Larger Than Lyfe

by Cynthia Diane Thornton

  Auditions were set to begin at 7 a.m. sharp. Outside, audition coordinators began to issue instructions over megaphones to organize the anxious, noisy crowd. Wristbands containing audition numbers were distributed to the first 1,000 auditioners. Another 1,500 wristbands would be distributed mid-day. A sizeable security team helped to maintain order.

  For the first day of auditions, Keshari and her crew wanted to begin establishing a strong and steady routine. They wanted to make full use of the one-week block of time that they had to see and select talent. The goal on each audition day was to audition a minimum of 1,000 people. If time allowed in that grueling time window, they would begin taking auditions from the next block of wristband holders. While two one-hour breaks were to be a part of the crew’s daily schedule, Keshari had trimmed the break schedule down to one one-hour break for the first day so that they could build up a momentum in the audition process. No one dared to complain.

  Music industry trade papers, Variety and Billboard, were reporting every tidbit of information as quickly as their staff writers could acquire it and as quickly as Larger Than Lyfe released it. Major publicity ads for “Nationwide Search for a Star” appeared in every consumer publication from The SOURCE to Essence. Radio disc jockeys from 100.3 The Beat in L.A. to HOT 97 in New York hyped the talent search throughout the day and, because Keshari had made the very strategic decision to join forces with Cathy Hughes, the most powerful African-American woman in radio, Larger Than Lyfe had negotiated free advertising slots to hype the talent search during the most coveted time slots of the day on Cathy Hughes’s Radio One stations.

  Expensive commercial promos were running concurrently on MTV, BET, VH1, CBS, NBC, ABC, TV One and VIBE Network. Massive billboards were ordered and displayed on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood and along several other very well-known thoroughfares in Los Angeles, Miami and New York. Interviews had been requested with both Keshari Mitchell and Cathy Hughes to discuss the much-talked-about new business alliance between two of the most powerful, Black businesswomen in America. The Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment website and the section that had been set up specifically for the talent search project had already received more than a million hits. Two days before the kickoff of the Los Angeles auditions, Keshari made an appearance on “The Steve Harvey Morning Show” via conference call, then on the tremendously popular “Tom Joyner Morning Show.” Both radio stations’ switchboards were overloaded with calls for the rest of the day with people seeking information about the upcoming, Los Angeles talent search auditions and the other audition cities’ auditions.

  Television cameras panned the immense crowd. Some auditioners were spotted rehearsing while family and friends sat atop sleeping bags and blankets or on lawn chairs looking on. Some auditioners got the opportunity to show their stuff when television cameras gave them a few seconds in the spotlight. There was some unbelievable talent out there. Some other auditioners proved that, among the many very promising prospects, there were more than a few very untalented people waiting in line to stand before the CEO of Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment and absolutely waste her time as well as their own.

  “Are you ready to do this?” Andre DeJesus asked, gleaming with excitement as he and Keshari sat down next to each other at the judges’ panel.

  His brainchild was now truly a tangible product that the entire music world was watching.

  “With the hefty price tag attached to this project, if I’m not ready for today, I’ll be the greatest fucking pretender that you’ve ever seen.”

  They both burst into laughter.

  With the lights of the television camera directed at the judges’ panel and at the marked spot where auditioners would enter and perform, the first auditioner, smiling nervously, took the stage.

  Portia was exceedingly busy lately. Not only was she exclusively designing the interior of an A-list actor’s new, Hollywood Hills abode that would be shot for the cover of Architectural Digest, she was also receiving very positive reviews and layouts in all of the other noteworthy interior design and architectural magazines. She had contracts and projects coming in from all directions. Her firm was finally receiving the caliber of instant name recognition, particularly among the people who mattered, that she had been working toward. This was a feat that was every real designer’s dream and it was a dream that was now her and her firm’s reality.

  Portia was also extremely busy in another aspect, working on a project that only she knew about. She was immersed in some very intensive research on none other than Keshari Mitchell, president of Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment. The research was her new “pet project” and it received as much time and effort as the business side of her life at her design firm.

  What looks too good to be true generally IS, Portia thought, and she had every intention of scouring Keshari Mitchell’s closet until she laid her hands on some real skeletons. She wanted to DESTROY that bitch. On the one hand, Portia had no idea why she was doing what she was doing. Mars Buchanan was just a man and she had been involved in romantic relationships before that didn’t work out. She had been able to let go and move on. No harm, no foul. But, for some bizarre reason, this particular instance was different. Portia felt as if she had a score to settle. Mars had really hurt her. A huge blow had been dealt to her ego. When Mars chose that bitch over her, and then practically gloated about it by allowing it to be captured on the covers of virtually every entertainment tabloid on the newsstands, it was the kind of slap in the face that was more than a woman like Portia Foster could take. Something like a dam had broken inside Portia and a kind of negative emotional intensity like she’d never felt before seemed to dominate large segments of her every day.

  Portia started calling Mars in the middle of the night and she felt certain that he knew who was on the other end of the line as he said hello over and over again, and then hung up in frustration. A couple of times following the happy couple’s impromptu trip to Negril, Portia had sat in her car in the park across from Mars’s condo community and watched as Keshari’s top-of-the-line, black Range Rover cruised through the security gates in the wee hours of the morning. She was, no doubt, on her way to get some of the fine, successful, entertainment attorney’s dick that had been stolen away from Portia without a second thought. As soon as Portia had allowed enough time for that bitch to get into Mars’s apartment and out of her clothes, Portia went into harassment mode, calling his numbers, both his cell phone and the house phone, disconnecting repeatedly without saying a word. She’d even bought a couple of those prepaid phones and dedicated them specifically to her middle of the night calls. Mars Buchanan would never see anything resembling an orgasm again if she had anything to do with it…and for damned sure not with that Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment bitch. Portia would be livid, furious tears streaming down her face as she made call after ridiculous call for reasons that she could not begin to try to explain to herself, much less to anyone else.

  The last time that Portia had placed herself on a “stakeout” mission across the street from Mars’s condo, she’d wound up following him to the bitch’s house, where he’d gone, probably for dinner, and then stayed the night. She had driven all the way to Palos Verdes behind Mars on the 405 freeway, and then had exited and followed him all the way up Paradiso Drive, stopping just down the hill until the security gate at Keshari’s home slid open and Mars’s convertible Mercedes pulled inside. Then Portia pulled right up in front to get a better look.

  The illuminated mansion could be seen almost fully from the street and Portia instantly wondered who had been hired to do the bitch’s decorating. There were armed guards walking the grounds of the mansion throughout the night and Portia wondered what that was all about. Mars was probably not the first man who the bitch had stolen from a relationship and some other woman would probably not be as gracious as Portia had been in letting her man go. Some other woman might have gone as far as threatening the bitch’s life. Or perhaps the bitch had screwed some record executive in a business deal an
d was reaping the repercussions of that. What-ever the case was, the scene was like something straight out of Scarface, watching uniformed, armed officers patrolling the grounds all through the night as if they were guarding the White House. The bitch clearly had something to hide.

  More than anything, Portia wanted to get a closer look at how the bitch lived. She would love to pay the housekeeper to allow her to come into that bitch’s house and get a look around. The moment would be priceless, walking around, fully violating Keshari Mitchell’s personal space without her even knowing about it in the same way that that bitch had violated her when she’d stolen away her man. She wanted to see where the bitch worked, get a look into her office, look through her computer files, see what her business endeavors were, see if Mars had sent her any e-mail and see what that e-mail said. She wanted to see where the bitch slept and bathed. She could imagine the bitch’s master suite. It was probably something as far-fetched and extravagant as the accommodations that Cleopatra, or the Queen of Sheba, would require. She wanted to see what the bitch ate and the types of clothes she wore. With the kind of money that her record label brought in, she could surely afford to hit all of the major couture houses. Portia wanted to know what exactly had compelled Mars Buchanan to choose that bitch over her. She wanted to know everything there was to know about that bitch before she fucked her up.

  As Portia sat there in her car, solemnly watching the beautiful mansion where Keshari Mitchell resided, she wondered to herself what Keshari and Mars were doing alone together inside. She became more and more determined that she was going to get onto the grounds of that mansion and past that bitch’s hired henchmen. She had every intention of getting into that bitch’s house. She just needed to watch the house for a few more nights to see how its security operated so that she knew precisely how to proceed.

  R, she says that she’s out and her decision is final. She’s placed the bulk of her responsibilities in my hands, including completing the upcoming transaction with our new supplier,” Marcus Means told Ricky.

  “I’m in here facing murder one and this bitch is splashed all over the covers of entertainment tabloids with this pretty-assed attorney that she’s hooked up with,” Ricky said. “We’ve gone through three major suppliers in less than a year, like some mismanaged, disorganized, neighborhood YG crime ring. This shit’s raggedy and I’ve got a lot of overpaid motherfuckers on the outside NOT handling my shit!”

  Ricky put his head in his hands. Being in jail, the trial, and the possible outcome of the trial, had him stressed enough as it was without Keshari steadily trying to force his hand. She was going to make him do something that he’d regret.

  “I’ll take care of her, man,” Ricky said.

  “Is there anything that you need me to do?” Marcus asked.

  “Nah, I got it,” Ricky responded.

  “If I might ask,” Marcus pressed, “how do you plan to take care of the Keshari situation?”

  Ricky stared at Marcus pointedly for a moment. Marcus was clearly overstepping his bounds.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Ricky said. “Like I said, I got it. On the other hand, after Keshari, you’re next in command in this organization. You know what needs to be done. Handle my business and keep me updated…and handle it like your life depends on it, because it does.”

  “What are your attorneys saying about the case?”

  “Man, I pay these motherfuckers eight hundred dollars a fucking hour. They’re supposed to be the best legal minds in the fucking country and they’re telling me it’s fifty-fifty right now for some shit that I didn’t do.”

  “Wow,” Marcus said pensively. “Look, I’m gonna break out and I’ll get with you again in a few days.”

  The trial of the People and the State of California v. Richard Lawrence Tresvant was in its sixth week and the defense currently had the floor. Nationally renowned attorney Barry Scheck stepped up to the witness stand to question the defense’s forensics expert, Adam Crichton of BIOTECH, a privately owned forensics laboratory in Los Angeles. Barry Scheck was probably best known for his role on the “Dream Team” of the infamous O.J. Simpson murder trial. Barry Scheck was currently on retainer with Richard Tresvant. He’d been handpicked by Larry Steinberg, Richard’s lead attorney, to work on Richard Tresvant’s “Dream Team” because of his phenomenal reputation at winning long-shot, criminal cases with irrefutable DNA evidence. All attorneys present in the room, including Judge Bartholomew and Steve Cooley, the district attorney, held Barry Scheck’s legal prowess in high regard.

  “Mr. Crichton,” Barry Scheck said in his strong, East Coast accent, “please state your background as it pertains to the field of forensics.”

  “I possess a Bachelor of Science degree in Forensic Science from Pennsylvania State University. I have a Masters degree in Criminalistics from Cal State Sacramento. I worked for ten years as a crime scene investigator for the Federal Bureau of Investigation here in Los Angeles. I founded BIOTECH ten years ago to offer my services to private individuals and enterprises seeking in-depth analysis of criminal evidence for major criminal cases such as this one. I also provide my services on a consulting basis to corporations internationally and to government agencies. My laboratory analyzes biological evidence, trace evidence, impression evidence such as footprints, fingerprints and tire tracks; controlled substances and ballistics. I have served directly as an expert witness in criminal cases for more than twenty years, both during my years with the FBI and through my company, BIOTECH.”

  “So, it is safe to presume that you are professionally qualified to discuss analysis of physical evidence taken from the crime scene related to this murder trial. Is that correct, Mr. Crichton?” Barry Scheck asked.

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “To clarify, please provide for me a better understanding of what the field of forensic science is,” Barry Scheck said.

  “Forensics is the application of a broad spectrum of sciences to answer questions of interest to the legal system, in either a criminal or civil action,” Adam Crichton stated. “Essentially, forensics is to law enforcement and solving crimes what imagination, a strong vocabulary, and good grammar are to the fiction writer. One cannot exist without the other. Sometimes crimes are cut and dry, relatively easy to solve. Other times, the crimes are highly sophisticated and require the expertise of several different forensic specialists from areas such as biological evidence, trace evidence, impression evidence, ballistics, and digital forensics. Each forensic specialist takes and carefully reviews each of the tangible pieces of the ‘puzzle’ of a crime. The majority of physical evidence is taken from the crime scene and from suspects. Sometimes the most minute and seemingly irrelevant physical details can be analyzed and carefully reconstructed into the timeline and turn out to be a most significant factor in solving a criminal case.”

  “Your laboratory, BIOTECH, was hired by the defense to examine some of the physical evidence in this murder case. Is that correct, Mr. Crichton?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And what specific physical evidence related to this case did your laboratory examine?”

  “My laboratory analyzed the murder weapon as well as the fingerprint evidence originally taken from the murder weapon by the Los Angeles Police Department,” Mr. Crichton said. “Because it had been established that Mr. Tresvant, the defendant, and Mr. Bernard, the decedent, had an attorney-client relationship, as well as a friendship, and had had lunch on the day of Mr. Bernard’s murder, the fingerprints belonging to Mr. Tresvant found on the interior and exterior of the decedent’s car, the car from the crime scene, did not hold as much evidentiary weight as the prints taken directly from the murder weapon.”

  “Was the fingerprint evidence temporarily released for analysis to your laboratory by the Los Angeles Police Department determined to be the fingerprints of my client, Richard Lawrence Tresvant?”

  “Yes,” Adam Crichton answered. “The prints released to BIOTECH by LAPD’s forensics lab
were determined to be the defendant’s, Richard Tresvant’s. We also examined the murder weapon and, although there was substantial disintegration, there were partial prints that we could ascertain on the murder weapon to be Richard Tresvant’s as well.”

  “Was there anything unusual about the fingerprint evidence that your laboratory examined?” Barry Scheck asked.

  “Yes,” Adam Crichton responded.

  “And what was that?” Barry Scheck questioned.

  “Law enforcement typically uses what is called the ‘dry powder method’ to take fingerprint evidence from items found at a crime scene. Aluminum powder is applied to the surface of the evidence. The evidence is swept with a brush to adhere the powder to the latent fingerprints to actualize them. Then the actualized fingerprint is printed on gelatin paper. Fingerprint evidence is extremely fragile and may have to be examined by several forensic specialists in preparation for a trial. Over time, physical evidence, like fingerprints, breaks down until it is no longer usable. Butyl paraben is a fingerprint preservative used in the dry powder process that extends the life of actualized prints.”

  “And, again,” Barry Scheck questioned, “what was unusual about the fingerprint evidence that you examined?”

  “After extensive analysis of the fingerprint evidence provided by the Los Angeles Police Department, it is the finding of BIOTECH Laboratories that the age of the fingerprint evidence, shown in particular by the aging of butyl paraben on the gelatin papers containing the fingerprint evidence, predates the date of the murder of Phinnaeus Bernard III. My estimation is that this fingerprint evidence predates the date of the murder by as much as one to two months.”

  Much rustling and movement rose from the courtroom. Judge Bartholomew banged his gavel to regain order.