“Xavier, how’s everything in your neck of the woods?” she asked as she drove north from the greater Atlanta area, heading to College Park to meet with her highly reputable, outsourced graphic designer. She was all set to okay the final cover proofs for July’s issue.
“Busy as a blind beaver building a dam along the Mississippi. I think I’ve gotten like three hours’ sleep all week.”
“That’s about two hours more than I’ve gotten. Sometimes I don’t know how or where I’m getting the strength and energy to handle all these responsibilities.”
“I know what you mean. But it’s in moments like this when we realize God’s grace is sufficient, don’t we? We’ve got people all over the country praying for this venture, and I believe that’s the main thing keeping us going. So, I’m hearing everything’s ready now, that we’re just waiting on Candace’s interview.”
“You’re hearing correctly. I’m on my way to approve the layout right now. We’ve reserved four pages for the interview, with room for five photographs of Jermaine Hill, as well as the cover image.”
“And the advertising?”
“It’s been absolutely nothing but the favor of God working for us—listen to these figures. We’ve got twenty new three-year contracts, we re-signed all of our main sponsors, and we’ve got publicity spots running on two major television networks, as well as BET, TBN, and DayStar.” Myra began to feel tingly all over, once again, just thinking about the incredible doors that had been opened to them. She knew that such opportunities had become possible purely through the favor and blessings given by the God whom she loved and served.
“Myra. Wow . . . I’m speechless . . . really, I mean what can I say to that except to God be the glory?”
“That’s all that can or needs to be said, Xavier. Listen, I’ll talk to you at the conference call meeting tonight, alright? Peace and blessings.” She clicked off her cell and turned up the volume on her CD player, which at the moment was jamming Donald Lawrence and the Tri-City Singers gospel hit “The Best Is Yet to Come.”
“How appropriate,” Myra thought to herself. Because the best thing she could have imagined had indeed happened to her, and now it was time to reap the fruits of years and years of labor. And though she didn’t have a voice that boasted of any singing prowess, she nevertheless joined in with the Tri-City Singers as the song went into its funky, urban vamp.
“HOW’D YOU LIKE THE show today?” Jermaine asked Candace as he approached her in the studio’s green room. The live taping had gone off air about thirty minutes earlier.
She shrugged. “It could have been better.”
“Could’ve been better—are you kiddin’ me? I was flowin’ like Run DMC out there. I tackled the subject of racism without rocking the politically correct boat of my diverse national audience. In my opinion, that’s pretty good.”
“Sometimes I wonder what isn’t good in that much-inflated opinion of yours. Especially when it’s taking cues from your ego.” Then with much effort, she managed to smile appreciatively. “But alright, I admit—you walked through a virtual minefield today without blowing anything up. Bravo.”
He took an exaggerated bow. “Thank you, thank you very much,” he replied, lowering his voice to sound like Elvis Presley, not very successfully. At least his attempt elicited a smile from Candace.
“And for my next act of chivalry, I will endeavor to escort the esteemed Miss Candace Clark for an enjoyable afternoon of sightseeing and shopping along the Boardwalk.”
“The Boardwalk? You mean Venice Beach? But . . . but what about your itinerary? It’s extremely busy—I should know because I checked. You’ve got several corporate meetings today with—”
“I canceled everything,” he cut in grandly. “Whether Mario liked that or not. He didn’t, of course. Practically blew a couple of gaskets, but what do I care? Meetings can be rescheduled. But your time with me—my time with you—is only for one more week.”
“That’s true. But Jermaine, really. I don’t want to come between you and your commitments. Face it, you’re a busy man. Especially since—”
“I don’t mean to cut you off twice in the same minute, but you’re missing the point. I’ve already made up my mind to go to Venice today. Taking spontaneous breaks and getting away from all this madness is just as important to me as the meetings and shows. It’s a must. Shoot, if I don’t get away sometimes . . . I don’t know, I just may go crazy and kill myself.” Literally . . .
Candace chuckled. “Well, we all need a break now and then. I certainly can understand that.”
“So, what are we waiting for? C’mon.” He led her out to the parking lot at the back of the studio, but instead of walking to his Escalade, he stopped beside a Honda motorcycle. Candace appeared surprised but she didn’t say anything until he started removing the helmets lodged at the end of the leather seat.
“Jermaine, um . . . what are you doing?”
“About to take you to Venice Beach.”
“No, I don’t mean that. Why are you messing with this motorcycle? You’re parked over there.” She pointed in the direction of the luxury SUV.
“I’m also parked here.” He affectionately patted the motorcycle. “This is my baby. A pure thrill machine. There’s nothing like flying down the Santa Monica Freeway on one of these bikes, the wind blowing all around you. It’s incredible. God, it’s . . . it’s true freedom, Candi. That’s what it is. True freedom.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t ride motorcycles, thank you very much. So I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to experience true freedom some other time.”
Jermaine put down the helmet and turned toward her. “You’re joking, right?”
Candace shook her head. “No.”
“You’ve never ridden a motorcycle before?”
“No. These things are just too dangerous, and besides—”
“Now at least be sure and get the facts straight. That’s the first rule of journalism, right? Riding a motorcycle isn’t nearly as dangerous as people always say it is. As far as accidents are concerned, the statistics are actually quite low.”
“Yeah, but when an accident does happen, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the chances for survival are slim to none. There’s no protection.”
“I’m a good rider. And besides,” he now put on a look of pure childlike innocence, “how are my fans supposed to truly know what I turn to when I’m looking for an escape? Isn’t that what this interview was supposed to be about? A way for Jermaine Hill followers to connect with their hero?”
Candace rolled her eyes. “There you go, bringing out Mr. Ego again.”
“I’m just saying—how are you going to accurately capture my true feelings unless you ride with me?” He grinned as he handed her a helmet. “I mean, it just makes good journalistic sense to me. Like those reporters who went over to the Middle East when we were at war. Bombs dropping all around them and everythin’. They could’ve wimped out, sure, but a true reporter does whatever it takes to get the story, right? So a single harmless motorcycle ride to Venice Beach shouldn’t be a—”
“Alright, Jermaine.” As she took the helmet, she gave him an icy look that said proceed at your own risk. “You’ve made your point already.” Eyeing the helmet suspiciously, she added, “but if this thing messes up my hair, trust me, you don’t even want to know the amount of pain I’ll put you in.”
THE WEATHER WAS simply beautiful for an afternoon at the beach, Candace slowly and somewhat reluctantly had to admit to herself. Living in Houston for all of her adult life, she was not at all used to temperatures in the mid-eighties without the irritating sidekick of stifling humidity. So the southern California breeze, bringing tantalizing mists of light saltwater showers to gently caress her face and skin, was quite the sensual experience for her.
And Jermaine, surprise of all surprises, turned out to be absolutely wonderful company. Gone were his egotistical opinions and commentaries that had tested her nerves all week. He was, to her
newfound delight, thoughtful and sensitive as they shopped, fully taking in the quasi-Italian culture of Venice. As the evening progressed, they took a leisurely stroll along the beach. He answered all her questions openly and naturally without once resorting back to his little interview-stipulation game. And he hadn’t even rubbed his chin on the hard questions she threw at him. It was a funny, almost strange thought to have, but as she walked beside Jermaine, she was plagued with a sense of guilt over the good time she was having. Guilt that she was out here, basking in the sunset off Venice Beach with Jermaine Hill, while her star-crazed best friend, Tasha, had literally dreamed of having moments such as this. Goodness, Tasha would kill to have a moment like this. But what did she have to feel guilty over? This was her job, right? She was strictly on assignment.
Assignment my behind . . . I’m starting to enjoy this . . .
“So, Jermaine, since we just cleared up the fact that the reason you’re not married yet is because you haven’t found someone to connect with on every level . . . can I assume that if you did find such a woman, you’d marry her?”
He appeared a bit surprised by the question. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I marry a woman like that?”
“Because some brothers are scared to commit, even if they have found someone who fulfills them on every level. Putting myself in the shoes and minds of your fans, I’m just curious to know what you would do.”
“If I were to find such a woman?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his chin for the first time that day. “I’m not afraid of commitment. Not at all. And I think a love like that, between a man and a woman, is a beautiful thing, y’know?” Still rubbing his chin. “Yeah, I’d marry you . . . uh . . . I mean her.” He began laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’d marry her.”
You just say what I think you did? You did, didn’t you? “So why are you so nervous talking about this? I mean, the great Jermaine Hill, the golden-voiced speaker who excites and inspires the country about life and all—I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” he quickly retorted. Defensive, now.
“Oh, really?”
He cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Really.” A second later he brought his right hand out and with it, skipped a penny along the shallow incoming waves of the Pacific Ocean. They walked along silently for another quarter mile or so. Candace had forgotten that she was still technically on an interview, and silently she relished her success in making Jermaine nervous. It was a small, but nonetheless significant victory for her. For she had finally broken through that macho wall of his to witness his genuine emotion. Arguably, it was the first honest emotion he had displayed so far this week.
“And what about you, Candace?”
Huh? “What . . . what about me?”
“You and your idea of Mr. Right. Prince Charming and all that. If you met a guy who connected with you on every level, and he proposed to you, you’d say yes?”
She didn’t respond to the question right away. Such a question needed the proper amount of consideration before answering. “That’s a highlight of a woman’s life, you know? Being proposed to by the man she loves. And though some sistahs act like they’re so independent and don’t need a man, the truth of the matter is we all dream of that moment.”
“I’ll take that to mean you’d say yes.”
“If he was Mr. Right, of course.”
“What would make him Mr. Right?”
Aren’t we curious all of a sudden . . . “Oh, I don’t know.”
“Don’t get all coy on me—I’ve told you my idea of the perfect woman.”
Candace laughed out loud. “Oh yeah right—and how sincere was that? Let me see if I can remember what this dream girl was like. The eyes of Vanessa Williams, the figure of Janet Jackson, the legs of Tina Turner, and the brains of Condoleezza Rice. Puh-leeze! A woman like that only exists in your dreams, Jermaine.”
“Don’t knock a brotha’s dreams. For all we know, she could be out there somewhere.”
“Yeah, well when you meet her, give me a call and let’s all have lunch.”
“Fabulous. We’ll have a threesome.”
She playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Watch it, my brotha.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Alright, alright. Look, I promise to give you a more realistic description of my perfect woman if you describe to me your Mr. Right.”
“You’re serious?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” She took her time and pretended to be deep in thought. Her act was all just a pretense though, because after her last nightmare of a boyfriend experience, she knew exactly what she now sought in a man.
“My Mr. Right would have to be willing to open up and be sensitive—to be unafraid to show his emotions.”
Jermaine immediately made a face. “You mean, he’d have to cry and eat bon-bons while you forced him to watch Lifetimemade-for-TV movies with you.”
“No, I’m not saying that. Just that he’d be willing and unafraid to show emotions of all types in any given circumstance. Let’s see, he’d also have to be educated and well read. And committed to exercising and eating right. He would have to believe in God and be able to grow spiritually with me. Oh, and of course, he would have to do the one thing every woman requires of her dream man.”
Jermaine didn’t even blink. “I know what that is.”
Yeah, right . . . “You do? And what’s that, oh great and all-knowing voice of inspiration?” She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but she knew she came off sounding that way.
“He would have to be able to make you laugh. Every real man knows that’s the secret to winning a girl’s heart.” He looked over at her and smiled. “Am I right?”
By no means had she expected him to say that. “Um . . . well . . . yes. Yes, that’s exactly right. How’d you know that?”
Almost instinctively, they both stopped walking. Facing her now, he stepped forward, almost into her personal space. “Let’s just say that I have a way . . . of knowing things . . . like that.” He leaned in much closer with just the right timing and kissed her tenderly and gently on the lips. It was the softest kiss Candace had ever felt. And it was incredibly sexy. Like luscious, creamy chocolate dusting her lips from a waterfall of sensuality somewhere above her. It was romantic and perfect. Just . . . perfect!
He pulled back after a few seconds. “Candi, I . . . I . . . Was I wrong to do that?” His voice, ever golden, now sounded a bit husky.
She couldn’t think clearly. “N-no. Um . . . no. No, that was fine.” Do that again and I might go over the edge . . .
Jermaine smiled and took her hand as they now retraced their steps along the beach. On the horizon, the sun was setting majestically in the purplish, red-laced sky. To Candace the entire moment was like something right out of those old black-and-white movies on the AMC channel. Both of them were too caught up in the moment to say anything. So neither was aware of the man standing fifty-odd yards to their left, frantically snapping pictures of them like he was on some crude and secret photo shoot. In fact, they hadn’t noticed that the man had been following them the entire afternoon and evening.
Ignorance is bliss, so goes the oft-quoted adage. But maybe the saying was all wrong. Maybe ignorance . . . was simply ignorance.
Chapter fifteen
BY FAR, SUPER MARIO’S biggest client was Jermaine Hill, and accordingly the star speaker’s never-ending affairs took just about every single minute of Mario’s waking time to handle. Sponsor-hungry multimedia conglomerates daily bombarded his voice mail like persistent telemarketers. Corporations and civic organizations were forever after Jermaine to speak at their functions. His fame had progressed to the point that even select universities were now requesting that Jermaine give the keynote addresses for their commencements. More than anything, that last recognition had let Mario know his client was firmly entrenched at the top of the speakers’ circuit. For who else had the crossover
appeal that he did? Who else had the marketing versatility to speak to graduates from Ivy League colleges, rap to inner-city kids in America’s ghettos, command and captivate a nationwide audience on public radio, and still be savvy enough to snag the largest book deal ever given to a motivational speaker? Mario Jordan was currently sitting on the hottest commodity on both Wall Street and Hollywood Boulevard, and he knew it. And not only that, before the last pages on the life of Jermaine Hill were written, Mario intended to make his client the wealthiest and most revered celebrity of the early twenty-first century. Because 15 percent of a financial portfolio of that gross magnitude wasn’t half bad. Wasn’t half bad at all.
The slow and steady vibration buzzing from the cell phone clipped to his belt awakened him from his daydreaming lapse about riches beyond his wildest dreams. He always kept his cell on vibrating mode; if he allowed the darn thing to ever ring, he’d never have any peace and quiet. For him, brokering ten to fifteen deals in an eight-hour business day was nothing at all.
“Mario here.”
“Mr. Jordan, this is Perry Adams from UEAA. I was wondering if we can schedule your client for a power session with some investors after the general banquet this weekend.”
“Perry, I’ve already informed you that Jermaine is leaving directly after he finishes speaking. We’re on a very tight schedule this weekend; I don’t see how delaying his departure would be possible.”
“Mr. Jordan, I understand. However, United Entertainers is prepared to make this slight alteration to your plans financially worth your while.”
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