“What would it look like if I let him grope you in front of all those people and didn’t do shit about it?”
“So ultimately it’s more about you and some crazy, macho rapper thing than any of these other sham reasons you come up with.”
“No, it’s about keeping you away from that bullshit. You think you can go to a party like that in a little see-through top and not have dudes pushin’ up on you?”
“Wow,” Riley said. “So now it’s about what I was wearing.”
He said nothing.
“I am not a child, Shawn. I’m perfectly capable of telling a man who’s being touchy-feely to get his hands off me. Regardless of what top I’m wearing.”
“It’s not about you not being capable; it’s about me looking out for mine.”
“What does that even mean? Yours? Like I belong to you?”
Shawn bit his tongue and continued throwing things into his bag. The argument had begun this morning when she’d first seen the clip and continued on and off whenever she thought of something else that pissed her off about the situation. Her boss would see it; her co-workers, her mother. She wouldn’t be taken seriously as a writer.
She stood directly in front of him; her feet planted apart, arms folded across her chest. Rather than look up to her, Shawn stood so that the opposite was necessary.
“It’s a figure of speech, Riley.”
But she was already off on her rant. “Is that what this marriage means to you? That I belong to you?”
Truth be told, that’s precisely what it meant to him. Shawn walked around her, carrying his bag into the foyer and dumping it on the floor. He pulled out his phone and called Brendan, confirming that he was waiting downstairs.
“I’m talking to you,” she said when he hung up.
“Yes,” he said calmly.
For about ten seconds Riley said nothing. Then she looked up at him, momentarily dumbstruck.
“Yes, what?” she asked quietly. “I’m your partner and your wife. Not something you own, Shawn.”
He shook his head. “As usual, you got this all twisted . . .”
“What’s there to get twisted? You think I belong to you.”
“Yes . . .”
“Belong to you?”
Shawn could see she was trying desperately to get him to seize this chance to recant, but he wouldn’t do it. He did think she belonged to him, and there was no point pretending differently.
“Yes.”
Riley’s face crumpled in defeat. “Maybe the next time I wear a see-through top you should just brand your name across my back,” she said dully. “That way everyone will know I’m yours.”
“Riley, c’mon . . .”
“You’d better go before you miss your flight,” she said. “Brendan’s waiting.”
She turned and walked back into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Shawn glanced desperately at the time, and then at the bedroom door. He had to go if he wanted to make his flight. He stood there, hand on the doorknob, then changed his mind. He would call her later and tell her then what she hadn’t allowed him to say. That he belonged to her, too.
g
Chapter Eleven
“‘K Smooth replenished his waning street cred when he delivered . . .’”
“What?” Shawn sat up midsentence. “Read that part again.”
“‘K Smooth replenished his waning street cred when he delivered an old-school beat-down to the braggadocious Cameron Cole. At his own crib, no less. Cole has long antagonized fellow rappers by his dismissive . . .’”
“I don’t care about that part,” Shawn said. “I want to know what the fuck they mean by ‘waning street cred’. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Too bad it made the trades. Riley is going to . . .”
“She’s already mad,” Shawn said dismissively. “Who wrote that shit?”
“Darnell Parker.”
“Wait till I see his ass,” Shawn said between his teeth.
“You gon’ break his jaw too?” Brendan asked without looking up from the paper.
“You sound like Riley,” Shawn said, disgusted. “Nobody’s jaw got broken.”
“Close to it. That first punch, you straight cold-cocked his ass.”
“He shoulda known better. Next time, I will break that mo’fucka.”
It didn’t matter what anyone said, he would do it exactly the same way again if given a chance. Riley still wasn’t returning his calls, so admittedly that was a drawback; but it was the only one he could see. By now, she’d probably heard from the amen-chorus of her mother and Tracy, telling her that he was some kind of savage to have gotten into a fight but one of the benefits of being married was he didn’t have to fear her silence. They would make up sooner or later; he just had to wait her out. And that would be decidedly easier to do since he was away and working eighteen-hour days.
“Call Darnell up,” Shawn said. “Tell him I want to talk to him. I want to find out what this ‘waning street cred’ shit is all about.”
“Shawn, that’s just some crap he made up to make his shit sound more interesting.”
“Maybe. I still want to check it out.”
Brendan shrugged. “A’ight. But it’s a waste of time.”
Darnell Parker worked out of Atlanta, so an in-person meeting wasn’t in the cards, but Brendan arranged a conference call for early the next morning. Shawn and Brendan called him on three-way while they waited for a stylist to show up with some new outfits for an appearance later on.
“So I’m guessing you’re not happy about my story,” Darnell drawled.
“Why don’t you tell me what the hell you meant by that shit?”
There was a brief silence. “I thought you were talking about the fight. What’re you talking about?”
“‘Waning street cred’.” Shawn said flatly.
It took Darnell a moment to recognize the phrase then he let out a short laugh. “Oh come on.”
“Darnell, you better have something,” Brendan warned. “If you tell us that was just some shit you wrote because it sounded good on paper, we might have to get upset.”
“Okay, fine,” Darnell said, sobering up. “I was referring to the last CD.”
Shawn and Brendan exchanged looks. The last one was Shawn’s favorite. It was the first time he’d felt like he’d produced something that was almost purely his vision. Every beat, every hook, he had input on.
“What about the last CD?”
“Look, you read the reviews. You know the word. The beats are solid, but it’s preachy. People don’t like that ol’ KRS-One shit no more, Smooth. You should know that. Young ‘uns out there want you to relate to them, not heap on the judgment.”
“You feel like it’s judgmental?”
“Look, you’re still number three on the charts, right? So who gives a shit what I think?”
“The people who read that mess you write,” Shawn said.
“Smooth, I’ve been giving you good press for years. I ain’t never heard from you not one time offering me nothin’. I mean would it kill you to tell me you was getting married?”
“Is that what this is about?” Brendan said. “Because if it is, Darnell, I’ma have you up as a petty-ass nigga.”
“You know better than that,” Darnell said. “But your public relations is shitty. Lemme just put that out there. You were on Newsweek last year and that’s all well and good. And then you did that intellectual magazine your wife writes for, and that’s cool too. But y’know what? You’re alienating your base with that mainstream shit.”
“Power to the People is not mainstream,” Brendan argued.
“It is to the hip-hop generation. That’s as Mom-and-apple-pie as Ebony, as far as they’re concerned. So get yourself a new publicist, Smooth. That’s my advice to you. And the other piece of advice I got is, give me an interview. Give Vibe an interview. Shoot a pictorial of you in the most fucked-up neighborhood in the Bronx or some damn thing . . .” Darnell trailed
off.
Shawn looked at Brendan. Darnell had a point. They both knew he did.
“A’ight, Darnell,” Shawn said, feigning boredom. “You ain’t got shit to say as usual.”
Darnell laughed. “Smooth, you know you’re my boy but you got to step your game up, kid. If you want to do something, just holler at me and I’ll get you a feature. You still got that pull. For now.”
Shawn threw the phone across the room where it exploded into pieces against the wall.
g
No one would believe it, but it had never been about the money or even the fame for him. When he thought about the days before he had hits on the radio and record-breaking CD sales, all Shawn remembered was that he wanted to be heard; feeling like he had something to say and no one was listening. And when they finally did listen, the money and the crowds and the VIP treatment were all extras; the biggest pay-off was, and remained, having a voice that mattered. Now Darnell was telling him that before long, his voice might not matter so much after all.
Tomorrow was the first Houston show and just that one conversation had rocked his confidence. When Brendan asked if he wanted to check out some clubs, Shawn passed and instead stayed back in the hotel. It only took a couple of hours for the silence to drive him crazy so he picked up the phone.
It was late and Riley was already in bed, sounding a little drowsy. Still, she had picked up so that was something.
“So you still mad about Cameron’s party?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I don’t like fighting with you when you’re away. We’ll fight about it when you get back.”
Shawn smiled. “Deal.”
“You don’t sound like yourself. What’s going on?”
“Just bullshit. I’ll tell you when I get home.”
“Will you?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “I wish I believed it,” she observed, almost to herself.
She was obviously tired and, no matter what she said, still a little pissed off because under normal circumstances, she never would’ve let that slip out. Between them, Riley was the one who always exercised restraint and kept things level. If there was ever a night when he needed her to keep things level, this was it. He wouldn’t have cared if she didn’t talk at all - it would have been enough to listen to her breathing on the other end of the line and that would have calmed him.
Shawn opened the blinds and sat on the desk with his legs propped against the windowsill, looking out across the city. Hotel Derek was one of the most exclusive in the city with suites that looked more like modern studio apartments. This was what people dreamed about when they imagined what it was like to be wealthy – views like this, in every city they visited, the entire world stretched out at their feet.
“What’re you thinking?” Riley asked on the other end of the line.
“Nothing.”
“Well I’m tired, Shawn. I don’t know if I can sit here while you think about nothing. I have work tomorrow.”
Definitely still pissed.
“Are you there?” she demanded.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just trying to figure out what the fuck your problem is,” he said.
“The problem, Shawn, is that I’m not your employee, and for that matter not your possession,” she said. “So I need a little more give and take.”
“What are you talking about now?” he said, exasperated.
“I’m sitting here, something’s obviously wrong and you . . .” she sighed. “Forget it.”
“No, speak your mind.”
“You called, so talk to me. What’s going on? That’s not a difficult question. I share something, you share something. I want to feel like you trust me enough . . .”
“We talk all the fucking time, Riley. And talk and talk and talk. I don’t know what you want from me. And who said anything about not trusting you?”
“It doesn’t feel like you do,” she said quietly. “I can feel you holding back.”
“Well, if you want to get technical about it, you were cheating on your man when we got together, so some people might say you’re not the most trustworthy to begin with,” he said.
“Wow. I knew that would come back up one day. That’s a rotten thing to say.”
“But it’s a true thing to say,” Shawn said.
“I was with you. You’re the person I was with.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that made him feel a lot better. What did you tell him anyway, to make it okay? That you fell in love?”
“I did fall in love,” she said quietly.
“Yeah. From the moment we met? That’s what all that sneaking around was about for you? Love?”
“What do you want me to say? That I was in it for the sex? Okay, I was in it for the sex. At first. Just like you. Why is what I did any worse?” she demanded.
“Because you were ‘with somebody’,” he raised his voice. “Isn’t that what the fuck you said after I hit it? But you lied to that motherfucka like a pro. For months.”
There was silence for awhile and then he realized she was crying. He’d never made her cry before, but instead of feeling remorse, Shawn was surprised to feel a surge of resentment. The fact that she could still cry about that shit with Brian just pissed him off more. Did she still have feelings for that motherfucka, or what?
“I didn’t lie to him,” she said. “I . . .”
“You just didn’t tell him the truth. Semantics, Riley. Looks like that fancy English degree is coming in handy after all.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said. “That you’re trying to make me ashamed of what happened between us, no matter how imperfect the circumstances were.”
“How imperfect the circumstances,” Shawn repeated. “Right. There you go again, trying to dress the shit up. You were fucking me when you were with him. I agree that’s pretty damn imperfect. How many times did you leave my bed and go straight to his? Lay up with me one day and then him the next?”
She was really sobbing now and seemed unable to get out what she wanted to say. Shawn shook his head. He didn’t need this shit. Not right now.
“You want to preach to me about give-and-take in a relationship?” he continued. “Well you better check yourself first. Looks to me like you’re real good at the ‘take’ when it suits you. Hell, for all I know, you might fall in love again. With someone else. Someone who doesn’t have a hard time sharing. Someone who talks your fucking ears off about what he’s thinking and doesn’t get into fights and shit.”
“That’s not how it works,” she said, gulping, trying to catch her breath.
“So go ahead, Riley. Tell me how it works.”
“Are you seriously saying you think I would cheat on you?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying, okay?” he was suddenly exhausted.
“Then maybe I should just let you go.”
“Yeah. You should.”
He hung up before she could say goodbye.
g
Greg looked up at her, took a deep breath and then looked down again at the sheaf of papers on his desk.
“I have to be honest, Riley,” he said. “I’m not sure this gets us where we want to be.”
Riley felt herself deflate, even though she’d known, walking into this meeting that the conversation would go precisely as it had. Greg had spared her the public flogging of the writers’ meeting for a reason. He hated her piece on Chris; it was as simple as that. He hated it enough not to want to humiliate her by describing the full dimensions of that hatred in a public forum.
“Honestly Greg, I’m not sure where we want to be,” she admitted.
“Well then help me with this, Riley. Tell me what you were thinking with this “Softer Side of Scaife” piece.”
The way he said the title, which Riley actually thought was quite clever, was vaguely disparaging and didn’t make her feel particularly forthcoming.
“Does it matter at this point what I was thinking?” she asked wearily. “You didn’t get it. And if readers don’t ge
t it . . .”
Greg held up a hand to stop her. “Or maybe I don’t get the readers you’re writing for,” he said. “I freely acknowledge that this is new ground for me, and for the magazine.”
“Maybe I don’t get these readers either, Greg. That’s what I tried to tell you. This is not my audience. This is my husband’s audience.”
Greg looked at her, his face blank and Riley suspected she may have gone too far. He slid the pages across the desk toward her.
“You’ll see I’ve written some notes,” he said. “Read them and see what you can do. Bring me a revision on Monday.”
Riley grabbed the pages and stood, turning on her heel.
“Riley,” Greg said, stopping her in her tracks. “Your tenacity is one of the reasons I gave you this assignment. Your unrelenting pursuit of ‘getting it right’. And your confidence in your talent. I would hate to see you lose those qualities just because I’ve challenged you to expand your sense of what is relevant and interesting.”
Ouch.
Back in her office, she stuck Greg’s notes in her bag and shut down her computer. She was due home early, because Shawn was back today from Houston and they were going to a party at the home of the head of Sony Music. The party was an event that she’d agreed to, long before their fight about the Cameron Cole party.
Since then, they had both carefully avoided talking about it and about the hurtful telephone conversation that followed. Shawn still called her every night, but it was nothing more than a check-in: Hey-I’m-here-show-went-well-how-are-you-fine-great-goodbye.
They were distant with each other, neither of them knowing how to bridge the gulf. She missed him. Even though there was contact, they hadn’t had a connection in over a week. Silence would have been better.
As soon as she walked into the apartment, Riley knew he was home. It wasn’t that anything in particular had been moved, it was just a subtle change in energy that told her Shawn was around. In the bedroom, he’d dumped a pile of clothes for dry-cleaning on the bed, and his boots at the door of his dressing room. He was considerably messier than she was, but Riley still welcomed any sign that he was home.
Commitment Page 29
