Singing a Song...

by Crystal V. Rhodes

  Singing a Song…

  Crystal V. Rhodes

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  Indigo

  An imprint of Genesis Press, Inc.

  Publishing Company

  Genesis Press, Inc.

  P.O. Box 101

  Columbus, MS 39703

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, not known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the publisher, Genesis Press, Inc. For information write Genesis Press, Inc., P.O. Box 101, Columbus, MS 39703.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright© 2009 Crystal V. Rhodes

  ISBN-13: 978-1-58571-612-8

  ISBN-10: 978-1-58571-612-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  First Edition.

  Visit us at www.genesis-press.com or call at 1-888-Indigo-1-4-0.

  PROLOGUE

  A week had passed since the pearl gray limousine pulled up to the sprawling estate located in the quaint oceanfront Mecca of Carmel-by-the-Sea. There was no gated entry leading to the exclusive property, but strategically placed surveillance cameras monitored the movements of any visitors.

  A Middle-Eastern businessman owned the estate. He rented it out when he was away. The latest tenant—the one in the limousine—was a slim, well-dressed black man of medium height who spoke in crisp, precise tones. The staff had been instructed to refer to him as Mr. Waters. Those who thought they knew him called him Moody Lake.

  The staff liked him. Unlike many of the estate’s previous tenants, he wasn’t rude or demanding. His manner was reserved and refined, but he gave directions with the confidence of a man used to being in control. The staff couldn’t help noticing that during his short stay he was on his cell phone often, and that he spent most of his time upstairs in the sitting room connected to one of the smaller bedrooms. It was there that he chose to sleep. None of them could imagine why. The master suite, with its sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean, was much more comfortable. The only view from the rooms that he chose to occupy was that of the street below and the homes of the neighbors beyond.

  He had inquired about the neighbors who lived in the other four houses on the secluded cul-de-sac. The staff had been discrete in providing information. This neighborhood was a wealthy enclave of people with power and influence. It wasn’t wise to reveal too much to a stranger passing through. He didn’t seem disturbed by their discretion.

  As the days passed, they noticed that he had settled into a harmonious routine. At the same time each morning, he would leave the house and head toward the beach, where they assumed he ran or walked. Later, he would return home, where he would dine in the sitting room and very often remain there the rest of the day. Other times, after his return from the beach, he would leave the house in his rental car and return at varying times during the day. He rarely went out in the evenings.

  No one on the household staff questioned his movements. It wasn’t their place to do so. They were to serve his every need, nothing more. So no one noticed that the daily movements of Mr. Waters mirrored those of the neighbor who lived in the house directly across the street—Darnell Cameron, musical superstar.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Listen, you shiftless, insufferable egomaniac!” Darnell Cameron fumed as her hands twisted the front of Thad Stewart’s sweater into a tight ball. “If you ever bring your conceited behind on my property again, I swear I’ll sue you!”

  Thad Stewart glared down into the huge brown eyes, dark with anger, and stated coolly, “If you don’t get your hands off me now, Ms. Cameron, I will sue you! I’ll sue you for harassment, assault…”

  “Assault?” Darnell’s grip tightened.

  “With intent to do bodily harm,” Thad continued unperturbed, “and…”

  “And what?” Darnell’s eyes narrowed. “And you’d better get off my property.” Releasing him, she took a step backward, her nostrils flaring. Placing both hands on her shapely hips, she watched him with disgust as he calmly attempted to smooth the wrinkles out of his sweater. The attempt was unsuccessful. Thad stared down at the misshapen fabric.

  “I don’t believe it! This is a five-hundred-dollar sweater.” He looked at her incredulously. “You ruined it!”

  Darnell gave him a smug smile. “Oh, really? All right, wait just one minute, then you can be on your way.”

  Marching inside the house, she reappeared a few seconds later, writing a check as she approached him. Signing it with a flourish, she tore it from the leather-bound checkbook, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the front seat of his bright red Ferrari convertible.

  “Money well spent,” she huffed. “Now, get that gaudy piece of junk out of my driveway before I have it towed. And don’t let me see your face around here again!”

  With an abrupt turn, she headed back toward her house.

  “You don’t ever have to worry about that!” Jumping into his car, Thad slammed the door with all the force he could muster. Snatching the check from the passenger seat, he tossed it onto the circular driveway that led to her spectacular cedar and glass estate. “And I don’t want or need your money.”

  Darnell whirled around in time to see the check hit the pavement. “Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Movie Star.” She stomped over to where the paper wad lay and snatched it up, waving it at him angrily. “For three solid months, all I’ve heard about is how I promised to fix that stupid car of yours. I’m not about to go through the same thing with that sweater.”

  With that, she threw the check back into the car. “And you better not toss it out again.” He did.

  “I don’t want one single thing from you, lady.” Thad’s voice was granite as he pointed an accusing finger at her. “As for my car, it was you who drove the wrong way up a one-way street and hit me!”

  Darnell was so angry she was trembling. Her head was pounding, and did she feel her eye twitch? Oh, God! How she hated this man.

  “Listen, you idiot. I’m not going through that again. We’ve settled that matter. You were the one going the wrong way down that street. Even your own lawyer said so!”

  Thad fought for calm. This woman was not going to make him have a heart attack. “Correction. My lawyer said, and I quote, ‘There was not a posted sign on the street in question; however, the direction in which the street was intended to go is not in dispute.’”

  Darnell’s chest heaved in indignation as she threw the check at his head and hit him in the middle of his forehead. “Then he’s an idiot, too!”

  With that, she stormed back toward her house, refusing to look back as Thad gunned the motor of his sports car. With tires squealing, he sped out of the gate to Darnell’s property, barely avoiding a collision with a car turning into the driveway of the house across the street.

  This time Thad kept the money. It was small payment for the weeks of hell he had endured. He had to put distance between himself and Darnell Cameron. She had to be the most annoying woman that God had ever put on this earth.

  Everything in his life had been great until three months ago. After all, he was Thad Stewart, superstar. He was among a select group of African-American comedians whose transition into acting had been successful. As one of the most highly paid actors in the world, things couldn’t get any better. Until that day in San Francisco, driving along in his brand
new Ferrari, as happy as a lark, when BAM, out of the blue that despicable woman ran right into him.

  He recognized her as soon as she leaped from her car—Darnell Cameron, the hottest singing sensation in the country. He had all of her CDs and, until she hit his car, he would have called himself a fan. She was talented, there was no denying that, and she was beautiful, too. A man could drown in those huge, doe-like eyes. Her heart-shaped face was a rich mahogany brown, framed by thick corn-rowed braids that tumbled past her shoulders. And that body! She certainly wasn’t one of Hollywood’s anorexic bags of bones. Her bosom was ample, and those curvaceous hips emphasized her small waist. Yes, he had recognized everything about her that day except her attitude. It turned out that she wasn’t as sweet as she looked.

  It was only natural that he got a little upset and maybe yelled a little. After all, his custom-designed Ferrari with the special paint job had a visible scratch, and her little Mercedes barely had a dent. But did she have to rant and rave at him like a lunatic? He had been the wronged party, not her. He should have called the police immediately, but she’d batted those big brown eyes at him and, in a moment of weakness, he’d let her talk him out of making that call. What a sucker he had been!

  Darnell claimed that since they were both celebrities she didn’t want the publicity over “some little fender-bender.” She made the suggestion that they settle the accident quietly, without their insurance companies becoming involved. That sounded reasonable. Little did he know that going along with that suggestion would be the biggest mistake of his life. He could have walked on coals barefoot through the fires of hell with less pain. Never in his life had he met a woman more troublesome.

  Everything had started amicably enough. The accident was her fault, and she’d agreed to pay for his repairs. It couldn’t have been simpler, yet Darnell Cameron had a way of making simplicity quite complicated.

  He had called her with the estimate of repair on his car. The amount was a mere pittance for somebody with her wealth. At least that’s what he’d thought. She felt differently and had challenged the estimate, demanding that he get additional ones.

  Calmly, he had asked, “Do you think, Ms. Cameron, that I have nothing better to do with my time than run all over the San Francisco Bay area and get estimates for repairs?”

  Oh, she had really gotten nasty then. “Well, Mr. Stewart, if you want your car repaired, I suggest you comply with my request. I showed my mechanic a picture of the scratch on your car, and he assures me that he could repair it for much less.” She gave him an impossibly low figure. “Bring it here to Carmel to my mechanic, and I’ll pay for it. If not, I guess your car will continue to have a scratch.”

  From that moment on, it was war. Letters of demands passed between their attorneys. There were threats to sue for breach of verbal contract. The fight went on for weeks, until both attorneys—battle scarred and war weary—demanded a meeting and a compromise between the two opponents.

  At the meeting, he had been played quicker than the lottery. Some compromise! His attorney and best friend, Ray Wilson—otherwise known as Benedict Arnold—took one look into Darnell’s eyes and sold him down the river. He ended up having to drive his luxury automobile to Carmel to some no-name garage for repairs, and even that deal fell apart. The result was the fight they’d just had.

  Thad pressed the accelerator to the floor. The quicker he got out of this hellhole, the better! He’d pay for the repairs on his car himself. The money wasn’t worth the aggravation. Right now, all he wanted was to forget that he’d ever met Darnell Cameron.

  * * *

  Propping her back against a multitude of pillows, Darnell tried to relax on the chaise lounge in her bedroom. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten.

  Oh, Lord! What had she ever done to deserve this? Her time at home in Carmel was supposed to be one of quiet reflection. She had been on tour for a year, and it had been hectic. She had looked forward to the serenity of being home, but so far that had turned out to be a joke.

  Darnell threw her arm across her eyes, blocking out all light. If only she could block out all thoughts of Thad Stewart as easily. The man was impossible!

  After he had barreled down the street like a maniac, with the obvious intention of doing bodily harm to someone, she’d tried to be magnanimous and come up with a fair solution to the little accident they had. Out of the goodness of her heart, she had offered to fix his car. The solution was so simple, but did he appreciate it? No, he had rejected her kind offer, with no logic at all. What a fool!

  The press described Thad as the “consummate playboy.” He would flash that dimple-cheeked smile on the silver screen and women would go wild. Men liked him because he was macho. Little did the public know that behind that façade lay a ton of trouble, but she didn’t have to worry about that again.

  Punching the pillow, Darnell burrowed deeper into its cushioned comfort. There would be no more threatening letters from his shyster lawyer, and no more smart-aleck telephone calls from Mr. Stewart. Her business with him was over. The coming months would be much more peaceful. Thank God and hallelujah!

  CHAPTER 2

  “No! No! No! No! No! No!” Thad’s response vibrated across the room like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun. “I will not ask that woman for a thing!” Angrily, Thad flopped down into the leather swivel chair behind the walnut desk in his office. Opposite him sat his manager, attorney and friend, Ray Wilson, who looked less than pleased. Thad didn’t care. Turning toward the open French doors leading to the patio, he took a deep breath, inhaling the sea air. He was home in Tiburon—home in his redwood showplace perched high above the San Francisco Bay. Here, he could look out onto a magnificent view of both the San Francisco skyline and the Golden Gate Bridge and feel peace. Now Ray wanted to disrupt that peace.

  “I’m telling you, Thad, if we can get Darnell Cameron to make her acting debut with you in this movie, I assure you that you will be one step closer to your dream.” Leaning forward, Ray looked at him steadily. “Do you want your own movie studio or not?”

  The room was quiet. Both men knew the answer to that question. There was nothing that Thad wanted more.

  At thirty-five years old, he was at the top of his game—a movie star in every sense of the word. Yet, he wanted to be more than a handsome face on the silver screen. He wanted to be a power in the industry, someone who could initiate change and offer opportunities to others. He wanted to make a difference.

  His career in the entertainment industry began as a fluke. His fraternity brothers dared him to go on stage on open mic night at a comedy club. He took that dare and was a hit. After college, he toured the club circuit, and from there he landed a television sitcom. In a short while he became a major movie star earning millions. It had all happened quickly, and it had been overwhelming. Young and immature, Thad hadn’t known how to handle the fame or fortune. That was when Ray had stepped in and helped him take control of his career and of his life.

  At age forty, Ray was five years older than Thad, and the two of them were like brothers. Thad trusted him completely. Together, they had carefully laid the foundation for a career with longevity. Over the years, Thad had moved from comedic to dramatic roles, and his acting range earned accolades. He was respected in the industry and ready to take the next step as a producer.

  Since his early youth, he had enjoyed writing—short stories, poetry—anything that expressed his creativity. He had never shared them with anyone. It became his little secret, and he always used a pen name, his own name spelled backward. But recently he had tackled his first screenplay, Sensuous. He felt good about the work and was determined to take the script to film as the producer. Yet, the process was not a simple one. There were financial investors to please and compromises that had to be made. Some of them he had expected, but this—

  “Darnell Cameron would be perfect for the female lead in Sensuous,” Ray reiterated. “It’s as if you wrote the part for her.”

  “Oh, please,” T
had groaned.

  Ray was amused at the look of disgust on his face. “Well, your backers think that she would be perfect, and they won’t budge on the monetary issue unless you make an attempt to get her. Rumor is that she’s looking for her first movie role. Put the two of you together, and we’re talking about a hit film. This first movie needs to be a hit, my friend. There are plenty of people in this business who see you as nothing more than a spoiled ladies’ man, and they would love to see you fail.”

  Thad knew that was true. It needed to be successful. A flop would not only cost him financially, but it could also be a blot on his professional reputation that could affect his career. Still, even with all of this at stake, he couldn’t fathom working with Darnell Cameron.

  “I’d rather go broke and stop acting than have to deal with her again.”

  Ray shrugged. “I say ask her anyway. If she reads the script and turns you down, at least we can tell the investors that you tried.”

  Thad leaned across the desk and looked his friend in the eye. “Read my lips, Ray. I don’t want to work with Darnell Cameron. I don’t like her, and never want to talk to her again. Understand? Anyway, we don’t even know if she can act!”

  Ray nodded absently. “You’re right, but she looks good, so who cares?”

  “Very professional.” Thad rolled his eyes.

  Ray chuckled. “All I know is that if she can’t act, she sure puts on a good show when she’s mad at you.”

  “Ha, ha.” Thad shuddered, remembering the last verbal sparring he’d had with the woman. “If you think so much of her, why don’t you ask her to do the movie?”

  “Because you’re the writer and producer,” Ray reasoned. “It’s your film. The offer should come from you. It’s only right. The woman is a music superstar. Besides, I think she hates me more than she does you.” It was Ray’s turn to shudder as he remembered the contempt she had openly displayed toward him when the car wars were at their height.