“I was asking how you think Kio got into rap music,” she said.
Shawn shrugged. “Are you just making conversation? Or is that still a question people ask?” he said.
Livia looked confused. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean, hip hop is universal now. Without creed or color. I think Kio likes it for the same reason anyone likes it. Because it says something to him.”
“You think so?” Livia cocked her head to one side. Not as though the idea had never occurred to her, but because she wanted to hear his opinion on the subject.
“Yeah,” Shawn said. “I do.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting about it?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“I don’t know. I guess I expected you to be more … possessive of it as an artform. Possessive on behalf of young Black men, I mean.”
“We don’t have to be possessive. There’s no question where it came from. Who it came from. Now, we can afford to give some of it away.”
“Hmm.”
Livia reached for a drink on the table, that Shawn glanced at, wondering how she knew it was hers. It was careless of her to leave it, and then pick it up again after having been gone, with her back turned as she watched the dancefloor with him. She took a sip of the drink, her eyes still on him.
“You’re super-smart,” she said.
“That’s the second most frequent thing journalists say to me,” Shawn told her.
“What is? That you’re smart?”
“Yeah.”
“And what’s the most frequent?”
“That dumb shit you just said. About why I think people who aren’t Black like rap music.”
Livia laughed. “So, what you’re saying is that I’m not breaking any new ground with you with this interview?”
“You’re really not.” Shawn shook his head.
“Well …” She sighed, her eyes fixed on his. She reached for the stirrer in her drink and made slow circles with it. “I guess I’ll have to up my game then.”
“And is that what this is? An interview?”
Livia shrugged. “Somewhat. I guess. Although honestly, when I write my piece, I’ll probably just capture the … mood of your life. I’m not looking for clever quotes or anything.”
“You don’t write anything down,” Shawn said. “How come?”
“I make notes when I leave you. When I get home, or back to the office. And don’t worry …” She slid closer to him, Close enough that he could smell her. Light perspiration, and a flowery but not overpowering, or unpleasant scent. “If anything is attributed to you, I’ll circle back and make sure that it accurately reflects what you said.”
“But I’m not sure how accurate it could be if you don’t write it down. Hell, I won’t even be able to tell if it’s accurate.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time,” she said, blinking. “I think I know my job.”
“If you say so.”
Putting her glass on the table, Livia leaned back.
“Y’know what I’m trying to figure out?” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“What’s that?”
“Why you’re picking on me.”
Shawn opened his mouth to deny it but decided not. He didn’t need to defend himself to her.
“You didn’t really want to do this profile. I get it. But you did agree to do it. And now, it’s like you’re blocking me, and trying to rattle me every chance you get.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yeah. At that men’s club of a restaurant you guys went to after basketball which you had to know any woman would find off-putting, and even when you agreed to walk when we left the studio, I think you knew what it would be like, and how panicked I would get when …”
“Whoa, whoa. Don’t be rewriting history, Kincaid. You invited yourself to the basketball game, and the ‘men’s club of a restaurant’ is where we always go. You thought we would change our routine just ‘cause you showed up? And as far as us almost getting mobbed, walking outside was your idea, remember?”
“Okay, fine.” She waved a hand. “But there’s definitely some resentment-type vibes I can feel rolling my way. You skipping days, and not calling me even though if you think about it, that’s just prolonging this, and …”
“I don’t resent you, Kincaid. You’re doing your job.”
“Then what is it? Because I can definitely feel … something.”
“You’re imagining it.”
“No, I’m not,” she said. “I’m pretty good at reading people. And you’re annoyed with me.”
“I’m not annoyed with you. I’m just a private dude, that’s all. And right now, you’re a necessary evil, that’s all.”
“A necessary evil? See what I mean? No one who wasn’t annoyed with someone would say something like that to them. But y’know what? I think I might know what’s going on.” Her lips curled a little. “I think …”
She was staring at him fixedly, her large brown eyes unwavering. And she seemed closer. Had she moved closer? Had he?
“Ready to bounce?”
Kio slid into the banquette seat so abruptly, he collided with Shawn, shoving him toward Livia and against her. For a moment, his nostrils were filled with her scent. He pulled back, but she didn’t. She looked at him like someone taking advantage of the opportunity to observe more closely someone they had only ever looked at from a distance.
“I’m ready,” she said, eyes still fixed on his.
The second club was much like the first. Sure, the music was good, and the crowd was decent, but Shawn found it fundamentally uninteresting. He listened for beats and hooks, paid attention to what people seemed to respond to, and tried to get himself in the spirit of the exercise. He was supposed to be picking up on trends. But maybe the entire plan had been nonsensical to begin with.
He had Chris Scaife, and Jamal Turner to tell him what was trending. He had Kio. He didn’t have to drag himself out to tour New York’s nightlife when he could simply throw himself on the mercy of the experts he knew. Micromanaging Kio about beats was stupid. He was the foremost producer in hip hop, hands down. And this little field trip had been a courtesy, Kio basically hand-holding him, and showing Shawn what he already knew.
Music was a continuing education kind of business. If you blinked—as Shawn had—you might open your eyes to find that you had lost your edge.
While his kids were babies, a month seemed to pass in a nanosecond. When Cullen was born, he’d still been charging full-speed ahead, and Riley was his biggest cheerleader, telling him she would be fine, the baby would be fine, everything would be fine. But it hadn’t felt fine. He’d come back from traveling and Cullen would be holding his head up, smiling, and rolling over. He went away again, and came back to a chubbier, browner baby with a mass of hair that seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere.
By the time Cassidy was born, the absences were almost intolerable. He was irritable and hard to work with while on the road, and his new team would call Brendan, trying to stage interventions, to get him to be more cooperative. But he’d been pissed at Brendan too, who by then was no longer traveling, but playing house with Tracy, so moody and in love that Shawn wanted to smack the mess out of him. Finally, one night after a show in Cleveland when Shawn had ducked out on a scheduled after-party appearance, Brendan had called him for yet another mediation between Shawn and his new handlers.
What the hell is your problem, man? Brendan demanded. You can’t just be …
My problem is that I don’t want to fuckin’ be here! Shawn yelled back.
After a moment of silence, Brendan said something that was genius in its simplicity.
Then don’t be, Shawn.
And that was it. After Cleveland, he made his exit plan, and the next couple of years had been almost all about family.
“Hey.”
He looked around at Livia Kincaid, sitting to his left. She hadn’t said much on the ride over, and nothing at all o
nce they were inside, till now.
“Let’s get out there,” she said, nodding in the direction of the dancefloor.
Shawn shook his head. “I don’t dance much.”
“Too cool?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Exactly.”
She stood and extended a hand. “It’s dancehall music though. Everyone looks cool dancing to dancehall music.”
Ignoring the hand, Shawn stood. The song was one he remembered dancing to in the streets of Negril during his honeymoon. It had been one of those nights when Riley was waiting back at the hotel for him to return, and he had ventured out on his own with two Jamaican dudes, both of them wiry and rangy, but with firmly-muscled frames visible through their mesh t-shirts. Shawn remembered that they both had an air of badass-ness that made him feel safe enough to drink and get high.
All night, his unofficial bodyguards stayed close, but not so close he didn’t feel almost like he was there on his own. Blunted out of his mind, he had moved with the crowd, and smiled when a couple dancehall girls flanked him on either side, grinding against him as he downed cool Red Stripe beer.
Following Kincaid out onto the floor, Shawn shut his eyes and channeled that night, hearing people around him making sounds of surprise and appreciation that he’d joined in. He moved slowly, swaying to the languid beat, head back and bopping in much the same way he did when he was onstage. Kincaid didn’t touch him, and he didn’t touch her, but he felt her nearby, and even with the varied scents of so many bodies, Shawn detected her smell, distinct from all the others.
Back at the table, they ordered another round of drinks, and Kio invited a couple of people he knew to join them. One of them, an up-and-coming emcee wanted to take a picture with Shawn for Instagram. Livia Kincaid, who heard the request gave him a subtle nod, and for whatever reason, Shawn took her advice and said yes. Janica said she was “an influencer” after all, so she probably knew better than he did how an Instagram pic with some random dude was going to be received by the fans.
And once the first picture was taken, other people, nearby but not even in the VIP area, were emboldened to ask for their own shots. Soon, he had taken more than a dozen before he was able to sit down and get a drink.
“I should’ve known better than to listen to you,” he said, leaning in to Livia Kincaid.
“Think of it this way,” she said, laughing. “You just made the year of a bunch of people. With something as small as posing for a picture.”
“Not their year,” he said. “Their next fifteen minutes. You were the one who said folks today are all about immediacy.”
She smiled her puckered mouth smile. “Okay … you have a point. But fifteen minutes is practically an eternity in the post-millennial era.”
“You’re full of shit,” Shawn said. And this time he was the one laughing.
“I know,” she admitted, taking a swig of her drink. “But I thought the argument was worth a shot.”
They stared at each other for what felt like a moment too long and he picked up his glass, looking around for Kio who seemed to have disappeared again.
“Are you that eager to go home?” Kincaid asked.
He turned to look at her again. “One of my favorite places to be,” he said.
“When did that happen?”
“Excuse me?”
“No, I mean … you’re not that old …”
“Thank you?” Shawn laughed again.
“No, you know what I mean. Lots of guys in this business your age are still out there, still doing … you know, still having fun. And you’re not. I never see stories about you partying on the blogs, or …”
“I had a few experiences that slowed my roll.”
“Oh. Yeah. That thing with the dancer. I guess …”
“There’s nothing I want to say about that.” Shawn shut her down. His brush with a rape charge just after he and Riley got married had been one of the most difficult times of his life. And though much had changed since then, he could still get angry thinking about it.
“Understood.” Kincaid nodded. “All I meant to say is, it’s refreshing to see a man in the entertainment business who’s so family-oriented. It’s easy to get distracted by … It’s easy to get distracted.”
“I don’t need any of those,” Shawn said, shrugging. “Distractions, I mean.”
“That’s what I was going to say before.”
“Before, when?”
“When we were back in Onyx.”
Shawn narrowed his eyes and leaned in a little. “Not following.”
“Before Kio came to get us to come here, I was saying that I think I know why you’re so …whatever with me. And I was about to tell you why I thought that was.”
“Okay?”
“That’s what was about to say.”
“You lost me. What were you about to say?”
“I was about to say …” She had slowed down her words, probably choosing them carefully. Shawn watched her throat bob as she swallowed hard. “I was about to say that I think you’re being this way because you’re …distracted by me. Attracted to me.”
Shawn froze.
“I think you’re attracted to me and don’t want to be,” she continued. “I think you’re a good guy, with a great family, married to a woman you love. But …” She shrugged. “None of that stops you from being attracted. And I think that bothers you, so you overcompensate by being just the tiniest bit mean to me.”
Shawn shook his head. “Kincaid …”
“Livia,” she corrected. “And you don’t have to deny it.”
He said nothing. He should deny it. Wanted to. But couldn’t.
“I’m attracted to you, too,” she said, her voice barely audible with the music and din surrounding them.
Just a couple feet away, the aspiring rapper and his friends still sat, having their own conversation. Every once in a while, they glanced Shawn’s way, probably looking for an opening to talk to him some more and ingratiate themselves before their chance slipped away. But Livia Kincaid had been hogging his time all evening, and he had let her.
“I think it might be time to call it a night,” Shawn said.
Livia Kincaid leaned back in her seat, a small smile on her face.
“Yeah,” she said. “Probably.”
11
How was it?”
Seeing that his eyes had finally cracked open, Riley crawled back into bed, and covered Shawn’s body with hers.
He was on his stomach, hugging the pillow, sleeping shirtless with the sheets pulled up to his waist. The subtle, muscular curve, and the dip right in the center of his back gave her the urge to pull them down further, just to see his naked butt. Ridiculous that she still ogled her husband like he was a piece of meat. But it was what it was.
“How was what?”
“You sound awful,” Riley said, kissing his shoulder. “Your voice is almost gone. Last night. The club-hopping with Kio. How was it?”
“Noisy.”
“Did you feel like an old man?” she teased.
“Yup.”
“Aw. Baby. I was kidding.”
Shawn tried to turn over, so she rolled away to give him room. When he was on his back, arms folded behind his head, Riley stretched out alongside him.
“After Onyx, I was done. But we hit up two more joints … each one louder than the one before.”
Laughing, Riley put a hand on his chest, running her fingertips along his sternum. “So, not a whole lot of clubbing in your future, huh?”
“Not if I can help it. Not unless it’s my club.”
“Or, unless you’re performing.”
“I probably won’t do venues that small. Not this time out.”
“Really? Chris used to say you should act like every release is your first one.”
Shawn put his hand over hers, halting the motion of her fingers. “You paid attention to all that?”
“Of course. He was talking about my husband’s livelihood. I hung on every word.”
Shawn gave her a look and they both laughed. He knew she found the music business only marginally more interesting than listening to the national economic forecast read aloud.
“I’m taking Cullen and Cassidy to swimming. Want to come?”
“Yeah.” He sat up. “Lemme go get ready.”
Just as he lowered his feet to the bed, Riley’s phone chimed, and she reached for it, glancing down at the text message. It was from Tracy, asking whether they would be at swimming. She was bringing Layla, and afterward, she and Riley sometimes took the kids to a nearby bakery.
Bring Brendan, she texted back. Shawn’s coming with.
As the ellipsis for Tracy’s response danced onscreen, another text came through from someone else. Brian.
Free today?
Riley’s eyes shot up from the screen and toward the doorway of the bathroom where Shawn was dropping his boxers on the floor—which she had asked him a million times not to do—before stepping into the shower.
Without waiting to read Tracy’s response, Riley switched over to the other text window, her fingers hovering over the digital keyboard.
Sorry, no, she finally typed. And then, so it wouldn’t sound so taciturn, added a sad face emoticon.
Community meeting at my office, came a response moments later. Another time.
Yes. Short and sweet seemed to be the best tack to take.
Good. In touch soon.
Exhaling, just as she heard the shower begin, Riley dropped the phone and went to get the kids ready for their swimming lesson.
The main goal of the Little Bubblers swimming class was to get toddlers comfortable enough to jump into water waist-deep, and to have their faces submerged for two to three seconds. But despite having come every Saturday for the past six weeks, Cassidy still screamed bloody murder whenever she was pried out of her father’s arms by the instructor.
Four: Stories of Marriage Page 8
