Boyfriend Season (14 page)

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Authors: Kelli London

BOOK: Boyfriend Season
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15
PATIENCE
I
t felt like someone was rubbing warm velvet across her eyelids. The soft texture and surrounding sweet scents sent a tingle up the back of her neck and tickled her head. Funky and stylish music, the kind she imagined Trill's stylist, Francoise, would listen to, filled the open space. She didn't know how the Make-up Art Cosmetics giant pulled off the exclusive feel of being a standalone makeup store in the middle of Macy's, but they did, and she loved it because she felt catered to.
“I used a touch of Shroom on the lids and under your brows to bring out your eyes,” Emani, the makeup artist, said. “Under that, I used a Paint Pot to hold it in place.”
“What about Fix Powder?” Silky asked.
Emani shook her head. “Child, no! Her skin—and yours, for that matter—doesn't need that much coverage. Utilize your youth for as long as you can.”
Patience laughed at Emani's brashness, then scrolled through her messages on her cell. “Silky, look in my Hermés bag and pass me my iPad. Trill's in the studio and needs me to look up something.”
Silky's hand went to her right hip, her neck moved to the left, and her brows shot toward the ceiling. “Your what? iPad? Hermés bag?” She reached for the oversized purse hanging from the chair Patience sat in, then flipped it over, reading the label. “I didn't know this was Hermés!” she exclaimed, pronouncing it just as it was spelled, not er-mez as it was properly pronounced. “And when did you get an iPad?” There was a hint of pride etched in her voice, but also a tinge of jealousy. “You doing big things now. . . .”
Patience grinned. “Thanks to you. You're the one that hooked me up. Trill's assistant-slash-publicist gave me the phone and iPad. His stylist, Francoise, hooked me up with the bag and trunks—and I do mean fashion trunks—of clothes. I'm sure he can get you a bag too. He works for a magazine sometimes, dressing models, so he has perks.”
Silky relaxed and matched Patience's grin. “All right, look out for your BFF, BFF.” She reached inside the bag and retrieved the sleek device. “So what do you have to look up?”
“Driving directions to the studio . . . for you,” Patience informed, climbing down from the high makeup chair, flinging her hair over her shoulder, and checking out herself in the mirror. She was breathtaking, and felt like the stunner Trill always called her. She picked up the eight huge designer-store shopping bags that she'd acquired in less than two hours, and took the medium MAC bag from Emani.
Silky slid the iPad back into the purse, picked up her two Bebe bags, then danced in place. Though she only had a learner's permit, the Growler had given her driving privileges for the day so she could take Patience to the mall, and he'd thrown in some spending money for Silky as a courtesy—from Trill.
“Us got our hair did, nails did, face painted, and we's rocking them Robin's Jeans with five-inch low-platform stilettos, so we's ready,” she sang, turning up her twang and laughing. “Let's do it! There's a GPS in the Range; we don't need the iPad.”
 
“Wooo-weee,” one of Trill's hangers-on said, then whistled when Patience entered the studio. He grimaced like he was in pain, holding the end of his balled fist up to his mouth and stomping his foot on the carpeted floor. “Day-um!” He stood up, then reached out his hand, giving Trill's brother a pound. “I godda go, partna. Ya baby bro's too protective of her, and she's looking so good and I'm so treed up, I can't help but look at her today. I don't wanna be disrespectin' homeboy, so I'm out.” He walked toward Patience and Silky, looked Patience up and down, then shook his head. “Day-um!” he said, closing the door behind him.
Trill's brother looked at Patience and didn't acknowledge Silky. “What's up, Lil Sis? I see Teeny got you playing dress-up.” He smiled. “You wear it well. You and my bruh's a good fit. He's in the booth. By the way, how's your crazy cousin Meka doing? Still strong-arming?”
“She's good. I haven't seen or talked to her because she got in a little trouble—that's what I heard Bishop telling my mom. But somehow she manages to text people like crazy.”
“ 'Cause she is crazy. She text
me
—and I didn't even give her my number. She said she's coming to collect her shoes when she get out, so I take it that them boys in blue got her. Shoplifting!” He laughed. “But you always need a crazy one on your team. 'Member that.”
“Hiii, T,” Silky sang to him. “I'm Silky, her best friend.”
T just nodded at her, then turned toward the studio boards.
“Teeny?” Silky whispered to Patience. “I didn't know you knew her. When did you meet her? Where was I? And what's up with Meka? You introduced Meka to T, and not me?” She flopped down on the leather sofa looking defeated.
Patience sat next to her. “We needed Meka for a favor, and Teeny was at the after-party the night of the awards—the night you were supposed to meet me on the red carpet, remember? But you were too busy with your friend. Speaking of the Growler . . .” She nodded her head toward the door.
“What you doing here?” he growled at Silky.
“Wooo-weee,” Trill exclaimed, pausing by the microphone booth's door. “Baby. Baby. Baby. I never thought . . .” he began, but couldn't finish. His eyes were so full of Patience's prettiness that he seemed to have forgotten his words.
T cleared his throat. “Man up, bruh.”
Trill's expression changed from awe to laidback. “You . . . you . . .” He shook his head. “Man, lil momma. You stunning today. Never mind,” he said, walking over and taking her hand. “T, gimme ten to clear my head before the next verse.”
T licked his lips while his lean body bent over the boards, turning knobs and pressing buttons. “Nah, partna, bizness first—pleasure, I mean Patience, later. We still godda re-lay this hook 'cause the shawty who sung it, her voice don't match the track.”
Trill reluctantly let Patience's hand go; then he went back into the booth, put a set of headphones on, and said through the microphone that he was ready. T pressed a button on the boards, and, like magic, the room filled with hypnotic beats. Patience and Silky smiled, nodding their heads to the music.
“That's hot,” Silky said.
A girl's voice filled the air, singing catchy lyrics that the girls quickly caught on to. Silky hummed, and Patience sang along as quiet as she could.
“Lil Sis? Come over here,” T said, calling Patience.
Patience pointed to her chest.
“Yeah, Lil Sis, you. Come on.”
Patience rose from her seat and walked over to him. Her eyebrows were up and puzzlement covered her face.
“Sing that again. Louder this time. And—before you ask, yes, I'm talking to you,” he said. He turned down the girl's voice and kept the music playing.
Patience closed her eyes and began. She was nervous, so she stumbled, then stopped.
I can do this,
she urged herself and relaxed. Moving her head to the music, she sang softly, then gained more confidence once she got the rhythm and lyrics down. Finally, as if the song were written by her, she belted out the words with a style all her own. A little R & B with just a touch of the hypnotizing gospel she'd learned to lace her choir voice with years ago made her sound infectious, and the whole studio caught on. For seconds, she became lost in the music and felt elevated. She forgot that she wasn't in the room alone, she didn't hear Trill come out of the microphone booth, and she didn't feel his presence next to her. The song ended. She opened her eyes. The people in the studio sat with their mouths open, then clapped like they were at a concert.
“Looks like we got a new, better singer for the hook,” T said, smiling.
“Sure do!” Teeny said from the doorway. “I'll call and get a contract drawn up. Is that gonna be cool with your parents?”
“Yeah,” Trill said, surprising Patience.
“That's my BFF! And there's always ways around signatures—like forgery,” Silky said to the room. She stood up, pointing at her chest. “
My
BFF!”
Patience just nodded. She didn't know about signing her parents' signatures, but she was certain she wanted to work with Trill.
Trill looked at Patience with glazed eyes. “How 'bout that, lil Momma? You and me gonna make a record together.”
“Nah,” T said. “You and Lil Sis gone make history together. This here is a straight airwaves track—top-ten radio and billboards all the way, not underground. Go on and take that ten minutes, bro. Better yet, make it fifteen to match Lil Sis's first fifteen minutes of fame, and I do mean first. She ain't no hook singer—she's a straight-up full-album, going-on-the-road, Grammys singer.”
His hand had taken hers before she knew it. They walked down the hallway of T's basement, where the studio was located, then up the stairs. A few more steps to the left, and they were outside. A bench was next to the lake in his yard, where a few ducks swam.
“So . . . you didn't tell me you could blow like that.”
Patience smiled. “I told you I used to sing.”
Trill grabbed her and pulled her close. “Yeah, but you didn't tell me you could sang—with an
A,
not an
I
. There's a difference between singin' and sangin'. Feel me?” He kissed her on her forehead.
Patience closed her eyes, then stiffened. She'd forgotten she was Bishop's daughter for a second, but now she remembered.
“The Bishop's not going to allow me to sing on your song. There's no way . . .”
“There's godda be a way. You and me—together, we'll come up with something. Singing is your gift.”
“Gift” awakened something in Patience. A new energy and assuredness surged through her like a live wire. “You know what, Trill? You're right. It is my gift—not Bishop's. God gave that gift to me so I can use it.” She pursed her lips, remembering one of her father's sermons. He'd preached that it'd be a sin not to use what God gave us to use—that it's like a slap in the face to turn away the gifts of the Father. But he never stated that all gifts were to be used religiously. God didn't discriminate, so why should she? Patience questioned.
“Baby, I'm going to go in there and sing—I mean, sang—on that track, and we'll just have to come up with me a stage name.”
A smile spread on Trill's face. “That's my girl. You are my girl, right?”
Patience nodded. “You asking me? Or just checking to be sure?”
Trill bent down to kiss her, and Patience's phone went off. He took it out of her hand, then made a face. “That's your sister texting you. Said your parents are coming home in a couple of hours, so I guess you godda go . . . unless . . . I want you to stay with me. My house is full of people, but T and Teeny are leaving tonight.... It'll be just me here.”
Patience felt bad. She knew she couldn't stay, and she would've been afraid to even if she could. She was a virgin and would remain one until she married. She wasn't in a rush to be too grown. She had plans for her future, including two college degrees that she'd get no matter what or how many albums T predicted were in her future. She shrugged, then shook her head no.
“Not if you ever want to see me again—or perform with you at any shows.” She sounded like she was joking, but really she was serious. “I can go in there and sing the hook now, but if we want a future together, we're going to have to come up with a plan. You can wait for me, right?”
Trill bit his lip. “Yeah,” his mouth uttered, but his expression said something else. “Let's go lay your vocals real quick. I think you should be able to do it in under an hour. That'll give you enough time to get home before your father gets in.”
Patience didn't like the look on his face, and it scared her. She didn't want to lose him, not when she was just finding herself. “How about this? I lay the vocals, go home, then meet you back here at midnight? But you have to get me back before five in the morning.”
Trill smiled. “Yeah!”
 
The house was dark when Silky pulled into the drive, and her sister's car was gone. Patience threw her jeans and shirt and stilettos in the backseat, and continued to scrub her face with disposable makeup-remover moist wipes. She'd changed her clothes and been taking off her makeup on the ride home. “All clean?”
Silky nodded. “Yes. Now hurry up and get in there before he gets home. I'll bring your bags and clothes to you tomorrow.”
Patience hopped out of the borrowed Range Rover, slipping back on her good-girl ballerina flats. She shut the door and waved bye to Silky. Giving the house the once-over, she relaxed a bit. Her sisters had left, but all was still clear. Bishop's and her mother's cars weren't in front of the house in the circular drive like usual. She looked at her watch, and saw she was forty minutes early.

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