~~~
By the time Deuce got to the office if was well after ten. The plan to go straight there imploded when, in his car headed from Zee’s place, he literally smelled himself. There was no way he could roll up into SE all funky and sexed-out, wearing a pair of rumpled jeans and a shirt that bore the aroma of Haitian food. So, he went home first, showered and grabbed a cab.
No one seemed to notice him as he walked down the hallway toward his office. He was wearing a hastily-chosen hunter-green Henley and jeans, inadvertently heeding Jamal Turner’s advice not to dress up for work all the time, because he hadn’t had time to choose something other than the first items he spotted in his closet.
He was still looking over his shoulder lest Jamal should emerge from the shadows to castigate him for his lateness when he opened his office door and stepped inside, almost colliding with Harper, whose back was to the door. And standing in front of her—really close in front of her—was Devin Parks.
While Harper turned away, pursing and then licking her lips, Devin stepped forward and extended a hand, which Deuce took. Harper moved toward the other end of the office, her back still turned to him and Devin.
“What’s good, man?” Deuce said, looking back and forth between them. Something hung in the air, though he didn’t know what.
He and Devin Parks exchanged handshakes and a brief embrace.
“Not much,” Devin said.
He had a gruff, deep voice that, when he sang, resonated with soulfulness and unspoken pain. Deuce secretly credited himself with bringing Parks into SE’s fold, since he had been the one who first exposed his father to the music. That led to Jamal’s pursuing him to get him signed, and—come to think of it—to Jamal getting together with and eventually marrying Parks’ best friend, Makayla.
So, shit, Deuce thought ruefully. Jamal Turner basically owes me his entire life right now.
“We just needed your space for a minute for …” Harper had finally turned around. Her face was a little flushed like she had run up a flight of stairs without pausing to take a breath, and she avoided Deuce’s eyes. “For a … conversation.”
Devin Parks’ intense eyes of indeterminate color studied her as she spoke, like he was trying to figure something out. But Harper seemed not to want to meet his gaze either.
“Anyway … Devin, we can … later.” She shoved past Deuce and out of the room.
Narrowing his eyes, and lips pursed, Deuce turned to look at Parks.
“What’d you do to her?” he asked, trying not to laugh.
“Nah …” Devin drawled, in his gravelly voice. “It’s what she’s doin’ to me.” He stared at the doorway through which Harper had just practically run.
“So … that’s you?” Deuce asked, impressed.
Devin didn’t respond. He just gave an unreadable smile and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Come check me out at Black Hat tonight if you got time,” he said. “Eleven o’ clock set.”
Then he followed Harper down the hallway.
If Parks was chasing Harper, either literally or figuratively, Deuce couldn’t say he blamed him.
Harper had an edgy, but strangely, also a girl-next-door air about her that was sexy as hell. She was the chick no man could tame, though many had tried and many more boasted that they “had” her. But that’s what some dudes did: if they couldn’t claim to have captured a woman’s heart and soul, they bragged of having had her body.
Harper was the kind of chick who —through no fault of her own—attracted that kind of aggression, because she was notoriously free-loving. A few of her former hookups had been so frustrated that she had them out there acting a fool, adding diss tracks to their albums and crap like that once she cut them off.
Dudes who hadn’t a single commitment-oriented bone in their bodies were affronted that perhaps for the first time in their lives, the woman was the one who didn’t want to commit. But Harper seemed to have left all that drama behind, and by the time she started mentoring Deuce, was all business. After his breakup with Zora he even considered for a minute that he might try something with her, but Jamal caught him checking her out at a party and leaned in to whisper a word of caution.
You ain’ ready for that, young pup.
Deuce almost took his shot just to prove Jamal wrong, but decided in the end it would probably be just the kind of mess people were expecting from “Chris Scaife’s kid.” So, nah. At SE, he would keep it all business.
Except, from the looks of Harper and Devin just now, they almost certainly weren’t following the same creed.
Just as he was about to sit in his chair and fire up his computer, Deuce spotted a sheet of paper turned face down on his chair. From the size of it, he guessed it was the printout of logo options he’d dropped off for Jamal a week earlier.
It was.
Turning over the sheet, Deuce groaned and fell into his seat. The page was littered with notes in red ink. There were four logo options for Gollum Records and the upshot of it was … Jamal hated them all. Like Zora, he hadn’t been too hot on the name either—calling the idea of the Gollum as a symbol “some obscure, college-boy brain-fart”—but finally gave in on the basis that Deuce was part of his own target demographic and knew better “whether anyone will even know what that shit means.”
Coming from that deficit-based assessment, Deuce had been hoping to ‘wow’ Jamal on the artwork, but clearly, he had failed.
Exhaling, he dropped the sheet of paper on his desk and leaned back in his chair. So much for having a day as good as his morning had been.
~~~
“I feel like I can’t even get past first base with this. With anything,” Deuce said. “He hates everything I show him. Every idea I have he hates it.”
His father was sitting across from him in the sole guest-chair in the small office. His legs stretched out in front of him made the space look and feel even more cramped.
The fact that his father was in his office in SE’s Development Department was pure happenstance. He claimed to be there for a meeting with Jamal and finding out that his CEO was running late from another meeting across town said he thought he may as well check in on how Deuce was doing in his new digs.
It was the first time his pops had ever stopped in, even though there had been many other occasions when the senior Chris Scaife was in the building for meetings. Deuce didn’t question the explanation but thought it more likely that his father had come in a little earlier than expected, for the sole purpose of checking him out. Especially in light of the conversation they had at his mother’s place that past Saturday following the screening, Deuce figured he was more curious about how things were coming along at SE.
He hadn’t planned on showing his father Jamal’s notes, that ripped the Gollum Records logo options to shreds, but he’d spotted them on the desk almost as soon as he walked in, and picked them up, looking them over for a long time, his expression inscrutable. The next thing Deuce knew he was venting, giving his father explanations he hadn’t even asked for, just because the silence was unnerving.
“Maybe he hates ‘em ‘cause they’re no good,” his father said, shrugging.
“Fine.” Deuce reached for the mock-ups, shaking his head, and at the same time trying to shake off the familiar pang he felt, whenever he feared he had let his father down. “They’re no good.”
His extended arm hung there but his father didn’t hand him the sheet. Instead, he looked down at it again, brow wrinkled.
“Gollum I kind of get, but why’d you go with ‘Records’?” he asked.
Deuce shook his head. “I mean … we’re making music, so …”
“But ‘records’ though?”
“What you mean?”
“Why not Gollum Music, or Gollum Entertainment Group. Why ‘Records’?”
Deuce shrugged.
“Are those the limits of your thinking?”
He wasn’t completely sure where his father was going, but he knew he didn’t like the
way the question was phrased. The ‘limits of his thinking’? Like he didn’t have any imagination or something?
“Is that all this company’s ever gon’ do?” he explained, probably reading Deuce’s expression. “Be a record label?”
“For right now, yeah. I mean …”
“When I named SE, Scaife Enterprises I thought it was a dumb ass name to tell you the truth. But I had two criteria. One, I wanted my name on it, and two, I was thinking about when it would blow up, and become about more than music, maybe even more than entertainment. ‘Enterprises’ sounded like it might cover all the bases, so I went with that. So, what’s your vision for Gollum? Just music, or … I mean, now you might jump on this documentary stuff, right?”
“I didn’t know thinking about more than a record label was even in play.”
His father sighed.
“Look, I know how Turner operates,” he said. “He’s gon’ haze you. Make you feel like you’re in a cage a little bit, maybe even a lot. Just to make sure you tighten up. And that’s what he should do. But at the end of the day, you’re my son.” He shrugged. “If you put in the work, and have good ideas, I’ll back you up. Help you build something of your own. You got some money, right?”
Deuce grinned, thinking of his trust fund, the money his father knew he had, because he had given it to him.
“I got a little somethin’, yeah.”
“So, what I want to know is, why you over here workin’ just for Turner?”
“Well … because … That’s what I’m supposed to be doing, right?” Deuce sat back.
“I mean, this is a good training ground, no doubt. And I’m not sayin’ you quit your job. But if you put in some equity—and I’m not just talkin’ ‘bout sweat equity—maybe you’ll have a little more say on stuff like this.”
“Put in some equity, how?”
“You want this label or this company or whatever it is to be your vision? Instead of just following orders from Turner? Put some money on the table. Minimize the risk for SE and take on some of your own personal risk.”
“You tellin’ me I should raid my trust to re-invest in your company?”
His father shrugged. “No. To partner with SE to invest in something that could become your company. I started SE with my own money, and that’s how I knew that I could not fail. Or I would lose everything.
“I can’t pretend things aren’t different for you, because even if you fail, you won’t be livin’ in your car or nothin’. But believe me when I tell you that you’ll work harder, bolder, smarter if you have some skin in the game.”
Deuce looked down at the floor for a moment, trying to digest what his father was suggesting.
“How would that work though?” He looked up again. “I mean, would SE partner on a start-up of a new entertainment company that …”
“In my day? No. I wouldn’t have. I’d acquire a majority or all of it and control it. That’s how I roll. But there’s a new CEO. Maybe he feels differently.”
“He’ll do what you tell him to do though.”
At that his father smiled. “But I would never tell him what to do. I advise and recommend when asked, but I don’t tell Turner what to do. That’s our deal. But what I can do? Is help you come up with a proposal he might want to accept.”
Before Deuce could formulate a response, his father was standing. He rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Think about it,” he said. “But I better go make this meeting with the man in charge. Hit me up later if you want to talk it through.”
When his father was gone, Deuce shut the door to his office. Standing behind the door was the only way to get any measure of privacy, because all the offices, except the corners were fishbowls, with glass walls. Everyone was always working out different ways to position their desk so no one could see them playing Overwatch or watching Netflix on their monitor while they pretended to work.
He didn’t need to do anything on his computer, but he did want the quiet so he could think. The idea that he could build his own company, that his father believed he could … He didn’t even know how to process that.
But maybe there was something to it, because even in the five minutes that it had become a possibility, he felt his ideas and his vision begin to morph into something new. If he wasn’t thinking only about pleasing Jamal Turner and SE, if his new emphasis was on executing his ideas as majority owner of a new venture, then it could be a whole new ballgame.
And there was something else in it for him too. His father said they would work hand-in-glove to develop it.
For a good portion of his life, Deuce had been angry at his father, then a little afraid of him; then cautiously optimistic about getting closer to him. But they never had been close. Over the past year, he listened to Kal talk about his pops and how tight they were—even after being separated by a decade-long stint in prison—and the truth was, he’d been envious.
He didn’t have the rituals, the friendship and the ease with his father, that Kal did with his. And it took years for him to admit to himself that he wanted that. But he did.
They might never get up at dawn to run five miles together or talk about the meaning of life, or love or God. But maybe this was another way. While building a company together, maybe they could do more than that. Maybe they could finally build a relationship.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Doesn’t something about the way he sings make you want to just bawl your eyes out?”
Zora leaned over to speak directly into Deuce’s ear as Devin Parks finished out his set. When the last note rose, he stood there, head hanging down, his curly, messy hair hiding his face like he was completely spent. There was something hypnotic about how he moved, and sometimes, even about his stillness, like now.
“No,” Deuce said. “I can’t say I ever wanted to cry after listening to him, nah.”
Zora rolled her eyes. “Well then you’re dead inside.”
It was almost midnight, and they had made it to Black Hat halfway through Devin’s performance, after the late seating for dinner at a hastily-chosen restaurant nearby. Deuce had been at the office until almost nine that evening and called just when Zora had given up on seeing him and mere minutes before she started thinking nutty thoughts, like maybe he was standing her up altogether.
But he had been working; and even when he finally made it to her place to get her, was distracted and said very little. A tiny stone of apprehension grew in the pit of Zora’s stomach as the night wore on and her worries about what might be on his mind grew.
They hadn’t talked at all about where they were, or even what they were to each other now. All they’d done on Sunday was tumble into bed at her place and stay there. Occasional food and rehydration runs had been the extent of their forays into the rest of the apartment. They hadn’t even watched television, just gone at each other until Zora was sore, and Deuce exhausted enough to snore as he slept.
There hadn’t been a whole lot of talking, period; but Zora wasn’t fooling herself into thinking that there wouldn’t have to be. The things that split them up in the first place were still there, still undiscussed, still unresolved. And there was no hiding from them now, either, since she had spilled her guts for all and sundry to hear in Asif’s documentary.
After Deuce left her in bed earlier that morning, she’d been wondering whether maybe, subconsciously, she wanted him to know what she thought about her and her father’s relationship. Maybe somewhere deep down, she knew Asif would likely use her clip, and she wanted him to; just so she could communicate with Deuce without speaking directly to him about it all.
But she couldn’t avoid a direct conversation forever. If she did, then nothing would have changed, and they would wind up precisely where they had been all those months ago when she first let him go.
“You ready?” Deuce asked her now.
He still sounded vacant, preoccupied.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Zora shoved her chair backward a little wh
en she felt it being helped away from the table by unseen hands. Turning, she looked up at Nicolas, standing just behind her, hands on the back of her seat.
Before she could fully react, Deuce was getting up from his seat. He extended a hand.
Nicolas hesitated, then took it while Zora maneuvered away from the table. The two men nodded at each other as they shook but did not speak.
Nicolas leaned in and kissed Zora on the cheek, greeting her in Wolof.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked, trying not to sound as nonplussed as she felt.
“Work,” he said. “Gotta get up there and follow that …” He indicated the stage, where Devin and his crew were just vacating.
“He’s pretty amazing, right?”
“Yeah, he’s good.” Nicolas looked in Deuce’s direction. “One of yours, right?”
Deuce, who had shoved both hands into his pockets, like he was trying to keep them out of trouble shrugged.
“Not mine,” he said. “SE’s.”
His tone was truculent, and Zora could tell from that, as well as his body language that he was more than ready to go.
“Anyway, this is my Monday night spot,” Nicolas continued. “Usually a lot quieter, but thanks to your boy …” He looked in Deuce’s direction again. “It’s a full house.”
Deuce sucked his teeth. “Zee, you ready to go? It’s …” He glanced at his watch. “I got work tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Of course.” She smiled at Nicolas and touched his arm. “Good … and weird … running into you.”
“Good seeing you as well,” Nicolas said as he turned to leave. He paused to give her one last, significant look. “We should talk about what you said in that clip, in Seef’s doc sometime.”
“Cool. Sure,” Zora said, feeling Deuce’s presence just over her shoulder and sensing his growing impatience.
He wordlessly took her hand and they made their way through the crowd toward the exit, skirting around tables and other patrons, avoiding servers holding trays of drinks high above their heads. On the sidewalk, Deuce looked left and right as though trying to recall where he had parked.
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