Diamond Life

by Aliya S. King

  Birdie stretched out in the bed, his hands folded behind his head. His eyes were now closed gently, and his breathing was calm and measured. As soon as he felt himself drifting to sleep, a heavy rap on the door forced him up quickly. His head was swimming. He flung his feet over to the side of the bed and then reached over to steady himself on the headboard. He took one step, stumbled, and then steadied himself. He burped, the heavy smell of the vodka filling the air. He took a few more steps, leaned into the door and looked through the peephole.

  It was Cheka.

  Birdie slid the lock off and opened the door a crack.

  “How’d you know where I was staying?” he asked.

  “That’s Groupie 101,” she said. “Now let me in.”

  Birdie pulled the door open and Cheka closed it and then pushed him back onto the bed. Before he could even process what was happening, he was inside her, his hands on her tiny waist.

  “Wait, hold up,” Birdie said, pulling out and rolling over to the side of the bed. He pulled a condom out of the back pocket of his jeans and fumbled with the wrapper. Cheka took it from him, eased it onto him, and then lowered herself on top of him. If I hadn’t taken those Tylenol PMs, I’d be putting in serious work right now, Birdie thought to himself. Instead, she was in control, grinding on Birdie and leaning down to kiss his neck occasionally. Somewhere, he heard an alarm clock. No, it was the television. Or the radio. A fire alarm? Birdie tried to open his eyes but when he did, the room was spinning. He closed them and listened again.

  “Hello?” Cheka said.

  Birdie opened his eyes a crack. She was still on top of him, bobbing. With a cell phone pressed to her ear.

  “He’s busy right now,” Cheka said, panting. “You might want to give him a call later.”

  He’s busy?

  Birdie sobered up immediately, throwing Cheka off him and sitting up straight. Cheka rolled over to the side of the bed, still holding the phone and giggling.

  “Okay, you want to speak to Birdie,” she said into the phone. “Here he is.” Cheka tossed the cell phone over to Birdie, who moved away from it like it was a coiled rattlesnake.

  “It’s some girl named Alex,” Cheka said, wriggling back into her jeans. “Next time you’re in Australia, give me a call.”

  Birdie stood up and then leaned over the bed, placing his palms down. Through the phone, which was still a few feet away on the bed, where Cheka had thrown it, he could hear Alex’s voice. “Birdie? Bird? Are you there? BIRDIE?”

  Birdie closed his eyes and reached for the phone. Then he turned the ringer off and covered his face with his hands.

  The next morning, Birdie checked his phone. Alex had sent him a text message before she called him:

  “WE’RE HAVING A BABY . . .”

  On the first warm day in spring, a day Jake had been waiting for desperately, he let the sun pour in from the windows as he went over the numbers with the A&R department a dozen times. He redid Zander’s P&L statement himself by hand. Twice. It wasn’t adding up. Zander’s popularity on YouTube was just not translating into sales. When Zander’s album dropped, there was initial buzz and press because he was Z’s son. (And because he was dating Bunny, whose album had dropped two months before and was already platinum.)

  But the PR rush ended with a thud. He slipped out of the Billboard Top 200 within two weeks and continued free-falling. Jake allowed more singles and gave him a budget for more extravagant videos.

  Nothing was working. It seemed clear that Zander’s chance had passed. And it was Jake’s responsibility to tell him. He could have sent word from attorneys or executives. But this was Zander. He was family. Jake had come to the hospital when Zander was born. He saw Z smoking a crack-laced blunt in the parking lot as he made his way inside. But was it just the record sales? Was that really why Jake was releasing Zander from his contract? Was it Bunny? Was it Z?

  Jake drummed his fingers on his desk. The guilt he felt for the Bunny situation was overwhelming. He couldn’t even imagine Zander’s reaction if he knew. Jake covered his eyes with his hand.

  Jake could only marvel at how wrong he’d been. A feeling took hold in his chest. He thought about his wife, his beautiful, flawless wife. He thought about how much she loved Zander, Z, Beth, and Jake. They had formed an ad hoc family, for better or for worse. He thought about how Kipenzi disliked Bunny. He thought about how Bunny had gotten Zander locked up last year after goading him into hitting her. He thought about Z, brand new in his drug-free world but still vulnerable.

  Self-loathing, disgust, and shame ballooned in his heart. He reached into the locked cabinet under his desk and pulled out his flask. Into the water bottle went his liquid courage. Jake guzzled instead of sipped, waiting for that moment when he didn’t care about anything anymore.

  A knock at the office door jerked Jake to attention. He spun his chair around and saw Zander standing in the doorway.

  “What up, Unc.”

  Jake didn’t make eye contact.

  “Sit down, Zander.”

  “I already know what you’re going to say.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Bunny told me.”

  “Bunny told you what.”

  “That you’re thinking about dropping me from the label.”

  Jake swallowed hard.

  “Where’d she get that from?”

  Zander shrugged.

  “She just heard rumblings around the office.”

  Zander looked up at Jake. “Is it true?”

  For a week, Jake had mentally rehearsed what he’d planned to say: We’re going to try a different way to do this. Sign you to an independent label and see what happens there. In the meantime, go to college. I’ll pay for it.

  But that didn’t come out. Instead: “You’re not getting dropped.”

  Zander slumped in his chair in relief.

  “Unc, I really appreciate that. I’m in the studio now. I’m focused. Album two. I got this.”

  “Zander,” Jake said, standing up, “as long as I’m at this label, you’ll be signed here.”

  Zander smiled.

  “Does that go for my dad too?”

  “Me and your pops got some shit to work out. We’ll be alright.”

  “Yeah. Y’all need to talk,” Zander said, eyebrows raised.

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “You got my dad punching walls,” Zander said, chuckling.

  “For what?”

  Zander looked beyond Jake, out of the windows lining the back wall of his office.

  “You didn’t hear it from me. But I heard him telling someone over the phone that you were messing around with the wrong girl.”

  Jake blinked. But he did not allow his eyes to reveal anything.

  “What girl?”

  “I have no idea. Y’all sharing girls lately?”

  Jake had to close his eyes to keep from groaning.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, he’s heated about whoever you’re hitting off right now.”

  Jake walked Zander to his office door.

  “Focus on your music. I’m booking Studio B at Electric Lady for a straight month. One month from today I wanna hear what you’ve got.”

  “No doubt, Unc,” Zander said.

  Zander opened the door. Z was standing on the other side. He looked as if he had not been listening but rather waiting. The women in the few cubicles near Jake’s office were peeking out to see what was going on.

  “Dad?” Zander asked, looking back at Jake, who looked weary.

  “Car’s downstairs,” said Z. “I’ll be right down.”

  Jake waved Z in and closed the door behind him. Before Jake turned around, he collected himself and thought about where he’d punch Z if he came at him. Z was shorter. But he was stouter and stronger. Especially after his new yoga lifestyle and vegan diet. He decided that if he had to, he’d go for the tender area just at Z’s jawbone.

  “What’s up?” Jake sa
id, turning around to face Z.

  “Why you gotta mess with her, Jake? Her? Of all people? That shit is disgusting.”

  Jake crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing. Z put his forehead in one hand shook his head.

  “I mean, I haven’t touched her in years,” said Z. “And I won’t. I’m committed to Beth. But still. I don’t need to know hear that you are sleeping with her. That’s crossing a line.”

  “Did you say it’s been years?!” Jake asked. “But she just turned—”

  “Oh now, you don’t remember when she came out on tour with us?”

  An audible whoosh of breath escaped Jake’s nose and mouth at the same time.

  “Sam?” Jake said. “You’re talking about Samantha?”

  “Who else would I be talking about?” Z asked.

  “I was drunk,” said Jake. “Sam stepped to me in the bar. I wasn’t in my right frame of mind. That was foul. My bad.”

  “And what about the other times?” said Z. “After that.”

  “Well shit, Z, the girl gives a hell of a blow job.”

  “I’m ashamed to say it, but I still have feelings for her,” Z said.

  “I don’t,” Jake said, “No worries there. But you need to forget about Sam and focus on your marriage.”

  “So do you.”

  Jake furrowed his eyebrows.

  “What are you talking about?

  “What would Kipenzi think?” Z asked. “A year after her death and you’re messing with Sam? Sam, of all people?” Zander shook his head. “She deserves better than that. Even in death.”

  Jake didn’t hear or see Z leave his office or close the door behind him. His words about Kipenzi deserving more in death shook him to the core. But not because of Sam. Jake knew Kipenzi wouldn’t have cared about Sam. She’d approve, happy that he could get a sexual release from someone who would never replace her in his heart. Sam was a blow-up doll. And Kipenzi would recognize that.

  But Bunny was different. And it was the thought of Kipenzi’s reaction to his feelings for Bunny that kept him frozen in his office for thirty minutes, standing at the window. It took another knock at the door to wake him up once again. He popped a mint in his mouth and tried to look alert.

  His assistant came in with a concerned look on her face. “You have some fires to put out, Jake,” Sydney said, adjusting her glasses. “You want them all at once or one at a time?”

  “Out with it.”

  “Staff at Jake’s are filing a suit. They say they haven’t been paid overtime in months and the working conditions are less than satisfactory.”

  “Have Jeff get up here immediately,” Jake said. “And tell my business manager we need to find a replacement ASAP. Put out a statement. I’m on top of this situation and it will be resolved immediately.”

  “Got it,” said Sydney, nodding her head and scribbling in a notepad.

  “Anything else?”

  “I got a call from someone I know pretty well at Life and Style. Jackson is peddling a picture of Bunny with a split lip to all of the tabloids.”

  Jake gave Sydney a long look, wondering what she knew.

  “So? She hurt her lip and went to the doctor.”

  “He has pictures of Zander going into the same building. It looks bad.”

  “That’s her boyfriend,” said Jake. “She hurt herself, went to the doctor. He went with her. End of story.”

  “Jake, everyone knows that Zander hit Bunny last year and got locked up for it. This will only fuel more rumors.”

  “Ignore it. No statements. Nothing. What else?”

  “That’s it for now. Unless you want to talk about the tribute concert for Kipenzi.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Okay, last thing. I have Bunny in the conference room waiting to see you. Management says she wants to talk to you about the last leg of her tour. She wants a live band for the last few shows.”

  “You can bring her back. Thanks, Sydney.”

  Sydney bowed her head and left the office, closing the door softly behind her.

  Once upon a time, Kipenzi came to visit Jake at the office. She wore a full-length white chinchilla coat and oversized sunglasses. Her body, full and thick, had been outlined in a body-hugging dress beneath the coat, capped off with thigh-high boots.

  He’d never had sex with his wife in the office, but he came close to it that day, moving her up against the closed door of his office and pressing himself against her for a long second.

  If he had been sober, he would have remembered this when Bunny came into his office, in an outfit freakishly similar to the one his wife wore the last time she’d been in that very executive suite.

  If he had been sober, he would have never let Bunny into the sanctity of his office. The hotel was one thing. But his private space was something else. Kipenzi’s soul lived in that room. She spent many afternoons napping, reading, or writing on the chaise. This was as much her space as it was Jake’s. Bunny did not belong there.

  But alas, Jake hadn’t been sober for more than a day since his wife died. So when Bunny walked in, his first thought was that he wanted to hoist her up by the waist and wrap her legs around his back.

  Jake shook his head to get the thoughts out.

  “What’s going on?” Jake asked.

  Bunny sat down on the couch.

  “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me since . . .”

  Jake looked at Bunny with a blank expression.

  “Since when?”

  “Since the hotel.”

  Jake leaned up against his desk.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Bunny raised her eyebrows.

  “Don’t remember?”

  “Bunny,” Jake said. “I have a lot going on today. How can I help you?”

  Bunny stepped closer to Jake and unbuttoned her belted spring jacket. She let it fall open just enough for Jake to see that she wasn’t wearing much underneath. Jake felt himself straining against the zipper of his pants. But he held fast.

  “I want a repeat performance,” said Bunny.

  “Bunny, I need you to go.”

  Jake took a swig from his bottle and prayed she’d listen. He wasn’t sure how much resolve he actually had.

  “Jake. I’m really very spoiled,” Bunny said. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  Bunny closed her coat and cinched the belt.

  “I guess you haven’t had enough to drink yet today.”

  “I don’t care how drunk I get,” said Jake. “That’s not going to happen again.”

  Bunny smiled and walked to the door.

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, before closing the door behind her.

  Ras pressed harder and harder on the gas pedal of his ancient Alfa Romeo until he got the car up to 75. The car protested, roaring and threatening to sputter out completely. But Ras kept going, his eyes darting back and forth from his cell phone to the road.

  This bitch must be crazy.

  He turned the steering wheel hard to the left when he got to the front of the hotel and threw the car into park. Leaving the keys inside, he jumped out of the car, motioned to the valet, and jogged into the lobby.

  A few hotel guests whispered and pointed at Ras as he made his way to the elevator bank. He couldn’t tell if they recognized him for his celebrity or were taking in his disheveled sweatsuit and his uncombed afro. At the elevator, he pressed the up button constantly, even though he could see that the elevator was on the twentieth floor and making its way down. He turned and took the stairs instead, taking three and four stairs in a single leap until he got to the fourth floor. He looked both ways, darted down the hall to room 412, and knocked once.

  As soon as the door opened a half-inch, Ras pushed it all the way open and grabbed at Cleo, who was standing behind it.

  “Are you crazy?” Ras asked, squeezing his hands around Cleo’s neck until she fell to her knees.

&
nbsp; “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, not taking his hands off her neck. Cleo pointed to his hands, indicating that she couldn’t speak since he was choking off her air supply.

  Ras let go and pushed her to the floor.

  “I did not tell you to come here,” said Ras. “You’re supposed to tell me if you end up in Jamaica for any reason.”

  “I’m not here to see you!” Cleo sputtered, her hands at her neck as she tried to stand. “I came here to take care of some business.”

  “So why are you texting me and telling me where you’re staying?” Ras snapped. “Why would you call my house and tell me you’re here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  Ras pulled his hand back as far as he could and slapped Cleo across the face.

  “You see me when I want to see you,” Ras hissed. “And that’s the only time you see me. I told you when you showed up at that restaurant that you are not to come within a mile of my house again or I will kill you. Did I not?”

  Cleo stared at him.

  “I just thought if you knew I was here . . .”

  “I’d come running out here, happy to see you and lay up in the bed with you all night? Are you an idiot?”

  “I missed you, Ras. That’s the only reason why I called you.”

  “This is what you don’t do,” said Ras. “You don’t have any business missing me. This right here?” Ras quickly gestured to himself and then back at Cleo. “This is over. Get a life.”

  Cleo seemed as if she were about to speak but thought better about it. Ras slunk down into one of the club chairs and threw his head back.

  “I have a few things I need to take care of here,” Cleo said. “And then I’m going back to the States.”

  “Think twice before coming to this island,” Ras said. “And don’t you ever stay anywhere near my house. You got that?”

  Cleo nodded.

  If Josephine hadn’t been at the market, all hell could have broken loose when that phone rang. Ras rubbed his eyes absentmindedly, still slumped in the chair.

  “When are you leaving?” Ras asked, without opening his eyes.