Shawn laughed. “No thanks. Don’t talk to any boys. See you later.” He playfully smacked her rear end as she walked away.
Tracy was waiting for her outside Harambe where a line had begun to form, but they got in right away, since Vince the bouncer recognized them as regulars. As they walked by, Riley very clearly heard a girl in a white mini-dress stage-whisper to her friend, “K-Smooth’s wife. So I guess she doesn’t have to wait like the rest of us.”
Tracy obviously heard it too because she turned to shoot the girl a withering look.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said when they were inside. “They don’t know we’ve been coming here since before it was legal for us to drink.”
“I know,” Riley said.
They found a table near the stage where a jazz trio was warming up. A waitress came over to take their drink order and Riley leaned back, looking about the room. Several eyes were on her, and she tried not to assume that it was because they knew who she was. But of course they did.
Shawn’s troubles had become the biggest story in Black America so just about everything about them, including a few unflattering pictures of her had become part of the public domain.
“So I decided to fly to Virginia with Shawn tomorrow,” she said conversationally.
“Great. What’s in Virginia? Besides the show, I mean.”
“Don’t know,” Riley shrugged. “Just going along for the ride. And Virginia Beach is supposed to be interesting, right?”
“You think maybe you should consider going back to work?” Tracy asked carefully.
Riley looked at her. “Soon enough, I guess.”
“You seem bored but at the same time, reluctant to . . . I don’t know. Leave Shawn alone, I guess.”
Riley leaned forward. “What do you mean exactly, Tracy?”
“Don’t get all crazy on me. All I’m saying is you took time off to offer moral support. And now it seems like he’s got this. I mean, he’s back at work, he’s getting out there and you’re just on the verge becoming kind of co-dependent.”
Riley leaned back and took a breath, swallowing her first, defensive reaction.
“I’m just saying; it’s okay for you to go back to being separate people now.”
The waitress returned with their drinks and they both had something to occupy themselves with for a few moments. And then, just as she was poised to speak, Riley looked up and noticed a familiar pair of eyes from two tables over. Brian. He smiled when she met his gaze, and stood, striding toward her. Tracy followed her gaze and leaned back, arms folded.
“Brian,” Riley said as he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Sit down a while.”
He pulled out a chair and sat next to her, turning to Tracy and then leaning in to kiss her as well.
“Brian,” Tracy said her voice flat. Then she muttered something about the Ladies Room and left them alone.
“She mad at me?” Brian asked.
“No. I guess she . . . sees that it’s not a good idea. Y’know, you and me being . . .” Riley let her voice trail off into silence.
“So,” Brian said. “Mrs. K Smooth.”
Riley nodded.
“I was sorry to hear about his trouble,” Brian said, looking at her, his eyes sincere. “Mostly I was sorry because of you.”
“Thank you,” Riley said. “I appreciate that.”
Brian seemed not to know what else to say. He kept glancing over at his table where a pretty young woman with long auburn hair waited along with a couple.
“How are things with you?” Riley asked. “Good?”
Brian nodded, and reached out to touch her hand, squeezing it. “I wanted to call you, about DC. About what I said to you that night. I was drunk . . .”
“But not that drunk,” Riley said. “Not so drunk that you didn’t know what you were saying. Just drunk enough to say something you should have said a long time before then.”
Brian nodded again. “Yeah,” he said wryly. “Probably.”
“I’m going to drink a silent toast to you tonight,” she said. “And to friendship.”
“Yes. To friendship,” Brian said.
“And because we were friends, I want to make sure you understand something. I am completely committed to my marriage and to my husband. I always have been. So I’m glad I ran into you because it gives me a chance to say that I’m sorry if I ever gave you an impression other than that.”
“You didn’t lead me to that conclusion,” he said. “I got there completely on my own.”
It was clear he didn’t quite believe it, even as he said the words, but Riley said nothing because she knew there were things she had done that she should have done differently. Brian could easily have been her Keisha. And in some ways he had been. She’d looked to him for the emotional fulfillment that she hadn’t trusted Shawn would be able to give her. She could only admit that now that he had given it. In spades.
“I feel like I’d better stick to you all night,” Brian said now. “Because we may never run into each other again.”
“Don’t do that.” She shook her head. “You’ve got a lovely girl over there who’s jumping out of her skin wondering who I am.”
“So I’ll see you around?” Brian finally let go of her of her hand.
“Sure. I’m sure you will.”
Riley watched him walk away and return to his table of friends. He seemed so much further away than when she’d first spotted him.
g
Brendan picked them up and they all took a chartered jet out of LaGuardia to a small airfield in Virginia Beach the next morning, Riley sleeping with her head in Shawn’s lap almost the entire way. As she drifted in and out between wakefulness and sleep, she heard only the sound of Shawn’s and Brendan’s voices, talking business and the hum of the jet engines. When they landed, they were shuttled directly to Founders Inn, a secluded hotel and spa where they could be assured complete privacy. Almost immediately after check in, Shawn and Brendan started making plans to head over to the venue.
The Inn’s grounds were beautiful, and reminiscent of an English manor. It would be a great place to write, if she’d brought her laptop, but it had been challenging enough to manage getting out of bed early that morning, pulling on jeans and heading for the car.
“I think I’ll stay here,” Riley said, as she gazed out the window. “I’ll leave with you for the show when you come back to change and shower.”
“What’s that?”
Shawn was looking over what looked like music video storyboards and glanced up, his expression distracted.
“I said I think I’ll stay here ‘til later.”
“That might be a good idea. I don’t know if I’ll be back earlier than an hour before showtime.”
“Okay. Did you bring your laptop? I was thinking of maybe writing or something. This is the perfect place for it.”
“You need a new one anyway. Go pick one up.”
Riley turned back to the look out the window again. “I might,” she said under her breath. Shawn was right that it was about time to retire the other one. She could get something state-of-the-art. Start fresh.
“I’ll send a car for you,” Brendan offered. “If you want to check out a computer store or something.”
“Yeah,” Riley nodded definitively. “Do that, okay? Around noon or so?”
“Sure.”
He and Shawn returned to their work, and Riley headed for the shower. She was suddenly bombarded by ideas. Stories and angles for stories. Pieces she would write that would have Greg reeling and rejoicing that he hadn’t let her go. Hell, if she didn’t find a laptop today, she would write longhand. But she had to write.
She was standing under the water, eyes shut, toying with words in her mind’s eye when she felt a hand on her hip. She turned and opened her eyes. Shawn was in the shower with her.
Riley returned his kiss and opened her arms to him. When he gently lifted her leg, pressed her against the shower wall and slid inside her, it was almo
st a sweet surprise. Neither of them spoke; they didn’t need to. This was their dance, their rhythm, the way they stayed connected; but now no longer the only way.
g
As the sales clerk ran through the laptop’s specifications, Riley thought only of when she would take it out of the store, back to the hotel, power up and begin working. Once the decision to work again had been made, she couldn’t get to it fast enough. Who cared what kind of wireless modem it had?
“I think I’ll need a bag and other accessories,” she interrupted him. “Where would I find those?”
“So you’re taking it?” the sales clerk asked. A skinny, pimply young kid, he seemed incredulous at how easily he’d managed to sell the three thousand dollar piece of hardware.
“Sure, but I need other stuff too, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the kid said eagerly. “And if you want to use it right away you’ll want to think about what kind of productivity software you want.”
“Great. Let’s talk about that. What do you recommend?”
Thirty minutes later, she was walking out of the store loaded down with bags and her new laptop in its carrier, having ditched the oversize box it came in. The driver was waiting at the curb where she’d left him, the Range Rover’s engine idling. As soon as he saw her, he got out to open the door and help load everything in. Riley fought the urge to sit in the front passenger seat. Shawn had warned her that if she did, she only made the drivers uncomfortable unless you knew them very well, and after some thought Riley had to admit that that was probably true.
“We’re heading back to the hotel now, thank you,” she said before he could ask because she didn’t think she would have been able to handle being called ma’am again.
The options for places to spend an afternoon writing were endless at Founders Inn, but Riley chose a spot outside where she could see the ocean. She fidgeted while the computer booted up, and smiled when the familiar icons appeared on the monitor. In a few moments she was typing, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, the words coming as stream of consciousness.
She paused only to flex her fingers and clear her head before beginning a new thought. She was vaguely aware at different times of mild hunger pangs, a change in the temperature and finally, in the light. When she looked up, she realized the sun had begun to set. The clock at the bottom right-hand corner of the screen read six fifty-seven p.m. She had been writing for more than four hours, and Shawn’s show began in just over an hour.
Riley slammed the laptop shut and grabbed the bag, sprinting back toward the hotel. She was breathless when she finally shoved open the door to the room, her chest heaving. Shawn stood as soon as she entered; confusion, relief and finally exasperation crossing his face in quick succession.
“Riley, what the hell . . ?”
“Sorry. Lost track of time,” she gulped for air and reached out to touch his face. “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Ten. You can have ten minutes,” he said.
“Well, if I’m not done you can go ahead and I’ll get there a little later,” she said, knowing he would do no such thing.
She washed her face, ran a damp comb through her hair and rifled through her bag, considering what to wear. Her impulse was to wear basic jeans and a t-shirt, but there was always a reception or after-party so she instead chose a teal maxi dress with a wide brown belt and sandals. It was cool out, so she grabbed a cropped denim jacket as well. As an afterthought, and because she could hear Tracy’s voice in her head, she put on eyeliner and a smudge of plum lipstick. When she emerged from the dressing room and Shawn looked up, the impatience melted away from his features, and transformed into a smile.
“C’mon, bring your slow ass on.”
The show was in a smaller venue than he usually played. It was all part of the strategy to keep Shawn exposed, but not too exposed while the sexual assault charge remained unresolved. The audience seemed to consist mainly of college students and even some younger, perhaps high school seniors. That made for an enthusiastic crowd, and as Riley watched from the wings with Brendan, it was difficult to choose between keeping her eyes on Shawn, or the frenzy developing in the crowd.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” she yelled to Brendan over the music.
He grinned at her. “So he did it, huh?”
“Did what?”
“Made you a hip-hop convert.”
Riley laughed. “Maybe a little bit, yeah.”
But she was only saying that for Brendan’s satisfaction. The truth was she didn’t feel any differently about hip-hop in general; all she knew was that she loved her husband and his music.
g
It took a little while to come down from it—the high of being onstage. Every cell in his body humming with adrenaline, making it difficult to maintain a coherent thought. Few things he’d ever experienced compared to that sensation. Generally, what he needed —and generally didn’t get—immediately after a performance was quiet. So he’d learned to tune things out. Now he found, he didn’t want to. Riley met him as he walked off stage, a towel in her hands. He took it, draped it over his head and wrapped an arm across her shoulders, walking with her toward his dressing room, kissing her on the forehead.
After the brief reception, they found a family-style Greek restaurant that Shawn judged as authentic based on the people eating there who seemed to be actual Greeks. And better yet, no one seemed to know who he was. They ordered almost half the menu, and sat around a large table with Brendan, their driver Clive, the some of the roadies and their guests. When they were finally seated, it turned out they numbered sixteen in all, and three tables had to be joined so they could eat together. It was definitely a different vibe from previous shows when the production was bigger, and Shawn might not even meet most of the folks who’d worked to make it possible.
They were a raucous group, eating and drinking almost until the restaurant closed. But instead of stumbling away drunk with women they barely knew, this time a couple guys brought along their girlfriends or wives. Riley chatted with some of them throughout the meal and even exchanged pecks on the cheek before she and Shawn headed for their car. They almost hadn’t spoken at all during dinner, but she kept her hand firmly on his thigh, or carelessly rubbed the back of his neck as she chatted with the other women.
The drive back to the hotel was made in silence, Riley resting against his chest and looking out the window. In the suite, she kicked off her sandals, removed her belt, and peeled off her dress, stepping out of it and heading straight for bed, crawling across it on hands and knees. Shawn’s eyes widened in surprise. No underwear. Had he known that, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate all night and would definitely have suggested they head for the hotel much earlier.
“Don’t even think about it,” Riley said without even looking back at him. “I’m still sore from this morning and exhausted.”
Shawn laughed. “I didn’t say anything!”
“You don’t have to,” she pulled back the covers and crawled under them, hugging the pillow to her chest. “I know you.”
The sun was already high in the sky when he woke up and Riley was on the terrace, typing away like crazy on her laptop. A breakfast tray sat nearby with half-finished juice and a coffee-pot.
“Hey, what time is it?” he called.
His voice was hoarse. They’d forgotten to turn off the AC again.
“Hey,” she looked up but barely paused her typing. “Ahm . . . after nine.”
“B didn’t stop by?”
“Not that I noticed.”
Shawn got up and headed for the bathroom. That was unusual. Of course, if Brendan had gone out and found some company for the evening, it was probably to be expected. But even then, for him not to have called or stopped by around eight or so was out of character.
“How long does it take to drive to Richmond?” Riley called.
“Less than three hours.”
Shawn joined her on th
e terrace and poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t like coffee, but he needed something warm for his throat pronto if he was going to be 100% for the show tonight.
“I’ll order you some tea,” Riley said still not looking up. “And a full breakfast. You hungry?”
“Yeah. I wonder where B’s at.”
“Call him while I order.”
She got up and went in, while Shawn reached for his cell phone and dialed Brendan’s number. It rang three times before it was forwarded to voicemail.
“We have a sound check around three,” Shawn said, almost to himself. “I know he’d want to get out of here around ten.”
What’s that?” Riley stuck her head back out onto the terrace, a hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone.
“Nothing.”
“Are you anxious about Brendan?” she grinned. “That’s so cute.”
Just as he leaned back, there was a knock on the door and then Riley was opening it up and greeting Brendan.
“Hey man, what’s up?” Shawn asked him. “I just called you.”
“I’ve been on the line all morning,” Brendan said quickly, twirling his phone around his fingers like a baton. “We got a press conference in half an hour.”
Shawn sat upright. “Press conference? What for?”
“The grand jury. They refused to return an indictment.”
“What?” Riley came out to join them.
“It’s over,” Brendan nodded. “Doug found out late Friday and wanted to confirm. He called last night but none of us answered. He finally got me this morning.”
Brendan kept talking, but Shawn heard almost none of what he said. It was too good to be true. It couldn’t be true. It was over. The cloud over his head that had been there for so long, he almost didn’t notice it anymore, was gone. And what he saw instead—the ray of possibilities—was so much brighter than he could possibly deserve.
Brendan’s lips were still moving, and he could feel Riley’s arms wrapped about his neck and the dampness of her tears on his shoulder, but all he could think was thank you, thank you, thank you.
Commitment Page 53