“Hey.”
Startled, Makayla turned suddenly, spluttering as the water entered her nose and mouth. Treading as she coughed, she looked up and saw that Jamal was standing at the edge of the pool, a towel over his shoulder, sweating a little, and luminous in the moonlight. How much time had passed? Surely not enough for him to have completed a workout.
“Having a little pool party for one?” he asked.
For a second, Makayla resented the intrusion. But more than that, she resented that his mask of humor had descended once again. While she definitely liked this Jamal, more than that, she wished he would let her see the one who had been in the gym, the man who didn’t feel like he had to be funny all the time; the one who wasn’t “entertaining” every second of the day.
“Just getting some exercise,” she said, finally. “You too, I see.”
“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep, so might as well.”
“You couldn’t sleep?” she asked, swimming to the edge of the pool and folding her arms on the edge to anchor herself there.
“Nope. Happens sometimes when I’m on the road.”
“I haven’t had even one good night’s sleep since we’ve been traveling,” she confessed. “Not one.”
“Sorry.”
Jamal came closer and crouched next to the edge. Makayla could feel his body heat radiating toward her.
“Want to get in?” she asked on impulse.
“Nah. Sweaty. Hot.”
“The water’s warm,” she said. “It would help you cool down, but not too much that you’d get a cold.”
Jamal reached out and dipped a hand in the pool. His hand was next to her, almost touching her arm. Makayla held still, hoping irrationally, that he would. But instead he stood, and before she knew what was happening, had shrugged his shirt over his head. The sweats came next. Underneath he was wearing boxer briefs and Makayla tried not to check out his package, which, even inert, looked several notches above satisfactory.
Pushing away from the edge, she backstroked to the farther edge of the pool.
“So you can swim, right?”
Jamal gave her a look. “Nah. I just thought I’d jump in and see what happens.”
Then he dived cleanly, and almost noiselessly into the water. Makayla watched as he swam the entire length of the pool, just beneath the surface of the water, arms pressed against his sides, using only his legs and powerful arches of his back to propel him forward, like a dark, sleek dolphin.
When he surfaced, at the end opposite her, and he was smiling.
“This feels good,” he said. “Don’t know why I never thought of it.”
“I didn’t either. Not till tonight.”
She’d been minutes away from getting out when he discovered her. And now she didn’t want to, even though her fingers and toes were turning into prunes.
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, holding on to the edge.
“I don’t know. Maybe being in a strange bed. Maybe being in a strange city. Being worried about Devin, wanting him to do well. Worried about my grandmother …” Makayla shrugged.
“That’s a hell of a list.”
She smiled. “Story of my life.” And then because that sounded like she was sorry for herself, she smiled again. “But that’s just … life in general though, right?”
“What do you do for fun?”
He didn’t smile back at her. In fact, he looked serious. The same serious as when he was in the gym and believed himself to be completely alone. He was waiting for her response, and when she finally spoke, she had a feeling he would be listening, really listening with everything in him, not only to what she said, but for the words she didn’t say.
“Hang out with friends sometimes. Go listen to Devin play around the city. But mostly I’m too busy. I’m getting my Masters. Online classes.”
“You’re too young not to make time for fun,” he said.
“I’m not that young.”
For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Finally, Jamal took a dive, swimming underwater and surfacing once again, this time right next to her. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes, little pearls on his face and shoulders. Makayla swallowed hard.
“You’re pretty young,” he said. His voice was so quiet, she almost wanted to lean in to hear him better. But if she leaned closer, there was no telling what foolish thing she might do.
“So, when you were young like me, what were you up to? Partying all the time?”
Jamal smiled. He looked over her shoulder, somewhere off into the middle distance, his expression nostalgic. “When I was your age, I was a couple years out of law school …”
“Oh that’s right. You are a lawyer, aren’t you?”
“Yup.”
“And you never …”
“Practiced? Yeah. I practiced. For a year. Trying to shake the bug.”
“The bug?”
Jamal looked at her again. “The entertainment business bug.”
“So you weren’t practicing entertainment law.”
“No. Corporate merger stuff. Contracts … you know …”
“Wow.”
Jamal grinned. “Why ‘wow’?”
“I can’t imagine you doing anything other than this, I guess,” Makayla said.
“Me neither,” he said. When he blinked, rivulets of water ran down his face like tears. He moved closer, and ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip.
Suddenly, Jamal pushed back from the wall and away from her.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s see what you got.”
“What I got? You mean you want to race me?” Makayla laughed.
“Yeah. You seem like you might be a little on the competitive side, so let’s do it. Ten laps, freestyle.”
“No,” she said. “I’d much rather hear about how you decided to leave corporate law. How you wound up doing what you do. You’re my mentor, right? That’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to share.”
“Right here? Now?”
“Why not?”
“Let’s get out of the water at least.”
As he hoisted himself up and out of the pool, the weight of the water caused a little drag on Jamal’s boxer briefs and Makayla was treated to the sight of part of one very firm buttock. She almost forgot that she was supposed to be getting out herself, and that she would have to do so in her thin, not-made-for-swimming bodysuit, that gapped at the legs and in front.
“I need my towel,” she said, motioning in the direction of the chaise where she’d dropped it earlier.
Jamal dutifully went to retrieve it, and as she climbed out of the pool, Makayla hoped that he would discreetly avert his eyes. He didn’t. Instead, he watched her every move, uncaring that she saw him do it. A slow smile spread across his face as his eyes drifted from her face, down to her chest, then to her legs and up again. His eyes being on her like this was almost as exciting as his touch would have been.
“I started working with Chris when I was in college.” He began speaking while she dried off, sitting on the edge of a lounge chair. “I was a junior and needed the cash, so I took a paid internship being part of one of his street teams. They needed folks who weren’t afraid to go to some of the toughest neighborhoods in the city, give out CDs, pass out fliers and stuff.
“It was like, two hundred a week or something like that. But that was big money for me while I was in school. And then one time when I went to the office to pick up some more product and promotional stuff, Chris was there, so that’s how I met him.”
“So you haven’t known him since you were a kid? I thought for some reason you guys went much further back.”
Jamal shrugged. “I was twenty when we met. He was maybe twenty-four. Everybody was starting to talk about him, this new producer who couldn’t do wrong. Anyway that day we met, he was talking about going to some club where a couple young guns were supposed to battle … remember those? And he asked if I wanted to come. That night he told me he was looking not just to produ
ce for other folks’ labels but start his own. After that I started hittin’ clubs with him, finding performers. He had the ear, I had the approach. We found some good people.”
“But then you didn’t stay in the business after that?”
“Nah. My grandmother, my mother … and my girl at the time told me it was a pipe dream. Remember hip-hop wasn’t always mainstream like it is now. This was back in the day when people still called it ‘that music’ and turned up their nose at anything with a rap beat.”
Jamal stepped into his sweats, even though his boxers were still soaking wet. Makayla didn’t bother looking away, feeling emboldened by the way he had looked at her. His thighs were powerful, defined and completely hairless, his calves firm, and even his feet … sexy.
“So I finished my degree, worked with Chris part-time and then went to law school, just like I planned. By then I was living with my girl, had plans for a nice job on Wall Street once school was over … and then …”
Makayla looked at him expectantly. “And then?” she prompted.
_______________
Why was he spilling his guts like this?
Jamal liked to maintain the illusion of intimacy with his staff. Emphasis on the ‘illusion’ part. Always priding himself on being friendly, approachable and accessible with his colleagues, he also made sure he kept the private parts of himself private. He may have bedded well over a dozen women at Scaife alone, but he doubted more than three of them even knew much more about him than his job title and what borough he lived in.
And while he hadn’t bedded Makayla, the question ‘why not?’ had more than once entered his mind over the past week. That phrase was only amplified when, just as he was leaving the gym, he spotted her floating on her back in the hotel pool, arms spread, with an almost blissful smile on her face.
At first Jamal thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, and that the woman in the water was an apparition of some kind, a manifestation of his libido. Because her body was attention-getting—long limbs considering she was only about five-foot five, soft curvaceous hips, and breasts that had almost escaped the top of the swimwear that was clearly inadequate to the task of keeping them contained. It was the locs that made him certain it was she. They were fanned out in the water around her head, waving back and forth.
Jamal could have easily made his way back to his room undetected, but he was curious about why she was up and about so early, and why she had chosen to swim; so he approached her. She looked annoyed to have been disturbed, and again it would have been easy to take that cue and leave her alone. But he didn’t want to.
Sometimes quiet and shy, Makayla could also be assertive and ballsy. He never quite knew which one she was going to be when they encountered each other, and it made him seek her out. Because he was curious. That was all.
“Chris was planning a showcase in Baltimore,” Jamal said. “I was just one year into law school, but he said he needed me to come with him, and that it would only be a weekend. So I packed up, told my girl I’d be back in time for classes on Monday and went with Chris to the showcase.”
Makayla had moved forward, literally sitting on the edge of her seat as he talked. Tilting her head to one side, she wrung out her locs the way one might twist wet fabric to get out all the water. Her posture was distracting, and reminiscent of a woman when she wanted to be kissed in that sweet spot just between her neck and shoulder.
“So …” Makayla prompted. “You went to the showcase, and …?”
“And most of the performers were terrible. I mean, like amateur-night-terrible. It was like a joke, right? I rented a car with money I didn’t have, get to this thing and it’s just … garbage. So I’m sittin’ there and I’m thinkin’ that I should be back in New York and studying. I’m turning over in my head, calculating how many hours I’ll have left to study when I get back, when …” Jamal paused and laughed, looking up at the sky. It was growing lighter now, orange clouds streaking a purple sky.
Makayla was smiling, not understanding his laughter. Jamal looked at her again.
“… when this young kid gets on the stage. About seventeen, but with a lot of presence. He was nervous, because it took him a minute to get warmed up, but when he did … wow.” Nodding, Jamal remembered the moment. He still got chills when he thought about it. “And I watched him and listened and I just knew. I knew. This was the one who was going to take Chris Scaife’s small operation to the next level.”
“How did you know?”
“I don’t know how I knew,” Jamal said honestly. “I still don’t know how I know. I just do.” He shrugged.
“And so this ‘young kid’ … did he take Chris Scaife’s operation to the next level?”
Jamal nodded. “Yeah. He did.”
“Who was it?”
“Shawn. Shawn Gardner.”
Makayla leaned in even further, her eyes slightly wider, and her smile wider as well. “K Smooth?” she said.
Jamal nodded. “Yup.”
“So you discovered K Smooth. Is that what you’re telling me?” She sounded skeptical.
“Me and Chris, yeah.”
“And then what happened? He performed, you were blown away and then you came back and decided to work as a corporate lawyer?” Makayla shook her head, telling him without words that his story didn’t compute.
“There was some stuff that happened in between, but pretty much.”
What happened in between was that he got home, exhilarated from his new find, amped up because he just knew this kid was the real deal. And awaiting him was an icy-cold girlfriend.
Samantha was her name. Samantha Addison. Jamal met her freshman year of college and by sophomore year they got an apartment together. Sam was short and pretty, bubbly and very driven. Like Jamal, she had a plan for her life. She was going to medical school; she would have two children, but no more than two; she would live in Upper Westchester County; her children would never know moments of self-denial and desperation like those she had grown up with.
Sam and Jamal had hitched their wagons to each other, feeding off the other’s ambition. And if sometimes their relationship felt more like competition than companionship, Jamal consoled himself with the knowledge that Sam made him better, pushed him harder and reminded him more than just about anyone else that he didn’t have to be just adequate, he could and should strive for excellence. But his persistent interest in hip-hop was an ongoing source of conflict in their relationship.
Sam hated that shit—the cussing and the baggy pants, the drinking and the late nights. And of course, she loathed the music. All of it was a threat to the picture she painted of her future, a picture that Jamal featured prominently in as well. Though he tried to convince her that it was just a means to an end—the end being the perfect corporate job—she was unconvinced, maybe because she could tell he wasn’t convinced of that himself. They fought that night when he returned from Baltimore and she gave him an ultimatum. He could either give that hip-hop crap up, or she would give him up.
Jamal didn’t want to give her up. Not because of love—though he had a definite and deep affection for her—but because when he looked at Sam, he saw a ladder with rungs that would lead him up and out of his past into a much brighter future. After Baltimore, he refocused his energy on the law and on graduating, and he kept his promise to Sam and stayed away from what she referred to as “that life.” For almost three years, he stayed away, with the exception of occasional boys’ nights out when he lied to Sam and told her it was to let off steam, but it was really to help scout new artists for Chris.
“So the corporate law stuff … I guess it just didn’t take, huh?”
Laughing, Jamal stood and extended a hand to pull her up. “Nope. Didn’t take.”
They were both silent as he walked her up to her room; him with the sopping wet sweatpants and her with the white towel wrapped about her waist, flip flops on her feet. Once at her door, Jamal felt her ambivalence about whether it would be appropriate to ask
him in. Seeming to have made up her mind, she paused with key card in hand and then turned, looking up, though avoiding his eyes. Just as she prepared to say something, Jamal took the card from between her slightly trembling fingers and slid it into the slot. Hearing the lock disengage, he shoved the door open and stood aside so she could enter.
“I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast with the team later,” he said, handing her the card and backing out into the hallway.
Makayla’s lips parted slightly. Whatever it was she wanted to say, she couldn’t seem to make herself do it. And as he walked down the hall toward the elevator that would take him to his own floor, Jamal thought maybe that was just as well.
11
Unlocking the doors to the black SUV they’d rented, Jamal opened the passenger side for her, while DeJuan looked on, clearly not pleased that she, not he, would be riding shotgun. Makayla tried not to feel smug at DeJuan’s displeasure. They had just left a meet-up with the owner of the L.A. bar where Devin would be playing that night. In Los Angeles, as in New York, they liked to go big. The club’s maximum occupancy rivaled some of the most impressive venues in NYC, and it was probably the largest audience that Devin had ever played to. That morning, when Jamal told them all just how huge the club was, Devin had immediately assumed his default “difficult” persona, complaining about how much of his music was lost in large settings, and wondering aloud about the acoustics of the place, and the likelihood that he would be playing to a room that was only half-assed paying attention.
Only Makayla, because she knew him so well, could tell that it was Devin’s fear talking, so when Jamal looked like he was about to react to the complaints—and none too kindly—Makayla met his gaze and silently urged him to say nothing. And reading her cue, he instead told Devin in a low, patient tone, that he could see why he might be concerned. And then, when Devin wasn’t looking, Jamal winked at her. Makayla wasn’t sure precisely when it happened—maybe after that night by the pool—but now she and Jamal communicated without words, sometimes exchanging looks and reading each other’s face with no effort at all.
The Come Up Page 11
