Commitment

by Forrester, Nia

  g

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He couldn’t help it. He sometimes thought about what he would do if he ran into her somewhere. What did you do, what did you say to someone who’d tried to ruin your life? Steal from you everything that was good? It had been well over four months since the grand jury refused to indict and things had only gotten better since then. But every once in awhile, he wondered, what if? More often though, he looked at his life as it was now and thought about how it bore no resemblance to how it had been. And that was fine by him. Just fine.

  g

  Riley was reclining on the sofa, her feet up and resting on his lap. They were watching the Music Video Awards on television, having decided at the last minute not to make the trip out to California. Brendan was pissed, of course, but Riley had a work thing she couldn’t get out of and when he thought about it, Shawn decided he wasn’t that excited about the event anyway.

  In a couple months, his new CD “Phoenix” was due to drop, so of course, B and the label thought it was a big wasted opportunity. But he understood the art of appearing elusive and knew his absence was more intriguing to his fans than yet another shot of him sitting in the audience in a designer suit, or onstage performing rhymes they’d heard a million times before. Let folks wonder where he was for a change.

  Lately, the ‘wondering’ had begun to include Riley as well. The interest she’d generated since Darnell’s article was something she was just beginning to take in stride—mostly by ignoring it. Shawn was still having a hard time getting used to it himself. Seeing paparazzi shots of her every once in awhile still got under his skin. The idea that someone was, unbeknownst to her, taking his wife’s picture while she was having lunch with Tracy or walking from the subway to work made him want to jump out of his skin. But she was so different from what they expected a rapper’s wife to be that he understood why the curiosity persisted well after the controversy that had forced her into the public eye.

  The latest scuttlebutt was that she was pregnant. She wasn’t. Not that he hadn’t wondered what that would be like. And Riley hadn’t seemed opposed to the idea either the last time they talked about it. Some actor’s kid was caught with heroin and they wound up discussing whether they thought city kids or suburban kids were better adjusted. Not surprisingly, she wanted their kids to be raised in the city while he preferred the suburbs.

  Riley pointed out that he felt that way mostly because he’d grown up without money in a city which was a very different experience from that which any kid of theirs would have. It was true, he tended to forget that they had more than enough money to insulate their kids from the worst parts of the city, and gain them access to all the good.

  Still, the conversation had sparked something in him and even though neither of them acknowledged it, it was the beginnings of an idea between them that they might soon think about becoming parents. He was starting to relish the thought of seeing Riley’s body change, grow and swell with a baby they made together. It would be a good thing.

  Shawn glanced over at her, engrossed in the program, with her head tilted to one side so that her hair hung in a coiled mass, partially obscuring her face. It was almost shoulder-length now, kinky, and curly and soft and wiry all at once. It suited her. The tomboy was all but gone, even though she still occasionally broke out her cargo jeans and white tanks. She said she’d just gotten sick of seeing pictures of herself in the paper walking around looking like a housepainter. He loved lacing his fingers through her hair, tugging it gently but firmly when they were making love, and watching her neck arch backward in response.

  “Look, there’s Chris,” she said now, sitting up.

  Once again Chris had chosen an all-white ensemble, including his signature baseball cap. When he’d just started out, Shawn remembered Chris schooling him on what to wear for television, telling him that in a crowd, white was a surefire way to get on camera. He probably wanted to draw attention because his newest protégés were with him.

  “I think his shoes are white too,” Riley said drily. “Interesting.”

  “I should send him a text telling him he looks like an ice cream cone,” Shawn said, grinning.

  “That’s mean. Don’t do that,” Riley said. “He looks fine. Can’t say the same for Mike and Darryl though. A little overkill on the jewelry.”

  Mike and Darryl made their entrance along with Chris, dressed in ridiculously oversized jeans, with studded belts, and draped in gold rope chains circa 1985. They seemed to have color-coordinated their shirts, with Mike wearing black, red and white with more black than red, and Darryl wearing the same colors with red as the dominant color. They were practically bursting with undisguised pride as they strutted down to their seats next to Chris, who was of course seated in the front row reserved for recording industry heavy hitters.

  For a fledgling rap group, this was one hell of an introduction. But it wasn’t surprising given the numbers they were posting. Their debut CD was number one on the charts and their initially low-budget music videos were being re-made to reflect their new status. Last summer, Shawn would have panicked at their success. Hell, he remembered what he’d felt anticipating just this moment in time, when they would be the young guns that everyone wanted a piece of. Now he had no reaction whatsoever.

  Well, no reaction wasn’t completely accurate. Actually, his feeling was, “more power to ‘em.” They were in for a hell of a ride if they managed to hold on. As for him, his place in hip-hop felt more assured or maybe he just felt more self-assured. There was more he wanted to hold onto besides his career and he had that with him right here. And ultimately, Brendan had been right about him having a niche that remained unaffected by Glock’s success. They were running on a parallel track, but not gaining on him. He could remain attentive to his success and alert to theirs, but not skittish or spooked by it.

  Cameron Cole on the other hand, probably didn’t feel the same way if the look on his face was any indication. Sitting a couple seats down from Mike and Darryl, the camera caught a look of exasperation just as they made their entrance. Word on the street was that he’d moved his own CD release date for fear of having them break his streak of debuting at number one five times in a row.

  “This might’ve been fun,” Riley said almost under her breath. “Tracy is so annoyed we decided not to go.”

  “Take her next year.”

  “Or to the Grammys this year.”

  “You would go to the Grammys,” Shawn tugged on her big toe.

  “Well, you missed this for me, so it’s only fair,” she said.

  “I didn’t care that we missed it,” he admitted.

  “Well yeah, but it’s your work, so we’ll go to the Grammys.”

  “Deal.”

  The show ran well into the evening, about two hours longer than Shawn’s interest, but he did win an award in absentia. Neither he nor Riley commented on the fact that Keisha was in the winning video.

  They were in bed with the lights off, their limbs intertwined, drifting very close to sleep when Riley spoke.

  “I got tickets to the TriBeCa Film Festival,” she said. “And even to the opening party at MoMA.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know they only sent them to me because of you.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Oh Shawn, please. Why would I ever get sent tickets to TriBeCa?”

  “Because you’re a great writer. And you won an award for that slumlord piece. I never got tickets to the TriBeCa Film Festival in my life,” Shawn assured her. “And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t ask for them just to fake you out.”

  Riley was quiet for a moment. “You really think they sent them to me because of my work?”

  “Yeah, I do. You’re good. And now that you’re back in the swing of things at work . . .”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said quietly.

  “About what?”

  “Leaving Power to the People.”

  Shawn waited. It was
no secret he would love it if she didn’t work. But as far as he knew, she didn’t want that, and would never be happy being a professional wife.

  “I was thinking of using, you know, some of the money you gave me when we got married. And starting a literary journal. For African-American literary writers and social thinkers.”

  “Really?” Shawn sat up and turned on the bedside light.

  “Yeah. I mean, if I invested some, and got other investors at about one hundred grand apiece . . .”

  “I think that’s a cool idea,” he interrupted.

  “You do?” she asked, sitting up herself.

  “Yeah. You should do it.”

  “Shawn, if you’re thinking it would mean I have more time, I should warn you. It might mean less time. I’d have to do lots of meetings and research, and making sure I know what I’m doing, and . . .”

  He kissed her to shut her up.

  “If it’s what you want, you should do it,” he said when he pulled away. “Don’t talk yourself out of it, just do it.”

  “It would be complicated. I don’t know a whole lot about getting something like this off the ground.”

  “So find out. Find people who do know about it.”

  “That’s my thought,” Riley said almost shyly. “But the initial outlay. It’s a big chunk of change.”

  “And you have it. So . . .” Shawn shrugged.

  “If it doesn’t work, it could be an expensive mistake.”

  “But it would be a bigger mistake not to try, right?”

  “Right,” she nodded.

  “Okay?” he grinned.

  “Yeah,” she said, firmly now. “I’ll do it.”

  Shawn leaned back again, arms folded, a grin spreading across his face.

  “What?” Riley asked. “Tell me.”

  “It’s just,” he shook his head. “This is the first time I’ve felt like I gave you something you really, really want.”

  She placed a hand on the side of his face and leaned in to kiss him fleetingly at the corner of his mouth.

  “No it’s not,” she said quietly. “Every day. I get what I want from you every single day.”

  g

  The sound of the tires against the wet pavement as they sped down I-95 was soothing, and Riley had to fight off the urge to sleep. Not that Shawn would have noticed. Since they’d left New York, heading for his cousin’s house in Baltimore, he’d had very little to say and hadn’t even turned on music, as was his habit. The suggestion that they go to visit his grandmother had come out of the blue, and Riley had pounced on it before he had a chance to retract. His life in DC and Baltimore, and his family there, were the only big question marks left in their relationship. Of course, none of his family had attended the wedding. And it had occasionally rankled her that his periodic trips to see his grandmother were taken without her, and that he never seemed to even consider asking her along.

  This time the invitation had been offered almost as though it was an afterthought, but she could tell it was the product of careful deliberation. It had clearly taken more for him to do this than it had for him to give her power of attorney and control over all his assets when they both feared he might go to prison.

  God, how it bugged her when she listened to him talking to Chris or Jodi about Baltimore! They had all these inside jokes and made veiled references to people and incidents she had no knowledge about. She didn’t want there to be any part of him that she was not privy to. Especially not if they were parts to which others had been allowed access. Jodi was becoming somewhat of a friend, but there was always the unspoken undercurrent between them of her persistent feelings for Shawn.

  Once in awhile, Riley caught her looking at him when she thought no one noticed. And the expression in her eyes was so warm and intimate Riley was almost embarrassed to have caught her at it. She was still in love with Shawn, it was clear. And so she could be forgiven for occasionally exploiting the information she’d gained from her prior claim to him, and for making Riley feel like an outsider in the process. Shawn, of course, was sweetly ignorant of this dynamic, as most men would be.

  So she couldn’t sleep. She had to experience every moment of this trip. She would build her own history with Shawn, and make it clear to all who had come before her—and who would attempt to come after her— that he was hers alone.

  “D’you want to stop?” The unexpected sound of his voice, loud in the vacuum of the car caused her to jump. “To go to the bathroom or get something to eat?”

  Riley glanced at the time. It was only just seven-thirty. They’d been on the road for an hour and were only just hitting the Jersey Turnpike. She could hold out until Delaware at least.

  “No, let’s keep going. How ‘bout you? You want to stop?”

  “Nope.”

  “What time do you think we’ll get there?”

  “Probably around ten or so.”

  Riley looked down at her camouflage pant and Henley shirt. “I think I’ll want to change before we get there.”

  Shawn glanced at her. “What for?”

  “I look like crap. I practically rolled out of bed.”

  “You look fine,” he reached over and tugged at a strand of her hair.

  “All the same, I think I might want a shirt that doesn’t have a coffee stain on the front of it.”

  “No one’s going to notice or care but if you want to change, we’ll stop.”

  Pulling into Baltimore was every bit as nerve-wracking as standing in front of the judge at City Hall and saying the words that made them husband and wife. Riley’s heart pounded in her chest as Shawn eased the car through the burnt out neighborhoods on the edge of the city and into historic Fell’s Point. The outskirts seemed trendy rather than family-oriented and Riley was at first surprised that Shawn would have chosen such a place for his grandmother.

  But as they got further in, it was evident that it was an old-style neighborhood, where their sports car drew curious gazes from people standing in front of their houses, or at the corner taquerias. They pulled up in front of a modest Federal-style, red brick row house, where surprisingly, there was ample parking to be had. There were periwinkle blue shutters, and flowerboxes in the windows through which Riley could see gauzy floral curtain panels. Shawn took a deep breath as he parked and turned to her.

  “She won’t know who I am probably,” he said. “Sometimes she does, but you never know.”

  “Okay. I’m just happy to meet her finally.”

  “Just . . . don’t expect too much. She might not even speak.”

  Riley nodded. Her heart rate slowed to an almost normal pace when she realized how nervous he was. For the first time, she took note of what he was wearing. A plain white button-down with white t-shirt, tucked into khakis and a pair of brown dress shoes. The kind of outfit all good grandsons might choose to visit their grandmother on a Sunday morning.

  Shawn had barely knocked before his cousin Shonda answered the door. She was a tall, thin woman, with the same burnished gold complexion and chestnut eyes. Her hair, almost auburn in color, was pulled back at the nape of her neck, and she wore a dark blue shirtdress and low-heeled black pumps.

  “Kendall,” she said, hugging Shawn with feeling. “You got here just in time. We just made it back from church.”

  Shawn hugged her back and let her hold him for a few moments before gently extricating himself and turning to Riley.

  “This is my wife,” he said. “Riley. Riley, this is my cousin, Shonda.”

  Shonda turned her attention to Riley and took her in for a moment before breaking out into a wide, warm smile and opening her arms.

  “You are so much prettier in person,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Riley leaned in to receive the embrace. Shonda smelled like an old scent Riley remembered from her teenage years.

  “I have been just dying to meet you, Shonda continued. “Kendall married? I almost didn’t believe it.”

  “C’mon now,” Shawn said good-naturedly. “I
was just waiting for the right woman, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m glad you found her. I was worried about you being alone as an old man flying around the world with a bunch of hoochies that wanted your money.”

  “Shonda, where’s Grandma?” Shawn interrupted.

  “Oh! Come in! That’s triflin’, having y’all standing on the doorstep like this.”

  The interior was impeccably kept, with the foyer and sitting room decorated, with museum-like precision, with furniture that was period-appropriate for the house. On the mantel over the fireplace were five trophies that it took Riley only a moment to recognize—Shawn’s Grammys and other music awards. Displayed on the walls along the stairwell were framed album covers and various clippings of his professional accomplishments.

  “I don’t have any kids,” Shonda explained, noticing as Riley took it all in. “So Kendall’s my baby.” She touched his face. “Even though we just fifteen years apart.”

  Shawn was already on his way up the stairs and Riley waited uncertainly at the bottom until halfway up he turned and extended a hand to her. She followed and took his hand on the ascent.

  “I just got her changed into her housedress,” Shonda called up after them. “She’s lying down but should still be awake. I’ll be up right quick with her tea.”

  Apart from a slightly vacant and preoccupied expression, Shawn’s grandmother did not look at all infirm. As they entered the room, the first thing Riley noticed was how well-groomed she was. She’d been expecting the slightly disheveled and addled look that people were accustomed to expecting from Alzheimer’s sufferers but unless you were told, you might have believed you were looking at someone who had simply taken a moment to recline on her bed, daydreaming.

  Like Shonda, she was slender, with a narrow face. Her skin looked as soft and powdery as tissue-paper. She was wearing a light yellow cotton dress and a bed-jacket, and her bare feet were smooth and appeared to have been recently pedicured. Almost completely white, her hair was natural, and styled with two French braids on either side of her head.