“And what way is that?”
“Like you want to eat me up.”
“What if it’s the truth?”
Flames of arousal licked at her senses. “I’m supposed to be singing in two hours.”
“So? You’re not dressed yet.”
True. She had on shorts and a short-sleeved top. “Stop tempting me.”
He stood and walked over to her chair. He took her hand and wordlessly coaxed her to her feet. Taking her into his arms, he brushed his lips against her neck. “I just want to give you a quick welcome to Malibu.”
“Get behind me, devil man.” But because she was kissing him back with equal intensity, they both knew she didn’t mean it, so he kissed for a few more humid seconds then took her hand and led her away.
The studio where the auditions were to be conducted was just a short golf cart ride to the other side of his sprawling property. When they drove up to the flat-roofed building, Reggie noticed all the gleaming high-end cars parked in the lot out front. She saw girls dressed like strippers going inside followed by men in dark, expensive-looking suits. She wondered if the females were her competition or assistants to the executives. He parked the golf cart and turned it off. “Nervous?” he asked.
Reggie knew she was supposed to be but the echoes of his loving seemed to have masked most of it. “A little bit,” she admitted truthfully.
“We can go back for another round if you think it’ll help.”
She laughed and declared, “I’m getting out.” And she did.
Inside, he escorted her to a large conference room. Around the table were the people she’d seen entering earlier. Jamal made the introductions and the suits greeted her with polite warmth. She saw the girls seated off to the side, checking her out with skeptical eyes. She smiled their way but they looked at her as though she were invisible. Well, now, she said to herself. The snubs hurt even though she tried to convince herself otherwise.
A few more people arrived; more suits and more half-dressed, heavily made-up women. At 9:00 a.m. sharp, the twenty people walked into the largest sound room Reggie’d ever been in and were asked to take seats.
Reggie did her best to control her rising nerves. She knew she could sing with the best of them, but the other women in their revealing outfits looked more like the singers in the videos. She, on the other hand, was dressed as she’d been the night of the school fundraiser concert, except for the boots. On her feet were a nice pair of black strappy sandals she’d bought on sale earlier in the week that showed off her freshly painted toes.
Jamal stood up and explained how the auditions would go. Each singer would be given one shot. The music would be piped in for them through an earpiece and the record execs would be listening and evaluating stage presence. Reggie took in a deep breath.
The singers drew numbers from a hat. Reggie was number eight. The other women continued to avoid eye contact with her and gave the impression that they didn’t consider her to be much of a threat. Ignoring them, she glanced around the room hoping to see the songwriter Jones. So far no one in the room resembled the scumbag thief Wes Piper.
Jamal called the first singer to the mic. His engineers spent a quick second hooking up her earpiece. When the background track came through the room’s speaker the girl dressed in stilettos and a skintight, thigh-high purple dress that was way too small began. She was flat, so much so that Jamal politely stopped her before she got a quarter of the way through. He thanked her and told her she could go. She exited in tears.
Reggie’s nerves climbed another notch.
The next two were not bad. They were reading the lyrics from the score in their hands though and that surprised her. She’d always memorized the song before going into the studio because that was what she’d learned from watching her late mom record and from working with Kenny.
Both of the singers were well-endowed, however, and their low-cut dresses emphasized that prominence, so Reggie guessed the men in the room didn’t mind that they were reading as they sang.
She saw the man posing as Jones enter the room on the tail end of singer number six and she turned her body slightly so he couldn’t get a good look at her face. It was Wes Piper. He was balder and fatter, but she’d know those beady eyes anywhere. Anger replaced her nervousness and when it was her turn to sing, she knew what she was going to do and she didn’t care if it cost her the contract. Right was right. Gram was owed for the money and Kenny for this stolen song. She walked to the mic stand.
Jamal could see the determination in her eyes and he went still. He smoothly glanced over at Jones and saw the man’s alarmed eyes riveted on Gina. Jamal thought he looked as if he’d swallowed a fish. He had paled and he was dragging a handkerchief over his face. When Jamal looked back at Gina, she gave him a frosty smile and all he could think was, Oh, hell.
Oh, hell was right. Reggie politely declined the earpiece and as the confused technician stared at her, she announced to the room. “I’m going to do something different and sing this a cappella.”
Her words caused a stir and she could see the execs sharing whispers and eyeing her as they did.
“I’m also going to sing this song the way it was originally written before the man you know as the songwriter stole it from the real composer, Kenneth Davidson.”
Loud gasps of surprise swept the room, but she ignored them, closed her eyes and began to sing. By the third note the room had gone so still you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone in attendance stared in awe as her unparalleled voice rose and fell. Although Piper had altered the words and tempo, Reggie sang it as the tender ballad it was written to be; filling it with all of the pathos and loss Kenny had been feeling at the time it was composed. The song centered on lost love and she performed it so movingly and so well because it had been written for her.
When she was done, she looked out over the mesmerized faces in the silent room and into the eyes of the frozen Wes Piper. “Mr. Piper. If it takes the rest of my life, you will pay for stealing my grandmother’s money and for stealing this beautiful song.”
As angry tears filled her eyes she cursed silently. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry, but she was so damn mad she couldn’t see. Jamal made a move to come to her side, but she ignored him, picked up her purse and walked out. Apparently all hell had broken out after that because she could hear arguing and shouting, but she kept striding and didn’t look back, not even when she heard Jamal calling her name.
Jamal finally excused himself from the arguments and accusations raging in his studio so he could talk to Gina. He found her in her room. Packing. “Where are you going?” His heart was beating so powerfully he thought it might break through his chest.
“Home,” she announced, zipping the suitcase closed.
“Gina—”
She held up a hand. “If you could fix my ticket so I can fly home tonight, I’d really appreciate it.” Her anger was still raging.
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Not taking apologies right now, Jamal. Just want to go home. I’ll pay you back however much it costs to change my flight.”
Jamal sensed there’d be no reasoning with her right now. There was a wall between them and she was in no mood to take it down. His heart twisted with the loss. “Okay,” he said distantly. “I’ll have Cheryl take care of it. Is your grandmother back?”
“Yes. She’s almost packed.”
“Wilton will give you a ride to LAX.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I know you wanted me to have this big break, but it’s the principle of the thing. Suppose that had been your song Piper was trying to pass off as his, Jamal?”
He remained silent because he knew she was right. He studied her and wondered if he’d ever see her again. “Have a safe flight. I’ll be in touch.” He gave her one last look and departed.
After Wilton drove them away, Jamal went back into her room, hoping she’d left something behind so he’d
have an excuse to call her. Her perfume was still in the quiet air, so he closed his eyes and filled himself with the lingering scent. He missed her already and wanted her back in his arms. Maurice Jones, aka Wes Piper, denied being a thief, but after witnessing Gina’s outstanding performance, many in the room had doubts. Jamal was convinced if no one else was, and was pleased to know the man was being threatened with lawsuits if the accusations proved true. He’d even provided Davidson’s number to one of the label’s lawyers.
But Gina’s parting question wouldn’t leave him alone. What would he have done had someone lifted one of his songs? Probably want to hunt them down. But because it hadn’t been his song, he’d blown it off, totally underestimating her strong values and her sense of fair play. Her getting the recording contract was all he’d cared about. Her performance today had been so special that in spite of the drama she might still get a shot, but his single-mindedness had cost him, big-time. Kenny had warned him to treat her like a treasure but he hadn’t listened.
He glanced over at the nightstand. On it lay the case belonging to the pearls he’d given her. When he opened it they were stretched out inside in all their luminous beauty. He sighed sadly, closed the box and left the room.
Reggie reported for work Monday morning and received startling news. Because hotel bookings were on the rise again, her job at the concierge desk had been taken out of mothballs and she had been reinstated. It was the best thing that had happened since the weekend began. She hadn’t heard from Jamal. As she told Trina on the phone last night, she didn’t really expect to.
A few days later, however, he walked through the hotel lobby doors carrying a bouquet of red roses large enough to hide an elephant behind. He looked surprised to see her behind the desk in her dark blue uniform and she was certainly surprised to see him. She’d missed him terribly but hadn’t gotten up the nerve to call him because of her angry exit from his home. Not that she took any of it back, but she did wish she’d calmed down enough to let him have his say.
“You got your job back?” he said, drinking her in.
She knew she was grinning like an idiot but she couldn’t seem to stop. She was so glad to see him. “I did.”
“Think I can have my lady back?”
“Do you want her back?”
“More than I want to breathe.” She melted.
Guests and staff members were staring but she didn’t care.
“These are for you,” he said, handing her the mountain-sized bouquet.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” She couldn’t believe he was actually close enough to touch.
“I also bring greetings from the music gods.”
She snorted.
“You have been invited to sign on with the biggest recording label in musicdom.”
Her gleeful cry made him smile.
“And Kenny Davidson’s name has been added to the lawsuit, filed in L.A. circuit court today, against Mr. Maurice Jones, whose real name by the way is Conrad Doyle.” She stared.
“Apparently some of the record companies were sitting on info that tied him to a few other songwriters and singers he bilked but weren’t able to prove it or didn’t want to prove it. Luckily your singing convinced a few of the label VPs to reopen the matter.”
She just about hit the floor. “So Kenny may get his songs back?”
“More than likely, yes.”
She launched herself into his arms and kissed him right there in front of the hotel’s smiling manager and everybody else looking on. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
She placed her head on his chest and realized that in his arms was where she most wanted to be.
“Kenny wrote that song for you, didn’t he?”
She looked up and met his eyes. “Yes.”
“Thought so.”
“Does that bother you?”
He shook his head. “If we ever break up will you have my back like you had his?”
“Forever.”
“Will you marry me?”
She laughed. “Probably not this minute, but ask me again in about six months and we’ll see.”
“Tough lady.”
She grinned with her cheek against his strongly beating heart. “I’m just a chick from the east side. You wouldn’t want me any other way.”
Jamal kissed her and knew she was absolutely right.
BEATS OF MY HEART
Elaine Overton
Chapter 1
It was time. Tristan Daniels stood staring out the window of a tenth-grade classroom at Quaker Street High School in Albany, New York, while the thirty-two fifteen-year-olds seated behind him took their final exam of the school year.
It was time. He’d known it for several weeks now, but was still unsure how to tell his family. He needed to do this. He had to do this, or he would spend the rest of his life wondering…what if.
The alarm clock on his desk rang loudly and he turned to the class. “All right, everyone, pencils down.”
His eyes quickly scanned the faces of his students, some beaming in pride, some frowning in concern, others blank of expression. Those were the ones whose minds were already on summer vacation, he thought.
So much of his life had been a dream deferred, shaped by familial commitments. The one time he’d put his foot down and demanded the right to make his own choice, he’d ended up here. Until now, he’d never regretted the decision. But some part of him had always known teaching was a temporary occupation. The music was what haunted him. The music was what called to his soul, and now he must answer it.
He moved between the seats collecting papers, taking a moment to look at each individual student. This would be the last time he saw any of them for quite a while and he knew he would desperately miss them all.
The bell rang, and the room became abuzz with activity as the students scrambled to collect their things and escape the confines of the classroom. Summer break had finally arrived.
“Bye, Mr. Daniels.”
“See you later, Mr. Daniels.”
“Have a great summer, everyone,” he answered, turning his head left and right as the kids he’d spent the past school year with hurried past. “Remember to leave your papers facing down if I have not collected your test yet.” Tristan tried to call above the growing cacophony of sounds surrounding him, much of which came from the hallway as the classroom door was thrown open and the kids rushed out.
It seemed only seconds until the door fell closed again and he found himself alone in a quiet room. He continued to collect the tests, thinking about the dinner party he was going to that evening.
His sister, Tracy, was hosting a birthday dinner for her husband, Calvin, and Tristan had decided it was there that he would let his family know his plans. As he continued collecting test papers he let his mind wander, considering how they would react to his news.
He already knew his mother would support him. Katherine Daniels had been encouraging her younger son to pursue a musical career ever since the moment she first noticed his natural talent.
His father, Ben, would be his usual neutral self, probably saying little one way or the other. Ben had always encouraged his children to be independent, which meant sometimes keeping silent even if he disagreed with their choices.
Tristan sighed heavily, knowing how his sister, older by three years, would take the news. For siblings, they were as different as night and day. Where Tristan was an artistic spirit who typically gave in to his impulses, Tracy was a very no-nonsense kind of person.
She was as devoted to the family business as she was to the family itself and she felt Tristan ought to be, as well. Given that, she’d not hesitated to express the betrayal she felt when Tristan announced his decision to pursue an educational degree and ultimately become a teacher instead of joining her as an executive in their father’s public relations company. And she left little doubt about what she thought of a musical career as a way of life. In her opinion, it was complete nonsense.
No question,
Tristan knew without hesitation who was most likely to give him a hard time about his recent decision. Calvin would of course agree with whatever his wife said. The poor man was too afraid of her to do anything else.
He, too, worked for their father, as the chief financial officer. Although in truth, given the trust fund each were given, none of Ben Daniels’s children, spouses or offspring would ever be required to work. But given the strong work ethic they’d been raised with, it was no surprise to anyone that they did.
Tristan was proud of the fact that in the twenty-four years of his life, he’d never taken a single withdrawal from his trust fund. He’d always worked, always supported himself. Of course, his parents had sent him to the best schools and provided for him exceptionally well growing up. But watching his school friends depend on their parents for everything had always struck him as somehow wrong. For Tristan, there was a sense of satisfaction and confidence that came with knowing that he hadn’t gotten through life on Daddy’s dime, that what he had was the fruit of his own labor. It was important in a way he knew he could never explain to anyone. It just was.
Daniels Productions was one of the oldest black-owned corporations and one of the most successful public-relations firms in the country. Ben was the fourth generation of Daniels men to sit at the head of the firm, and Tracy had every intention of being the first Daniels woman to head the firm. Tristan had no doubts she would do it.
Tristan packed his attaché with the tests from his students and picked up the room, feeling a certain amount of pity for the cleaning crew that was responsible for cleaning up behind two hundred teenagers. He paused in the door to take one last look around the room, making sure he’d collected all his personal items.