The Rhyme of Love (Love in Rhythm & Blues Book 2)

by Love Belvin

  My chin dipped and forehead wrinkled. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s difficult to explain the phenomenon. But when I heard about your manager, an image appeared of you hunched down in a corner sobbing uncontrollably. You couldn’t see them, but before you were demons of varying assortments, taunting you. So, as I approached to clear away the debris that was them, the Amos passage was in my belly. Instead of seeing your current posture, I felt your deliverance. That’s when I knew I had to take the chance on coming here.”

  What was crazy was I hadn’t been here in a while. I’d been in Sparta full time since December. With Wynter.

  “Ah… That debris,” I noted the repetition of the word.

  “That’s what your issues seem to be. Debris. Perhaps that’s why Pastor McKinnon mentioned cleaning house.”

  I nodded, eyes toward the floor as I considered what that meant exactly. Mike had been in my life since the ascension of my music career. It was at his side that I was able to make some noise in Hollywood, going further than any of my R&B contemporaries have. We came up together, and now he was gone. Myisha. I couldn’t stand the sight of her. Every time I thought about her threat, her betrayal, something in my belly jolted. For so long, those two had been at the core of my circle. They’d been there, in the trenches with me, pushing me to the top. And now…

  Ezra clearing his throat brought my attention up and to him. “I deeply apologize for the loss of your manager. You’ve shared with me the degeneration your friendship with him over the years. It saddens me it had to come to this, especially before you could repair it. I’ll also be covering you fervently regarding your relationship with Wynter.”

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” I moved to shake his hand.

  Ezra’s eyes kept going to the equipment.

  “I’m sure these recent events have inspired new music. You’ve always been keen on turning pain and storms into melodies.” He tapped a nob on the mixing board. “Again, what are you working on?”

  I let out a breath, glancing over to the board. “I’ve been inspired alright.” Leaning over my knees, I snorted. “Crazy thing is what’s been hitting at me ain’t gospel-inspired.” Ezra’s eyes narrowed on me, confused. “My new material’s been…” I licked my lips and my eyes narrowed in the air, feeling the flutters the thought of it accompanied. “Sensual.”

  It was true. Usually, I would come up with uplifting lyrics or a stream of tracks on the beauty of love when I was stressed or just needed to create. The past two weeks had me craving a different kind of love. A more intimate one. Wynter put something on my ass. Something I felt compelled to share with the world. My popularity in music wasn’t born from a thematic work of sex like Wynter’s favorite R&B singer. I had a little of that in my catalogue, but my reputation was built on love and inspirational songs, short of the gospel definition. I’d done well without saturating my lyrics with stories of pussy and drugs. But now… I’d worked on twelve tracks in the past two weeks, all of them at the heart and art of making love.

  “It appears she’s been a disruption of your peace.”

  I chuckled softly, stretching in my chair. “I ain’t have peace since I was a tot, man.”

  “You’ve actually created a form of peace with your wealth. You’ve withdrawn from the public and put space between you and the world, only coming out when you choose. You built a grand fortress in Sparta, spread out over what…? Nineteen acres? You want metropolitan privacy, you have this lush apartment in Jersey City. You want rural seclusion, you have Sparta. You want foreign recreation, you have the financial means to travel anywhere you desire. You do not have people around you don’t want there. I fully understand you only disclose to me what you feel is acceptable behavior, but I was aware of your methods of seeking physical release when you needed it in the past. You were even particular and unattached in that pursuit. You’re virtually untouchable.”

  And all of a sudden, the room seemed small. He’d painted quite a visual.

  “Wynter—no matter how abnormal—came into your life and interrupted your peace. She stirred the quiet emptiness of your heart and ignited your passion anew. There is no wonder your inspiration has turned sexual. Had you ever made love to a woman before Wynter, Ragee?”

  My eyes tightened again, this time on him as I considered that question. When my answer formed in my mind, I thought of Young Lord and how on one of the tracks on his Chasing Sunsets album, he said he’d lost his virginity to love. After getting to know Kenny, I realized it was a metaphor to the realness of their relationship.

  Ezra, once again, hit on something unexpected for me. Something I hadn’t considered.

  I cocked my head to the side, turning my neck, and my face twisted. “You mean to tell me, Wynter got me out here like a kid with his nose wide open over his first piece of snatch, man?”

  He shrugged with his head before standing. “I would have presented it with a little more dignity, but pretty much.”

  I growled, holding my face as I stretched back in the chair.

  “No need to be embarrassed. I realized soon after I married, my wife was the first woman I’d made love to as well. It’s a phenomenon we men take for granted, believe as long as we’re physically and occasionally mentally stimulated, we’re completely satisfied.” He shook his head, eyeing the keyboards across the room. “There is nothing equivalent to holding your heart in your hands as you drive all your soul into her. The most exquisite pleasure.”

  I watched him make his way over to one of the keyboards and take a seat behind it, amazed how that very phrase had been ringing in my mind about Wynter recently. This dude was so spiritually on point, it was freaky!

  Ezra stroked a few of the keys, gaining his stride before creating a harmony.

  He stopped. “You know what we should do?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Flesh out your new inspiration.”

  I blinked hard. “One of my tracks?”

  “Absolutely. I’m sure you have more that have not come to fruition yet. Why don’t I see what Dwayne’s up to and possibly get him over for a jam session?”

  As much as I liked the sound of that because I was always down to work, I didn’t expect that from Ezra.

  “Lex’ll be good with that?”

  “It’s hardly lunch time. Maybe we’ll be done by dinner.” He shrugged, going back to the keys. “If not, I can use a night out.”

  Damn. That offer for him to spend his limited time with me to help sift through the mess I’d made, eased the pressure from my chest. Especially seeing how I’d hidden from him like a potty-training toddler taking a poop in a quiet corner while making that mess.

  I nodded. “You’re gonna have to make the call.” I stood from my seat, feeling lightheaded the moment I was on my feet. I grabbed my head on my way to the door. “I need to send out one of my guys for a new phone for me.”

  “McKinnon,” he rasped after me. I turned to face him. “Thanks for allowing me to be me in your life. I sincerely appreciate our friendship.”

  Then my chest tightened again, and I knew it was from guilt. I couldn’t speak, still feeling raw. After offering a neck bow, I tapped my chest with a closed fist, saluting my friend, mentor, and pastor before walking off.

  ~6~

  I needed to stop and sit down. My breathing turned choppy, and as of late, I understood what that meant. Tears were looming.

  What the fuck is this?

  I cried. A lot lately. I swear, I must have cried every day since Ragee’s abrupt fuck session a few days ago. I was sick of crying and now could see why I never gave in to that emotion over the years. It was sickening. Weakening. Why the hell did I cry?

  Mike Brown’s dead…

  My head swiveled left to right softly as my eyes found a blind target and lost focus there. His death saddened me in an unusual way. No, I would not miss him, but for six months, his ideas and actions governed my world. I was bound to him by a contract I hated at first. Now, emotional
ly I hid beneath it. The one thing getting me through this music boot camp before Raj’s impromptu visit was the fact I’d see him again and again and again over the next two and a half years.

  I turned my torso to browse back at the bed…the last bed we’d share. Now that Mike Brown was gone it meant the for real end of the SNAFU Ragee and I found ourselves in. That deeply saddened me. I needed to shake it off. I took a cleansing breath, remembering the task at hand. Nearly finished packing up all my things, I had to go soon. My eyes grazed the pieces of clothing I had to get into my suitcases. I tried encouraging my limbs to move off the bed. No way I could break down now. I had shit to do.

  A sudden knock at the door had me sniffling back the impending tears.

  My lids blinked successively. “Ye—Yeah?” I stood, going back to my chore of packing.

  “Yo, Wynter?” I recognized as Irv’s voice. Or is that Jon’s? “Somebody here to see you.”

  I stood erect, face folding with curiosity and eyes rolling around in my head. “Come in,” I invited hesitantly, my heart pounding in my ears.

  One of the doors cracked and it was Irv pushing it in with a long arm, but he stood on the other side. Then strolling in was the last person I’d expected to see anytime soon, if at all ever. His suggestive gaze that used to make my skin crawl lingered on poor Irv as he passed him. And it was a long and dramatic stroll into the bedroom. His hair was nicely groomed per usual, his arms clad in a designer’s name I couldn’t pronounce, I was sure of. Then those gray globes under long curled lashes and stark arched brows swept over to me.

  His smile lit the room brighter but turned my stomach. This was bad. Real bad, I told myself as Irv closed the door, leaving me to him.

  “You look…” he delayed, eyeing me from head to toe.

  In a blue denim, bell-bottom jumpsuit revealing my shoulders, I was dressed for the club because that would be our first stop apparently, tonight. I set to the side gold Giuseppe Zanotti mules to pair with it, one of the many flashy things Myisha outfitted me with months ago. I hadn’t put on any make up yet because of packing.

  “Basic?” I turned back toward the bed to finish packing. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’ll die that way. Say what you need to say and go. I have to go my damn self.”

  From behind my back he asked, “Why the cold shoulder—or blemish-free back in this case—belle? I came all this way for the shade of Wynter?”

  Taking a deep breath, I turned to him. “That’s why I’d like to cut to the chase and get to it, LeRoy. Why the hell are you here?”

  His head leaned to the side and his brows narrowed, but his smile remained wide. “Because I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays, honey. Now, that’s not how you treat your best man.” He clutched his hands at his pelvic line. “But I’ll forgive. You go on ahead and say you’re sorry.”

  The man actually stood in the middle of the room with his spine erect, waiting for something.

  I swallowed and licked my lips. “I will not be apologizing for shit. You can, however, tell me what it is you need to tell me and get on.”

  He hopped on his feet and neared the bed until he jumped on it, laying his large frame across and propped his elbow on the mattress. His smile was still deep. “So, where ya going?”

  My eyes were closed and head shook as I answered, “L.A.”

  “Ah! L.A.! What’s there, belle?”

  I zipped up and grabbed my suitcase, carrying it to the door. “Work.”

  “Really?” he breathed, dramatically expressing interest.

  That’s when it hit me.

  I cocked my head to the side. “Are you here to tell me I have to go home—to Garfield?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because that’s what you fucktards do. You play mind games…change your minds at a moment’s whim.”

  LeRoy lay his head on his upturned palm. “I don’t change my mind, belle. Don’t play games either. I try to have it all.” He winked slyly. “I’m just here to make sure you remain on script.”

  “That’s the thing: What’s the fucking script now? You people take these fucking private meetings about me behind my back and I can’t keep up!”

  He blinked deeply, tucking his chin. “Belle, you’re the one posting baguettes, pearls, and shit on the ‘Gram.”

  “I didn’t post that!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “Well, then who—”

  “Your camp, who writes the fucking script!”

  “Sweetheart—”

  “Myisha had all of my passwords, would post for me sometimes. Before…” I shook my head, rolling my eyes, frustrated with it all.

  “Is that why you deleted it?”

  “Yes. Although you don’t know me like you claim you do your brother-crush, I can assure you I’m no fucking gold digger. I wouldn’t know the first thing to look at in a damn Chanel store.”

  “But you have a—”

  “Myisha!” I reminded him. “Everything I have is from Myisha. The only designer piece I own not from her outfitting is this necklace.” My hand subconsciously reached for it.

  “So, that’s what he picked out?” LeRoy squinted.

  “What?”

  “For your late birthday getaway…” He flicked his chin my way. “Is that what he picked?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” My fingers grazed it.

  LeRoy shrugged. “He was between three things. He asked my opinion, though I have no idea why. He completely ignores my suggestions—on everything.” He rolled his cool grays.

  I wanted to inquire about the other two things but knew it was safe for me to stay out of that romanticizing lane.

  “Is there a special reason you’re here? Don’t you have better, more exotic places on the globe to be?”

  He tilted his head in thought. “Let’s see… I was in Genoa last week. You know that punk faggot, Christopher is from there?” My eyes circled as my mind whirled. “The only one we acknowledge…” he allowed a hint.

  My forehead lifted, remembering the Jay Z line. “Columbus?”

  “Yup. I wanted to spit on the steps of his place. It’s dilapidated anyways. Good for his ass. Someone should have bought and tricked it out in ethnic garb—all but his. Goddamn tyrant of a thief.” He rolled his eyes and that face-splitting smile returned.

  “What took you there?” I mumbled, moving to the mirror to do something with my hair.

  “A friend of mine launching a denim line had an event there.”

  “In Genoa?”

  Looking into the mirror, I could see he nodded behind me. “Genoa is the birthplace of jeans, belle. Levi Strauss is from there, though the line, they say, was born on U.S. soil.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I brushed down the thick locks of my weave, happy about being close to returning to the East Coast. I needed this handled ASAP. “Who?”

  “Oh,” he hummed. “A friend. You know me, I keep a gang of them.”

  “This one doesn’t so happen to be from the eastern region of India, huhn?”

  LeRoy’s knowing chuckle was delayed, but thick. “No. I’ve swung to the next tree—quite a few since then, come to think of it.” His brows narrowed. “My stream is fluid, belle. You should know that about me.”

  I didn’t know LeRoy at all. I didn’t know any of them. That’s when I remembered.

  “Why are you here?”

  LeRoy sighed. “To check in on you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Not to dismiss me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you people are erratic, is why. Fluid, just like your damn sexuality.”

  He shook his head, absolutely unconvinced. “Ragee is not.”

  “Oh!” I scoffed. “He’s the most capricious on the planet.”

  A scowl warped on LeRoy’s face. “Is not.”

  I nodded, eyes stretched and I didn’t try to fight the smirk on my face. “Oh, he is.” There was no convincing me otherwise. “You don’t know him as you claim, L
eRoy.”

  “Oh, I do. I know him better than anyone on the planet.”

  I continued to shake my head. “You don’t.”

  “I do!”

  “You do not.”

  His torso leaped from the bed, leaving him resting on one hip as he faced me. “Bitch, challenge me!”

  I pointed toward the comforter. “He ate my pussy right where your exquisite designer threads lay!” LeRoy’s neck gave out as his eyes pierced me. “Yes, LeRoy. The man eats my pussy. And better than anyone before him.”

  It was delayed, but there was a comeback accompanied by a humorous expression. “You know he practiced on sliced watermelon for that. Right?” His head leaned to the side, smile cunning.

  “Bullshit.” I crossed my arms under my chest and widened my stance. “He practiced on me. He’s done it quite often, the practice runs. I’m his muse. And”—A damn cry shot up from my belly, but I caught it. All cockiness shot to pieces—“he claims he’s in love with me.”

  His eyes widened again. “He confessed to that?”

  “Yeah. So, you did know that?”

  LeRoy scoffed, nose flaring. “I told you I know everything about that man.”

  It was only a comeback. I knew that, but it still drew something emotional out of me. Who was this man, Ragee McKinnon? It was my turn to dip my chin. And that’s when the stupid ass waterworks began. I smashed my face into my palms and cried forcefully.

  “Oh, belle!” he breathed calmly, was on me in an instant. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just didn’t know he finally got off his ass and reached out.”

  “I’m okay.” I sniffled, trying to step out of his hold. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. You’re hurt. There’s nothing wrong with feeling it.”

  My neck whipped up and I peered into his stark pewters. “Why should I? Why should I feel shit for him? I didn’t sign up for this.”

  LeRoy smiled softly, his regard sweeping my assigned room. “Seems like you’re getting something out of the deal.”

  “But at what cost? He just tossed me out. I thought we were friends.”