Commitment (50 page)

“Thank you.
”

Riley
stood, feeling all of sudden that maybe she had unde
r-prepared for this assignment.
She passed by offices
just as
staid
in
appearance as the reception area but with
additional
element
s;
posters and CDs strewn about,
magazines and glossy headshots
;
TVs
and
DVD players
.
On the walls of the hallway itself, the corporate art was
substituted
by blow ups of
CD
jackets
, including two of Shawn’s.
She stopped to look at the cover from his first album, when he was no older
than Mike and Darryl were now.
He looked the same, just a little less muscular,
less
knowing
ness
about
the eyes.
She tilt
ed her head to the side and moved in for a closer look.

“He was seventeen
in that one.
Just about to turn eighteen.
Just about to blow up the hip-hop universe.
”

Riley
looked up.
She hadn’t even noticed Chris
emerge from
his office
,
dressed as he always
was in
baggy jeans, white
t-shirt and plaid button-down.
She extended a hand to him and he took it, but leane
d in to kiss her on the cheek.
Chastely affectionate.
Already she could detect a difference in his
demeanor
from when they’d encountered each other socially.

“How much of your time
do
I have?”
Riley asked.

“For
Smooth
’s wife, as much as you need.”

“I won’t take more than you can afford, I promise.”

T
he view
from Chris’ office
was magnificent.
But beyond t
hat, the decor was spectacular.
A semi-circular brown lacquer desk consumed almost one entire wall and to the left was a bar, an art deco burgundy leather sofa and matching chairs arranged around a circular coffee table made of
the same material as the desk.
There was an oversized
LCD
television built into the wall, and w
ireless speakers were placed
about the room, looking more like sculp
ture than electronic equipment.
On the walls were paintings and prints by Bl
a
ck artists that
Riley
recognized on sight.
Work that she herself had admired
a
nd often wished she could buy.
Of course,
she realized with a start,
now she probably
could
buy art like this
.
The carpeting was a soft, mellow brown, making the huge office feel somehow cozy and expansive at the same time.

“
Something
to drink?”
Chris offered.

“Ahm . . . sure.
Anything.
Nothing with alcohol though.”

C
hris gave her a scolding look as he headed over to the mini-bar. 

Riley
put down her bag a
nd settled on the leather sofa.
It was softer th
an she expected. Comfortable.
Maybe to
o much so.
She
moved to an armchair instead.
Chris brought her a glas
s of fruit juice and a coaster.
A coaster from Chris Scaife, who liked to put his feet up on her furniture
and light up cigarettes without asking
struck her as amusing and she smiled.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, sitting across from her.

“Your transformation is a little much for me.”

“This is about business,
Riley
.
Whe
n I’m out there,
different guy
.” 

Even his speech
-pattern
was different.
I
t was the same way with Shawn.
When he spoke to he
r, his diction, choice of words, everything
was
altered
.
And then he turned to speak to Chris or Mike and Darryl and
some other guy seemed to show up.

“Okay.
But you’ve given a million interviews about your business side,” she said takin
g out her pad and pen.
“I was hoping to talk about another side.”

He
was already shaking his head.
“I don’t talk about my personal life to
the
press.”

“The press?”
S
he
ga
ve him her most charming smile.
“Whatever happened to ‘
Smooth
’s wife’?”

“
Smooth
’s wife who happens to be a member of the press.”

“Okay, fair enough.
But if we’re going to do what you’ve done with everybody else, I have to be honest with you, there’s no point in me doing this interview.”

Chris looked at her a
s though trying to figure out i
f she was bluffing.
He leaned back into the sofa. 

“Sorry to
waste your time
.
I’ll get a car to take you back
to your office
.”

Riley
smiled
and began gathering her things.
“Thank you.”

He watched her for a few moments then lea
ned forward again.
“Still,
” he began.
“
Smooth
is one of my best artists.
I like him.
I like you.
Maybe we could do something.”

“I’d really appreciate it.”

“A’ight.
So go ahead.
Gimme
what you got.”

Riley
took a deep b
reath.
She could try to ease her way toward the subject, or
she could go for the jugular.
She had to mak
e her call now or never though.
She looked at Chris across from her, completely confident,
shrewder
than
she had given him credit for.
If she tried to ease into it, he would know it was coming and prepar
e to cut her off at the knees.
She had to
go big, or she would
definitely
be going home
.

“I want to talk to you about Audrey,” she said slowly.

He looked stunned to hea
r the name, and then resigned.
And then he was blinking rapidly, as though he act
ually might cry.
He reached for his own glass of juice and took a long, slow swallow.

“What
d’you want
to know?” he asked finally.

g

Sha
wn’s flight was two hours late
and
Riley
didn’t hear him come in
.
W
hen she
got ready
for work the
next morning, all she saw of him was his sleeping form
under the covers
next to her.
She
was tempted to wake him
but the fact that he hadn’t stirred at all while she
moved about the room
told her how tired he must be.
At
the office,
there was voicemail
he’d
left
late
the
previous evening
, reminding her to
go
straight
home from work because they had an event
that
night
.
She’d totally forgotten about it – there was a party at the home of one of rap
’s biggest superstars in South
ampton.
The drive would take about two hours, so they were leaving at about
8:30
.
If she wanted a little downtime before then, going straight home was proba
bly a good idea.
Not going at all
would be an even better idea.
Riley
didn’t realize how audible her sigh was until Peter stuck his head in.

“Yes, I know
,” he said with mock sympathy.
“It’s tough being married to a super-rich, s
uper-cute celebrity, but somebody had
to do it.”

Riley
blushed.
“You have n
o idea what I’m sighing about,”
she said, not looking at him.

Peter shrugged.
“You’re right.
So w
hat’s going on?
We haven’t hung out lately.”

“I know.
We have to make plans,”
Riley
said.
“I could totally use one of our all-nighters.”

“So w
hat’s your excuse?” Peter said.
“You know I’m always up for one of those.”

Underneath his lighthearted tone,
Riley
could hear real
peevishness.
She had been less accessib
le, there was no denying that.
Between trying to adjust to her
new
role at work
and
being suddenly married
, she seemed not to have a spa
re moment for her old friends.
That
reminded her
of
Dawn and this
god-awful idea of a photo shoot. S
he would have to figure out a way to artfully avoid that little commitment.

“I don’t have an excuse.
We should do something soon.”

“How about tonight?”
Peter
asked
,
the hint of a challenge in his voice.

Riley
’s shoulders sagged.
“I can’t.
I have a party at Cameron Cole’s.”

The moment the words came out, she regret
ted them.
Cameron Cole was
only the most recogn
izable name in all of hip
hop.
There was no way to utter the phrase “
I have a
party at Cameron Cole’s”
without sounding pretentious.
And by the lift of Peter’s left eyebrow, she knew that that was exactly the way she sounded.

“Look, I wish
I
didn’t hav
e to go,
” she hastened to add.
“But it’s like a business thing for Shawn.”

“The operative
words being ‘for Shawn’
,” Peter pointed out, sniffing.
“But that’s
fine;
we can do
it
some other time.”

“You could come with me,”
Riley
sugg
ested, hoping he would refuse.
If he didn’t,
Shawn would be livid.

“No thanks.
Rappers are terrible homophobes.”

Riley
caught herself
before she defended Shawn.
Was
he a homophobe?
She
had no idea
, she realized with a start.

“So how about . . .” she counted days in her head, calculating when Shawn would be i
n Houston.
“. . . Tuesday?”

“Okay, b
ut it has to be at your place.
I’ve never
seen it
and I want to be able to
gossip
about it later behind your back.”

Riley
laughed.
“Deal.”

“Good, it’s a date,” Peter sauntered out. 

g

 
She
got
home in plenty of time to relax, unwind,
and
watch the news
.
Making dinner
didn’t seem to make sense given the spread that was likely to be at the party,
so
she lay back in bed waiting.
Shawn hadn’t answered his phone when she called, so
he was probably in the studio.
He
came
blowing
in at about
7:45
, with just enough time to get showered and c
hanged, so t
hey spent three-quarters of an hour almost without exchanging a
single
word, tearing throu
gh their closets getting ready.
It was only when they were dressed and in the car headed for the FDR that they had a
chance to catch up.