Commitment (37 page)

“Just Brendan.
Chris is meeting us there.”

“Yippee,”
Riley
said dryly.

“
You never even met the guy.
You might like him.
”
 

“
Doubtful
,” she said without elaborating.

Shawn
shook
his head
and reached for the phone
.

Sans Souci was
a members-only
penthouse
club in
a Park Avenue high rise.
The walls were six-inch thick tempered glass that
revealed
the city, laid out below them in lights
.
There were no VIP areas, because the entire
establishment was
exclusive
enough
to make
those
distinctions unne
cessary.
At the door, bouncers
in designer suits ushered in
members and their guests
.

The interior was all plush leather and
suede,
crimson
walls
with gold leaf
and
14kt
scon
c
es
, designed
lounge
-style
with a central dance floor that wa
s always occupied.
On any given night, some of the most recognizable faces in the entertainment business we
re likely to be in attendance.
A night at Sans Souci was never recreation for Shawn
;
it was always work and all the more so because it masqueraded as fun.
Every year, when his
fifteen
thousand dollar membership fee came due, he hesitated before paying it; not because of the money but simply because he couldn’t think of a single instance where he’d actually enjoyed himself at the club.

Chris was already inside with Mike and Darryl, standing near
one of the
bar
s
, surveyi
ng the scene, drinking cognac.
That was Chris’
formula
- impress the new guys, cultivate their goodwill so that by the time they hit it big, they would
insist
that no one but Chris Scaife produce their
tracks
.
Sans Souci was like the Atlantis of the hip-hop world – to the up and coming, it was no more than a rumor, a place they weren’t quite sure existed because it sounded almost too
fly
to be real.
Every ten feet there was a Grammy-winning producer, ar
t
ist or record label executive.
This was where the real action was, not in the boardrooms.

Before
he and Riley
were even close enough to speak to them, Shawn noticed Chris’
taking
her
in from head to toe
and felt a simultaneous surge of pride and
possessiveness
.
Almost without thinking about it, he
extended a
hand and she took it in both of hers, leaning
into
him, oblivious to his motivation.

“Want something to drink?” he said in her ear. 

“W
ine
would be
good
.”

Chris stepped away from the bar as they approached and held out a hand to
Riley
.
She smiled and took it, allowing him to int
roduce her to Mike and Darryl.
Shawn focused on getting
Riley
’s drink
,
trying to look
anywhere but at Chris Scaife’s hand
resting casually
on his wife’s b
are back.

H
e
was
leaned over the bar
when
he spotted
her – Mike’s
cousin, the girl from the reco
rding studio, across the room.
She was wearing a black bodysuit and swaying to the music, swirling a tiny umbrella about in what looked like a strawberry daiq
uiri.
Once again, i
t took him a minute to remember her name, but he definitely remembered that
body
.
And the cute,
single-dimpled
smile.
Shawn looked away,
instead
concentrating on gett
ing the bartender’s attention.
That
kind of trouble
he did not need
.

“I’m going to look around a little bit,”
Riley
said
as she took her glass of wine.
“Excuse me everyone.”

As she walked away, there was a lull in the conversation.

“
Damn
,
Smooth
,”
Da
rryl said after a moment or two, his gaze still following Riley
. “I ain’ know you was putting
it
down like
that
.
Your
wife is bad
, yo
.”

Brendan shook his head and
laughed
.
“Don’
t
do it, man.
Don’t
even look in that direction
.
Unless you want to see this nigga go off.”

Shawn forced a smile.
“It ain’t even like that.”

“Oh, it’s most definitely like that,” Brendan said.

“
I don’t blame you, man
.
”
Chris said.
He, too, watched
as
Riley
made her way
through the crowd. 

Shawn’s eyes narrowed.

“
She got a friend?
”
Chris asked
, eyes still
on
Riley
. 

“Her best friend,” Shawn said
, happy to
offer up Tracy to
divert Chris’ attention
.

“And you should see her,”
Brendan said, letting out a low whistle.
“But I got dibs on that one, son.”

“
Ther
e’s no dibs on a piece of ass.
Let the best man win
,” Chris said.

This was how he used to
talk.
Didn’t se
e anything wrong with it then.
But now it sounded different to his ears.

“Speaking of the honeys . . .”
Mike began. 

Shawn tuned them out.

After awhile h
e lost sight of
Riley
.
The last
time he saw
her
she had wandered over in the direction of the Ladies Room and
just before that
talking to some other woman, both of them looking out across the city, poin
ting things out to each other.
She was comfortable on her own; didn’t seem to have even the slightest impulse to stick close by him just because she was in a
n unfamiliar social situation.
Once or twic
e, guys stepped to her
and Shawn watched
as she smiled at them
.
But each time she
shook her head, probably refusing invitations to dance. 

“That your girl you came in with?”

Shawn looked around.
Keisha was standing to his right, leaning on the bar next to her cousin, still ho
lding her strawberry daiquiri.
It was melted, but she still held the glass, stirring slowly with the little umbrella.

“You want another one of those?” he offered.

She nodded and looked pleased as she set
the
glass
aside.
Shawn called over the bartender and ordered a
daiquiri
and a draft for himself.

“Some ladies over there
would like
to buy you a glass of champagne.” 

The bartender indicated a table with three women who were huddled together, smiling
at him
.
He nodded in their direction and told the bartender to send them a bottle of the be
st wine the house had to offer.
Keisha tapped him on the shoulder to regain his attention.

“I asked you was that your girl you came in with.”

He held up his left hand and pointed at the
platinum
band on his index finger.
“My wife.”

Keisha p
ulled back, her eyes widening.
“I ain’ know you was married.”

“It did
n’t make the six o’clock news,”
Shawn said.

Keisha looked at him as though trying to decide w
hether she was being ridiculed.
“I don’t know, I just thought I woulda heard something like that,” she said finally.
“And I definitely didn’t notice no ring.”

The bartender put their drinks in front of them and Shawn w
ent to work on the champagne
.

“Why you think you would’ve heard I got married?”

Keisha shrugged.
“I told you, I like your style.
I follow your career.”

“
And
now you want to be in a video.”

“Yeah.
You said you’d watc
h me on the dance floor, right?
How ‘bout you just come dance with me instead?”

He thought about it for a half a second, but knew that dancin
g could easily get out of hand.
Especially with a girl
like
Keisha.
He shook his head.

“Nah.
That’s a’ight.”

“Your wife might start riffin’, huh?”

Shawn shook his head
again
. 

“Then c’mon
.”
She put a hand on
his arm, squeezing it lightly.
“I could tell all
my girlfriends I danced with K
Smooth
.”

“Next time,” he downed the rest of his champagne, and scanned the club, looking for
Riley
.

“So how long you been married?” Keisha leaned into his line of sight.

“A
bout a
month.”

“Oh!”
she said, as though that meant he was less married than
if it had been a year or two.
“What’s she do, your wife?”

Shawn looked at her.
“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Just curious.
I was
wonderin
’ if she was in the business.”

In the business.

Only people ‘in t
he business’ used that phrase.
He looked her over
once
again.
So
Keisha was one of those
girls
- rap groupies who hung around aspiring rappers and producers and promoters, working their way up the ladder until they score
d the biggest fish they could.

They went t
o concerts, loitered backstage and
knew more a
bout your career than you did.
They
made an art out of stroking
the egos of guys who already t
hought the world of themselves.
They
like
d the fast life, the fast cars, and the
whole image that was sold
to the public in music videos.
They were willing to do almost anyt
hing to be a part of that life.

In the beginning of his career, he’d fallen for it -
--
women who were almost too fine to be real would throw themselves a
t him and he seldom refused.
But as time went on, he got hip to the game - it wasn’t about him, it was about the package, the li
fe he lived, the money he made.
After he realized that, he treated them differently, he used them like they used him.

The fact that Keisha was Mike’s cousin had thrown him a little bit, but n
ow he recognized all the signs.
The
perfectly done hair and nails.
The flawless make-up, t
he tight and revealing clothes.
And her claim
that she ‘followed his career’.
Yeah.
Him and how many others?
She was on the hunt and for now at least, he was the prey.