Rockstar Savages (Forbidden Chords Book 3)

by Ja'Nese Dixon

  Jamal glanced up hearing the shift in Damian’s voice. His posture to anyone else would read casual. Jamal tossed the spreadsheets aside starring Damian in the eyes. He was the closest thing Jamal had to family, besides the rest of the guys. Hell, Damian and his father were the catalyst that shifted his life from broke, struggling foster kid to a wealthy, sought-after financial consultant.

  “Time is money, my friend. What’s on your mind?”

  “You.”

  Jamal leaned forward. “What about me?”

  “When’s the last time you went to see the folks?” Damian didn’t ask questions he didn’t know the answer to.

  “It’s been a minute.” Jamal sat back, unbuttoning his jacket, he avoided this conversation for months. “I’m heading over after I leave New Orleans.”

  “What’s up with you man?”

  “I’m making moves, you know how it is.” He’d followed Damian’s lead and used consulting and investing to push his portfolio over the billion dollar mark. But it didn’t feel as good as he thought.

  “You’ve proved your point.” Damian leveled his gaze. “Now, when are you going to slow down and stop giving Mom a fit?”

  Jamal glanced down at his desk, his eyes finding Carmela’s. She had kind eyes. Eyes the leapt out of the picture and held him captive. Then her eyes slipped from his view.

  “Carmela Franklin.” Damian assessed the picture. “La Luvie, NOLA’s reigning queen of hip hop. I wouldn’t consider her your type.” Damian glanced up.

  Jamal looked over at him, shrugging a dismissal shoulder. He couldn’t explain the magnetic pull. And no, she wan’t his type.

  “Nor Imani yours.”

  Imani was everything Damian wasn’t, or not what he used to be. The Damian before him was a new man. A man, Jamal almost didn’t recognize. Damian had changed, taking with him a kindred spirit.

  “Thank God.” Even his smile changed at the mention of her name. And Jamal didn’t blame him. Imani had tamed the wild streak in Damian. But not the edge. “How long do you plan to exist on the outside of civilization?”

  “That’s a stretch. I value my solitude. It’s something we used to have in common.” Jamal did better on his own.

  “It’s better on this side brother.”

  “Tell Ma I’ll come through, soon.”

  “Tell her yourself.”

  Jamal nodded. “How’s John?”

  “Dad is good, but he’s been better.” Damian leaned forward. “Look man, I get it. You’re used to existing on your own. But my folks don’t draw a line based on blood. And staying away only makes it harder. I know.”

  “I’ll stop through and spend some time in Atlanta.”

  Damian stood and extended a hand in his direction. A gentleman, and a true businessman. Jamal stood and shook Damian’s hand.

  “Dinner’s at seven.”

  “Man, why you trying to son me?” Jamal chuckled.

  “My children will know their uncle, besides you have a few hours before your flight.” A sly smile crossed Damian’s face.

  “Leave it to you to know everybody’s business.”

  “You know the numbers, I know the details.” Damian winked, breaking the tension in the room.

  “Babe,” Imani called from the hallway.

  “In here.” Damian responded, glancing towards the office door.

  Imani walked through the doorway, glowing. Pregnancy made her more beautiful.

  Jamal walked over and kissed her cheek. “Hey beautiful.”

  “Don’t ‘Hey beautiful’ me.” Her stern face made Jamal smile. “And don’t be late.”

  Damian laughed as they left the office. Jamal didn’t miss the possessive hand laid on her lower back, as Damian guided his very pregnant wife out.

  Jamal shook his head, he’d been set up. He’d head over to their place before flying out.

  Jamal sat back at his desk with Damian’s warning lingering in his mind. Damian’s parents, John and Donna Hughes didn’t accept his desire to remain detached from the world as a solo act. No, they managed to wiggle beneath his skin, always a phone call away. Every holiday invitation, every birthday card, every unexpected gift cracked the foundation of his isolation.

  Jamal wondered if he’d ever get used to people fussing over him. But Mama Hughes found him wherever he was in the world, her constant presence, always on the fringes of his solitude.

  He smiled, her last voicemail held a warning tone that if she didn’t see him, she’d gas up the plane and drag his tail home. And he believed her.

  They didn’t adopt him on paper, but they’d accepted him into their family. Jamal dropped his head for a moment. Ashamed for letting his demons get the best of him. And thankful Mama Hughes wouldn’t let him get too far.

  Jamal reached for the phone. No, he owed her more than a call. He owed Mama Hughes a visit. He pressed the intercom on his desk phone. The sooner he stopped through New Orleans, the sooner he’d land in Atlanta.

  “Hey Eliana, I need those details for La Luvie’s show Friday. Did you hear back from her team?”

  “Actually, I did,” Jamal could tell she picked up the phone, so he did too. “And her manager said, it must have been a mistake.”

  “A mistake?”

  “Yep, I didn’t press it because I talked with Carmela when she called. So, I know she made the request.”

  “Very interesting.” Jamal rocked back in his chair, picking up the picture.

  “Are you still going?”

  “I told Cameron I would. My plans are unchanged except I’m leaving out of here shortly.” He placed the call back on speaker phone. “Can you please reschedule my meetings in Atlanta? Move them out a week. Two if possible.”

  “Got it. How long are you planning to work from the Atlanta office?”

  “I need to spend some time with my folks. So, probably a few weeks since we don’t have any pressing projects here until Cameron returns.”

  “Okay.” The clicking of her nails on the keyboard rang through the line. “I’ll update your calendar and I’ll let you know if I have any conflicts.”

  “Thanks Eliana.”

  “And Jamal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep your eyes on the weather.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He smiled, Eliana was an unofficial partner. She didn’t have an official title but she served as the glue between the guys. She kept their machine functioning at an optimum level. “I’ll touch base with you when I arrive in New Orleans.”

  “Send me some boudin.”

  Jamal laughed. “Sure thing.”

  Jamal disconnected the call, curiosity already getting the best of him. His thoughts went back to Damian’s visit, he never meant to stay away from the Hughes’ this long. But after spending weeks in the Houston office he always needed to unplug, to retreat from the busyness of the office and the people.

  In record time Jamal packed up the files he’d take with him. It was time to play the third wheel with Damian and his family, to pretend he didn’t feel out of place, to pretend he had the slightest clue of how to handle babies, family dinners, and a night of light banter, chilled wine, and small talk, a night pretending he belonged.

  Chapter 5

  “The show starts in thirty minutes.” Gabriel yelled into the hallway over the sea of moving people backstage.

  Carmela sat in the studio chair. Nicole flicked powder across her t-zone, adding the finishing touches on her makeup.

  She had a strict no talking rule the day of the show. It was a precaution to save every ounce of vocal she had for the stage. But today she couldn’t stick to it. She wanted to ensure the lights were right. The mics were in the right place. The sound was perfect.

  Gabriel said he hadn’t heard from RSE, and part of her was struggling to hold on to the slightest hope that Cameron Carter would attend the show.

  Carmela took a note out of Richard’s book and sent a fancy paper invitation with VIP tickets. Gabriel suggested including an article from t
he local paper featuring her fan-funding success. So, she included that too.

  Now she sat in the chair trying not to sweat off Nicole’s beautiful creation on her face.

  “Should I call him Mr. Carter?” She made eye contact with Gabriel, while holding her head perfectly still.

  “I guess.” He shrugged. “I need you to focus on remembering your lyrics, and I’ll get him to you after the show.”

  Carmela tried to nod, but was stayed by Nicole’s hand.

  “La, unless you want eyebrows going down your cheek, sit still.”

  “Hush, and paint my damn face.”

  Nicole laughed. “I’ll damn you all right. I’ll paint a smokey eye in the middle of your forehead and have that man thinking you’re a voodoo priestess.”

  “Damn.” Gabriel laughed, his shock, crystal clear.

  “Don’t pay her no mind.” Carmela glanced at the silver wall clock. “You about done Nicki?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Your face is officially beat.” She snapped her finger.

  “Gabriel, ‘round them up for prayer.” He left the room closing the door behind him.

  Nicole had the dressing room fit for a queen with scented candles and soft music.

  “Thank you.” Carmela air hugged Nicole to keep from rubbing the thick stage makeup on her pink apron. She examined the creation in the mirror trimmed in clear lightbulbs. “I almost don’t recognize myself.”

  “Child please, if you seen all the makeup I have to put on most people. All you need is enough for people to see you in the back of the room.”

  Carmela batted her false lashes, loving the swishing feel. “These things weigh ten pounds.”

  Nicole laughed. “Beauty hurts. Let me get your shoes.”

  Carmela lowered back into the chair. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment taking several deep breathes. “This is it,” she whispered.

  A light knock came from the door. “They’re ready La.”

  “Give her a second. You got this La.”

  Carmela felt the first shoe slid on her foot. “What if he doesn’t show up?”

  “One monkey don’t stop yo show.”

  Carmela nodded her head. She’d received more bad news today. The contractors won’t continue without a large deposit. The last checks bounced and Richard said once again he’d take care of it.

  “Time to turn up.” Carmela couldn’t solve the problem now. Now was about her fans.

  “Now you talking.”

  Carmela took one last look at the mirror. The first outfit was basic black on black with Timberlands. The lights and fans would do most of the work for the first set.

  She cleared the doorway leaving the peaceful dressing room behind and entering the crowded backstage area. The dancers were standing around waiting for her.

  “Grab hands and circle up.”

  Gabriel was on her left and Nicole on her right. She squeezed their warm hands, thankful for them both. She didn’t expect to see Richard or Marcel until the after party. But it was better that way. She could focus on the show.

  “Bow your heads and close your eyes.”

  Carmela listened as Gabriel prayed over her, the dancers, the crew, the fans. For a second she listened to the sounds around her, the music from the DJ on the stage, the rumble of Gabriel’s voice, the beating of her racing heart.

  Would they know the lyrics of her songs? Would they enjoy the changes she’d made to her show? She opened her eyes scanning the dancers. Nicole handled checking costumes and hair. The guys wore baggy pants, sleeveless t-shirts and Timberlands. The girls wore similar outfits but with crop tops. The bunch cleaned up well.

  The energy flowed backstage and a chorus of amens sealed their fate.

  No matter how many times she did this it never got easier, and it never got old. She made it a point to be present in her shows, and the moment she said Amen the show began for her.

  Carmela placed her ear pieces in and grabbed the microphone from the stage man. She bounced around shaking off the nervous energy.

  Carmela held the microphone to her lips. “It’s showtime bay-bay!”

  The crowd went wild with piercing screams. She stood on the side of the stage as the lights dropped and the dancers scurried to their places.

  “Who dat is….”

  “La Luvie.” The crowd screamed.

  “Ya, ain’t ready for the show nah.” She laughed in the microphone. “Imma try one mo time. I want tha room off dis piece.”

  Carmela waited and let their screams fill her soul.

  “Who dat is….”

  “La Luvie!!!” They yelled and whistled. Lights from cellphones filled the dark room. “Luvie. Luvie. Luvie.”

  This was why she did it. This was why she struggled. This was why she traveled nonstop.

  Her fans.

  Carmela took the stage and made a silent promise to not let the drama cause her to forget this moment. Then she signaled the DJ and a single light flicked on overhead, while the dancers held their positions in the shadows.

  Carmela stood center stage in all black, locs pulled to the side. Her real ones knew her next move, she did it at every show. So, she slowly pulled the mic to mouth and a hush swept across the stadium.

  She scanned the audience, her smile of approval had fans waving, blowing kisses, trying to make eye contact with her.

  She whispered…

  Imma a real one.

  A NOLA chick.

  The kinda chick…

  “…YO MAN WANNA GET WIT.”

  Flames blasted on the large screens as the beat dropped. And it was officially on.

  Her anthem “Real One” had everyone on their feet singing along. Every woman letting the dudes know what time it was.

  Carmela swayed back and forth rapping to and with her fans as the dancers filled the stage.

  I hit that surf board.

  I ain’t no Yonce

  But take a swim

  I betchu say

  She turned the microphone to the audience and they completed the entire chorus.

  “Imma real one. A NOLA chick. The kinda chick yo man wanna get wit. ….”

  They finished lines, screaming her name as she held the microphone for them to sing the chorus. The DJ kept them rocking, the dancers didn’t miss a beat. And she stole a glance to the center seats in the balcony noticing the shadow of someone there.

  She kept performing but she wanted to scream in relief.

  Mr. Carter came to her show.

  La Luvie is definitely RSE material. Jamal had the best seat in the house, in the balcony, on the front row, center stage. He stood overlooking the lower level, trapped in time. Then he remembered he had a job to do.

  The overwhelming smell of buttered popcorn and cinnamon pretzels filled the room. The concession stand sold oversized colorful frozen drinks. Her team knew how to throw an event. There seemed to be standing room only on the floor and all the seats were full in the balcony.

  Jamal scanned the crowd again taking notice of the general demographics of her fans. It was hard to tell in the dark room but before the lights dropped he estimated the audience was almost equally split with gender. The ages? He stretched his neck to see around the glare of the lights. He’d estimate the average was early thirties. A majority appeared to range in their mid-twenties and a large number of parents had teenagers. The crowd was overwhelming African-American but he saw a speckle of every race in the room. That pleased him.

  The Urban Vibe was a small two level concert hall. The floor was open with no seating, whereas they told him the balcony was VIP seating. All of his assessments as a partner with RSE went out the window the moment La Luvie hit the stage. The crowd went crazy, literally.

  Dudes hollered as loud as the ladies. Everyone seemed to know the words but him. She changed costumes several times, the dancers kept a nice distance but added a nice touch to the open stage.

  La Luvie had a high energy, nonstop show. Not a single person sat in their seats. After almo
st two hours, she was off stage and the dancers transitioned from a piece choreographed for the female dancers then the male dancers.

  Jamal mentally noted all the details while keeping his eyes glues on the stage. His heart raced from the adrenaline pulsing through his veins. It had nothing to do with the music, the dancers, or RSE, and everything to do with the woman on the stage.

  Her music was catchy. He found himself bobbing along with the crowd. He wished he’d listened to her music before he came, because he was missing out on a huge part of the experience.

  Jamal squinted his eyes, noticing her silhouette back on the stage, near the DJ in the shadows. Dancers are flanking her. He lowered to his seat. He just wanted to watch her. Watch trying to determine what it was about her that made every cell in his body pulse with awareness.

  The house lights lowered, and the audience seemed to take notice of La Luvie on stage too. The endless chatter dimmed to a hushed hum full of anticipation.

  “Luvie Squad…”

  The called to her, clapping their hands.

  “I have one more song to perform. But first I have to thank each and every one of you.”

  La Luvie walked forward to center stage and an overhead spotlight flicked on. She stood in a black robe, fitting her upper body but flowing and full around her ankles.

  “Crescendo was just a dream. Y’all know my story. I’m from 3rd ward. A high school drop out. I was raised….” Her voice cracked, and she pulled the glitter covered microphone from her mouth. “I was raised on these streets.”

  The thunderous sounds of support made Jamal smile. She scanned the audience, and for a brief moment she glanced up at him. He wondered if she could see him. He stood like the others feeling a need show his support for the moment. For her.

  “New Orleans is my home. And I want to make our home great. Together we can do that. Yeah?” She smiled nodding as if hearing each and every response. “And together we are doing it. Because of you we’ve raised $500,000 to build a home for Crescendo. A home for you to come and learn and together we’ll change 3rd Ward. Let’s make a difference together.”

  La Luvie clapped her hands with the audience as the room gave her a standing ovation. But Jamal didn’t miss the way the dancers slowly spread out across the stage. She placed the piece back in her ear.