Fighting his inner child, the kid that remembered Jamal Turner as larger-than-life, and already making moves and making deals, when he was still in middle school, Deuce pressed on.
“Nah. That’d be a mistake,” he said, shaking his head. “Not to mention a waste of company time. Of my time.”
Jamal pulled back in surprise.
Deuce cleared his throat. “And … of your time, too. Of course.”
A small smile teased the corners of Jamal’s lips. Finally, he shrugged. “Okay. Tell me what you’re thinkin’.”
Pulling out another sheet of paper, Deuce showed him the logos for Sony, Warner, Universal and EMI. Then he pulled out the logos for the top five independent labels.
“You see the difference?”
Jamal studied them for a few moments, then looked up.
“For the artists I’m going for Gollum can’t look too crisp, too … corporate. Already folks think SE is too big, too establishment …”
At that, Jamal’s eyebrows rose a fraction.
“I know that sounds crazy,” Deuce hurried to get the rest out in case he was about to be asked to leave. “Since you were with my pops back in the day when y’all had to scour nightclubs beggin’ artists to give you a shot. But that ain’t where we’re at right now.
“If folks see SE come out with one more shiny, new thing, we’re gon’ lose the types of people I’m lookin’ for. The authentic artists. All we’ll get is some pretty faces looking to crank out bullshit pop music.”
This time, Jamal let the smile break free.
“So, tell me your vision.”
“This is the look we need to go for.” Deuce stabbed a finger at the logo that was his favorite. “Something that looks like two dudes sitting in a bar drew it on the back of a napkin with a Sharpie. Real. Raw …”
“Quasi-independent?” Jamal said.
Deuce shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. But we need to project that we’re not looking for cookie-cutter sounds. That we’re all about artistic freedom …”
“Within reason,” Jamal interjected.
“Of course.”
Leaning back, Jamal pursed his lips and exhaled.
“What else you got in mind for … Gollum Records?” He still pronounced the name with some skepticism.
“That’s one other thing. I’m thinking I might want to go with just Gollum. No ‘records’.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I might have … other business besides music that I’m considering.”
“That you’re considering?” Jamal looked amused again.
“Yeah. I want to work on this as … If you’d consider it, I’d like to work on this not just as an employee but as an equity partner.”
Folding his arms, Jamal nodded thoughtfully for a few beats, then all-out grinned.
“Well, well …” he said, looking Deuce over assessing him. “‘Bout time those Scaife genes kicked in.” Then he gave a brief laugh. “I can’t make no promises, but lemme hear what you got, young ‘un.”
~~~
The steakhouse was not the kind of place Deuce frequented. It was dark, old and imposing. He knew his father held court here, a few times a week, like a mob boss, his appointments coming in to find him in the rear private dining area, with more red meat on his plate than Robyn permitted him to eat at home. When Deuce was led there by the hostess, he found his father with two other men, one of whom he recognized as a Hollywood director, the other he was unfamiliar with.
His father looked up and indicated a seat at the table.
“This is my son,” he told the men. “He likes to be called Deuce. Not interested in having the same name as his old man.”
One of the men laughed as Deuce shook his hand.
“I can understand that,” he said. “That’s a whole lot of name to live down.”
Deuce smiled politely as he shook. “And a whole lot to live up to,” he said.
For a moment his father’s eyes met his, and he thought he saw—just for a split second—a hint of pride.
“Anyway, I have a private lunch with my son, so … nice for you two have stopped by,” he said.
The men stood, joking about knowing when they weren’t welcome, and making promises to get in touch.
When they were gone, a server reappeared to clear their places and hand Deuce a menu that seemed to consist of dozens of cuts, strains and preparations for beef, but little else. He ordered flank steak and spinach.
“So,” his father said when he looked up. “How’d your meeting with Turner go?”
Deuce grinned. “Almost exactly as you said it would.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“It wasn’t about the logo,” Deuce said. “Or not just about the logo. It was about getting him to buy into a vision, y’know what I mean?”
Zora nodded, folding her feet beneath her as she listened.
“And I don’t think I have him all the way bought in yet, but he said he’ll listen. I just need to get him some numbers that make sense.”
“And you’ll basically be gutting your trust for this?”
“Fifty percent of what’s available to me, yeah.”
“Well, that’s definitely putting some skin in the game,” Zora said, quoting back to him what he told her his father said.
“Yeah. My pops was definitely on the money on that one. It was like the minute I mentioned putting my own capital in, Jamal looked at me different, y’know?”
“Yeah. And so after that, what happened? What’s the follow-up?”
“I need to put something more detailed together for him. That’s why I was there so late. Had lunch with the Boss Man, and he helped me think about what that should look like, and …”
“The ‘Boss Man’ being your dad?” Zora laughed.
“Yeah. That’s what Jamal calls him.”
“Seems to fit.”
“Right? Anyway, after I talked to him about it, I had all these ideas, so that’s why I was so late tonight.”
It was almost ten p.m., and he had been home for less than an hour. Zora had spent most of the morning thinking about whether to take him up on the invitation to go to his apartment and finally had at around two that afternoon. She second-guessed herself the whole subway ride over, and even walking up the block toward the building had changed her mind three times.
Getting the fob from the concierge had been the most nerve-wracking part. She almost expected the young woman manning the desk to greet her with suspicion, or say something like, ‘wait, but you’re not Regan.’ But instead, she gave Zora a pleasant smile, and handed over an envelope, offering her assistance if she needed anything. She shouldn’t have been surprised. This was an exclusive address and the staff had probably been trained not to react even if tenants and their guests showed up naked riding a unicorn.
Upstairs, she’d given herself a solo tour of the rooms once again, familiarizing herself with where everything was, testing out sitting on all the furniture, and even lying on the bed. She reminded herself that Kal and Asha had slept on that bed, told herself that their positive energy and love had probably eradicated whatever of Regan might have been left behind.
But around four, when she went to shop for dinner for whenever Deuce might get home, she also bought some sage and made sure she smudged every single room. She didn’t call Deuce to let him know she was there, because even around six o’ clock, when she had been there for several hours, she wasn’t one-hundred sure she could manage sleeping over, or that she would be there when he got home.
But she was.
When he opened the door, she was on the sofa, where they were sitting together now, shoes off, comfortably reading one of her textbooks. And the look on Deuce’s face when he spotted her was all Zora needed to reassure her that she’d made the right decision to stay.
They cooked together, the way they used to at his place senior year, moving around each other and divvying up tasks with hardly any conversation. And when their meal of broiled
chicken breasts, charred string beans and wild rice was done, they took it out to the living room. Deuce filled her in on his conversations with his father, including the one at lunch, to debrief about his meeting with Jamal Turner to pitch co-creating and co-owning Gollum with SE.
“He says he has to think about it, about whether he wants to set a precedent for ceding co-ownership of something that an employee created on company time.”
“Except,” Zora pointed out. “You approached him with the idea for Gollum, or something like it while you were still in school, remember? It wasn’t company time.”
“Good point. But the idea was half-baked then.”
“And then you sent him a proposal. And …”
Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. The pulsing tone was one that Zora knew didn’t come from her cellphone, or any cellphone that matter, but she instinctively looked down at hers, silent on the table amongst their dinner plates.
“That’s downstairs,” Deuce explained getting up. “Hold that thought.”
He padded in his socked feet over to the entryway where he picked up a handset affixed to the wall that Zora hadn’t even noticed before. He spoke into it and she stood, clearing the remains of their meal and bringing everything back into the kitchen.
When she went back out into the living room, Deuce was sitting on the sofa again, but sliding his feet into his shoes.
“You going back out?” she asked, confused.
“Nah,” he said, not meeting her gaze. “Just downstairs. I got … I have to take care of something.”
Sinking onto the sofa next to him, Zora leaned forward, trying to get him to look at her.
“What ‘something’? Is …”
“I’ll just take a sec,” he said, finally getting the second shoe on and standing.
Before he could walk away, Zora grabbed his hand.
“Deuce. What’s …?”
“Regan,” he said, his voice tight. “She’s downstairs.”
Zora dropped his hand, and he paused to look at her.
“Look, just … I’ll only be gone a few minutes, okay? Don’t … Just sit tight.”
“Of course I’ll sit tight,” Zora said. “Otherwise, she might try to fight me in the lobby of your building. Unless, I don’t know, maybe there’s a back exit you think I should use?”
“Zee.” Deuce sat down again and grabbed her hand. “This is just old business. This is …”
“Maybe unfinished business as well. I knew I shouldn’t have come over here so soon.”
“Don’t start with that stuff, okay? Regan’s just … She’s in a weird place right now since the robbery, and …”
“If you feel like you need to take care of her, then maybe that’s what you should do.”
“No! I’m not saying that. I’m just … I need to try to be sensitive about what she’s going through, that’s all. I mean, she was robbed, and then just a few weeks later, her boyfriend dumps her for …”
Zora tugged her hand free, feeling like she’d been punched in the gut, hearing him describe himself as Regan’s boyfriend.
It was true that it was past tense, but it still stung. The idea that he still felt some obligation toward Regan was as sharp as the crack of a whip against exposed skin, even though she knew she never could have respected him if under the circumstances he felt no sense of obligation at all.
“Can I just go take care of this?” Deuce asked, his voice gentle. “And then I’ll come back up and we’ll talk. Okay?”
Zora shrugged. “What choice do I have? I’m not going down there to wind up in some … brawl.”
“She wouldn’t … It wouldn’t …”
“You’re really defensive about her,” she said, knowing she was being unreasonable. “Really protective.”
“Zee …” Deuce drawled.
“Fine. Go!”
As he left, she stood as well, heading into the kitchen to see whether there was any wine.
Or, preferably, something much, much stronger.
~~~
Sitting perched on the edge of one of the guest chairs in the lobby, Regan stood as Deuce approached. She was dressed in all-black—stiletto boots, skinny jeans and tank, with a sheer blouse topping it. Her hair, she had pulled back so it was sleek, and smooth-as-glass. She smiled a little uncertainly as he approached, and put a hand to her throat, a gesture that only appeared when she was nervous.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” he returned.
“So, tonight’s my first night back at work,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“Oh. Cool,” Deuce said. Out of all the possibilities for things he expected her to say first, that was not among them. “That is cool, right? That you decided not to take all the time they gave you, and feel ready to get back in there?”
Regan gave an awkward laugh. “Yes. It is. I finally feel … not good about it, but okay with it. So, yeah, it’s cool.”
Then they stood there, about two feet apart, neither of them speaking. Deuce waited.
“I’m here because …” She turned and went back to the chair where she’d been sitting and produced a bag that he hadn’t noticed before. “I thought I’d drop off some of your stuff that you left at my place.”
He took the bag and glanced inside, glimpsing his old tablet, his tie, some socks, boxers and other odds and ends. Nothing he couldn’t have lived without.
“You didn’t have to …”
“I know. I could have mailed them. Or … tossed them in the dumpster.” She laughed again. “But it felt like you deserved more than that.”
“Look. Regan. I’m still … I’m sorry about how this went down, but …”
“You know, I think you actually once called me by her name.”
“What?”
“I didn’t know at the time, but you know how when a relationship ends you dissect everything little thing? Well, I’ve been doing some of that.” She paused to give yet another bark of laughter. “And I remembered this one time. I think you called me her name.”
“I don’t …”
“Regan shrugged. “You wouldn’t remember. It was when you were sleeping. You were sleeping at my place and I touched you, to put my arms around you and you said, ‘Zee’.”
Deuce shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “If I did that, I’m …”
“No, don’t be sorry. I just … It was just this weird thing I remembered. At the time I thought you might’ve said something like, you needed to get some zzz’s or something like that. I didn’t know it was a name. I just figured it out, while I was drinking merlot and crying the other night. That’s a nickname for Zora, I’m guessing?”
He nodded.
“Okay. Good. Glad to have that confirmed.” Regan gave a brisk nod. “It’s the kind of thing women obsess over, when we get dumped, believe it or not. So, thank you for that … that confirmation.”
“Okay, well thanks for all the …” Deuce held up the bag.
“You’re welcome.”
“You take care of …” He was partly turned away when she stopped him.
“Wait.”
Deuce turned to face her again and Regan walked into him, putting an arm around his waist, and getting on her toes to speak into his ear.
“You were never an asshole to me,” she said in a whisper. “I shouldn’t have said that when we were breaking up. And I didn’t mean it. You were never an asshole.”
Then she pulled away, turned and walked across the lobby, through the revolving doors and out onto the sidewalk.
Upstairs, the living room was empty, and Deuce thought for a moment that Zora might have found an escape route after all. But just as he dropped his keys in a clatter on the foyer table, she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a glass of wine. Setting down the bag of his stuff, he waited for her to speak first, knowing that she would. The way she held that glass of wine looked like she was holding her armaments for battle.
“So, is your old business f
inally finished business?”
“Yup.”
“Good, because I didn’t want to think about rappelling down the side of your building to get out of here.”
“Don’t be …” He broke off, shaking his head and went to collapse on the sofa, exhaling long and deep.
“Don’t be what?” Zora challenged.
“Don’t be whatever you about to be right now. Because …”
“You practically begged me to come here, and your ex-girlfriend drops by. I think I have a right to be upset.”
“Do you, though?” Deuce asked.
“Do I have a right to be upset? Are you kidding me?” She set her wineglass down on the coffee table and put her hands on her hips.
“You know why she stopped by? To bring me my stuff. She brought me my stuff and told me she was sorry for how things went down when we broke up. Which is more than ...” He broke off and shook his head.
“Say it,” Zora prompted.
“Forget it. I don’t even want to get into this.”
“No, maybe we should get into it. Say what you want to say.”
“It’s a lot more than I ever got from you. A’ight? You happy now? It’s a lot more than I ever got from you.”
She nodded, looking down at the floor. And when she looked up, something in her expression had changed. Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she let her hands fall from her hips.
“And what else?” she asked, her voice softer.
“What d’you mean what else?” he demanded.
Something in Deuce had changed, too. He felt long dormant feelings begin to surface. Feelings he wasn’t sure he had ever given true voice to.
“I know you have more you want to say.”
“Okay, fine. You want to hear it?” He sat upright; shoulders squared off. “I thought she was really mature about the whole thing, bringing my stuff back when she could just as easily tossed it all.”
“And …”
“And it gave me an idea of what a mature breakup might look like. Because we damn sure never had that.”
Zora shook her head, her eyes holding his. “No,” she acknowledged. “We never did.”
“And fuck the mature part. Because I didn’t even know why we were breakin’ up! I would’ve crawled through broken glass to be with you,” Deuce said, standing up and beginning to pace. “And all I get from you is some bullshit about friendship being all you can handle?”
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