time in their in-home studio, he producing and she composing.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, opening the car door for her.

Snapping back to reality, she said, “Nothing. Just the future.”

“What do you see in your crystal ball?”

“That's for me to know and for you to find out.”

“Well, if I'm gonna find out,” he said, sliding into the driver's seat, “at least that means I'm there.”

“We'll see,” said Kalia, glad he couldn't read her mind since she'd already married him in her head.

“Umm, hmm…We sure will,” he said. With that, Malcolm drove all the way to her house with one hand holding hers and one hand on the wheel.

Kalia was hooked.

 

Mari wondered what time Kalia was coming home. She'd spent hours helping her sister get ready for her first date with Malcolm, and she was dying to hear how it went. She'd watched several hours of television, listened to Colby go on and on about Sean for an hour on the phone and even worked on a newspaper story she'd been assigned by an editor at the
East Moreland Review.
She was bored silly, sitting on her bed, wishing she had a guy to pay her some attention, when the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” she shouted, almost breaking her neck running down the steps.

She peered through the peephole to see Dewayne.

“Oh, it's you,” she said, opening the door. “Kalia's not here.”

“She's not?” he asked, looking at his watch. “It's like ten-thirty on a Friday night. Where is she?”

“Out,” Mari said, standing in the doorway with one hand on her hip.

“Oh,” said Dewayne, not moving.

“Okay, so you want me to tell her you came by, or you wanna come in and wait or something?”

“Yeah.”

Dewayne threw his shoulder bag on the floor, and they plopped down on opposite ends of the sofa in front of the television. Mari flipped on BET. Five minutes into the video countdown, Dewayne announced he was going upstairs to check his e-mail and he'd be right back.

Getting up to get some ice cream, Mari noticed Dewayne's bag had come unzipped and his sketchbook had fallen out. Picking it up and flipping through the pages and pages of illustrations, she forgot about the ice cream altogether. “He's really got skills,” she said out loud. She sat back down on the couch and curled up with his sketchbook, when she heard a car pull up in the driveway. She ran to the entryway and pulled back the curtains from the front window so she could see the end of her sister's date.

She heard Dewayne coming down the stairs and remembered she didn't put his sketchbook back. Cursing her forgetfulness, she sprinted into the living room intending to slip his book back into his bag before he noticed, but by the time she got there, it was too late. She had the book in her hands as he entered the room.

“What are you doing with my sketchbook?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said. “It fell out of your bag, and I was just putting it back.”

“You looked at it, didn't you?”

“Well…” she said, handing him the book. “It was open when I found it on the floor, so I didn't mean to, but yeah, I looked at it. Actually your stuff isn't bad.”

“How would you know?” he said, stuffing the book back in his satchel. “What do you know about illustration?”

“Nothing really, except that my sister probably doesn't give you enough credit for your drawings.”

Dewayne got a strange look on his face. He was about to say something, when they heard the front door open.

“You want something to drink?” they heard Kalia say.

“Yeah, baby. That's cool,” said Malcolm.

Dewayne's strange look changed to a perplexed one. He looked toward the entryway and back at Mari, then back toward the entryway. At that very moment, Mari realized what a bad idea it was for her to have asked Dewayne if he wanted to wait for Kalia. Watching his face drop as Kalia and Malcolm entered the room, she felt sorry for him.

“Oh, hey,” said Kalia, seeing Mari and Dewayne. “Malcolm, you remember my sister Mari and, uh, my friend Dewayne, right?”

“Fah sho,” said Malcolm. “What's happening?”

“Ain't nuthin',” said Mari.

“What's up, man?” said Malcolm, giving Dewayne a pound.

“It's all good,” fronted Dewayne. “I was just getting out of here, K. I left my book in your room.”

“Okay, cool. We're about to get something to drink. You want something before you go?” Kalia asked Dewayne, oblivious to his smashed feelings.

“Naw, that's all right,” he said, sliding around the back of the sofa and into the entryway.

“I'll lock the door,” said Mari, following Dewayne. “It was nice seeing you, Malcolm.” She looked back over her shoulder to see Malcolm taking Kalia's hand.