He paused when she turned away, avoiding his steady gaze.
“That isn’t enough to make it in the long run, especially when the person singing the song refuses to feel the power of the lyrics. Tara, you are no different from them, hiding in the cracks of the business. You could have turned what they gave you around and performed it with feeling, but you didn’t because you have none.”
She abruptly turned to look back at him with her brows furrowed. Tara asked, “So what do you suggest, Mr. Hit Authority, that I scrap it all for new writers? Maybe go out and scour for some young talent who’s still wet behind the ears? I can’t exactly do that. There’s too much riding on my project to risk it all on some unknown basement studio writer.”
“You missed my point,” Quinton said, looking frustrated, if not defeated. “Tara, your music should be about taking risks. Love is a risk sometimes, and you can’t give up after you fall. If you want to be a messenger of emotions, you need to believe in what you’re saying. The best way to do that is for you to get into the song. Live the music, Tara. Make it a part of you.”
* * *
Three hours later, they were in Tara’s living room, with Quinton at her grand piano jotting down notes. His jacket discarded, and the sleeves of his shirt pushed up on his inked forearms. “Do me a favor and repeat that last line,” Quinton instructed Tara, watching as she padded around the room barefoot wearing a pair of beloved baggy sweats. They were experimenting with a ballad he originally had written for another artist, but he thought the woman’s voice might be too intense for some notes, and he would rather see Tara pull it off.
She twisted her hair up into a knot and then did as instructed. “Good. Now give it to me like this.” Playing the melody on the piano, Quinton demonstrated the vocal styling he wanted her to deliver. The notes were light, and he wanted her voice to reflect them. She returned it wistfully, accompanied by gentle strumming from her guitar.
“That’s it, Quinton,” Tara said enthusiastically. For the first time, their collaboration brought out a reflective ballad instead of an up-tempo radio single. She put the guitar down and ran across the floor, joining him on the piano bench. “How can I thank you?”
Quinton took his hands off the keys. “You just did by smiling,” he said, following his words with a quick, gentle peck on her forehead. Then he got up and walked away.
Quinton stood in front of the glass doors leading to her balcony. He opened both doors and walked out into the night air to enjoy the midnight view of the city. She soon followed noticing the troubled look on his face.
“Quinton, what’s wrong?”
He looked at her with tired eyes. A hunger also in them she never recognized before. “It’s just been a long week.”
“Tell me about it,” she replied, making a helpless gesture with her hands. “Feel like some hot chocolate? I make a mean cup.”
Quinton offered a polite smile and nodded.
She returned a short time later to the balcony carrying two clear glass mugs with whipped cream piled on top of its rich chocolate contents. “They’re spiked on the heavy-handed side,” she cautioned before setting the drinks down on the table one at a time. “Be warned.”
When no quip came her way per the usual knowing Quinton never resisted making light of her bartending abilities, Tara looked down from where she stood. “What’s going through that brilliant head of yours, kiddo?”
“Kiddo? For real? Ain’t shit young about me, babe.”
Tara handed him one of the mugs. He took a sip, and she giggled when some whipped cream from the hot chocolate stuck to his mouth. “I know.”
Quinton ran his tongue along his upper lip to lick the sweet cream away. “Then trust me.”
“I do,” she stammered with her gaze set on his mouth. Suddenly feeling nervous, she tucked a few loose strays of hair behind her right ear. “Wanna step inside? It’s getting a little cold out here.”
“You go in. I’m gonna stay out here for a few more minutes if you don’t mind. The night air helps to clear my head.”
Tara got up from her chair while Quinton leaned back on the lounger beside her. “I’ll just run in and grab a blanket or something. I’ll be right back.”
She returned with a large bowl of popcorn and was about to sit down until Quinton reached for the bowl. “Come here and have a seat. I want to show you something,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat with him on the chaise-style lounger — the only available spot being between his legs and against his body.
Tara hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Don’t worry; it’s perfectly innocent. Come on.” Tara gave in and sat with her back against his chest.
She spread a cashmere throw over them and Quinton placed the large bowl of popcorn tossed together with chocolate-covered peanuts in front of them. Tara tried to find something to say to break the silence, but feeling his hardened chest against her back and the smell of his cologne floating around them made it difficult. “What a beautiful night” was the best she could manage.
Quinton agreed. “I heard there might be a meteor shower tonight; I just spotted one streak. It’s hard to see such a thing out here in the city. A telescope would be dope on your balcony.”
“My sisters and I used to climb up on our roof back home and watch for shooting stars. I guess we have to be careful about what we wish for.”
“So very true. KeKe liked to make wishes. You remind me of how she used to be,” Quinton said, speaking of his twin sister, Quiana, who he beat into the world by two minutes. “Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable around you.”
“She’s special to you, isn’t she?” Tara responded. “I still can’t get over your reaction when you had to give her away to Grim at the wedding. It was touching. I wish I had a brother who loved me like that.”
She snuggled closer to him for warmth.
“You see that one?” Quinton asked, looking down at her. “That was beautiful,” he said, looking down at her.
“I didn’t know a guy like you would have a weakness for a shooting star.”
“I used to enjoy nights like these when I was growing up.”
“Didn’t you grow up down south?”
“I was born in Harlem, but spent a few years in a small town, Sigourney, South Carolina, with my grandmother. I moved back to New York when I was ten, just after she died.”
“What got you started in the business? I know I say this all the time, but you’re so talented.”
“I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t escape it. My old man supposedly was a musician of sorts, and both my mother and grandmother loved to sing. I guess you can say I didn’t look for music. It chose me. It’s also what paid the bills for KeKe and me.”
“You’re incredibly gifted. They passed along something very special to you.” Tara instantly regretted her words, not because she had complimented the classically trained pianist who had also mastered the art of hip-hop. She knew he had spent years raising himself and his sister after his grandmother died and that his father was an absentee parent.
Quinton’s mother died before he had even opened his eyes for the first time, and his only other immediate family included three siblings who were a generation apart from the twins in age. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s just that sometimes I wonder if I traveled down the wrong road. I know I’m blessed for having all of this, but what does it all mean now if I can’t share it with the ones I love the most? I wonder if my career hurt my sister, exposed her to too much. It’s always that one decision we make that nags at us and causes future regret.” He paused when one of Tara’s tears fell onto his arm. He hugged her tightly to comfort her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she croaked under the stream of tears.
“Tara, can I ask you a question?” When she nodded, he asked, “Why haven’t you ever written a love song?”
“You are very perceptive,” she tentatively answered
.
“I know you’ve performed songs about love, but you have never given us a song about being in love and feeling good about it. Your slower songs are always deep and—”
Tara cut him off. “I don’t know how to write a love song.”
“That’s crazy! You just banged out that killer ballad in there, yet you don’t know how to say ‘I love you’ and put it to music?” Her body tightened within his grasp. “Haven’t you ever been in love? I’m sure by now someone must have swept you off your feet.”
“Once.”
“And?”
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to say.”
“Of course. You can trust me, Blue.”
“I loved once. I think sometimes I may still be in love with him.”
“What happened? What loser would let things end with you?”
“The father of my child.”
* * *
Quinton sat back in his seat and listened in shock. He never could fathom Tara being the thirty-year-old mother of a ten-year-old child.
As Tara explained her relationship with Marcus and how she hid the pregnancy, Quinton sympathized with her. Although he disagreed with her decision, he understood why she felt pressured into placing the child up for adoption.
“What will you do?” During her reveal, they ended up back inside. He sat across from her, looking at the letter Tara pulled out to show him. The letter her father left behind for her.
“I was thinking about going to Philadelphia to find out where this address from my father’s letter leads me. Mia and Jordan gave it to me when I was in San Antonio, and since then, I feel like I am holding onto Pandora’s Box.”
“You can hire someone to do that. What’s the real reason for wanting to go?”
“I tried to get our family lawyer involved, but that hit a dead end because ofhis loyalty to my father. I started searching for my baby for about six months before my father died. My sisters accused me of aggravating Daddy’s cancer by causing him stress when he found out I was looking, but don’t I have a right to know? I didn’t expect Eugene to go back and tell my father what I asked him to do, but he said he had to since my father was also my manager, and this would affect my career if word got out. Until now, I dropped the search after I realized how much pain it caused everyone. Now, I want to find my child. Not to take him, but to find out he is okay, that I made the right decision.”
Quinton asked, “And you can’t hire a private detective, instead of using your lawyer?”
“I am afraid that despite a confidentiality agreement, selling my story is worth more money than any lawsuit I can bring against them. I’ve been searching discreetly, but the agency went out of business the year after I had the baby and so I haven’t accomplished much. The agency that took on their cases refused to disclose information from a closed adoption. There is no point in trying to pay anyone in the court system to help release the information because I know court clerks and law office personnel talk. All it takes is for it to leak that I am searching for a child I’d given up for adoption, and a whirlwind of drama will begin. I don’t want to put an innocent child through that.”
“Do you know what you will say if you find the kid?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I should say anything at all. I just want to find out if I did the right thing.”
“When are you going down there?”
“Tomorrow, I think.”
“I can switch a few things around on my schedule if you want me to go with you.”
Tara smiled at him. “Thanks, but I’ll be all right. It’s just a two-hour drive, and I plan to return right away.”
“Surely you aren’t going alone, are you?” Tara nodded, noting his disapproval. “You don’t know who you’re checking out or anything about the situation. Grim and I will go with you.”
Tara stood, shaking her head. “Uh-uh. Grim is way too overprotective at times, and he doesn’t need to know about this.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you go by yourself.”
“You? Let me?”
His unmoved expression and silence confirmed what Quinton just said.
“Quinton, you are not my man, and I can handle myself just fine, thank you. Sometimes I need you to back off and let me be.”
“I see,” Quinton responded, standing up to take his leave. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”
“Quinton.”
“Goodnight,” he said, and reluctantly walked toward the door.
Chapter 4
Despite her initial resistance, Tara heeded Quinton’s warning. He was right; to travel to another city, without security would be foolish. So she was taking Grim with her. She was also feeling guilty for having jumped to conclusions the night before and tried to call him to apologize, but he didn’t return her phone calls.
“Are you sure you want to take both cars?” Grim asked. “One should be enough; it’s only for two days.”
“Grim, I’m going to Philadelphia to relax and see a few old friends. I want you to be around in case I need you. When I don’t, you will have a way to get around town.”
“If that’s what you want, so be it. But for the record, I don’t see it being necessary. I prefer being in the car with you.”
Tara said nothing, but her look told him she would not change her mind. She pointedly returned to her conversation with Sydney. “I’ll see you in a week or two after you get back. Good luck with the closing. It must be exciting buying your own place.”
“Well, yes and no. Never thought buying a house would be this involved. I hope you have a productive visit in Philadelphia, and please call if you need me—even if it is just to talk,” Sydney said firmly.
* * *
Quinton moved to the door of his bedroom; a plush cotton towel tucked in around his waist though he was still damp from the shower he took. With his sister and brother-in-law staying with him in his renovated Harlem brownstone during their visit to New York, he could not walk around as he often did with the company he typically kept, women who liked to come up with slick ways to extend their stay in his bed while he readied himself for the day in the nude. However, Quinton was happy to have his twin on the East Coast after she moved when she married the bodyguard a few years ago. Briefly removing a toothbrush from his mouth, he called out, “Yo, KeKe! Did anyone call while I was in the shower?”
“No one except Tara. She’s been calling all morning.”
“Thanks,” Quinton mumbled, sticking the toothbrush back in his mouth. He returned to the bathroom to finish getting ready for a session that was an hour away. He overslept after a fitful sleep; Tara was on his mind now more than ever.
One section of his closet had dozens of sweats, and he selected the first pair of grey sweatpants he spotted, a stark white shirt along with a pair Jordans. He brushed his hair before placing a cap on his head low enough to conceal his worn eyes.
He walked past a row of jewelry on top of the island in his closet encased in a custom-made glass jewelry box, set on black padded material above rows of watches he started collecting at fifteen. He placed his diamond-encrusted cross necklace around his neck. His diamond studs were still in place; he’d forgotten to take them out the night before.
After lacing up his shoes, Quinton grabbed his keys and shoved his cell phone into his pockets. On his way out, he stopped in front of the sofa to check on his sister. Her eyes closed while the television played a reality show. He grabbed the remote to turn down the volume. Bending down, Quinton kissed the top of her head, causing her to wake up. “Get some rest, okay, sis?”
“I’ll try,” she said, stretching. “I just wish your little girlfriend would make up her mind about Craig’s schedule.”
“Did Grim mention where they went or how long they will be gone?”
“He said something about going to Philadelphia. If I had known that, I would’ve kept my behind at home in L.A.”
“Call me if you need me,” Quinto
n said, walking toward the door. He had one foot outside when he heard her say goodbye.
* * *
Tara felt her excitement building. Tapping her hand on the steering wheel of her silver convertible sports car, a gift from her tour promoter, she bobbed her head to a tune on the radio. Although Tara enjoyed having hired drivers navigate her through the bustling streets of New York, Tara kept the car parked in the garage for days she needed to experience the road on her own. As an avid sports car enthusiast, she couldn’t wait to get it on a private road to test its speed. Tara made a mental note to ask Sydney to make the arrangements.
She knew she was a step closer to whatever lay ahead when Tara had to find a Philadelphia station to listen to as she cruised along the New Jersey Turnpike.
Looking into her rearview mirror, Tara saw that Grim was still on her tail. She waved, even though she couldn’t see any response through the SUV’s tinted windows.
Then she tried Quinton again, tapping his name on the car’s screen.
“There’s nothing left to say,” Quinton told her right after picking up half a ring later. “I gotta go. I’m heading to the studio.”
“Please,” Tara pleaded. Never had she felt so disconnected from him. “Wait, I owe you an apology.”
“Listen, Tara. I need some time,” Quinton said. He laughed lightly. “How can I break up with you when we weren’t even together? Don’t take this personally, but this is fucking with my mental right now, and I have way too much shit on my plate that pays me not to get thrown off my game. I wish you luck with your kid.”
He hung up before she could protest. Suddenly, every song on the radio seemed to be one sad love song after another, reminding her of the year she spent trying to get over Marcus. She turned off the music and drove the remaining way in silence.
* * *
Checking the address in her father’s letter, Tara saw a Tudor-style house with a mailbox matching the number. She sat in the parked car with the engine idling, not sure what she should do next. She had left Grim at their hotel, telling him she was stopping by a friend’s house. Now Tara sat staring at the home.
I Can Love You Page 5