Love in the Limelight: Volume One

by Brenda Jackson, A. C. Arthur

  Serene was shaking her head. “You’ve bumped your head if you think that’s going to work. Maybe I need to call Sahari for further direction because you’re apparently blinded by something personal.”

  Akil let out a small chuckle. “I’m not blinded and you can call Sahari all you want. Playascape is my label. Charlene is my artist. The final call is mine to make and I’ve just made it. Now, if you don’t agree, you can walk. You and the beanpole over there.”

  At that Carlo let out something like a yelp that had Charlene jumping in her chair. She was still light-headed, but now she knew why. It wasn’t Serene’s or Carlo’s comments but her own stupidity.

  Lifting a hand, she touched Akil’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m fine, Akil.”

  “Is that what you were worried about?” Serene asked in an incredulous voice. “That she was upset by what we were saying? Come on, Akil. This isn’t like you. Since when does the artist have any say in how we package them? They don’t know the stats we know, the pressure we’re under to make back the money we invest. She’s gonna have to toughen up if she’s going to be in this industry.”

  Akil took a step closer to Serene, one that had enough tension in it that Charlene found herself struggling to stand, to hold on to his arm.

  “I’m only going to tell you one more time that any decisions regarding Charlene’s image will come from me. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, thinking you had enough professionalism in you to do the job you were told to do. But I see that’s not going to work. Now I want you and Carlo out of my house.”

  His body was trembling, with anger, she supposed. He seemed oblivious to her gentle urgings, her touch. She didn’t want this to get out of hand, not because of her.

  “Akil, come on, let’s go into the other room. Give them a few moments.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t need any time. You and your chubby friend can stay right here and do what you want,” Carlo said in a huff. “I don’t have time for the drama. I’m out.”

  When he was gone Serene stood looking as if steam were going to pour out of her ears at any moment. Then her glare settled on Charlene. “You won’t make it past the first CD looking like that. Don’t let him and his high-minded delusions of grandeur fool you. This industry will chew you up and spit you all the way back to that little vocal class in L.A. And if you’re thinking that by sleeping with him you’re a guaranteed success, think again. That only works for the pretty slim girls, not your kind.”

  Akil had reached out and grabbed Serene’s arm at that point. “Goodbye, Serene.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she said tersely, pulling her arm from his grasp.

  Charlene had endured lots of insults in her lifetime. She’d dealt with the mean girls in school, the boys who’d rather throw dodgeballs at her than steal kisses from her behind the bleachers in the gym. She’d listened to her mother complain about her weight, about her being the only one in the family not on the fast track to a great career. She’d watched her father’s sadness when her mother spoke about her that way and also listened to Candis and Rachel as they’d told her she was a good person.

  None of that seemed to matter now. All of it swirled into a funnel, slipping away in the wind, compared to the mean insults out of Serene’s mouth. The main one being that Charlene wasn’t even good enough to sleep her way to the top.

  There was no hole in the floor that would graciously open and swallow her up. No glittering red shoes that she could click and instantaneously be transported back home. No, there was nothing she could do to hide her humiliation at what had just transpired. And even worse, nothing she could do to stop her knees from buckling and Akil’s sympathetic arms from catching her before she could make contact with the floor.

  Chapter 11

  “She’s gonna be just fine, Akil. Stop pacing or you’ll run a path in the carpet,” Mrs. Williamson quipped.

  But he couldn’t stop. He heard her words, trusted what she was saying, but still his heart pounded as he worried about the unknown. One minute they’d been having a nice peaceful breakfast, the ones he’d come to enjoy so much in the past few days. And the next Serene and her sidekick had barged in running their mouths until he’d felt bad for Charlene and wanted to murder them both.

  Then she looked ill, not agitated or hurt or angry, but sick. Her skin had paled and she’d become unsteady, wobbling until he was sure she was going to fall on the floor. Rushing to her side had been late on his part. He should have stopped Carlo and Serene the moment they came in. He knew how they both could be, especially together, using their combined half-witted brainpower.

  His fists clenched, he wanted to hit somebody or something. He could have beat the feminine nature out of Carlo for the nasty things he’d said to Charlene because, after all, he was a male on the surface. As for Serene, this wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to ignore the teachings about not hitting a woman just to shut her the hell up. But to hell with both of them. His only concern now was Charlene and the way she still looked too pale, and too vulnerable, sitting on the couch in the living room.

  That’s where he’d carried her when she’d been unable to stand on her own a moment longer. He’d called for Mrs. Williamson, who’d quickly called for Nannette, sending the younger girl up to Charlene’s room. She’d brought back a pill bottle and Mrs. Williamson had continued to wipe Charlene’s forehead with a wet cloth. “Get the other bottle out of the first-aid kit in the kitchen, the smelling salts.”

  He’d frowned at that, thinking smelling salts were only used in the movies and weren’t real. But he’d known better than to correct Mrs. Williamson.

  “But she’s not unconscious,” Akil said, slightly confused.

  “It’s all right, the salts will bring her around. She’s still a bit dazed. And she’s tired. Aren’t you, baby?” she asked Charlene, rubbing a thick cocoa-brown hand over Charlene’s smaller, lighter one.

  “Here you go,” Nannette said upon her return, offering Mrs. Williamson a brown bottle with no label on it.

  “How do you know that’s the right one?”

  “Because I make it myself,” she answered tightly, unscrewing the top from the bottle and pouring the liquid onto a dry cloth.

  Akil wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “You make drugs in my house?”

  She cut an angry look at him. “I’m from the South, Akil. I’ve been making my own remedies since I was a young’un working at my grandma’s side. It’s nothing but ammonium carbonate and perfume. When the ammonium is mixed with either water or salt it creates fumes,” she said, passing the cloth right beneath Charlene’s nose.

  “The fumes irritate the lining of the nose, throat and lungs. That’s what makes them wake up from a dead faint.”

  On the chair Charlene yanked her head back, frowning from the smell.

  “There you go. That’s a good girl,” she said, passing Nannette the cloth and rubbing Charlene’s cheek.

  “I’m fine. Really, none of this is necessary, I just need to—” Charlene was trying to talk but Mrs. Williamson wasn’t trying to hear it.

  “I’ve got your medication,” Mrs. Williamson said, opening the pill bottle Nannette had brought down from Charlene’s room. “You forgot to take it this morning, didn’t you?”

  Looking away from Akil, Charlene answered quietly, “Yeah.”

  Mrs. Williamson nodded knowingly. “I thought so. You know you have to eat and you have to take this every day. Hypothyroidism is nothing to play with.”

  “Hypo-what?” Akil asked, not knowing what either of them was talking about. “You’re on medication?”

  He didn’t know how he felt about that but Charlene’s frantic look said she had no intention of ever telling him about the meds or whatever her condition was. That pissed him off to no end.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Hush, Akil. That’s too many questions for this girl right now. Here, sit up,” Mrs. Williamson instructed Charlene. “Nannette, give me that water. Now, I want
you to take this and lie here for a bit and get some rest. You’ve been working nonstop since you got here. A shame you’re pushin’ this girl like this. She needs to rest, Akil, not be yelled at or questioned to death.”

  With Mrs. Williamson’s words, Akil dropped Charlene’s hand and backed away.

  She didn’t need him. Mrs. Williamson was taking care of her and obviously knew more about Charlene than he did. Even though he’d thought they were growing closer with each day they spent together, he’d been wrong. She hadn’t trusted him with this one detail.

  He continued to back out of the room. The similarities were too eerie, too strong for him to dismiss. Panic ripped at his chest as he remembered the outcome of Lauren and her lies and omissions. The same could happen to Charlene. In this industry anything was possible. History could repeat itself.

  He was sweating, his brow was damp and so were his palms as he walked into the foyer, stopping at the steps and trying to figure out where he wanted to go.

  Fears from the past engulfed him, wrapping securely around a face from the present, around Charlene. He couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t breathe here. Couldn’t stand the possibilities.

  Not again. Not ever again is what he’d promised himself. Looks like he’d failed once more.

  * * *

  Enough is enough, Charlene thought hours later. She’d been closed up in her bedroom by Mrs. Williamson, who had brought her lunch and a snack and warned her that dinner was coming soon. Charlene wanted to tell her it wasn’t food she needed, but hadn’t had the heart. She got the impression the older woman didn’t get enough chance to fuss over people with Akil not living here most of the year. So she’d sat back and let her go at it. Truth be told, she had been just a little tired. The long hours in the studio were beginning to take their toll. She was actually glad when Akil said he’d cancelled today’s session.

  But that was before the scene on the terrace. Before she was embarrassed out of her mind, then swept off her feet by her own idiocy. She’d been in such a hurry to get down to breakfast this morning she hadn’t taken her medication. All the time she’d sat with Akil eating and talking she hadn’t felt any different. Apparently the stress of Serene and Carlo’s appearance coupled with her normal bouts of fatigue was just too much to bear. Mrs. Williamson had an auntie in North Carolina who suffered with thyroid problems, she’d told Charlene. That’s how she knew what the medication was the first time she’d seen it in Charlene’s room, and that’s how she knew just what to do to take care of Charlene.

  Admittedly it had felt good to just rest and wait for her meals. Charlene wasn’t a lazy person and the staff at home was usually so busy running around at her mother’s every command that they’d barely paid any attention to her.

  So the day had passed quietly, night sneaking over them with just a light drizzle beginning to fall. The wind blew hard; she could tell because if she got close to the window she’d hear the whistling sound. The water in the pool rippled but Nannette, Cliff, the driver, and Yucatan, the yardman, had gathered all the lounge chairs and tables and brought them into the house. She suspected the terrace had been cleared, too, although she hadn’t been back downstairs since earlier today.

  But none of that kept her mind off Akil. They really were a pair. Since the day they’d met, one of them was always storming off, angry at the other. It was beginning to be their routine.

  He’d seemed so upset with her when he’d left this morning. Upset that she hadn’t told him about her medication. Truth be told, she hadn’t seen a reason to. Her illness was her business. Akil was just her producer. If she was singing and giving the performance he wanted, why did he need to know? Right?

  Then why did she still feel the need to explain? Climbing out of bed, she grabbed the beige silk robe that matched her nightgown and tied it around herself. Pushing her feet into her slippers, she headed straight to the door. There was no way she’d be able to sleep with this unresolved situation between them.

  It was a little after ten and she’d assumed he would be in the studio, but as she stepped into the hallway she could hear music coming from the other end of the hall. The end where Akil’s suite was located. Taking a deep breath, she moved in that direction, pausing at the door to knock.

  After two additional knocks and no answer she figured he couldn’t hear over the music so she tried the doorknob. It was open so she walked inside.

  His space was twice the size of her room. Upon entering she figured she was in what should have been the sitting room. Instead of a chaise longue, coffee table and maybe a bookcase, Akil had gym equipment in this space. A weight bench, free weights, elliptical, treadmill, you name it, he had it. Walking through the room, she touched a hand to the elliptical, picturing him using the machine. She lifted a free weight and almost sank to the floor herself, it was so heavy. No wonder his arms were so muscled, if he was lifting these every day.

  The music playing was that instrumental piece he’d been listening to that night in the studio, the one she had said was the journey between man and woman, the journey to falling in love. She hadn’t shared the latter with him, but after hearing the song in her mind the rest of the night instead of being able to sleep, that’s what she’d finally settled on.

  Two steps separated the sitting room from Akil’s bedroom and as she took them she immediately felt nervous. She was in his bedroom, in his personal space without permission. She didn’t know how he would feel about that but assumed he would be no more upset with her than he already appeared. The room was dim but her gaze couldn’t miss the king-size four-poster bed sitting on a platform to the far left. It was huge, clearly large enough for more than one person. And it was formidable, so much so that she couldn’t really picture Akil sleeping there. A week ago she’d have never doubted this was where he slept, but after getting to know him better, all this, the house, the private jet, the cars, seemed beyond Akil the man. There was only the music, that was the one thing that she knew suited him perfectly.

  “I see you’re feeling better,” he said and she jumped at the sound of his voice behind her.

  Spinning around, she saw that he was sitting in one of two black leather recliners that faced the wall, which was actually an entertainment center. There was a table between the recliners, where the only lamp was perched.

  “Ah, yeah, I’m feeling much better,” she said, taking a tentative step toward him.

  “Good. We’ll get back to work maybe Sunday. I want to give this storm a chance to blow over.”

  So they were back to the cool formal tones again. Her need to talk to him faltered a bit. This was ground she’d assumed they already covered. Well, she’d just say what she had to say and leave. She wasn’t in the mood for Akil’s roller-coaster moods.

  “I have hypothyroidism. It’s when there’s insufficient production of thyroid hormone by the thyroid gland. A couple of the symptoms are fatigue and weight gain. I have to take a medication called Levoxyl every day to help keep the levels up. If I skip a dose I’m really light-headed and even more tired than usual. That’s what happened today. I forgot to take my medication.”

  He remained quiet and she kept her hands folded together in front of her. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable and almost foolish. What was she thinking coming into his bedroom, dressed in her nightclothes and giving him a lesson in the thyroid glands? Foolish, that’s what she was.

  “So anyway, I just figured I owed you an explanation. I guess I’ll stay out of your way until Sunday.”

  She had already turned to go when his voice stopped her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  She didn’t turn back to him but answered anyway. “I didn’t think it was important.”

  “It is. Important, I mean,” he said.

  Her palms had begun sweating, which was unusual for her. Usually her skin was really dry. That was another effect of her illness.

  “I didn’t know. I guess I didn’t think about it. I’m just so used to dealing with
it that I don’t talk about it much.”

  “How long have you had this condition?”

  Refusing to continue this conversation with her back facing him, Charlene turned. He was still sitting in the chair, still staring at the wall.

  “We found out when I was sixteen. When my mother was tired of me failing on every diet she could come up with.”

  “She wanted you to lose weight, too?” he asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

  “I’ve always been overweight, even as a baby. She thought it would change with time, but when it didn’t she tried other ways. Until the doctor told her there was no use. The most common symptom to hypothyroidism is weight gain and water retention. So even if I starved, which was never in my nature, I would most likely be overweight.”

  “I thought a couple times at breakfast that you didn’t eat a lot. I wondered if you were dieting but didn’t want to bring it up.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not dieting. I just try to watch what I’m eating before I sing. Some foods just aren’t good for the voice at any time. And others just make singing for long periods of time uncomfortable and most often cause missed notes. Believe me, I eat.” She smiled.

  He chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  He looked up at her then. “I wouldn’t want you to starve or diet. Like I told Serene, I like you just the way you are.”

  Her throat was dry. Did it seem hot in here? “You didn’t tell Serene that. You told her your plan for my image had changed.”

  Nodding his head, he finally stood and walked toward her. “My plan for your image did change. But I’ve always liked the way you looked. From the picture you sent with the demo CD and the first day I met you in L.A. with your agent hovering about and Jason and Sahari seeing dollar signs. I liked the way you looked.”