Platinum

by Aliya S. King

  “All right, Jake,” Kipenzi said to her reflection. “I married you. Don’t let me down.” She threw a one-two punch and pretended to dodge a blow. She crossed the room and hopped on her treadmill. She set it for a sprint without even warming up and did a mile in five minutes.

  “Please, baby,” she said, out of breath but still running. “Don’t let me be wrong about you.”

  Kipenzi stopped running abruptly, jumping onto the sides. She turned off the machine, stepped down, and went to her dresser. She peered into the mirror over the dresser, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “Please.”

  AS KIPENZI’S HEELS CLICKED THROUGH THE LOBBY OF JAKE’S LABEL, SHE left a wave of people whispering behind their backs and pointing. She moved quickly, one security guard on either side of her. She held her hands up to the collar of her white chinchilla coat, keeping her oversized shades on in the building.

  Before she’d left her apartment, she had her hairstylist come over and do a quick weave, getting her back to the appropriate Berry Bonds shade and unbelievable length in case the paparazzi got a few shots en route to the label. She cried as the stylist put the weave back into her hair.

  Her hair was now halfway down her back, shimmering and silky. A long bang swept over one eye and feathered down past her shoulders. It was as demure as a waist-length lace front weave could be.

  The new receptionist at the label, an older white woman with a severe snow white bun, had been in the business for years. When her hair was dark, she’d ushered a young Whitney Houston into Clive Davis’s office after he’d started Arista in the seventies. It was getting harder and harder to recognize when she was in the presence of stardom. She wasn’t watching much MTV.

  “Can I help you?” she asked Kipenzi’s bodyguard.

  The bodyguard ignored her, speaking into the wireless cell phone receiver attached to his ear.

  “Front lobby,” he barked.

  Within seconds Jake’s assistant, a tiny young woman with an afro and black horn-rimmed glasses, came into the lobby.

  “Kipenzi? Come on back,” she said, holding the door open.

  The guards stayed close as Kipenzi glided down the hall behind Jake’s assistant.

  “How’s your daughter?” Kipenzi asked.

  The young lady blushed. “She’s great,” she said, looking in Kipenzi’s general direction but not making eye contact. “She really loved the show. Can’t stop talking about how she touched your hand.”

  Kipenzi smiled as the assistant opened the door to Jake’s office and stuck her head in.

  “Kipenzi’s here,” she said.

  The bodyguards turned around and took a glance at the cubicles surrounding Jake’s office. Their looks made it clear: no one was to hang around for a glance at Kipenzi or call a friend in another department to conveniently drop by. Kipenzi closed Jake’s office door and leaned against it, keeping both hands behind her, clasped around the doorknob. She crossed one leg over the other, showing the bare leg beneath her full-length white chinchilla fur.

  Jake’s brown leather executive chair was facing the window behind his desk. He was on the phone, with his back to Kipenzi. He ended the call but didn’t turn around right away. He waited for what he knew was coming.

  “Did you fuck her?” Kipenzi asked.

  Jake took a deep breath and slowly swiveled his chair around to face his new wife.

  “Love the boots, ma,” Jake said, slowly taking in Kipenzi’s all-white ensemble.

  “Are you in this woman’s book?”

  “The skirt is hot. Shows off the legs,” Jake said, standing up. He walked in front of his desk and leaned back on it. He opened a humidor, took a cigar out, and used the double-bladed guillotine Kipenzi had bought him years ago to clip the end of the cigar. He stuck the unlit stogie in the side of his mouth and smiled wide at Kipenzi.

  “Jake, I’m not playing.”

  “The hair’s a little over the top,” Jake said, taking the cigar out of his mouth and gesturing to her hair with it.

  “Is that why you were so rough with me last night? Are you worried about what’s in this book?”

  “Don’t like the shades either,” Jake said, twisting his lips to one side.

  “Can you pay her off?”

  Jake pushed himself off the desk with his hands and took a few steps toward Kipenzi. “How you feeling today?” he asked. “Seemed a little weak when I left this morning.”

  He put an arm around Kipenzi’s waist and pulled her to him.

  “I want to know the truth about this chick,” Kipenzi said through clenched teeth.

  Jake bit her neck and pushed her firmly against the door of his office. “You know the truth.”

  Kipenzi wriggled out of his grasp and walked to the seating area on the other side of the office.

  “I only know what you tell me.”

  Jake’s shoulders slumped slightly. “That’s the only version of the story I can give you—mine. And it’s the truth.”

  “This chick Cleo is saying something different.”

  “You want Cleo’s truth? Ask her.”

  “So your truth is that you never had sex with her?”

  “That’s my truth.”

  There was a brief and silent standoff. Kipenzi stared Jake down. Her eyes filled up but she didn’t break her gaze. Jake froze his face and just stared at her. She clenched her teeth and raised her head slightly to keep the tears from falling down. Jake’s eyes were pools of cement.

  Kipenzi broke Jake’s gaze and melted into the sofa. “I’m going to Anguilla tonight.”

  Jake nodded, returning to his desk. “Good idea. Beth needs you.”

  “Where’s Z?”

  Jake sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Somewhere being incredibly stupid. Three rocks of crack cocaine in the back pocket of his jeans. At the airport. I heard he’s trying to say it wasn’t his. But whatever.” He rubbed a hand over his smooth head. “Penzi, I can’t carry him anymore. I can’t walk into a conference room with a promoter, talking about I’m on tour with this dude.”

  “Jake, you can’t drop him from the tour. And I know you’re not even thinking of dropping him from the label.”

  “I’m not dropping him! He’s dropping him. Penzi, he’s the one fucking shit up. You know what the plan has always been.”

  Kipenzi nodded.

  “Tell me,” Jake said. “What’s the plan?”

  “Five albums. Five international tours. Five points on at least five albums. Then cash out.”

  “I’m at the ‘cash out’ part,” Jake said. “And this company needs to actually be worth something in order for me to cash out.”

  “What about Beth? You drop Z and they’re gonna fall apart. What’s going to happen to Beth and the boys?”

  “I’m a businessman, Penzi, not a welfare agency. Beth got family, don’t she?”

  “Yes, she does. She has Z. And she has me and you.”

  Jake looked temporarily shaken. He knew what she was saying was true. But he could not internalize it.

  “Life is hard,” Jake said. “She’s a grown woman. And she made a decision to marry a crackhead and have ten babies by him.”

  “You made a decision to go into business with a crackhead. When he was hot.”

  Jake shrugged. “Exactly. When he was hot. Now he’s wack. That little dog your mom carries around in her purse can bark a better verse than he can write at this point.”

  There was a knock on the door and Jake’s assistant poked her head in. “Alex Sampson Maxwell is here—the writer from the New York Times.”

  “Two minutes,” Jake said.

  “I gotta catch my flight,” Kipenzi said, rising from the couch.

  “Chill out for a second,” Jake said, motioning for her to sit. “Let me finish up this interview and I’ll take a ride to the airport with you.”

  “I’m not in the mood for any reporters,” Kipenzi said.

  “So don’t say anything,” Jake said. “Just look c
ute. That’s all you good at anyway.”

  Kipenzi flung a throw pillow from the sofa in the direction of Jake’s head. He caught it and threw it back, barely missing her. They both laughed out loud and then stopped abruptly when they heard the knock at the door.

  Kipenzi stood up in front of Jake, put her hands on her hips, and turned around in a circle.

  “I’m good?” she asked, gesturing toward her body.

  Jake looked over at his wife and did not smile. “Better than good.”

  ALEX’S FIRST WRITING ASSIGNMENT FROM A MAJOR MAGAZINE WAS A story on Prince. By then she’d interviewed lots of celebrities for her school newspaper and for various websites. But it was usually a brief Q&A over the telephone. For the story on Prince, she’d actually traveled to Minneapolis for the weekend and conducted the interview at the indoor basketball court in Prince’s infamous Paisley Park Studios.

  It was one of the few times she’d actually been starstruck. The moment he slipped into the chair next to hers and motioned for her to turn on her recorder, her tongue grew thick and her mouth went dry and she had to cough out her first words.

  And then, within five minutes, Alex realized that Prince was human. He was a person, just like she was. Except much shorter. Yes, he was a musical genius and the subject of all her seventh-grade fantasies. But ultimately he was a wee man with a strange hairstyle who smelled like gardenias and polyester.

  From that moment on, Alex never felt any particular excitement when she interviewed a celebrity. They were all flawed in their own ways, and seeing them up close always took away some of their mystique. There was the time she interviewed Sisqó at the height of the “Thong Song” mania. He had dried mucus in the corner of his eye that made her stomach churn for the entire interview.

  Two years before, she’d broken a rule and smoked a blunt with Common during an interview. She was disappointed to discover that he didn’t adhere to the puff-puff-pass rule. And his blunts were rolled with way too much spit. How do you look up to anyone after you see him use too much spit to roll a blunt?

  Years before, she’d fallen in love with Mariah as they bonded over their mutual crushes on Tupac. And she once cried in Cee-Lo’s arms after a vicious breakup that went down right before she had to interview him. He gave her advice on getting over it. And he still called her every year on her birthday and told her she was beautiful.

  There were horror stories too. The superproducer in LA who made her wait seventeen hours for an interview and talked to her for seven minutes. There was the rapper who promised to sit still for the interview if she came with him to a strip club. She went. He disappeared. She had to pay a cab $150 to get back to her hotel.

  Then there was the time she almost came to blows with a female rapper who was pissed off that Alex wrote about watching her get her hair weave tightened. They crossed paths in a bar the same day the story came out. Fortunately they were both too drunk to land any punches.

  She liked several celebrities. And she hated a few. But she was never starstruck.

  Still, as she followed Jake’s assistant down the corridor toward his office, she noticed an unfamiliar thumping in her chest. She’d interviewed Jake twice before. But he wasn’t nearly as famous then as he was now.

  Jake’s assistant gave Alex a sharp look. “He’s not discussing his personal life for this piece. We really want to stick to the music.”

  “I’ve been told,” Alex said, making sure not to catch her eye.

  Every artist had the same instructions. Alex always asked whatever questions she wanted to anyway. Let them tell her they had no comment—which was itself a comment.

  “How much time do you need?” the assistant asked.

  “I was going to just see how things go.”

  The assistant looked Alex up and down. “Twenty minutes,” she said, then knocked and walked away.

  Alex thought she heard a woman laugh before Jake’s voice boomed out.

  “Come in!”

  Alex twisted the doorknob and leaned the top half of her body into the office while keeping her feet outside. She saw Jake sitting at his desk, an unlit cigar dangling out of his mouth. To his right, Kipenzi Hill sat with her feet up on a metallic leather couch, her head in a magazine.

  Alex felt her stomach drop and her underarms go clammy. Kipenzi—the holy grail of her Vibe story—was now less than two feet away from her.

  Jake stood up and waved her inside. “It’s Alex, right? Nice to see you.”

  Alex came all the way inside and crossed the office to shake Jake’s hand.

  Jake motioned to the sofa. “This is my assistant, Kipenzi,” he said with a sly smile.

  Alex felt her cheeks grow warm as she held in a chuckle. Kipenzi looked up from her magazine, smiled at Alex, and then went back to reading.

  “Does your assistant always sit down on the job and read magazines?” Alex said.

  “Yeah, she does,” Jake said. “I’m about to fire her.”

  He pointed to the chair across from his desk and then sat down. “Did you hear the new music?”

  “I did.”

  Jake nodded. “Where’s the flattery? It’ll make me open up and tell you something good.”

  Alex made direct eye contact with Jake and held it for a second. “You’re going to open up to me whether I flatter you or not.”

  Jake leaned back and smiled. “Word?”

  He looked over at Kipenzi, raised one eyebrow, and jerked a thumb in Alex’s direction. “You hear this? She’s pretty bold. I think I might have to make her my new assistant after I fire you.”

  Kipenzi swung her legs around and placed the magazine next to her. She stood and then turned back to scoop up her coat. “Jake, I’ll be in the car.”

  Jake nodded and Kipenzi gave Alex a tight-lipped smile as she made her way to the door.

  “Wait. Ms. Hill?” Alex asked.

  Kipenzi turned around. “Yes?”

  “What do you think the future holds for Jake? Can he make it as an executive?”

  Kipenzi smiled with her mouth closed. “I think Jake’s making a natural progression from the studio to the boardroom. I’m sure he’ll be fine as long as he continues to surround himself with good people who are not afraid of taking chances.”

  “Does that include you?”

  “We’ve always enjoyed a healthy working relationship.”

  “Your biggest hits have featured him—”

  “He complements my songs well.”

  “Ms. Hill, I’m writing a story on celebrity wives for Vibe.”

  “I know.”

  “I recently met your friend Beth—”

  “I’m aware.”

  Alex closed her notebook and made sure they both saw her turn off her recorder. “I know that the media shouldn’t care about whether or not you two are a couple …”

  Kipenzi bristled. Jake didn’t move.

  “And I know I’m way out of line. But I can’t waste an opportunity like this.” Alex forced herself to look directly at Kipenzi. “A lot of people look at you two as the perfect love story,” Alex said. “Are you two ever going to publicly state that you’re an item?”

  Alex looked from Kipenzi to Jake and back to Kipenzi. Kipenzi looked directly at Jake and raised one eyebrow. Jake turned his head to the ceiling and smiled. Neither of them said a word. Alex’s shoulders dropped. She pulled her chair closer to Jake’s desk and switched her recorder back on. She turned around to look at Kipenzi, who had one hand on the door to Jake’s office.

  “I’m sorry that I asked. I respect that you guys don’t talk about it.”

  Alex turned back to face Jake and flipped through her notebook to find her list of questions.

  “Can you tell me a little bit about a typical day for you?” she asked, moving her recorder in his direction.

  Jake looked past Alex. “I wake up next to that chick right there.”

  Alex bent down and scribbled.

  “Her breath is usually somewhere between rank and a
trocious.”

  Kipenzi, who had not yet walked out of the office, laughed out loud. “I know you’re not talking!” she said. “Everyone’s breath stinks in the morning. At least it’s not my feet that smell up the whole room!”

  “Kipenzi, that was one night—after a show,” Jake said. “Your dogs don’t smell so fresh when you get off stage either.”

  Kipenzi walked back to Jake’s sofa and sat on the arm. “Who else are you interviewing for this story?” she asked Alex.

  “Beth, Josephine Bennett. Hopefully Shante Broadus.”

  Kipenzi nodded. “What do you want to know?”

  “Don’t you get tired of hiding? Pretending you’re not together?”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you get to just walk down the street with him whenever you want and no one bothers you. You can go to the movies, out to eat, go shopping. And no one cares.”

  Alex just looked at Kipenzi. She could tell that Kipenzi wasn’t expecting a response.

  Kipenzi smiled and looked at Jake. “It must be nice,” she said.

  “Are you guys still close with Z and Beth?” Alex thought she felt a weird vibe ricochet from Kipenzi to Jake and then to her but she wasn’t sure.

  “Z—that’s my man for life,” Jake said, each arm resting on either side of his chair.

  “Even though he’s not …”

  “Not what?”

  Alex rolled her tongue in her mouth for a moment. She knew exactly what she wanted to say. But she wanted Jake to think she was struggling with it.

  “There are rumors that he’s back on drugs,” said Alex. “His recent performances have been lackluster. People are saying you’re carrying him right now. And that it’s just a matter of time before you have him dropped from the label.”

  Jake shrugged. “People always talk.”