Exit Strategy (6 page)

“But why now? She’s known all along what KSR was about. If she was going to be pissy about that altercation, maybe she shouldn’t have taken Tristan’s settlement.”

“I guess she was holding out to see if we were going to be successful or not. She says there’s buzz about us in the industry now or something.”

“I don’t know, girl. You better watch her. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. She snubbed us big time at the last few events we attended together. Now she wants to be friends again?”

Jada had a point, and I begrudgingly admitted it. “We don’t have to be best friends or anything. I’ll work with her because we can use some of her fan support for our rap artists.”

“Yeah, but keep that chick closer—like an enemy. She hasn’t shown herself to be a friend at all.”

“I’ll feed her out of a long-handled spoon, as Mama likes to say.”

“Good.” Jada plops in a chair in front of my desk. “So, Tracey says we’re having a huddle this afternoon.”

I sigh. “Yeah. It’s about time I apologized to everyone for my behavior. They shouldn’t be treated unfairly because I’m having Tristan White withdrawals.”

“If the White twins are identical in
every way
, I can truly commiserate with you there, girlfriend.”

I glower at her. “Don’t rub my nose in it.” 

“Aw, Keisha, before Tristan, you hadn’t had any in years. If anybody can work this drought, I know you can.”

I ball up a piece of sheet music and throw it at her head.

“Don’t get violent with me because you sabotaged your own supply of Vitamin D.” She catches the wad of paper and juggles it between her two hands as she speaks.

Jada played basketball in high school, so she’s pretty decent handling round balls. I cringe when she threatens to throw it back at me.

“Ha! I’m not going to kick you while you’re down. I’m just happy you’re going to make things right with the staff.”

“This really isn’t me, and I hope they know that.”

“I think they’ll be fine once you’ve huddled with them.”

“One more thing. Now that I have Princess Danai to work with as well as the orchestra the next couple of weeks—not to mention Mama’s wedding preparations—can I hand the management reins entirely over to you and Jorge for the next month or so?”

“Sure. If it’ll take some of the stress off. I’m down, and I’m sure Jorge will be, too.”

“And I’ll be in the studio this afternoon, so I’ll close tonight. As long as either you or Jorge will be around to give me a ride home.”

Jada grins. “I vote for Jorge.” Then she tamps down her excitement for my benefit. “I’m going to Nate’s game tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Please give him my best. I like Nate and still want to be his friend even though I’m not his brother’s submissive anymore.”

By the look on her face, I’m sure my best friend doesn’t believe me. In fact, I’m sure she believes that about as much as I would believe she didn’t want to be Nathan’s submissive anymore, and I’m grateful she doesn’t call me on it.

~*~

“Keisha, you left those satin lavender pumps you wore to Javier Jr.’s wedding in your old room. I think I’ll use those as my something old,” Mama says while flipping through a bridal magazine.

“Have at ’em,” I say. “I can’t imagine ever wearing them again anyway.” Nina had chosen those chunky old-lady-looking, dyeable shoes for her bridesmaids while she’d worn an elegant pair of designer shoes. We’d all been pissed, but apparently Mama likes them.

“Are you sure they’re the right color, Clara Lee?” Mrs. Searles looks over the edge of her reading-slash-doing-intricate-stuff glasses.

“Yes, Thelma. I held them up to my dress in the light, and they’re a perfect match. I guess my dress will be my something new.”

My mother is so happy, it’s scary. Seriously, she’s just not her usual curmudgeonly self, and it’s kind of freaking me out. Jada and I are helping her and Mrs. Searles, her self-appointed wedding planner, make little sachets of birdseed for the occasion, and she’s grinning and blushing like—horror of horrors—a true bride. I am blocking visuals of her and the pastor on their wedding night. I might just need to bleach out my brain when all is said and done.

“So, now you just need something borrowed and something blue,” Jada says. “Ooh, I have a silk pashmina my mother bought me when she and Daddy went to Indonesia. It’s all these variations of purple. I think it will go perfect with your lavender gown.”

“And this time of year you’re going to need a hat.” Mrs. Searles gets up and rummages in a bag she brought in earlier. “But here’s your something blue.” She hands Mama a white and baby blue garter with a little blue bow on it.

Mama, Jada, and Mrs. Searles giggle while I look at all of them like they’ve lost their minds.

“Don’t you come back from your honeymoon with a dislocated hip or a bruised pelvic bone,” I mumble.

“Keisha Anarosa! My bones are in good shape, I’ll have you know. Y’all might need to be worried about Pastor Johnson, not me,” Mama says and laughs again.

“Ooh, Mama Beale,” Jada says.

“We are not dead,” Mrs. Searles interjects. “We may be old, but we still have needs.”

Jada and I laugh. Me moreso to keep from throwing up in my mouth a little. I feel like running to the Gold Coast to find Tristan so he can erase the image of my mama making the “beast with a couple of decrepit old backs” with Pastor Johnson.

Oh my God, I’m going to die and go to hell, thinking such thoughts about my mama and the pastor.

“She’s just jealous,” Jada singsongs.

Mama puts the circles of tulle she just cut on the table. “I know she’s been sulking about Tristan.”

“She even had our employees at KSR walking around on eggshells,” Jada chimes in. I glare at her, and she shuts up.

“What she is, is pathetic,” Mama says. “You might as well just take him back and put us all out our misery.”

I whip my head up. While I should be perturbed about her speaking about me as if I’m not in the room, I glom onto what she said about Tristan. “How can you say that? I may not
want
to take him back for that matter.”

Mama clamps her lips shut and begins to fiddle with the tulle and ribbon in front of her on the table again as if I’d never spoken.

“Mama?”

She ignores me and shows Jada a department store circular. “Jada baby, what you think about this dress and these shoes? Ain’t no sense in spending extra money at a bridal boutique for yours and Keisha’s stuff.”

I put on a full-on sulk then. If Mama wants to ignore me, I can join her in her game.

~*~

It’s a rare Saturday afternoon that I’m in the Studio alone, and Tracey buzzes me to tell me I have a phone call. I pause the music I’m mixing and turn off the board.

“
Coração!
”

I know this voice. “Carmelo?”

“
Olá, querida
. I heard somebody’s living the dream.”

Carmelo Rojas was my brother from another mother when we were on campus at DePaul together. Just the opposite of me, the child of a Brazilian mother and African American father, Carmelo and I became friends when he was dating one of my suitemates in our freshman year. A year ahead of us, he graduated and went on to tour with a local band after college.

“
Ei bonito
, you heard right. So, are you here? In Chicago?”

“Yeah, you know I can’t stay away from Chi-town forever.”

“I understand. How long are you here for?”

He sighs. “Indefinitely.”

“What happened? You and the band part ways?”

“Something like that. Hey, want to get together tonight and catch up? I promise to tell you all about it over drinks and a little dancing.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“I hear this new club, Wicked, is banging.”

“Uh... no.”

“Why not? You know I like to check out new places.”

“Let’s just say I have an ex who owns an interest in that club. It’s too fresh for me to go there right now.”

“Gotcha. Okay, we’ll go to one of the old haunts near campus, then. Pick you up at ten?”

“Ten is excellent. It’ll give me time to close up shop here and go home to change.”

“Okay,
adeus, querida
.”

“
Adeus, bonito
.”

~*~

Carmelo and I settle on Bordelo, a club not far from the University of Chicago downtown campus. Jada flew to Phoenix for one of Nate’s away games, or I’d have her come along just to make sure this doesn’t look like I’m going out on a date. I may or may not have had a crush on Carmelo back in the day. However, there was never an opportunity for us to hook up. By the time he broke up with my suitemate, I was talking to Byron.

What a difference four years and a day make. Now Byron’s up on charges for drugging me with malicious intent, Tristan—who’s awakened my kinky side—is persona non grata, and Carmelo is here in the flesh, looking even better than he did when we were at DePaul. There was a time when I would’ve climbed Carmelo’s rock star body like a tree, but all I can seem to muster for him right now is something akin to sibling affection.

The club is packed, and Carmelo takes my hand as we make our way through the crowd to the VIP elevator. The bouncer looks at us impassively, but then Carmelo says something into his ear and the magic words convinces him to insert his key card into the slot and lift the velvet rope. The elevator dings as the doors slide open, and we enter.

I move to slide my hand out of Carmelo’s now that we have braved the crowd, but he doesn’t let go. In fact, he takes my other hand and scans my body. “
Meu Deus
,
querida
, post-college has been good to you.”

“I could say the same for you.” I slip my hands out of his, making an exaggerated show of putting mine on my hips. “How many broken hearts did you leave on your last tour?”

He pretends to count, and I smack him playfully. “I didn’t really expect you to try to answer.”

Carmelo laughs. “Just teasing.”

The elevator opens onto a more sedate scene in comparison to the melee downstairs. The music is thumping and people are dancing, but then others are relaxing in their private booths or lounging at the bar.

Carmelo greases the hostess’s palm, and she escorts us to a booth with a gorgeous view of downtown. The feel of Carmelo’s palm at the small of my back reminds me of Tristan. My heart shudders, but I push all thoughts of Tristan away and smile up at Carmelo as he hands me into the booth and slides right in next to me.

“A waitress will be right with you,” the hostess says with a smile.

Carmelo props an elbow on the table and rests his head against his fist, smiling at me. He resumes our conversation from the car where I told him all about KSR and how it came to be. I left out the part about Tristan and me being involved, but I did tell him that Tristan was our backer.

“So, you’re working with a dozen acts already?”

“Yeah, not to mention thousands of independent groups and stand-alone artists who are using our software to make demos so they can pursue music deals from existing traditional studios.”

“Then KSR is like the Amazon of the music industry.”

I consider for a second. “I suppose that’s right.”

The waitress comes by and we order drinks. We talk until we’re on our second drink and I’ve loosened up considerably. Why did I fear this would be some kind of come-on? Carmelo is—and always has been—a dear friend. I am laughing at a hilarious story he’s telling me about being on tour when I feel my skin crawl. I look toward the bar. Byron is perched on a bar stool, drink in hand, staring at me. Carmelo notices my sudden unease and follows my eyes.

“Speaking of exes, isn’t that Byron McCaskill?”

“Yeah.” Before I can clue Carmelo in on our current situation, Byron comes over.

“Keisha, I need to talk to you,” Byron says through a hardened sneer. No “hello” or anything. Carmelo immediately picks up on the tension.

“Yo, McCaskill,” Carmelo says. “Slow your roll.”

“Stay the fuck outta this, Rojas. This bitch is trying to ruin my life.”

Carmelo stands up with his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, but his posture says,
I’m ready to scrap if you are, brother.

“I just got back in town, and I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but you’d better watch your mouth. Keisha is out with me, and I won’t have you dissing her like that.”

  Byron reins in his hostility a bit. “This doesn’t concern you, C. I just want to talk to Keisha for a minute so she can get this monkey off my back.”