Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  Riley’s eyes met his and held. For about five seconds there was silence until one of the deejays spoke.

  “I wish y’all were in here with us,” he said with mock solemnity. “‘Cause I’m ‘bout ready to break out the Kleenex, and I ain’t lying.”

  “Black on black love,” his sidekick piped in. “It’s a beautiful thing.”

  Everyone in the studio laughed.

  “Speaking of beautiful things. Let’s check out this joint from K Smooth. The title track on his CD “Fire Next Time.””

  They headed home to have breakfast when they were done, Brendan joining them for coffee, waffles and eggs. He was checking his phone with one hand, shoveling in scrambled eggs with the other.

  “I got some email about you on the radio earlier,” he said, his mouth full.

  Riley turned from away from the counter where she’d been adding creamer to her coffee and Shawn looked up expectantly.

  “MTV wants you to consider making an appearance at the awards. Both of you.”

  Shawn shook his head. “Nah. I might do it but Riley . . .”

  “Why not?” she shrugged.

  Shawn looked at her, shaking his head again. “Nah,” he said again. “That’s not some radio thing that people forget overnight. That’s national.”

  “As is the magazine spread and interview. At this point, I’d say the cat’s out of the bag,” Riley pointed out.

  “You’d do that?” he asked. “I thought you hated that shit.”

  “It’s your job. And it’s an experience, right?”

  “We don’t know what might be going on then. Trial, or . . .?”

  “So we make it contingent,” Brendan said quickly. He definitely liked the idea, Shawn noted sourly.

  Shawn bit down on his lower lip. At this point, they were right; Riley was already no longer a purely private person. His long ago wish that he could keep her completely to himself and shield her from the prying eyes of strangers and the press seemed stupid now. She was in the thick of it, and he’d been the one to drag her there with his bullshit. To save what they had, he was forced to expose it to the world, submit it for their inspection and have them confirm that it was genuine.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked searching her face. If he saw even the scarcest hint of a reservation, they wouldn’t do it.

  “Yeah. It might even give me good material to write about. And if I bring Tracy, it’ll be fun, even.”

  “I’m sure we can bring Tracy,” Brendan said. “I’m telling them it’s likely a go.”

  “What else you got?” Shawn asked.

  “Label wants to see you in the office tomorrow. Chris said it played well in his office too. Couple other people. They want to hear more from Riley.” Brendan looked up and smiled at her. “We might have to get you a manager, Rae.”

  “Rae” was Brendan’s nickname for her. It came out of nowhere as far as Shawn could tell, but Riley seemed to like it. She gave Brendan one of her crinkle-eyed smiles and winked at him.

  “I don’t think my husband would approve,” she said.

  “But this wouldn’t be about your husband,” Shawn said. “It would be all about you.”

  A look a mild surprise flashed across Riley’s face and she smiled back, holding his gaze for a moment then turned once again to Brendan. “Nevertheless, I think I’ll pass.”

  “Okay, well I gotta roll,” Brendan said standing and grabbing one last piece of a waffle. “Deuces.”

  Shawn turned to watch Riley as she sipped her second cup of coffee. Barefooted and wearing only her jeans and a white tank. Her fingers about the mug reminded him of the sting he still felt in the shower this morning as the hot water streamed over the path her nails had carved in back two days ago.

  At Lorna’s. On the sun porch, on the floor near the space heater, both of them soaking wet by the time they were spent. Riley on top, her hair was plastered against her skull, her face bright and so alive. She collapsed against his chest and he breathed in her scent, feeling himself grow ready once again.

  I love you, she’d said to him, her breathing fast and uneven. I love you so fucking much.

  “I feel a little crampy,” she said now, placing a hand on her abdomen. “I think I’ll go lie down for awhile.”

  “Okay.”As she walked by he held her and wrapped his arms about her, leaning down to rest the side of his face against her stomach.

  “We’ll have lots of babies,” he promised. “When you’re ready. When you want them. Okay?”

  She rested a hand atop his head for a moment before turning to head for the bedroom.

  It was well past noon before Riley was up and they headed out to grab something to eat. Shawn had spent the entire morning in the den listening to old school rap and writing. He had several notebooks of new material now. Hell, maybe even a couple CDs worth of material. All he needed was some good beats.

  He felt the itch returning—the pull to the studio. He used to spend hours there, not even noticing the passage of time, sometimes emerging from an evening session, surprised by the bright glare of morning light. On those mornings, he thought he could feel every cell in his body buzzing, hopped up from the process of making something where once there was nothing.

  Even though it was almost completely his creation, ‘The Fire Next Time’ CD hadn’t been like that for him. He’d felt like he had too much to prove—that he could create without Chris Scaife and all the others who had been so instrumental in getting him to the top. It was a difficult labor that gave birth to a child he was proud of, but this time, this time he felt like there might be all of the joy and none of the fear.

  He looked up at Riley sitting across the table from him. They were in a sushi place a few blocks down from the condo. Shawn was glad they could begin going out like this once again, living their lives the way they would have before all the madness had descended. Since they’d gotten home there were a few paparazzi following them, but few enough for them to easily ignore it and even venture out without a security detail.

  “I’m thinking about going to the studio.”

  An unexpected smile spread across her face and she put down her chopsticks. “I think that would be great,” she said.

  Shawn smiled back at her, and she nodded her encouragement.

  “It’s been a long time,” she said.

  It had been a long time. He’d been avoiding it. Somehow, sometime, without even noticing it, he had begun to associate the studio with Keisha and what happened with her. That’s where he’d met her, and where the train had started coming off the tracks.

  “D’you want to call Chris?” she asked. “He could . . .”

  “No,” Shawn said. “There’s a place in Brooklyn. This other place that not too many people know about. It’s quiet there.”

  “Okay. Maybe Brendan can come and . . .”

  “No,” Shawn said firmly. “Not Chris. Not Brendan. Me and you.”

  All it took was a couple of phone calls to book some time and in an hour they were on their way to Flatbush in Brooklyn. Flatbush was a neighborhood teeming with West Indian enclaves, interspersed with old-style housing projects. The main drag, Flatbush Avenue was quintessential Brooklyn—storefronts boasted knock-off purses and faux designer clothing, electronics, the latest Nike offerings and Jamaican or Haitian food. The sidewalks were so crowded that a stranger would be forgiven for believing that there was a parade, fair or other special event in progress, but the almost frenzied level of activity was par for the course on Flatbush. It was one of the things that Shawn most loved about it.

  When he and Riley parked five blocks from the studio and got out, he knew immediately that he would be recognized, but it was different here. People might approach him, but only briefly, to give him some pound or pat him on the back. There was none of the near-hysteria he faced in other places. Brooklyn was too cool for all that. They walked about three steps from the car before someone noticed him and came over to offer their opinion about h
is legal troubles.

  “That shit shoulda never gone to court,” the brother said emphatically. “Everybody know it ain’t nothin’ but a gold-digger, man.”

  Shawn nodded but said nothing in response, putting an arm about Riley’s shoulder and continuing the walk toward their destination.

  “Keep your head up, man!”

  “Smooth! K Smooth!”

  A couple of teenagers waiting at a bus stop spotted him and approached with notebooks and pens at the ready. Shawn slowed down to sign, but didn’t take his free hand from Riley’s shoulder and kept walking. A couple of cell phone pictures were taken as they walked but soon enough they were at the entrance to the studio.

  The door to Ruff Neck Recording Studio was in the basement of a restaurant, accessed through a pair of corrugated steel doors that opened up directly from the pavement. Shawn and Riley walked down the steep metal stairs, through the restaurant storage and refrigeration area to the rear. There they were met by a man with dreadlocks down to his waist dressed in full Rastafarian garb. He pulled Shawn into a full-bodied hug then gripped his hand for a firm shake.

  “Wha’ ah gwan, man?”

  “Nothing much,” Shawn responded ironically. “Nothing at all.”

  The man laughed, throwing his head back. “Remember, man. Jah in control.”

  Shawn nodded. “Most definitely.” Then he turned to Riley. “This is my wife. Riley, this is Trevor Banks. Number one dancehall hit-maker in the universe.”

  “Stop it, man,” Trevor grinned. He took Riley’s hand and held it in both of his. “Nice to meet you, beautiful.”

  “Good to meet you too,” Riley smiled.

  Trevor released her hand and turned to Shawn again “Nice ital sistah fi a change,” he said.

  Shawn laughed. “Shut up.” He looked at Riley. “He said it’s a nice change that I’m with a natural Black woman.”

  “No hair-weave, no contacts. She got her head screwed on straight,” Trevor insisted.

  Riley laughed. “I like to think that I do.”

  “Let’s go make some tunes, man,” Shawn said.

  “Cool.”

  Trevor led them further back and into a control room through which they could see into a live room. A band was in the live room, jamming to a reggae beat. Shawn bopped his head to beat, already feeling the pure raw energy that led him here. He turned to Riley and found that she was watching him, a tiny smile playing about her lips.

  g

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Look what we have here!” Tracy came into the living room waving a magazine.

  Riley looked up. She knew what it was right away. She’d been anxiously awaiting it for weeks now. Darnell’s article.

  “It was nice of him to send you an advance copy,” Tracy had already begun flipping through the pages, searching for the feature.

  “And it was nice of you to open a courier envelope that was not addressed to you,” Riley snatched it from her and sat on the sofa.

  The cover shot was of Shawn, standing alone under the spruce in Lorna’s backyard. He looked pensive, his brows furrowed, eyes slightly narrowed. Riley was surprised at the rush of feeling that came back and the sensory-memory of that time. Even though they had found refuge with Lorna, each day had felt fragile and fleeting.

  Things were so different than they had been then. They no longer planned their lives around the grand jury, nor even talked about the case on a daily basis. Shawn still made trips to Doug’s office to meet with him and Robyn, but those appointments were now like almost any other; part of his busy schedule that had gradually become even busier since they’d returned home. This weekend, he was doing two shows—one in Virginia Beach and another in Richmond. Life hadn’t returned to precisely what it had been before, but there was a different kind of normalcy.

  “Your husband is cute,” Tracy said as though she’d just arrived at the realization.

  She sat next to Riley, her chin resting on her shoulder.

  They found the article and flipped through the photos first, remarking on how Dawn had managed to make everything look dreamy and ethereal, conveying the impression that Riley and Shawn were cocooned in their own otherworldly space. At the time that had been pretty accurate.

  “Wait!” Tracy said when Riley turned back to the article. “Let’s get really comfortable. I’m thinking wine.”

  Riley rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s have some wine.”

  “And some cheese maybe. D’you have brie?”

  “Let’s go see what’s in there.”

  The kitchen had seen significantly more use recently than ever before. She and Shawn were just as likely to cook or order in as they were to go to the trendy restaurants around the city. Together they’d started exploring the world of home-cooked meals that did not involve eggs or cereal. Shawn clearly had no interest in the actual cooking, but he’d been a good sport about watching The Food Network, Riley’s new television obsession, and offering reviews of her sloppy culinary attempts.

  “Ohmigod, you do have brie.” Tracy said as she opened the fridge.

  “And wine too,”

  Riley held aloft a bottle of ridiculously expensive chardonnay Chris had brought over a couple nights ago.

  They settled on the sofa once again, heads together, drinking wine and reading quietly. The article began: “One might expect many things when invited into the upstate sanctuary of rapper K-Smooth and his new wife, but tranquility would not likely be high on the list. But that’s what I found. K-Smooth, the preternaturally composed lyricist was even more so in the Arcadian college town where he and his wife have retreated to escape the spotlight in the wake of his legal troubles. Perhaps even more striking is his demeanor when Riley Gardner is nearby. In his wife’s presence, K-Smooth isn’t just composed, he is positively serene.”

  The rest of the article went on to describe the house and the town, Riley’s reaction to questions about the sexual assault charge (“guarded, a hint of anger just beneath the surface of her carefully measured words”), Lorna’s thoughts about Shawn (“as flawed and arrogant, noble and beautiful a man as I have met. And so precious to me. So, so precious.”) that brought tears to Riley’s eyes, and finally as a close, Darnell’s observation in his own voice that “K Smooth might do well to consider, the next time someone tells him to ‘keep it real’, that all he need do is look at his new family. Now, that’s real.”

  “Whoa,” Tracy said. “What did you think?”

  Riley nodded. “It was fair. I’m fine with it.”

  “Are you kidding? Did you guys pay him off or something?”

  “I would have if I’d thought of it.”

  “You should call Brendan and Shawn and tell them about it. Where are they?”

  Riley looked at her. “You’re not slick. Brendan’s with Shawn all day today. They’re promoting the Virginia shows and mixing the new stuff.”

  “Just because I’m curious about him doesn’t mean I want us to get together,” Tracy said defensively.

  “I never said you did.”

  “So is he seeing anyone that you know of?”

  Riley shrugged. “How would I find out something like that? If he were, I’m the last person he would let that information slip to.”

  “Well if he’s serious about someone, he wouldn’t care if you knew,” Tracy said with forced casualness.

  “Well, he hasn’t brought anyone over here for dinner, if that’s what you mean. And I haven’t heard Shawn mention anything. But I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m . . .”

  “Just curious. Yes, so you said.”

  Tracy laughed. “He’s such a good guy. I just wish . . .”

  “It’s hard,” Riley said, sympathetic now.

  Tracy nodded, then brightened. “Okay, so what’s the plan for tonight? It’s Friday, we’re young; one of us is free and single . . . let’s go do something.”

  “Haven’t been to Harambe in awhile. How ‘bout t
hat?”

  Tracy groaned. “I was thinking dancing but they do have jazz on Fridays, so maybe we can stop by there and see what’s up.”

  “And if it’s boring, we can go salsa dancing in Washington Heights.” Riley suggested.

  “Now you’re talking,” Tracy stood. “So lemme go home and we’ll plan to meet up around nine-ish?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Shawn arrived home just as she was getting ready. He was sitting at the breakfast bar drinking a beer as when she walked into the kitchen in her bathrobe and she was momentarily startled, not expecting to see him.

  “Hey,” she noticed the bag from their favorite Thai place on the counter. “You’re home early.”

  “Might as well get some sleep before tomorrow. Not sure how I’ll like sleeping in a hotel again after all this time.”

  He was scheduled to leave on an early flight to Virginia with Brendan, and would be leaving around five a.m. for the airport.

  “I could come with you,” Riley said idly, peeking into the sack from Jasmine Garden.

  Shawn looked up. “You want to?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? But tonight I’m going out with Tracy, so I’ll be dead on my feet in the morning.”

  “I’ll carry you,” Shawn said.

  “Well with an offer like that . . .” She reached over took a sip of his beer before heading back into the bedroom.

  When she emerged from the bedroom to leave later, she found Shawn on the sofa with the magazine, reading Darnell’s article.

  “Forgot to tell you it came.”

  “Did you read what Lorna said?”

  Riley nodded and briefly touched the side of his face. “Yes. I did.”

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “It is. I’ll be back by about one or so, I think.”

  Shawn tossed the magazine aside and pulled her into his lap. “Where you two headed?”

  “Tracy wanted to go dancing, and we’re stopping in at Harambe first. You want to come?”