by La Jill Hunt
“I appreciate that.” Paisley nodded. Warren was awake. Knowing that he was no longer in a coma made her feel a little better. “I’m glad.”
“I knew you would be,” Fallon told her. “Paisley, I gotta get a press release together. I know you said you weren’t up to dealing with it, but we have to say something.”
Paisley knew Fallon was right. There was so much speculating going on and everyone was waiting for the full story. Paisley still hadn’t said anything to anyone, not even her friends. She was grateful that they were giving her space and respecting her privacy, but she knew they wanted to know just like everyone else did.
“I know,” Paisley agreed. A knock on the door grabbed their attention.
“Ms. Lawrence?” A petite, well-dressed, brown-skinned woman stood in the doorway.
“Can I help you?” Fallon asked, removing her shades.
“Yes, I’m Ebonie Monroe, Warren Cobb’s agent.” The woman’s voice was sharp. “May I come in?”
Fallon looked over for Paisley’s approval before saying, “Come in.”
“I’m glad I caught you before you left so we could talk. They told me you were being discharged today.” Ebonie looked around the room. Even though Paisley had donated most of the bouquets, balloons, and stuffed animals she had received to the pediatric ward and the nursing home down the street, there were still flowers everywhere. “I’m glad you’re well enough to go home.”
“How is Warren?” Paisley asked. “I was told he’s conscious.”
“Yes, he woke up this morning, thank God. It’s truly a blessing. Well, his surviving that terrible accident was a miracle in itself. God is good,” Ebonie said.
“All the time,” Chester chimed in, like he was the backup choir. Paisley frowned at him and he shrugged.
“I’m just glad he’s awake,” Paisley sighed. “What did you need to talk to me about?”
“I am preparing to make a statement and a press release and I wanted to just go over what needs to be said,” Ebonie said to Paisley.
“Yes, exactly what will you be saying in this statement?” Fallon walked over and stood in front of Ebonie.
“This is Fallon Baxter, my agent, Ms. Monroe.” Paisley turned to Fallon.
“Nice to meet you.” Ebonie extended her hand and Fallon shook it. “I’m sure you’ve already prepared a statement of your own, then.”
“We’re in the process of doing so,” Fallon said knowingly.
“I don’t want to say anything until I talk to Warren,” Paisley told both of them. They turned and stared at her. “I just want to get his take on things and find out how he wants to handle it. I know things are looking really crazy right now, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as it looks. And I’m not trying to be funny or disrespectful, but before we give any type of statement to anyone, Warren and I need to talk first.”
“Um, Mr. Cobb isn’t really up to talking to anyone at this time. And this needs to be handled sooner rather than later. Look, I’m sure you want this to be over and done with, and right now, the media is having a field day . . .”
“You think I don’t know that?” Paisley frowned.
“Why don’t you just agree to a generic statement thanking everyone for their prayers and support during this time, and that both Paisley and Warren ask that their privacy be respected during their recovery period?” Chester offered.
“Sounds good to me,” Paisley agreed.
Both Ebonie and Fallon remained quiet. They both knew that the future of their clients’ careers were riding on them. One wrong move, and both of their careers were down the toilet.
“Ms. Lawrence, I understand your wanting this to remain a private matter. But you of all people should know that both you and Mr. Cobb are very public people. Although for different reasons,” Ebonie started.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Paisley snapped.
“Oh, hold up.” Chester glared at Ebonie.
“Calm down.” Fallon addressed Chester and Ebonie, “I think what Ms. Monroe is trying to say is that you both have strong fan bases who support you, and you know people are going to want more than that.”
“I don’t give a damn what people want. And besides, I’m sure if you ask Warren what he wants said, he’ll tell you to talk to me first,” Paisley said.
A strange look came across Ebonie’s face, and Paisley asked, “What? Did Warren say something about me or the accident?”
There was a brief silence, then Ebonie told her, “Warren doesn’t remember the accident. And when I asked him about being with you, he said he doesn’t even know who you are.”
Paisley was stunned.
“I’m sure that’s because he just regained consciousness,” Fallon suggested to Paisley.
“Yeah, Pais. You didn’t remember the accident yourself until we told you about it,” Chester agreed, rubbing Paisley’s shoulders.
She knew they were trying to make her feel better, but it wasn’t working. How the hell could he say he didn’t know her? Ebonie had to be lying.
“That is possible,” Ebonie remarked. “Listen, I don’t have a problem releasing the generic statement and release another statement later.”
“We’d appreciate that.” Fallon nodded.
“There’s something else I need to make you aware of,” Ebonie continued. “We have received some messages that are cause for concern.”
“What kinds of messages?” Paisley mumbled.
“As I stated, Mr. Cobb has a large, dedicated fan base and some of the messages have made reference to Ms. Lawrence’s safety.” Ebonie shrugged. “Hospital security told me about the trespasser in your room and I think you should consider getting some personal security.”
“I agree.” Fallon nodded.
“What? I don’t think so,” Paisley snapped, her mind still distracted by the fact that Warren said he didn’t know her. “I’m fine, and the sooner I get the hell outta here, the better I’ll be!”
“Home, sweet home,” Chester said as he helped Paisley ease onto the sofa in her living room. “You sure you don’t want me to carry you upstairs?”
“No, I’m good,” Paisley told him, settling into the thick plushness. As she leaned back, she was glad that she had chosen the comfortable, oversized living room set, rather than the black leather she had almost gotten.
The brown decor of the room was accented with red and gave the room a welcoming feeling from the moment you walked in. Paisley loved her house. The four-bedroom, three-and-a-half-bath, four-thousand-square-foot home was nestled in the heart of Wellington Heights, one of the most prominent neighborhoods in the city. The moment she saw it, she fell in love. It didn’t matter to her that it was too big for just one person to live in. It didn’t matter to her that the upkeep of the yard and the pool would be a pain in the ass. It didn’t matter that for the price she paid for it, she could’ve very well bought three smaller homes, and a car for that matter. What did matter was that it was her dream home. The home that she always wanted, but never in a million years thought she could have. It was hers.
“You want something to drink?” Seymone asked, taking the dark red cashmere blanket from where it hung on the back of the sofa, and spreading it across Paisley’s legs.
“No, I’m fine. Can you get my Mac?” Paisley asked. She had been asking for her laptop for days, but was told that she couldn’t use it in the hospital.
“Why don’t you get some rest first?” Chester suggested.
“I am resting,” Paisley told him. She looked over at the empty television stand. She had planned on picking up a new plasma, but had been putting it off as she spent most of her time upstairs in her bedroom when she was home. “It’s bad enough I don’t have a TV to watch. At least I can surf the Web.”
“Fine,” Chester sighed. “Where is it? Upstairs?”
“Yeah, in the sitting area,” she answered, watching him gather her bags and take them up the steps. “Wait, I need my cell phone out of my purse.”
“Okay, who is making you smile like that and what did he say?” Seymone asked.
“It’s not a he,” Paisley told her, “it’s one of my Strip Hop students, Mrs. McNeil. She told me her husband asked when she was going back to class because he needs her to keep learning.”
Seymone laughed. “He probably wants her to become an honor roll student.”
“Probably so, they’ve been married sixteen years and she decided to take the class to add some spice to their love life.”
“Wow, that’s what’s up. I’m glad The Playground is doing so well, Pais. I went over there with Chester yesterday to make sure everything was all right and I saw the waiting list. And you had about thirty messages on the answering machine from people wanting to make appointments.”
“Yeah, business is booming. We have a blast,” Paisley replied, then looked down at the cast on her wrist. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do now.”
“I told you a long time ago you needed to hire some help. But no, you swore you had everything under control,” Chester said, coming down the steps carrying her leather laptop case.
“I did have everything under control. This is just an unexpected setback.” Paisley rolled her eyes at him. She took her laptop out of the bag and clicked it on. She checked her business Web site and was happy to see numerous get well wishes from her students and friends posted. Her eyes widened when she read the messages in her e-mail and MySpace accounts. She was just finishing up when the doorbell rang. Seymone rushed to answer it.
“I’m here to visit the sick and shut in,” Diesel said as he walked in carrying his silver motorcycle helmet. He quickly looked around the room and asked, “Your mama ain’t here, is she?”
“If she was, do you think I’d be here?” Chester answered.
“What’s up, Diesel.” Paisley smiled.
“I’m good, baby doll,” he said, leaning down and kissing her cheek. The scent of his Kenneth Cole cologne filled her nostrils. “You look good.”
“Liar,” she told him, closing the laptop.
“No need for me to lie. You know if you ain’t look good, I would be the first to tell you.”
“That’s true,” Seymone laughed.
“Now he’s lying.” Chester said. “You know my ass would be the first to tell you.”
“He’s right about that.” Diesel sat next to her.
“So, is everything still a go at the club?” she asked him. Diesel, along with his boys Scooter and Leo, had made a major power move and bought one of the biggest nightclubs in the city, State Streets. Paisley was their silent partner. Diesel had been one of her biggest supporters when she opened the studio nearly two years ago. He had helped her with everything from painting the walls to passing out flyers. When he told her about his desire to purchase State Streets, she offered to help him without his even asking. She decided to reinvest the money she was making at the studio, into his club.
“So far, so good. We signed the final paperwork and we’re planning the grand opening in six weeks. You gonna be up for it?” he asked.
“You think I’m not?” She laughed.
“I don’t know, I mean, I ain’t know since you’ve been sneaking out with the church folk in the middle of night.” Diesel laughed heartily. “Good ol’ Warren Cobb. Who woulda thought? No wonder Scooter can’t get no play, he ain’t your type.”
Seymone and Chester cracked up.
“That shit ain’t funny.” The look Paisley wore on her face was as stern as the tone of her voice. They stopped laughing and stared at her, realizing she was serious.
“Come on, Paisley,” Seymone said. “You know Diesel was just playing.”
“That’s nothing to play about.” Paisley glared. The room got quiet and tension filled the air. “Warren almost died. He’s still not out of the woods. And I wasn’t sneaking around with nobody.”
Tears began stinging her eyes and she tried to blink them back. Her head began throbbing, her legs ached, and she had the overwhelming urge to lie down.
“Paisley, are you all right?” Chester asked.
“Yeah, I’m just tired.” She closed her eyes.
“Diesel, can you help her upstairs?” Seymone suggested.
“Not a problem, baby doll.” He stood up, gently scooped her into his arms, and took her to her bedroom.
“Thanks,” she said as he laid her onto the bed.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean to offend you, seriously.” Diesel looked as if he was about to cry, making her feel worse than she already did.
“You know you didn’t offend me. It’s just that all of this is too much for me to even deal with. I got mad hate mail on my MySpace, e-mails calling me all kinds of whores and tramps. It’s just not a good day I guess.” She sniffed and told him, “And did you hear that Warren says he doesn’t even know who I am?”
“He got amnesia?” Diesel frowned.
“I don’t think so. From what his manager says, his ass is remembering everything else,” she snapped.
“Well, you didn’t remember the accident yourself, Paisley.”
“He’s faking. I think him and his manager came up with this amnesia to cover up something that don’t even need to be covered.”
“Maybe so.”
“While he’s having selective memory, I gotta deal with people saying all kinds of stuff about me. What kinda shit is that?”
“Shit that you’ve always had to deal with. From the moment you became known as the Sensual Seductress and you started blowing up, you had haters. This ain’t nothing you ain’t had to deal with before, Paisley. Remember when that rapper Python started bragging that he slept with you after the video shoot, we all knew he was lying.
And when they called you to be in the next video what did you tell him?”
Paisley looked over at the best friend who was more like a brother to her and smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I told him that it would be double because he shortchanged me on the last one since he came and I didn’t.”
“And that nigga paid you, didn’t he? Because he liked that. That was your M.O. and you decided if they were gonna lie about sleeping with you, your ass was gonna get something out the deal. Remember you said you had to take the good with the bad and keep it moving and you would just brush them haters off.”
What Diesel didn’t know was that Paisley had caught Python in the trailer with another male dancer on the video shoot. She was stunned when she walked in and found the two fine brothers engaged in a passionate kiss. He had panicked and was about to have an anxiety attack, when Paisley assured him that she wouldn’t say anything. Somehow though, when they got back to the set, word got out that Python was sleeping with one of the dancers. When asked if it was her, Paisley neither confirmed nor denied the rumor, so she became the dancer he was sleeping with. Python was one of many entertainers she was rumored to have bedded, but in reality never did.
The talk became rampant, and at first she was bothered by it, until Fallon actually began marketing her as the “seductress” of the music industry; the reputation opened more doors and gave her more opportunities than she could ever imagine. Soon after, she was invited to the hottest parties and premiers, booked club appearances and magazine spreads, and had a yearly calendar.
All because she allowed all of the down low rappers and singers, erectile-dysfunctional producers, and anyone else who could afford to be seen with her to brag about being “seduced.”
“Okay, that was because people were gonna talk regardless, Diesel,” she responded, recalling how she allowed the males in the industry to lie on her because it made her a hot commodity. At t
he time, it seemed like a brilliant idea. It was easier brushing off the haters and their talk because she gave them permission to lie; this was different.
“And they’re still gonna talk, Paisley.” He smiled. “What? Now because you got hate mail coming from the church folk it makes it worse?”
“No, I just thought Warren was going to help explain things,” she admitted.
“Be real, Paisley,” he laughed. “Warren Cobb has more to lose than you do. I don’t blame him for playing it off. He’s being the typical man: ‘It wasn’t me.’ ”
“You’re not making this any better. Warren and I are just friends, Diesel, I swear.”
“I believe you. You don’t owe me or anyone else an explanation,” Diesel told her. “Look, I gotta get outta here. I will call and check on you later. Get some rest. We got a lot of work to do.”
“Thanks, Diesel,” she said as he leaned over and gave her a quick hug.
“What are you gonna do about The Playground?” He turned just as he was walking out her bedroom door.
She took a deep breath. “That’s a whole ’nother issue I gotta deal with. I either gotta hire someone to help out while I’m out of commission or close up shop for a while.”
“How long is Seymone gonna be here?” He gave her a knowing look.
“Hell no, that will definitely not work. We tried that before and the moment her man calls, she’ll be out,” Paisley replied. “‘I’ll figure something out.”
Exactly what that something was, she didn’t know.
Diesel
Man, I’m glad Paisley is home. That makes me feel a little bit better. I was kinda worried that the accident was gonna cause a setback with all that we’re trying to do, but if Paisley says she’ll be ready in six weeks, then I know she will. I love that woman. Not in a romantic, sexual way, although she is fine as a mutha. At five six, a hundred and fifty pounds, with cocoa brown skin and them gray-ass eyes, damn. She is definitely what my granddaddy would call a bad mamma jamma: full D-cup breasts, her waist is small, and those hips and ass are perfect. But her body is nothing compared to her gorgeous face. Those thick, long lashes and her full lips, and when she smiles, she has the deepest dimples I have ever seen. I’ve witnessed her instantly become every man’s fantasy woman when she smiles at them. All my boys have tried to hit that, thinking Paisley was easy, and none of them have succeeded. I can’t blame them for trying though. Paisley is fine. They’ve even tried to call me out a time or two for not trying. But Paisley is my girl, and I love her like a sister. Which is why when Seymone flaked out on her when they were supposed to open The Playground together, I stepped up. Who would’ve thought that converting a warehouse into a dance studio with some mirrors and stripper poles would be a financial gold mine? But, it worked and I’m happy for her. And now she’s paying it forward by helping me open the club. Hopefully, her business luck will continue and the club will be just as successful as The Playground.
