Larger Than Lyfe (37 page)

Ten-foot video screens on either side of the stage began to run concert footage of Larger Than Lyfe’s line-up of platinum-selling artists. The crowd went wild as footage of Rasheed the Refugee’s show in Japan was shown. There was something incredibly sexy in hearing Rasheed the Refugee rap in Japanese.

Video highlights of footage from each of the ten audition cities drew both hysterical laughter and cheers of appreciation from the audience. There were blooper moments as the completely talentless howled out their fifteen minutes of fame and there was some amazing talent discovered in the ten audition cities who would likely score a record deal at some label, even if they were not signed at Larger Than Lyfe.

Misha had messengered tickets for the grand finale opening night to Mars’s office at ASCAP. She hoped that Mars would come to see the last major project that Keshari had worked on before she passed. Because Mars was still on leave from ASCAP, his secretary sent the tickets to Mars’s condo. Misha looked out into the audience from backstage and spotted Mars on the front row. She blew him a kiss and he smiled.

Then the lights dimmed and the video screens each displayed gigantic photographs of Keshari Mitchell. There was thunderous applause and a standing ovation for the recently fallen record mogul. Clips of various industry executives, producers, and recording artists talked about their personal and professional experiences with Keshari. Keshari’s old house and the Leimert Park neighborhood where she’d grown up was shown. Professors at UCLA and Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business spoke proudly
of Keshari Mitchell and the remarkable student that she had been. They’d all known that one day she would be incredibly successful because of her profound intelligence and unbelievable drive. Members of Larger Than Lyfe staff were interviewed and talked about Keshari Mitchell as a leader. She was no-nonsense, extremely driven, demanding only the very best from her team, but she was also fair, she actively listened to their input and she used all of their strengths as often as she could to achieve the tremendous success that Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment had achieved. The editor of
Vogue
magazine was interviewed and talked of the exotically beautiful, driven, amazingly successful, intensely private woman with the kind of style that seemed a part of her genetic makeup. Keshari Mitchell merged hip-hop and couture magnificently and made even the “ladies who lunch” take note of the way that she put fabulous, designer pieces together.

Then, Misha Tierney, new president and CEO of Larger Than Lyfe, took the stage, strutting confidently in red Dolce & Gabbana and red Jimmy Choo sandals as only Misha Tierney could.

“Keshari was my sister…she was my very best friend,” Misha said, standing center stage, her eyes filled with tears of both pride and sadness. “I’ve known Keshari ever since the two of us were thirteen years old and, even back then, she had a passionate love for music, especially hip-hop. Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment was Keshari’s greatest dream come true. She put everything that she had into this record label and she was always looking to make history. Larger Than Lyfe’s ‘Nationwide Search for a Star’ has already made history. More than 100,000 people participated in the audition process. T
onight’s finale show will make ratings history…on an African-American television network, TV One, owned by another phenomenal woman, Cathy Hughes.”

The audience applauded.

“We’ve got some unbelievable talent here tonight and we’ve got the very best in the music industry here composing our panel of judges to select the newest superstar for the Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment roster.”

There were screams and cheers from the excited audience.

“Before we introduce our panel of judges and tonight’s spectacular line-up of finalists, let me bring out our emcee, one of the funniest, smoothest, finest brothas in today’s comedy arena. Here’s my chocolate teddy bear…CEDRIC THE ENTERTAINER!”

Outkast’s “So Fresh, So Clean” played as Cedric the Entertainer came out onto the stage and made much ado kissing the drop-dead gorgeous Misha on both cheeks, and then spinning her around to get a better look at the Dolce & Gabbana dress that went all the way to there at the back and made an asymmetrical slash across her bodacious cleavage in front. He fanned
himself like he might overheat as he watched Misha strut offstage.

“That girl is lucky that I’m married,” he said, “’cuz I would take her from that lil’ ole boy she’s engaged to and she’d forget about him like he played third string for the L.A. Clippers.”

He was hilarious and the audience went wild for him.

Cedric the Entertainer promptly took over as a master of ceremonies and introduced the panel of judges. LL Cool J, Russell Simmons, Sean “Diddy” Combs, Sylvia Rhone of Elektra Entertainment fame, Jay-Z, Marvin Shabazz and Sharonda Richards all smiled and waved to the audience of screaming fans.

“We love you, Jay-Z!!!” a band of silicone-breasted fans holding signs squealed from the tenthrow.

“I love y’all, too.” Jay-Z smiled modestly, looking over at LL Cool J, and exchanging an all-knowing chuckle.

The troupe of sixty finalists took the stage and the grand finale competition was underway.

I
t was two days after the wrap of the week-long, televised, grand finale miniseries of Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment’s “Nationwide Search for a Star” and Misha was so glad to see a bit of calm come into the record label. She was exhausted. She had a couple of press interviews that afternoon to discuss what was upcoming for the winner of the talent search, and what some of her future plans were for the record label, particularly since Larger Than Lyfe was delving into the genres of R & B and jazz. After that, she was going to take a ride out to the studio in North Hollywood to take a list
en to the label’s new artist, Ntozake. The word was that the tracks for this extremely talented, young, twenty-something’s first CD were coming together impeccably well. Her vocals were lush with an urban edge to them and there had already been comments around the label that she bore a strong, physical resemblance to Keshari Mitchell. Larger Than Lyfe was putting together a package for her that would render her the record label’s new premier artist, taking the place of Rasheed the Refugee, who had left the label shortly before Keshari’s death.

After Misha left the studio in North Holly
wood, she planned to take a long weekend to catch up on sleep and some of the projects at Misha Tierney, her events planning company. Misha’s preparations to leave were abruptly intercepted by a most unexpected visitor. Marcus Means bypassed the receptionist, walked into Misha’s office and took a seat in front of her desk.

“Ms. Tierney, would you like me to phone security?” the receptionist said over Misha’s intercom.

“No, it’s okay,” Misha said, puzzled at Marcus Means’s abrupt presence in her office. “Hold all of my calls.”

She clicked off the intercom.

“Marcus Means,” Misha said, “not even in the farthest recesses of my mind can I imagine why you are here.”

Marcus smiled. “Same ole Misha. You and that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

“Why are you here and what do you want?” Misha snapped, her patience quickly leaving her. “I’m not in the dope game. I don’t owe you any money. I truly hope that you’re not looking to get a record deal, so to what do I owe the displeasure of your goddamned company?!”

“I see that you are settling very nicely into your new role as CEO. You had a lot of naysayers in the industry betting against you. It’s good to see that you’re working so hard to prove them all wrong.”

“So, that’s why you stopped by…to give me some positive reinforcement?”

“I have a proposition for you,” Marcus responded. “I guess you might call it an offer that you can’t exactly refuse.”

“You wanna bet?” Misha said.

“Wait,” Marcus said. “Take a listen to what I’m about to tell you and, perhaps, you’ll weigh your feisty, little snaps a lot more carefully.”

Misha crossed her legs and sat back in her chair.

“Somewhere along the way, in the ongoing saga of the past few weeks, media has formulated the conspiracy theory that Keshari is still alive. Can you believe that shit? Just like Tupac Shakur.”

“No. That shit is patently ridiculous,” Misha said, “which is why
I pay it absolutely no mind. Is that why you’re here? To discuss conspiracy theories?”

“I think you know me better than that,” Marcus responded. “I have more than a theoretical reason to believe that your best friend is still alive and has pulled off an intricate, little ruse in which YOU were an active participant. What if someone located your friend and finished what Tim Harris failed to finish?”

“Get the fuck out of my office right now!” Misha snapped.

Marcus Means didn’t even consider budging.

“Here’s my proposal,” Marcus said. “I’m going to need ten percent of Larger Than Lyfe’s revenues every month until further notice. In return for this ten percent, I make the promise to you that your best friend will remain safe wherever she is, wherever she goes, and I will not divulge her and your little secret to the authorities.”

“You sick son of a bitch!” Misha snapped, furious tears splashing down her cheeks. “Keshari is gone! GONE! And I don’t give a fuck what you believe to the contrary. I will not dispense one penny of Larger Than Lyfe revenues to you, or anything like you, and you can take that shit to the authorities!”

“Misha, when your brother was charged and tried for the first-degree murder of Phinnaeus Bernard III, did you ever wonder if he might be telling the truth and that he had nothing at all to do with his attorney’s murder, just like he said? I mean, think about it. Rick took two sets of polygraph exams and passed them both. In all these years, Rick never got caught up with any murder charge that could stick…and now he’s dead.”

“You know what I think?” Misha said irritably. “I think that I couldn’t give a fuck about Richard Tresvant’s murder trial. If he finally went to prison for a murder he did not commit, it sounds like the karma of a man who got away with far more heinous shit
FOR YEARS! Now, why the fuck are you still here?! Do I need to have security remove you?”

Marcus stared at Misha pensively, and then shook his head sympathetically.

“I know what it is. You still blame your brother for your mother’s death. You still hold so much anger about it. Unfortunately, that has nothing to do with me. Ten percent. You have twenty-four hours to decide how you want to go about this. I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow…and I don’t think you’d be foolish enough to stand me up.”

“Do whatever the fuck you think that you can get away with,” Misha responded. “I will NEVER give you one penny from ANY source. I don’t have any business with you and I never have. You won’t be strong-arming me for shit! Come back at the same time tomorrow if you want. You can be assured that my answer will be the same.”

A
six-hour flight out of Los Angeles International Airport and Darian Boudreaux landed in São Paulo, Brazil. Because it was not a vacation, but an abrupt, one-way departure from the life she knew into the unknown, all she felt was numb, unable to fully process the lights, the hustle, bustle and excitement of the airport in the major, foreign city that she’d just stepped into. Neither sadness nor fear had hit her yet, just numbness through every fiber of her being.

A limousine driver loaded her luggage and delivered her to Hotel Intercontinental in downtown São Paulo. Less than thirty
-six hours before, she had still been Keshari Mitchell, pulling off the greatest stunt and fraud of her life, her very own suicide. From the paramedics who had arrived on the scene, worked on her valiantly, and pronounced her dead, and then quickly transported her lifeless body away from the scene, to the first police dispatched to the scene, to the pathologist at the coroner’s office who had falsified the paperwork confirming her death, including a falsified death certificate, and then provided an actual body to represent her at the mortuary, to the mortuary who had knowingly cremated a Jane Doe
and represented it on even more falsified paperwork as Keshari Mitchell, to the authentic passport, birth certificate, social security card and other legal documents issued for her new identity, everyone had had a price, Keshari had met their price and they all had willingly participated in the intricate plot that had liberated her from her former life.