“Looking for something?” Jordan asked.
Tara eyed her sister, who stood behind her with one foot still on the staircase. “Just reminiscing.”
Jordan took in the room around them and all the treasures it held for the Russells. Then her roaming eyes returned to Tara. “I know why you’re here. You didn’t have to sneak around behind our backs.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mia told me you’re looking for information about the baby. Why, Tara? Why do you want to dig up the past?”
“Jordan, stop.”
“No, Tara, you stop. You insisted on going to term with the pregnancy.”
“I couldn’t go through with what he wanted, plus I was four and a half months along when it all came out!”
“You know all he wanted to do was protect you. You were his baby girl, his favorite. No matter what you did, no matter how blatantly wrong, he would try to fix it for you. Nothing could ever hurt your success. They all invested in you—the label, the producers, the publishing companies. We all did. But most of all, Daddy did. When he put his butt on the line for you, you spit in his face by getting knocked up! Then you turned around and set up a deal behind his back. That was so low. I’m surprised he found it in his heart to forgive you. So why now? You got everything you were after. Let the rest of us, including Daddy, enjoy what peace we have left.”
“Where is all this bitterness coming from?” Tara demanded. “I want to know more about my baby. I want to know whether I gave birth to a boy or girl. I want to know if he or she is healthy. I want to know if I did the right thing for my child.”
“You just can’t leave it alone. Let it go, Tara!”
“Jordan, I can’t. I have lived with this for ten long years. Ten years! I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I didn’t even get to hold my baby. All I remember is hearing the baby crying when those nurses carried her away.”
Her sister watched the tears pooling in Tara’s eyes as they turned into a steady stream. Still, Jordan was reluctant to comfort her the way she had after Tara had delivered alone at a Florida birthing center no matter how much Tara’s heart yearned for it.
“Give her the letter, Jordan,” Mia said, coming up behind Jordan. She slowly appeared before her sisters, a stern look on her face. “She’s a grown woman and always has been. By holding back on her, we’re just as controlling as Daddy.”
“What letter?” Tara asked her tone, pleading.
Jordan retrieved a long white envelope from her purse. Tara looked at it and saw her name scribbled in her father’s handwriting.
Handing the envelope to her sister, Jordan said, “This is all we know. We found it when we cleared out his room, and it’s the only letter he left.”
She once stood before thousands of industry peers and fans and accepted the highest honors a singer could receive, including the best new artist award. Beating what industry peers called the sophomore jinx, she won the Grammy’s prestigious album of the year with her first and second solo projects. Owning her own jewelry and shoe lines, she made her mark in the fashion industry. And then there was the honor of being a spokesperson for causes she believed in throughout the years. However, her nerves at the time were nothing compared to when she was a scared yet determined, twenty-year-old, or how she felt now.
The two older sisters continued down the stairs, leaving Tara holding what she hoped would be the key to her past and forgiveness for herself.
Chapter 3
Wrapped in a cocoon of plush ivory leather, she propped her feet up, hummed a familiar melody, and sat back in the lounge recliner during her flight back to New York. Tara’s private aircraft rivaled most luxury hotels with its amenities and attentiveness from her flight crew. In the plane’s rear was a bedroom, in case she needed rest or privacy. She had a full shower, an entertainment center to occupy time during long flights, and an office center. Although it was an impulse move at the time of purchase, she never regretted the day she bought her private sanctuary in the sky. No one could invade her space unless she gave them access.
Yet somehow, the content of the letter was at the forefront of her mind, and she couldn’t shake her thoughts. Amid a heartfelt apology from her father was an address in Pennsylvania. His only explanation for giving it to her was that she might discover what he was too ashamed to say himself.
“Syd, sorry to interrupt, but will Justin be able to do my hair tonight?” Tara asked. What she didn’t mention was her plan to take her search closer to Philadelphia. From New York, it was a two-hour drive, one she’d make with no one knowing what her intentions were, including her assistant.
“Yes, he’s meeting you at the apartment. He’s already in the city, so it works out for us. I also have security flying in as we speak. Grim should be at the apartment by the time you arrive,” Sydney said.
Tara returned to the composition notebook she used to write her lyrics, leaving Sydney and the flight attendant to their conversation. She resumed her happy humming, trying to visualize the song that was still in her head.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Sydney asked, pulling Tara back after she became lost in thought.
Surprised by the question, Tara flipped over the notebook. “And what would that be?”
“Your child.”
Tara turned toward Sydney yet avoided making contact with her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Sydney peered at her cautiously. “It’s okay. I won’t tell a soul. Mia once mentioned the adoption. Before you ask, I know her reasons for letting it slip were not accidental, but my reason for coming to you is from genuine concern.”
She remained silent, taking an unusual interest in the wooden beads Sydney wore in her hair, looking for a distraction that would keep her eyes from revealing all. Sydney was a firm believer that the eyes were the window to a person’s soul, and Tara’s soul was troubled.
“Then again,” Sydney continued. “I could be wrong, but no matter what is going on, I am here for you. I respect you not only as my boss but also as my friend.”
It had been several years since anyone openly expressed interest in her as a friend except Quinton, and that relationship was also initially crafted for publicity.
Her loss of words no longer hovering as the flight attendant, who came over and told them to prepare for landing, interrupted them. They gathered their belongings, fastened their seatbelts, and waited for the lights of New York to come into view.
* * *
Tara stood, brushing her hair in front of the well-lit mirror in her apartment bathroom. Justin had spent several hours the night before removing her weave, washing, and flat ironing Tara’s hair into a style that fell stylishly two inches past her shoulders. She had convinced him to remove a few inches of her natural length despite his disapproval after she spent most of her time wearing the protective style that caused her hair to grow so much, pleasing them both with the result.
Tara’s date for the evening, Quinton, sat on the black marble counter, fiddling with a few of the bottles and sprays strewed about and watching her apply a final coat of mascara.
He reached to extend a long finger to push back errant strands that had fallen in front of her face. When their eyes met, he smiled.
“Quinton, I think this appearance with you should make up for all the times I owe you,” Tara informed him, partly in jest. “And how did you find out I was in town, anyway?”
Her response came in the form of Craig Hemmings, known in the music industry as Grim, standing in the doorway wearing a tailored black suit. But the refined wardrobe would never erase the menacing scowl on his face. A diamond and platinum ring sparkled on his pinky, an accessory that Tara always found ironic in light of his ominous personality.
“Never mind,” Tara told Quinton. “My answer just arrived. For a moment, I forgot how small the music world is.”
She knew that with Grim married to Quiana, Q’s twin sister, he would find out about her comings and goings on
e way or the other. They also shared the same publicist, who, after seeing them together at Grim’s and Quiana’s wedding, hatched the idea of linking the two celebs to create a buzz.
“We’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes,” Grim said, laughing at the sight of Tara and Q preparing for the last-minute movie premiere appearance.
“Thanks, man,” Quinton replied. The twenty-eight-year-old music powerhouse hopped off the marble countertop and turned to face the mirror. He wore black on black, including the turtleneck beneath his jacket, his signature diamond-encrusted medallion on a heavy chain that paired with two shorter ones around his neck and a three-carat diamond stud in each ear.
Quinton, a lover of fashion, was willing to assist Tara in the absence of her vacationing stylist. He had helped Tara pick out a complementing outfit, knowing she was rushing so the two would not be late. Now the duo admired their handiwork.
“Blue, you look fine. It’s just a premiere,” Q told Tara, who just rolled her eyes and checked herself in the mirror one more time. She smiled at her image, thinking Quinton’s suggestion of wearing black a good one. Tara’s designer mini skirt with a gold chain and matching button down that she tied up to show her midriff revealed just enough skin for a kids’ movie to give her appearance a few more years of youth while keeping it classy.
“Quinton, this is the last time I will do this for you. You have to give me notice of these kinds of things. Besides, aren’t you tired of this little charade Pamela is playing? I know I am.”
Their publicist, Pamela Wellings, had been getting on Tara about not dating regularly the moment she started representing the star a few years ago. All it took was spotting Tara and Quinton dancing at a wedding reception for her to envision a public relationship, one to subdue the constant media scrutiny and the fans’ curiosity about Tara’s dateless life.
An awards event soon after Grim’s wedding gave Pam a chance to test the scheme, and before long, the public had embraced what media polls projected as their favorite new couple.
The hype surrounding Tara and Q eventually spilled over into their music careers, with collaborations on numerous projects, including videos and remixes. Still, it was one video in particular that sparked the most interest and rejuvenated the buzz.
Quinton directed Tara and himself in her sensual video for “Never Again,” showing them as a couple falling in and out of love. The creativity and marketing potential of the duo appeared endless after airplay and streams increased.
“Unlike you, I enjoy your company, and the kids love you.” The “kids” were a large group of teens Quinton mentored through an art and entertainment partnership connected with several under-funded schools, supplementing their needs so the youth could spend more time focusing on their dreams. “Why are you so uptight, anyway, Blue?”
“It’s nothing. Are you ready?” Tara turned off the bathroom lights without waiting for a reply, leaving Q standing alone in the dark room.
Q walked to Tara and took her arm. Standing a foot taller at six feet, three inches, he gently stroked her paling face with a finger. “Relax, baby girl. Whatever it is, it will work itself out.” He saw her sweet, irresistible full lips slightly part as she struggled to breathe, and even though he noticed something was troubling her, he still found the full glossiness of her lips seductive.
Tara nervously looked up at him. With one hand, she flipped her hair behind her ear and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m just dealing with a lot of personal stuff.”
“We don’t have to go.” Genuinely concerned, with his brown eyes curious, Quinton stared at her. Despite being two years younger than her, he reflected maturity. His handsome, deep brown face was smooth with a hint of ruggedness. Where baby fine hair once topped his upper lip and chin, now every sense of his maleness made it thicker and coarser, particularly along his jawline. However, it was a lengthy dimple that calmed her when he flashed his brilliantly white smile.
“No! You worked hard on the soundtrack, and I have nothing else to do but sit around and twiddle my thumbs,” Tara protested. “Besides, I did not squeeze into this dress for nothing.”
“You want to see if the song you did with that joker made the movie. I heard you talking to Sydney about ideas for a video.”
“Jealous?” she asked, a glint in her eye. “This girl knows a fine man when she sees one.”
“Then you must be dreaming about me every night,” he teased back.
Tara relaxed a little, and they both laughed. Quinton took her into his arms, holding her as her body melded with his until convinced she was okay. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll make sure you have a good time tonight.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask how you plan to accomplish that,” Tara mumbled.
* * *
While seated in the rear of the oversized black SUV, he watched Tara stare out the window at the tourists and natives filling the sidewalks leading to Times Square.
He reached for her legs and pulled them across his lap to rub the back of her calves, thinking the gesture would loosen her.
“Now that I have you back feel like blessing a new artist with your background vocals?” Never had he met a more selfless person than Tara. On more occasions than he could count, she offered her support for other artists behind the scenes without them even knowing that her vocal stylings possibly launched their song into top ten territory. She’d often add to the background vocals on projects without putting her name on the credits. He knew the artist association would take a singer further if their secret got out, but he treasured their undocumented session time more for what it produced between them.
“Hmm?” she asked. Tara was not aware of the way he touched her, the question in his eyes, or the words he’d just spoken.
“You always do that when you’re upset,” Quinton told her.
Tara turned away from the window. “Do what?”
“Stare off into space,” he replied. It relieved him to see Tara’s shoulders lose their tension once they were at the site of the movie premiere, even while being interviewed alongside him by an entertainment news reporter. Attending the New York screening for the animated flick featuring the voices of Hollywood’s players had utterly escaped him. He was too busy wrapping up another critical project. Quinton felt terrible for not having asked Tara to attend sooner. He also knew if he hadn’t brought her as a date, the press would wonder what was going on with them. “I’ll call Pam myself and tell her it’s over. She can work out the details for the public.”
“You don’t have to do that. I was just thinking about something.”
“Mind sharing it with me? I do feel a little in the dark here. After all, according to some of the blogs, we’re engaged.”
They laughed at his joke. He lightly squeezed Tara’s knee, and she dropped her head on his shoulder. Quinton drew her body closer. He inhaled the scent of her, a sensual and intoxicating blend of citrus and floral mid notes over warm sweet, decadent base notes of vanilla and marshmallow. With an arm wrapped around her, he held her coaxing whatever she kept in out. Instead, she took the easy way out, saying, “I’m just stuck on a song. Hey, what are you doing after you drop me off?”
His phone vibrated, and a notification offered a preview picture of a woman’s naked body along with an invitation to see more at her place tonight. Quinton swiped the message away. “Nothing. What’s up?”
Tara pointed at the phone, which was now screen side down on his lap. “Sure about that?”
He grinned and took one of her hands into his. “That’s not important. What do you have in mind?”
“I’m sure it won’t be as titillating as that,” she said and gestured toward the phone, and he laughed. “Would you mind coming over to my place? I could use your help on the part that has me stuck.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Is that all?”
Tara raised her head, not speaking at first, and answered with a question. “What exactly is it you don’t like about my album?” she asked, after having sidestepped
his negative critique a week before.
Quinton did not hesitate to respond. “Listen to what you were working with and then listen to what you hear on the radio. Most of the writers and producers you have on it are big-name people, but they’ve lost who they are. No one is feeling anything they put into this project,” he said.
“Including you?”
“Blue, you only wanted up-tempos from me. I gave you the stuff that will get your music into all the clubs,” he replied. “No offense to the people you worked with, but take that song ‘All Because I Know You.’ It’s horrible.”
Tara’s eyes grew larger. “But that’s a big song.”
“No, it isn’t,” he said. “A big song has to have meaning and depth behind it. That’s what turns those types of songs into classics. They wrote it with no feeling, and you delivered it with even less. The whole thing feels safe to me. You always have the same cats bringing you the same thing.”
“Because it works. The people I have on this project haven’t failed me yet.”
“Again. Safe. You’re stuck in a formula, Blue. You’re too good for that.”
“Please, don’t beat around the bush,” she hissed, annoyed by his frankness.
“Tara, I’m not trying to insult you. You asked me how I felt about it, and I’m telling you as a friend, and friends are honest with each other,” he said. “I respect all the people you asked to work with you on your project, but over time, they’ve somehow lost their spark. The biggest hits of their careers were when they cared about what they wrote; now, it’s about using formulas. Back in the day, they wrote songs to express their personal feelings to someone. Those writers wanted to relay a message with their music. Now they’re so caught up in the business and making money that their true passion for writing and inspiration is gone.”
I Can Love You Page 4