Love in the Limelight: Volume One

by Brenda Jackson, A. C. Arthur

  “You know that’s not how I meant it. I’m just saying that you should be happy. Like you said, this is not how it usually happens. You’ve seen for yourself how many singers wish for this their whole lives and still never get it. You should be thankful for your talent and extremely encouraged that Akil and your record label have this type of confidence in you.”

  Leave it to Rachel to sound so logical. “And I am.”

  “But?”

  “But—” Charlene hesitated, looked up at the indigo sky void of any stars that she could wish on “—I’m scared.”

  “Of?”

  “What if they don’t like me? What if I’m not good enough? What if all this was just a dream and I’m going to wake up the minute I step on that stage and all those people staring up at me start to laugh?”

  Rachel chuckled. “I swear I’ve never known anyone who could ‘what if’ something to death like you.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” Charlene quipped, even though Candis often told her the same thing. “You know what I’m trying to say.”

  “I do,” Rachel said with a sigh. “And I get it. I know how you feel about performing in front of people, but, Char, I’ve got to tell you, for a long time I’ve thought that was all just in your mind. I mean, take the karaoke bar, for instance. You didn’t want to do that but you did. There were about thirty or so people in the audience that night and you got right up there and sang. So good you landed a record deal.”

  “I did that for you.”

  “Partly, yes. But more so because you love it. You were born to sing.”

  Charlene smiled. “That’s a movie, Rach.”

  “Is it?”

  “I think so. Or is that A Star Is Born?”

  “I don’t know, you’re the one into watching all those old movies. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is once you get on that stage you forget about all those reservations you’ve nursed since you were a kid. You forget how many people are staring at you and what they may or may not be thinking about your physical looks. You just sing. And when you do people are entranced by your voice.”

  “So what you’re trying to say is don’t worry, they’re not really looking at me anyway.”

  “No,” Rachel added quickly. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m saying that all this stuff about not looking good or not looking like other people is a complex that your mother created and you’ve nursed. It might be time to let it go, you know.”

  The words sounded so right. Rachel was honest and she cared. That’s why she was her best friend. “I hear you.”

  “But are you listening to me, Charlene? You’re twenty-five years old and in a position that a lot of people would die for. Do you really want to throw it all away because you don’t think you look good enough? Because you know you can sang,” she said with a giggle and that twang to her voice that always made Charlene laugh.

  “I’m listening to you. I always do,” she said truthfully. That’s why she’d called Rachel first. While Candis was her older sister and Charlene valued her opinion, she and Rachel were not only closer in age, they were closer, period, had more in common. Charlene knew undoubtedly that she could always count on Rachel. That’s why her next words came out as smoothly as if she were talking about the weather. “I’m in love with Akil.”

  “What? Wait a minute, you’re confusing me. Weren’t we just talking about you being nervous about singing onstage, in front of people? Now you’re telling me you’re in love with someone? Akil? As in your producer?”

  “Okay. Okay. Slow down, maybe I should have given the conversation change a minute to sink in,” Charlene said, unable to help herself from laughing. “Yes. I said I’m in love with Akil, my producer.”

  “And,” Rachel said slowly, “when did you come to that conclusion and what brought you there? What happened?”

  “At first he was an ass. I mean, honest and truly, there were days when I felt like knocking him right out.”

  “Obviously that changed,” Rachel said.

  “You wanna hear the story or not?”

  Rachel chuckled. “Okay, sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Then he kissed me. And then we had breakfast, lots of breakfasts. You know he doesn’t like coffee?”

  “Ah, no, I didn’t know that.”

  Of course she didn’t, Charlene thought and smiled. She was babbling. She made a concerted effort to stop. “Anyway, we spent some time together and then we slept together and we talked. And we went shopping and we slept together again. And I just figured out that I’m in love with him.”

  “Okay,” Rachel was saying in that slow voice again. “And how does he feel about you?”

  “He said he thinks he’s in love with me, too.”

  “Are you happy about that?”

  “I think.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “Where Akil is concerned I can never be too sure.”

  “Girl, I need to get on a plane and get to Miami. You know I can’t leave you on your own for too long.”

  “Hush, you know I can handle myself.” She let out a long sigh. “I just needed to get some things off my chest. But really, I’m doing fine. Actually, I might be excited about performing on Friday if I hadn’t gotten the stylist Akil hired fired.”

  “And how did you do that?”

  “By being me,” she answered with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, right. And I’m sure this person didn’t do anything to deserve getting fired. But never you fear, even though I’m across the country you know I’ve got your back.”

  “How? What are you going to do, Rachel?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

  “Rachel,” Charlene said warningly.

  “Oh, I’ve gotta go, Ethan’s here.”

  “Uh-huh, don’t even try it. Ethan is not there. Rachel, what are you going to do?”

  “He is here and I have something to talk to him about. Girl, Sofia is having a fit.”

  “Oh, no. What’s going on? I haven’t spoken to her but I was going to call her to let her know about the show.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her. But she’s still reeling from Uncle Jacob’s decision to merge Limelight with A.F.I.”

  “Wait a minute. A.F.I., Artist’s Factory Outlet, your rival talent agency?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. Apparently my family has a problem with the Jordans, who own A.F.I., or at least the previous generation did. So we’re inclined to carry out the feud. Except Uncle Jacob doesn’t want that anymore. He wants this merger.”

  Charlene knew what Rachel was going to say next. “And Sofia isn’t trying to hear that.”

  “Girl, she’s livid. You know Limelight is her life. She wanted to take the helm after Uncle Jacob retired. It’s always been her dream. And now she feels like he’s taking that from her.”

  “But he’s not firing her, right? That would be crazy. Sofia’s the best at what she does.”

  “I agree and so does Uncle Jacob. That’s why he’s suggesting she and Ramell Jordan become partners. But you know how Sofia is about being the boss.”

  “I sure do. Not a good situation.”

  “Not at all. But look, you don’t worry about a thing. I’m going to get off this phone, make a quick call and have you set for Friday. Just trust me.”

  A half hour later when Charlene was stepping out of the shower she had a funny feeling about Rachel’s words. But she’d known her forever so she would trust her, this time.

  * * *

  The next day’s session was cut short as Akil had some business meetings to attend. Charlene was left to entertain herself in the big house. Mrs. Williamson, of course, was around cooking and cleaning as usual. She’d even seen Nannette as she’d headed out to the terrace, which was quickly becoming her favorite spot.

  She didn’t know if it was the quiet rustle of the waterfall picturesquely situated toward the end of the pool or the beautiful skyline the back of the house afforded. Against the crystalline blue sky and
sparkling sunshine the tips of trees spread into an expanse of deep green. Lower to eye level, palm trees swayed in the warm breeze, creating an almost tropical—without being on an island—feel. She loved it, which was probably due to the fact that she was from California and used to this summerlike scenery all year long.

  Nannette had been a darling and purchased all the magazines she’d asked her for. So with a cup of warm tea with honey, Charlene made herself comfortable in one of the lounge chairs and settled in for the afternoon.

  She had fashion magazines, which she was sure would have Candis on some of their pages, music and entertainment magazines. What she was looking for she had no clue. Actually, she did. She wanted to know what “the look” now was. Wanted to know if she was remotely close since Serene and her sidekick were now out of the picture.

  Akil had come to bed late last night. Though she’d heard him in the shower, felt him climb in bed beside her, reach for her and hold her throughout the night, she hadn’t awakened fully and they hadn’t talked. This morning Jason was there for breakfast, so again, she didn’t have the chance to ask him about the lack of a stylist or her having no clue what she was going to wear on Friday. He’d promised to spend the evening with her as he’d kissed her before leaving this afternoon. He’d seemed a little agitated but she figured maybe he just didn’t want to deal with the meeting right now. He hated to be interrupted while working on a CD and since hers was on a fast track, meaning they hoped to at least drop the first single early next year, a day away from recording could really hurt them. The days lost due to the hurricane had been setback enough.

  So she settled in, flipping the glossy pages and seeing some things that she could go for. Jill Scott had a nice, real look. She loved the woman’s voice and admired her stance to sing only songs with lyrics she’d personally experienced. Her Neo-Soul sound was original and definitely had an audience. And she wasn’t wafer thin, either. That made Charlene smile, boosting her ego just a bit.

  A picture of the pretty but slim Keri Hilson was on another page, her hair in a longer, feathery style. Charlene liked the color—like a soft bronze, with some blond highlights. But she was a lighter complexion than Keri Hilson so she wasn’t sure how that would look on her. Liya Kebede was in one of the fashion magazines. She was a gorgeous model from Ethiopia. Charlene had met her when she’d traveled to Italy with Candis last year for a photo shoot. She’d enjoyed spending the time with her sister and seeing all the hard work that went into modeling. It definitely wasn’t always as glamorous as it looked. Both Liya and Tia St. Claire Donovan—another model whom Candis and Charlene had actually known for a couple of years and who had just a few months ago married the infamous Trent Donovan and given birth to her first son—had complexions just a shade darker than Charlene’s. And both of them had eyes that weird shade of hazel and darker brown like she did. So Charlene concentrated on their hair color and their makeup, wondering if any of the tones could work for her.

  “I don’t need no help. Stop following me. I can find the pool.”

  She heard a high-pitched voice but didn’t think it was exactly female. It was getting louder and she wondered who it could be.

  “See, she’s right here. I told you I didn’t need any help.”

  Charlene looked up and had to do a double take.

  “Following me around like a stalker. Or like I’m gonna steal something. She better recognize.”

  Not too tall, maybe five-seven, five-ten in the black silver-heeled stilettos he wore. Charlene had to strain her eyes because she could have sworn she was correct in assuming he. But...

  “Charlene Quinn, girl, I know you betta get up off that chair and give me a hug. Don’t make me come over there and yank your behind.”

  The face definitely looked familiar, caramel-toned, slim, pert lips, assessing eyes. Wait a minute, she began thinking, moving her legs to stand from the chair. Magazines fell to the ground but Charlene was too busy staring to care.

  “What? I look good, don’t I?”

  He struck a pose and Charlene couldn’t help but take in his full attire, skinny-legged black jeans, a slim-fit T-shirt tied into a knot just above a flat stomach and dangling navel piercing, black-and-silver bangles dancing up both arms and two diamond studs sparkling from the ears. The hair was a short, sleek asymmetrical bob that even Charlene had to admit was fierce. She thought she recognized him.

  “Mark?” she finally gasped, taking a step closer. “Mark Hopkins?”

  With a wave of his hand and a jingle of all the bracelets on that wrist, his lips turned and he sucked his teeth. “I’m Mia now,” he said and emphasized that change by using both hands to cup his modest breasts.

  Her gaze immediately dropped and rested there. “What? Who?”

  “That’s right, baby. I’ve got my own now. And you—” he actually reached out and flicked one of Charlene’s breasts with one long finger “—you’re going to be so jealous when I surpass your girls.”

  Shaking her head, Charlene was still trying to get a grasp of this situation. “What are you doing here? And when did you get these? When did you become this?” she asked for lack of a better word.

  “‘This,’ as you so rudely put it, has always been me. You know how I used to always hang out with you and Rachel instead of the quote-unquote boys.”

  He was talking and Charlene couldn’t help but recognize how his arm motions and facial expressions seemed a little over-the-top. Then again, this entire person standing in front of her was over-the-top.

  “Mark, I mean, Mia,” she corrected when one elegantly arched eyebrow on his face raised in question. “I just can’t believe it. Does Rachel know? Wait a minute, what are you doing here? How did you know I was in Miami?” Charlene asked suspiciously.

  “First, I want my hug,” Mia pouted.

  “Oh, boy-girl, get over here,” Charlene said, grabbing her old friend in a hug. Mark had always been skinny and for a while Charlene had hated him because he ate like a hog and didn’t gain an ounce. It felt a little funny hugging him now that he had the unmistakable curve of breasts. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. I see you’ve changed a lot in that time.”

  Mark pulled back, waving that hand again. “Girl, I started hormone therapy about nine months ago. I’m preparing for the full gender reassignment.”

  “A sex change? You’re getting a sex change operation?”

  “Chile, now you know that’s déclassé. Talk like you’ve been brought up right. What would Mrs. Quinn say if she heard you? It’s gender-reassignment surgery.”

  Yeah, whatever. It was weird in Charlene’s book. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  He touched those breasts again. “It’s a little too late to change my mind.”

  “Oh.” Charlene shrugged. “I guess so. Now answer my question, what are you doing here?”

  “Rachel called me last night going on and on about you getting a record deal and performing in a club. The first thing I asked was who was going to do your hair. Because, girl, you know you never get anything good done to your hair. And it’s such a shame, you’ve got such a good grain.”

  Mark’s—Mia’s—fingers were already pulling the ponytail holder from her hair. He raked through the length, straightening it so that it lay limply on her shoulders.

  “Ump, see, this is what I mean. Such great length and volume. You know people would kill for this kind of hair.”

  “Yeah, right. People like who?” Charlene snapped.

  “People like Lynell Dennison. You remember her? Girl ain’t never had more than three strands of hair and they were all nappy as hell.”

  Charlene laughed so hard at the memory and the way Mark said it she had to sit back down. “You haven’t changed a bit. Well, you have, but, you know, you’re still just like I remember you.”

  “I’m only improving the outside, there’s no hope for the inside, honey. Now, we have to make you divalicious for Friday.”

  “What is divalic
ious?”

  “It’s a Mia Hopkins original, that’s what it is. And when I’m finished with you everyone from here to L.A. will be looking for me to reinvent them, too. Now, come on, let’s go shopping.”

  Charlene didn’t even argue, just got up and headed out the door with Mark—no, Mia. If he wanted to be a she, Charlene wasn’t in any position to argue. Wasn’t she about to make some changes to her appearance? It was the same and yet different, but she wasn’t going to overanalyze the situation. No, today, Charlene Quinn was simply going to go with the flow.

  * * *

  In the mall again. Charlene almost sighed but this trip was full of laughing and chatting just as much as it was shopping. Some of the stuff Mia pulled out was just too off the hook for Charlene to even consider. And then there were the rare pieces that she actually thought she could like.

  “Stop being so uptight. You’ve got good curves, you need to flaunt them,” Mia was saying as they walked into yet another store.

  Charlene was walking behind him, her hand absently touching the black dresses on the rack in front of her. “Serene and Carlo thought I should stick to empire waists to cover my problem area.”

  Mia spun around so quick he almost fell on top of her. “What problem area?”

  With a sigh, Charlene ran her hands over her midsection. “This one.”

  Mia clucked his teeth and lifted a finger to tap on Charlene’s head. “You mean this one. Because that’s the only place you’ve got a problem.”

  Charlene swatted his hand away. “Stop playing, this is serious.”

  “It sure is. Rachel said you were still the same but I couldn’t believe it. I figured the years had to have given you some sense.”

  “Look, Mia, don’t cross the line,” Charlene warned.

  “Oh. Oh.” Mia was rolling his neck like a scared chicken, his voice getting louder and louder until two of the salespeople were now staring at them. “I know you’re not going to get a backbone with me after you let Ozzie and Harriet tear you down about your size.”

  “What?” Charlene asked, confused, then sighed. “Lower your voice, we don’t need an audience. And who the hell are Ozzie and Harriet?”