But the pretense that she was just like everyone else only worked if she did these things without Shawn. If they walked a city sidewalk together, it would only be a matter of minutes before a crowd formed, and within half an hour it would have gotten so bad that their security guys would have to whisk them away. Strategies to evade “regular people” had always been part of their life together but more and more, she was craving those interactions, with the so-called regular people. Even when she knew she would have to exclude Shawn to do it.
And their kids had become more insulated too. They went to the posh, ridiculously expensive nursery and preschool a few blocks from the apartment. A nanny walked them there and back, but even then, it was only with burly security personnel keeping watch. It wasn’t normalcy, it was the pretense of normalcy.
When she and Shawn took Cullen to his first day, Riley was relieved that no one cared who they were. But that was only because the school was chock-full of the kinds of privileged families and children that Riley never would have dreamed she would live among. Families like the Lehmans.
“I read online that some kids come away from their bat mitzvah or bar mitzvah with enough money to buy a house. Or at least put a hefty down-payment on one,” Riley said, looking at Shawn again. “Don’t you think that’s nuts? And those are just the middle-class families.”
But Shawn was distracted. His fingertips ran over her knuckles, and his brow was furrowed, like he was concentrating on something.
“Shawn.” He looked at her. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” But he said it almost too quickly.
She put a hand at his cheek and turned his head, so he was looking at her.
“Tell me,” she said.
He took a breath, and spoke, saying the words Riley had often believed he might say; the ones she had hoped he would not.
“I want to go back to performing.”
Just as Jessica Lehman was being lifted up in her chair, and the focus of the entire room of more than two-hundred people was elsewhere, Riley snuck away to the ladies’ room. It was almost deserted, and she had a few minutes to sit in the anteroom, where there were comfortable chairs and a mirror for women to fix lipstick and reapply powder. But the few who came in had a very definite mission and walked quickly through the second door and to the rear where the toilets were.
Sitting on the loveseat, she took a deep breath, readjusting the straps to her high heels that were digging into her feet and smoothing the wide skirt of her black dress.
Shawn had asked her here to tell her he was coming out of retirement. Not because he missed her. Or not just because he missed her. She had no doubt that he did, but the reason he’d come, and the reason he wanted her to come was to let her know he wanted to perform again.
And selfishly—of course it was selfish—she didn’t want him to.
Everything that was difficult about their otherwise very easy life only became more so when he was making music and touring. It was hard enough now trying to go out for a spur-of-the-moment dinner together or do something that other people took for granted, like grocery shopping. If he started performing again, it would be impossible. Their children’s lives would become impossible, too.
She remembered what it was like, trying to go to the grocer’s around the corner for fresh produce, or to a Bed, Bath & Beyond when Cullen was a baby. Even mothers who were with their own children had taken surreptitious photos of her and the baby with their cellphones. Cashiers had asked her to pose with them when she was trying to check out. And the worst yet was when store managers, wanting to be helpful, made a huge to-do about treating her differently from all their other patrons, drawing attention to her when all she wanted was to be just another anonymous woman out shopping with her son.
Since he had become more of a private citizen, the unrelenting daily interest in where Shawn and his family were, what they were doing, who they knew, and how they lived had waned. Spontaneous pictures, when they hadn’t even known they were being photographed, showed up less frequently. And Shawn became more her husband, more Cullen and Cassidy’s father, and less K Smooth.
And there was the effect on her work as well. No longer did every new person she met professionally, slip into the conversation somehow, your husband is K Smooth, right? She could be her own person again, and occasionally got unexpected invitations to write. In a special New York Times Magazine issue a while back, she was listed as one of the ‘Top 40 Under 40 to Watch’ and was asked to do a short piece on New Feminism. It was something she’d talked about a lot with Lorna, so she consulted with her, and wrote something she was proud of.
It was the first time in years that Riley hadn’t felt like “the wife of that rap star” who by the way, had paid for her to start her little publishing business. It felt like she might come into her own again. People in her industry read the piece and she could almost feel the collective perception change. Even Greg, her old boss at Power to the People, whom she had once had as a mentor, had reached out to congratulate her on it. She went to events and people remembered her work—old and new—and not just who she was married to.
Maybe it wouldn’t matter, she told herself. She had built a track record now, and Shawn deserved fulfillment in his work as much as she did. And rhyming was his medium. He had been away from it for so long and done little more than work on the business side of music. He hadn’t performed at all, nor had he gone in as a producer for other artists. And only occasionally did he consult with folks at either So Def or SE about developing someone new. His soul had to be positively wailing for a creative outlet. Riley had no choice but to be supportive. And maybe, though it seemed too much to hope for, all her fears would be unwarranted.
Reaching instinctively for her purse, Riley thought of calling Lorna. Her mother was always a steady, pragmatic voice. She had a way of cutting through overly-emotional BS and getting to the heart of any matter put before her. But Riley had left her purse on her chair when she escaped the party.
“Crap,” she muttered, sinking back into the loveseat.
Her only company, her only counsel for the moment, would be her own thoughts.
The bedroom was warm, because Shawn liked the air off, a throwback from the days when he needed to keep rooms warm for his voice. But with them pressed against each other like they were, moving as they were, it felt positively sweltering.
Riley was slick with perspiration, and Shawn was too, making it hard for her to maintain her grip on his back as he bowed into, and then pulled out of her.
Riley licked the side of his neck, feeling him shudder at the sensation, and hearing him groan out a protest into her ear. Sometimes, when it had been a long time since they made love, he moved with complete focus, impatient with the extras that would risk having it all end too soon. He was rigid with the intention to hold out for as long as he could, delaying the moment when he looked in her eyes, or when she kissed him, because then, everything would all come to an explosive and sudden end.
Tonight, Riley didn’t care about his plan. She slid her hands up his back and around to his chest, upward until she cupped his face and turned his head, so he was face to face with her. Shawn’s eyes were dark with purpose and his jaw clenched with restraint.
“Baby,” Riley said, as if calling him out of a trance. “Look at me.”
She kissed his jaw, and felt the tension there relax a little, then moved to the corner of his lips, and slid her tongue between them.
Shawn kissed her back, sucking her lower lip so hard, she knew it would bruise. And god, it felt good.
Riley remembered once being at a business lunch with three other women from the publishing world, all of them more seasoned and older than she, all of them crisp and sophisticated in a way she hadn’t yet cultivated. It turned into a long, boozy afternoon, with bottles of wine being ordered and opened indiscriminately, and confidences being shared that should never be shared during a business lunch. The sophistication, and the crispness bot
h fell by the wayside by the time they were two hours in.
One woman had been going through a divorce; and still in shock at this turn of events in her life, she had shared much more than anyone else. The others were curious—since she was so chatty anyway—what danger signs she thought in retrospect she had missed.
The kissing, she said without hesitation. I should have known when we stopped kissing, that we were in trouble.
Not the fucking? one of the other women asked.
That was the other thing—the more wine they consumed the crasser these otherwise “classy” women became.
Oh, god, no. We fucked right up until the week he asked for the divorce. But we’d stopped kissing ages before that.
That had been the saddest thing Riley ever heard. And she told herself at the time that she didn’t need to listen to anyone’s marriage advice. She and Shawn were insane about each other. Always had been and were only more so now.
But still, somewhere in the back of her mind, she made note of that woman’s experience and resolved never to stop kissing her husband, nor allow him to lose interest in kissing her.
The way he was kissing her now made Riley more certain than ever that he would never lose interest. Even when their lips were no longer in contact, his searched for hers again, like a compass powerless to do other than seek out true north. She clenched him tighter, reached down to his cup his ass, pulled him closer and hooked her legs over his.
“I love you,” she said into his ear.
Shawn turned to face her. He mumbled the same in return. When he pulled back, and pressed his forehead against hers, eyes open and staring almost sightlessly, Riley knew he was close. She let go and allowed herself to get there before him but still holding him tight through the strong shudder of his own release.
When he collapsed against her, his forehead was still resting against hers, and Riley lifted her chin a little, so their lips could make contact as well. He rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him, so she was lying on his chest.
“I can feel you,” she breathed against his neck.
He was still hard, a gentle pulse tapping a sensitive spot inside her that tingled in response.
“I’ll be ready again … in a minute,” he said, his speech halting and a little breathless.
Propping herself up on her elbows, Riley looked down at him, and smiled.
“Overachiever,” she teased.
“I needed that,” Shawn said. “I needed you.”
He did need her. But not just like this. Not just physically. He needed her to not be a selfish brat and support him. It had to be scary, stepping back into the ring. There had been lots of new faces, new sounds and new stars since he had last been out there. He didn’t need to be apprehensive that the person whose support he should be able to count on would not be squarely behind him during this transition.
Riley sighed and lay her head on his damp chest, hearing his heart skipping beneath her ear.
So, that was that. After years of relative quiet, their life was about undergo big changes. Again.
3
You don’t just show up one day and drop some new music after being air-silent for years,” Chris said. “Especially if it’s a new sound for you. I hate that gimmicky shit.”
“How’s it gimmicky? I just don’t like all that lead-up hype. Like what I’m about to do is gon’ revolutionize hip hop.”
“If you don’t believe what you about to do is gon’ revolutionize hip hop, then why you even doin’ it?”
Shawn said nothing.
“No, for real,” Chris said, shrugging. “If you plan to release something that just disappears in the pack, you may as well sit down and keep your ass quiet.”
“I don’t know why I even come all the way over here to tell you shit.”
Chris laughed. “Because you know I’m always right.”
They were sitting on the patio at the back of his New Jersey house, enjoying a rich lunch of balsamic steak and potatoes. Chris Scaife ate like a man about to go on a fast. Sixteen ounces of prime red meat didn’t last long when set in front of him, and he was always done before anyone else had gotten through even half of their meal.
He was like that in life, too. Always taking the lead before anyone else realized he was competing. That was why he was the man you wanted to consult with before making major career decisions. He might have stepped aside at his company, but Chris Scaife was never truly out of the game.
Shoving his plate aside, he stared at Shawn with narrowed eyes.
“But seriously, though, what makes you want to get back out there? Life is good, right? Family is good?”
Chris was fishing a little bit, Shawn knew. He wanted to know whether marital problems might be the thing propelling him to suddenly focus on work once again. Under normal circumstances Chris couldn’t care less about getting into someone else’s personal life. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Riley was like a sister to him. The sister his blood sister, Audrey could never be. Audrey had suffered a traumatic brain injury when she was younger, and the role of confidante for her powerful brother was one she could never fulfill.
The fact that Riley seemed to occupy that space used to make Shawn feel a little itchy, because he wasn’t a strong believer in truly platonic male-female relationships. And Riley wasn’t one to break the confidences of her friends, not even during pillow-talk with her husband. So, the nature of what she and Chris shared as friends would always be somewhat of a mystery to Shawn. But since getting together with his wife, Robyn, there were much clearer boundaries in Chris and Riley’s friendship; which Shawn was happy about.
“Family is good,” Shawn confirmed. “This isn’t about family. This is about work. You shouldn’t have no problem understanding that.”
Chris dipped his head in response. “True.”
He leaned back and seemed to be considering something.
“Look. How ‘bout this? You go in the studio and do your thing, but in the meantime, start getting the word out there. Not directly, but you know … do some press, remind people you’re alive.”
“Like how?”
“You still have a publicist, right? Get them to find you a feature. Nothing about music necessarily. Just some lifestyle, day-in-the-life thing. You takin’ your kids to school, shit like that. Stuff to get folks curious about you again.”
“Nah.” Shawn shook his head. “Nothin’ with my kids.”
Chris shrugged. “You gotta give them somethin’ though, man.”
“Not my kids. They can’t have that.”
“Okay. Well, that part ain’t my call. But you feel me though, right? You need to reintroduce yourself before you reintroduce your music.”
Shawn looked across the conference room table at the young woman opposite him, sitting next to Janica Vogel. Janica was a partner at his PR firm, a fifty-something Black woman whom he trusted because she understood the line he walked—between being current and relevant, but private and guarded. She didn’t push him to “get out there more” or participate in publicity stunts to ride the wave of one fad or another. And probably most important of all, she was ethical, and attentive to not having Shawn participate in anything that could be a bad example for the young, Black men who idolized him.
He hadn’t always given much thought to that but getting older and starting a family had changed everything. His kids would grow up and be curious about who their father had been back when they were young, and what he stood for. Shawn wanted to make sure they had something to be proud of.
And now Janica was telling him that one of the ways he could solidify that positive legacy was to let this young woman, who looked like she was no more than an intern, “shadow” him for a week. Shadow. That was the word that got him. He already had two shadows—his six-year-old and four-year-old. And even with them—whom he loved more than life itself—he sometimes needed a break.
Shawn had never really been into using a publicist. Not one of his own, anyway. He pre
ferred to roll light – a manager and nothing more. Whichever label he happened to be signed with throughout his career always had their own PR people. And sometimes the ways they came up with to create hype around a new release was downright ridiculous. Janica was the antidote to that. Low-key and discreet, she only presented him with opportunities that were in his genuine self-interest or related to a larger goal, and not just exposure for exposure’s sake.
This time, when he told her his mission, Janica had assured him she would find an option that was low-stress and low-key. Being ‘shadowed’ sounded like neither.
“It’s honestly not as bad as it sounds,” the young woman said. “It’s not like I’ll be sleeping on your couch or anything.”
“Think of Olivia like you would a personal assistant,” Janica adds. “She’ll be with you for much of your day, but completely out of your way unless you need her for something.”
“I don’t have a personal assistant,” Shawn reminded her.
“And please, call me Liv,” the young woman said. “Or Livia. Whichever.”
Shawn looked at her.
Maybe twenty-five? She was a reporter for an online-only publication that covered everything from pop culture to politics. It had begun as a platform catering to college students and twentysomethings, covering all the news that was ignored by mainstream outlets. But after a few notable national scoops, and now that the millennials were grown up, the site had spun off to focus on things that were a lot more substantial than funny college videos and articles of less than a thousand words littered with memes.
Now there was a hard news element to their site, and the occasional in-depth profile of established public figures, or “people to watch.” The fact that he didn’t know which category he fell into anymore made Shawn think he should probably take a gamble on this shadowing thing.
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 2
