Her needs were simple. She wanted the doors of Crescendo opened. She didn’t care who did it, and how. Even if it meant giving up her desire to retire. Her community was depending on her.
Carmela took pictures, signed autographs, but her heart wasn’t in it. She climbed in her SUV after the show. She always drove herself home. The solitude of the drive gave her time to think about the show. She usually considered how to change the set, the elements she wanted to add, the performance of her team. Tonight, she thought about Jamal. He seemed like a cool guy, and she knew the moment the words left her mouth that she’d hit below the belt. And to add insult to injury, his parting compliment had her torn, on one hand she was proud of her performance, but on the other hand she felt like a stuck-up jerkette for the way she behaved towards him.
Carmela glanced at the clock and shrugged. Jamal said she had until one pm, well it was before one, she thought, granted it was six am.
“Bondye do ou. fe pa ou, M a fe pa M.” Carmela touched her lips surprised as the words fluttered out. It was one of her mother’s favorite saying, it meant “God says do your part and I’ll do mine.”
Her heart skipped like hopscotch in her chest. Adelle Franklin had an odd Haitian sayings for every situation in life, and Carmela felt her mother knew she needed her now more than ever.
Carmela glanced out the windshield at the fluffy white clouds, “Thank you.”
That was a sign, it had to be. Carmela hit a quick u-turn, the tires on her black Escalade screeched in protest. God got Jamal to New Orleans, now it was her turn, she had to give him a reason to stay.
“Hey Siri. Directions to The Roosevelt.”
Chapter 8
“Jamal Washington.” He answered the phone glancing at the clock surprised by the sight. “You do know it’s six in the morning?”
“I do.”
His chest tightened. “Carmela.”
“Have breakfast with me?”
Jamal rubbed a hand down his face, exhausted. “What do you have in mind Miss Franklin?”
“Get dressed Mr. Washington and meet me downstairs. How long do you need?” He heard her talking to someone in the background about signing an autograph.
“Downstairs?” He tossed back the covers surprised.
“Yeh. How long do you need?” Her whispers of you’re welcome….you’re welcome, had him curious. “And leave the fancy blue suit upstairs.”
Jamal laughed. “Give me twenty.”
“You got it.”
Jamal held the phone to his ear for a second longer. He couldn’t sleep last night, because of Carmela occupied his every thought. The stage, the lights, her sparkling bustier. Enamored he took to the web and spent more hours than he cared to count researching La Luvie, watching YouTube videos and reading articles about her work with Crescendo.
He took a quick shower and threw on some black sweats, a black t-shirt, and some gym shoes, leaving his signature blue suit in the closet. He dropped his wallet in his pocket, putting on his watch. He scanned the suite tossing his clothes in the suitcase, pre-packing to help save time.
Wealth had its privileges, privileges he took advantaged of daily. He worked hard and saved. But one thing he’d learned over the years was to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Like this high class establishment and electing to stay in the presidential suite, it all reminded him of how much he loved his life. He quieted the nagging feeling that love was a stretch. Okay, so he enjoyed his life. But no one, loved everything about their life, right?
Minutes later Jamal exited the elevator, strolling through the golden walkway with the crystal chandeliers hanging above. He’d lived poor and rich. Rich kept him feed, and kept everything, whether it was a need or a desire, at his finger tips. And right now, Carmela was the only thing he could think about.
Jamal looked left and right for Carmela, eyeing a cluster of people in the lobby. He pulled out his cellphone and realized he didn’t have her number. He’d ask the front desk clerk. Turning he walked a few steps.
“Mr. Washington, how hungry are you?”
Jamal turned on his heels to see Carmela standing behind him. She appeared relaxed with a black halter and black sweats pushed up to her knee. She must have been in the middle of the small crowd, he reasoned while watching the people slowly disperse. Some wore employee uniforms for the hotel, others had on regular clothes.
Jamal stepped closer. “What do you have in mind?”
“I thought we’d turn a few corners and grab a bite to eat.”
“I’m down. Show me your city.” Jamal smiled wondering who’d he get to know this morning, La Luvie or Carmela, either woman was fine with him.
“Right this way.” She motioned to the glass doors. It took a moment for them to walk away as she waved goodbye to the fans in the lobby.
Jamal hesitated as they stood outside the hotel. “Where’s your security?”
“Don’t worry so much.” She walked around the front of a black SUV. “Get it Mr. Washington.”
Jamal shook his head reaching for the door handle. He pulled it open. “Can you drive?”
“Man, get in.” She chuckled. “And put your seatbelt on.”
“I’m starting to think I need to have a long talk with Gabriel.”
Carmela laughed, pulling out onto the street. They rode not talking for a while, it was a comfortable silence. He decided to follow her lead. He was glad she took his warning to heart. But he didn’t expect her this early in the morning.
“Are you allergic to anything?” Carmela asked.
“Not that I know of.” Jamal leaned against the door to get a better view of her profile. “What do you expect to find at six am, expect McDonalds?”
“I got connections.” She tossed a wink in his direction. “Since I acted like an ass last night,” she glanced over, “I thought I’d treat you to the La Luvie Special.” Her voice dropped a little.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“That’s because you’re a gentleman. I have a lot going on and you didn’t deserve my attitude.” She stopped at a light. “I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.” He returned her infectious dimpled smile. “What is the La Luvie Special?”
“Sit back and roll Mr. Washington.”
“Jamal.”
“Jamal.” The tone of her voice caused his eyes to fall to mouth, where her pillow soft lips waited.
“Which do you prefer, La Luvie or Carmela?”
Jamal struggled to keep his eyes on hers. He found himself distracted by the sweeping motion of her full lashes and the hint of light in the depths of her brown eyes. Eyes that reminded him of maple syrup, with specks of gold.
“With friends…”
“Oh, so I’m a friend now?” He joked.
“Not yet.” She laughed too. “I guess I prefer LaLa or La.” She shrugged pulling into a parking lot. She honked the horn.
Jamal looked around, they were in an alley. The backdoor opened and LaLa rolled down her window.
“Eh bay-bay.” A short, round woman called out.
“Hey Auntie.” Carmela called back, she opened the door and hopped out. “Whatcha got for me?”
“Uh…” she pushed a couple of white bags in Carmela’s direction. “Ya favorites, shrimp and grits.”
“Thank you Auntie.” Carmela kissed her cheek passing the bags to Jamal.
“Who dat is?” The woman peeked into the window. “Where’s Gabriel?”
“A friend, and he’s home. We gotta go. Love you Auntie.” Carmela closed the door.
“Love you too bay-bay.”
They pulled off with the smell of shrimp filling his nose. He opened the handles letting the aroma take him in. He stuck a hand inside the bag reaching for one of the containers.
Smack.
“Ouch. What was that about?” Jamal’s hand stung a little from her quick swat.
“Hold your horses, we have a few more stops.” She chuckled. “Put the bag in the back. It’ll be worth the wait.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Bet.”
Carmela drove the city pointing out landmarks—Cathedral-Basilica of St. Louis King of France, Louisiana State Museum, LaLaurie Mansion, the French Quarter. They pulled up behind four or five more building. His stomach was in knots at smelling the delicious food in the air and the sly glances she kept throwing his way.
“My stomach and my spine are having a long conversation over here.” Jamal called out over the music.
“One more stop.”
Minutes later they pulled into a paved parking lot next to a foundation. Carmela cut the engine. Jamal scanned the area.
“Grab the bags and I’ll get the blanket.” Carmela opened the door and stepped out.
Jamal had eight plastic bags from Carmela’s aunties and uncles around the city. She rounded the back of the SUV with a blanket gathered to her chest.
“Lead the way.” He said.
Carmela walked ahead and he followed appreciating the fullness of her bottom in her sweats. He tried to pull his eyes away but the energy he felt in the stadium last night resurfaced, surrounding them like the thick aroma of the food. He hadn’t been this excited to eat since he was a kid.
Carmela flicked the blanket open, stretching it out across a patch of grass. He looked up and down the street. The hurricane passed them last night, leaving a beautiful morning. The light breeze and clear sky made for perfect picnic weather.
The foundation next to them looked pretty solid, the fresh cement had no stains. The area wasn’t the best, gauging by the ruin down buildings and the homes with busted windows. He peered down the way and saw what looked to be housing projects.
Jamal would recognize the projects anywhere. He lived in and out of them for most of his life until he moved back into a group home.
“Those are the some of the toughest projects in New Orleans.”
“Where are we?”
“Third Ward.” Carmela said over her shoulder. “And this is Crescendo. Have a seat before the food gets cold. We don’t want your stomach and spine to get too acquainted.”
Jamal laughed and reached for her hand to assist her down to the blanket. The moment he touched her skin he wished he hadn’t. Her eyes shot to his, with a glint of curiosity.
“Whatup La.” A young man called from a bicycle.
“Nuthin’ much Trent. Tell Reesie ‘Hey’.” She opened the bags pulling out containers.
“Aiight.” Jamal watched until guy cycled down the street.
“Jamal?”
He glanced down loving the way she said his name. “Do you know everyone in New Orleans?”
“Nah. Everybody knows me.” Her laughter rippled through the air.
“You got it like that?” He settled down beside her, examining the food spread out on the blanket.
“I’m just kidding.” She placed food on both plates, setting back to examine her work. “I was raised here. Everybody knows everybody. It’s our way.”
“What do we have here?”
“My favorites. Fried Chicken Benedict, Boudin and Eggs, Banana Foster French Toast, and Shrimp and Grits.”
“You have a fairly healthy appetite.”
“I can’t help it. We have the best food in the world.” She reached for the plastic utensils. “Dig in.”
And Jamal did. They ate making small talk. The food was amazing.
“I appreciate breakfast. But why did you really ask me to breakfast?” He dusted the crumbs off his hands into the grass.
“I need help.” She glanced over at the foundation.
“What do you have in mind?”
She reached for her ringing phone. “Hey Nicki.” She held up a finger to give her a minute.
Jamal nodded leaning back on the blanket. He kept on ear on her conversation and the other on the street. The past hour had taught him a lot about Carmela.
Carmela Franklin was a people magnet. Someone stopped every ten to fifteen minutes to speak to her. She knew all their names. She always asked about someone else. None of them asked for autographs, which told him, they must see her often.
Second, the vibe of this woman felt nothing like the woman from the stage. She had a softer appeal, one that made him extremely curious. She laughed with ease. She joked. She made him feel comfortable.
Which brought him to his final thoughts, her humility. Last night, he lumped her into that “celebrity” category. People accustomed to others bending and folding to their requests. The constant crowd of people and staff, the makeup artist, the entourage, the bodyguards—though needed—all colored his observation. All painted his assessment as true.
But now he questioned his conclusion. Today he saw a different side of Carmela. She dropped whatever she was doing to talk with fans. She signed autographs. She took pictures. And the words from Gabriel last night came back like a distant memory. He’d said she would say until three in the morning if she had to for her fans.
All the people from the restaurants called her bay-bay, and she returned called them auntie or unc. No one asked for payment or accepted a tip. They wanted to care for her, his chest tightened at the thought.
Jamal lowered his shades over his eyes, giving him the opportunity to observe the woman in question. Because from the moment he watched that bodyguard walk out of the room last night, he felt the same. He wanted to protect Carmela. Not because she asked, but because he couldn’t stifle the simmer urge to claim a piece of her.
Another benefit of joining RSE was all of the partners looked out for the best interest of the business and the team, and he was a team player. He would always carry his weight as a partner of RSE. He wouldn’t act on his attraction to her. He had to remember this was a basic business dea to oversee.
Yeah, right. He eyes caressed her wishing for a brief moment he could do more. She stared down into his eyes, as if she could feel his touch.
There was nothing basic about Carmela Franklin, even in her black joggers she couldn’t hide her star quality, her uncommon beauty, or her love for her city and it’s people. Could she learn to feel the same about him? The thought crept in before he could stop it.
Jamal made it a point not to lie to himself. In the world of billions of people, he found his best counsel: Jamal Washington. He was the only consistent presence from the moment Jamal realized he was on his own in this world.
Counsel he trusted above everything and lying or leaning on half truths was a surefire path to destruction. Anything and anyone standing too close to that destructive path had to be gutted and removed from his life, without hesitation.
Jamal resolved that he couldn’t have Carmela Franklin. Not even a sample. He glanced at her mouth, missing the opportunity already.
He would keep his curiosity about her to himself but he would close the deal. Even if it meant getting close to Carmela and La Luvie. This was all to carve out a plan to benefit the team and Carmela.
But what about him? It wasn’t about him. This was about filling the RSE roster and building an unstoppable brand. A legacy.
Jamal focused back on her call, as she went back and forth with Nicki, in a not so hush manner. The called ended with “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“You can’t possibly eat like this everyday. I’d weigh a million pounds.” Jamal rubbed his stomach. He was stuffed.
“No, I travel too much. So, when I’m home I get all my favorites.” She leaned over him blocking the rays of the rising sun. “Nicki wanted me to tell you she knows where to find you.”
”You can tell her you delivered the message, but I’m from the D. Very little scares me.”
“Detroit? I thought you were from Houston.”
“What gave you that impression?”
She shrugged, pushing a loc behind her ear. “I just assumed, you were from Atlanta or Houston.”
“Well I’m not.” He glanced over at her. “How about we get the assumptions out on the table?”
“How do you propose we do that?”
/> “Ask. If you ever want to know anything about me, ask and I’ll answer. But I’m not fond of being lumped in with others. I work hard to be my own man.”
“Again I apologize.” Carmela looked away.
“Accepted.” Jamal sat up. “What would you like to know about me?”
“What is your role at Rockstar Entertainment?”
“I oversee all of our financial matters. But, we don’t have distinct roles. Cameron has a more fluid approach.”
“Fluid? What do you mean?” She packed up the empty containers and placed them back into the plastic bags.
“We each have an unique set of skills that we bring to the partnership. But we flow where we’re needed. We learn everything we can about the business to be vital assets to the team.”
“What are your unique set of skills?” She turned towards him with her knees drawn to her chest.
“Finance. I worked in the financial industry before joining the partnership. I help develop and grow businesses. And pretty much do the same now by managing our partnership portfolio as well as the private holdings of guys.”
“So, RSE is a partnership?”
“Yes, we’re equal partners.”
“And that’s why Cameron sent you?” Her brows bunched as if she were trying to solve a complicated math problem.
“No, I volunteered.” Her eyes met his, her stare drilling into him. “My turn.”
She hesitated, “Okay.”
“Why hip hop? Did you always want to be a rapper?”
“I didn’t choose hip hop, it chose me.” She shrugged. “I went from writing poetry to writing rhymes. But when I did my first performance I was hooked.”
“Hooked by what? The attention?”
“No, the energy.” Carmela leaned on one arm looking up at the clear blue sky. “Have you ever performed in front of a large audience?”
“No. I’d probably pass out.” He laughed.
Rockstar Savages (Forbidden Chords Book 3) Page 6