Rhythm and Blu

by Jennings, S. L.

  Riot wasn’t in his room? It certainly looked like he was in bed, dressed only in silk sleep bottoms. I can’t imagine he was playing a game of pool in the middle of the night.

  “Well, he must’ve passed by while getting a drink of water or something.”

  Kaz barks a laugh. “Not likely.”

  I heave a sigh. “What do you want me to say, Kaz? That we had a thing back in the day? Yeah. We did. But we were literally kids, and it didn’t mean anything.” Not to him, at least. “We haven’t spoken in over ten years before the day I came to his apartment to interview him. There’s nothing going on between us.”

  Kaz smirks before tearing off a piece of his croissant. “You sure he knows that?”

  I don’t have an answer to his question, not that it warrants one. Of course, Riot knows nothing is between us; he’s with Poppy. And even if he wasn’t, he a freakin’ superstar who probably could open his own Victoria’s Secret with all the panties that get thrown at him on the daily. I’m a struggling columnist with student loan debt. And I didn’t even get a chance to work on my revenge body.

  My phone is dead since I didn’t think to charge it last night, so I check the time on the microwave display.

  “Shit. It’s almost noon?”

  Kaz nods. “We all had a pretty late night. I didn’t want to wake you; you needed to rest.”

  “Thanks, but I need to get back upstairs and get to work on this story.”

  Kaz lifts a brow. “You’re still going to write it?”

  “I’m going to try. Hopefully, Riot won’t be too busy to finish the interview today. I was hoping to be gone by this evening.”

  “You’re leaving?” His tone comes out a little louder than I expect, and I flinch. Noticing, Kaz schools his features and folds his hands in front of him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just… I thought you’d be around for a little longer.”

  “I can’t,” I shake my head. “After last night, and the party and Poppy…things are getting too complicated. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sure I can get everything I need and finish the story at home.”

  “I understand. I don’t blame you.” His words are sincere, but he can’t hide his disappointment. “You know, you can always stay here if you’re uncomfortable upstairs. RB’s place can be a lot.”

  “Thanks, but I’m sure Haze has already started converting my bedroom into her walk-in closet. I better get back home and reclaim it.”

  I head upstairs and mentally prepare myself to reenter that dreaded room and be slapped in the face with the horror of last night. But to my surprise, there’s a cleaning crew in there and everything appears to be clean. No, not clean. Completely new, like nothing even happened. The carpet is pristine, the bed is neat and made, and even the lamp I threw has been replaced.

  “I made sure they got everything. I don’t even want you to get a faint whiff of that motherfucker. They’ll be done in just a few more minutes if you want to lay down. You ok?”

  I turn to face Riot, and my pressure spikes at the realization of his proximity. A half a step and we’d be chest to chest. His scent of soap and shampoo and just him wafts over me, and I hold my breath, in fear that he’ll steal it away. I should take a step back, but my legs won’t move.

  “I’m good, thanks. I just needed to get my recorder and charge my phone. You got a few minutes to sit down so I can ask you some questions?”

  “I’ve always got time for you, Rox.” He says it quietly but the earnest in his words rings crystal clear.

  “Good. I’m hoping to conclude the interview this afternoon, so I can start working on the story tonight.”

  “Sure that’ll be enough time? I’m a complex guy.” He gives me that sexy, crooked grin and I shift my eyes. Not today, Satan.

  “It’ll have to be. I need to pack so I can be out of here tonight.”

  Just like that, the shutters fall, and his smile dissipates. “Can’t. Got somewhere to be.”

  “What? But you just said…”

  He backs up then turns around, heading towards the living room. Unlucky for him, I’m right on his heels. I’m not letting this shit go.

  “Riot, two seconds ago you had time. What’s the deal?”

  “Told you. I need to be somewhere.”

  “Yeah?” I rush around him, cutting him off from taking another step towards the elevator. “Where?”

  “What?”

  “Where do you need to be?”

  Face screwed, he looks away and sucks his teeth. “Out.”

  “Out where?” I shove my fists onto my hips for effect.

  “You think I answer to you? Stop playing, girl.” He tries to brush past me, but I impede his path.

  “Nobody is playing with you, Riot. You know me. If I have to attach myself to your leg and let you drag me out of this apartment, I will. But you are not blowing me off to try to manipulate the situation. So unless you wanna to the paps why there’s a short Blasian girl glued to your body, you better explain. I didn’t come here to go to your whack ass parties and watch you and Poppy do live porn over breakfast. I came to write a story. And I’m going to get it, one way or another.”

  I honestly think he’s going to throw me out on my ass à la Jazz on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, which would be more than a little unfortunate from this high up. But instead, he smiles. Like, a legit, genuine grin with a decent amount of pearly white teeth.

  “There she is,” he whispers, looking down at me. “Ok. You wanna know where I’m going? Come on.”

  “What? I didn’t say-”

  “You’re here to immerse yourself in my life, right?”

  My bluff called, I stutter, “Um, yeah?”

  “Well, this is your chance. My final offer. You want the truth about me? Shoot your shot, Rox.”

  Shit. Not what I was going for, but I don’t have much of a choice. I don’t think he would murder me; we’ve moved past that. But I also don’t know what it would be like to go anywhere with him. He’s still a huge celebrity. And with celebrity comes thousands of screaming, adoring fans with no respect for privacy.

  “We’re wasting time. Tick-tock.”

  Well…here goes nothing. “Let me just grab my purse.” I step around him, my nerves making me feel uneasy on my feet. Before I exit the living room, I turn back around to find that he’s watching me intently. “Don’t leave. I’ll just be two seconds.”

  His smile touches his eyes, and for a moment, I’m looking into the past, seeing the cute boy next door for the very first time. And feeling the stir of butterflies fluttering against my heart.

  “I’m right here, Rox. I’m not going anywhere.”

  It’s not surprising that Riot has a fleet of luxury vehicles in the underground parking garage, but he assures me t’s for security reasons.

  “I never take the same car twice in a row. That’s a surefire way to have paparazzi up my ass.”

  He whips the gorgeous blue Audi R8 through a horde of bloodthirsty paparazzi and a cluster of fans who have been camping out on the sidewalk in hopes of catching a glimpse of Riot and onto the street. It moves so smoothly, it feels like an extension of him. Not in the overcompensating-for-a-micro-peen way. Absolutely not the case with him if memory serves. And that particular memory has continued to serve through many a late night bubble bath with the showerhead…

  “What’s going through that head of yours?”

  I choke on air and my own perverted thoughts. “Oh, uh, nothing. Just tired. Didn’t sleep that well.”

  Riot’s hands tighten over the steering wheel, and I notice that his right knuckle is still red and swollen. “Yeah. Same.”

  “Really? Poppy seemed eager to tuck you in.” Ok, that was petty, but where’s the lie?

  “Yeah,” he replies, chewing his lip. “Poppy can be…a bit much but she means well. She’s just had the privilege of not having been exposed to certain struggles.”

  “Yes,” I nod. “I’m sure it was really hard for her to be waken up in t
he middle of the night by my screaming. Do extend my condolences.”

  Riot fails at biting down on a chuckle and shakes his head. “She’s probably more pissed off that people saw her without her brows filled in.”

  “Oh, how sad for her,” I jibe. “Thoughts and prayers.”

  I notice we’re leaving the city when we merge onto the interstate to go east. For a fleeting thought, I thought we were heading towards home—towards Redmond. But now I’m not so sure.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see when we get there,” Riot answers, before turning up the volume on the sound system. The slick beats and hardcore, gritty rhymes of New Orleans rapper Manik’s battle anthem pulsate throughout the car, vibrating through the seat and up my spine.

  “Sooo…should I have packed my brass knuckles? I think I can whittle a shiv out of a makeup brush.”

  “Huh?”

  I wave a hand towards the stereo. “Don’t get me wrong—Manik is that dude. But this is some legit fight music. You know me; I’m ride or die. I just want to be prepared.”

  Riot turns down the music and shakes his head amusingly. “Did I tell you I got him on a track on the new album?”

  “No way! How did that happen?”

  “Just always wanted to work with him. Totally different from what people expect from me, but he embodied what I was feeling at the time. Question is, will fans feel that too? Or will they think it’s trash because it doesn’t sound like all my old shit? Scary as hell.”

  I nod, understanding his trepidation. “Different is good. Especially when it comes from a sincere place. Art is always its most raw and honest when you let it happen organically. And in that space between fear and triumph, the pure heart of music can be wholly felt.”

  Riot shifts his gaze to me and the corner of his mouth curls. “Damn, girl.”

  “What?”

  “I sometimes forget that you feel this shit as much as I do. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah, well don’t get used to me. I have a story to write, and you have an album to finish.”

  He glances my way for just a second before turning back toward the road to take his desired exit. “Want to hear it?”

  That perks me up. “Your new album? I heard you weren’t letting anyone hear it and only doing closed sessions.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not just anyone, Rox Lee. You’re family.”

  It’s weird to hear him hold me in a higher regard than all the people who have been in his circle since he left Washington. His Instagram is filled with pics of all his new friends and cutesy shots of him and Poppy vacationing. Parties, concert stills, courtside at NBA games, magazine shoots. And in each photo, he looks like he’s living his best life, as if nothing could be wrong in the vibrant world of Riot Blu.

  I’m not the only person missing from those pictures. There isn’t a trace of Riot’s past posted on any of his social media. It’s like his life began when he left.

  I notice we’re traveling farther and farther from the city and all signs of civilization. There’s nothing but miles of green in each direction with no indication of a destination, and very sparse traffic going either way.

  “You do know where you’re going, right?” I question, the fleeting thought of him murdering me not so far off anymore.

  “Just relax. We’ll be there soon.” He turns the music back up, but it does nothing to drown out the nagging doubt. And my dumb ass still hasn’t charged up my cell. Great. Even if I could tell someone where I’m at, I can’t even call for help.

  After a few more miles, there’s a break in the trees that gives way to a clearing. And that clearing opens to what looks to be a mirage in a vast field of greenery. Riot turns onto a road leading to a five-star resort with an assuredness that tells me he’s been here before. So no murder, but I didn’t sign up for a romantic getaway either. He’s just barely back in my good graces. That’s hardly an invitation to get back in my good panties.

  Riot parks and kills the engine, then turns to me without even the thinnest veil of shame on his face. He’s so sure of himself, he doesn’t even see anything wrong with bringing me here.

  “You’re bullshitting, right?”

  He frowns. “What?”

  “You brought me to a hotel. This is where you’ve been sneaking off to?”

  He looks towards the posh building looming before us. “It’s not a hotel.”

  “Ok… then what is this?”

  “Just come with me and you’ll see for yourself.”

  He refuses to play into my stubbornness and gets out the car, leaving me to fume alone, my arms crossed over my chest. The fuming only lasts thirty seconds, if that. It’s warm in here without the A/C on and I am curious about where Riot has been spending his time. Maybe it’s some fancy new studio experience? Or a spa? Hell, maybe he bought a place out here to escape the city?

  Only one way to find out. I swallow my pride and exit the car, taking mental notes of everything around us. To be fair, the property is gorgeous. Perfectly maintained landscape with tons of bright, happy flowers and shrubs. There’s a huge fountain with water that actually babbles, as if it was expertly designed to induce feelings of calm. I note several walking trails and what looks to be an impressive garden that takes up a good portion of the land. There doesn’t seem to be too many people in the front, but I can hear activity in the distance, most likely coming from the back.

  Riot holds out his hand and looks down at me expectantly. Any other day, I’d slap it out of my view, but for one, it’s the hand he busted against my attacker’s face. And two, there’s something so unguarded and humble about his expression, as if he’s allowing me into this rare moment of vulnerability. I don’t understand the root of it, but to deny him such a small act of kindness would be cruel.

  When I slide my palm against his and intertwine our fingers, Riot audibly releases a breath, his shoulders sagging. I let him lead to the entrance of the building, refraining from my usual snarky remarks. It’s obvious that something is bothering him and as we step into the lobby, it all makes sense.

  I think we’re at a rehabilitation facility.

  “Mr. Blufield,” the friendly woman smiles. She wears purple scrubs with yellow ducks on them, and her hair is pinned back from her round, pleasant face. “It’s so good to see you. Two days in a row?”

  Riot nods. “After how yesterday went, I felt it was best.”

  “I think you may be right. Who’s your friend?”

  He holds up our conjoined hands and turns to smile at me. No motive. No manipulation. Just a genuine show of gratitude.

  “This is Roxy. We grew up together.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. I’m glad you could make it, Roxy. You two can go right in.”

  I have so many questions, but I swallow them all. Riot is trusting me with something I can’t imagine he’s told anyone, considering he’s been disappearing during the day. I knew he had done a stint in rehab after his breakdown, but I had no clue he was seeking outpatient treatment. And after what went down last night, I can see why he felt coming in would be best.

  So many questions, so many theories, yet none of them quite make sense as we make our way down the corridor, past a large community space, and to the elevator. He fixes his gaze on the numbers that light up as we climb to the fifth floor. When the doors slide open, I find that the area is fashioned like a dorm. There’s a shared living room with luxury furnishings, a kitchen off to the side, and about a handful of doors marked with numbers and letters. Riot takes us to the one marked 5B.

  He knocks twice and turns the knob without waiting for an invitation. And when he gently pulls me across the threshold, I realize that I was wrong. So incredibly, regrettably wrong. And I let go of his hand.

  IT’S AS IF SHE DOESN’T even realize we’re here. Still, Riot crosses the room to where she sits facing the window, smooths back her blonde hair and kisses her forehead.

  “How are you feeling today, DeDe?”

&nb
sp; It takes her a few seconds, but she eventually lifts her chin and smiles. However, it’s etched in pain, birthed from a bone-deep sorrow. She tries not to show him that though; she’s always tried to shield him from her suffering, even when we all knew she was crumbling inside.

  “Better,” she answers wearily. “You didn’t have to come today. I don’t want you to trouble yourself.”

  “Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t I want to come see my number one girl? Besides, I brought a visitor.”

  “A visitor? Oh, Riot. No one wants to spend their day here, much less your friends. You should be out having fun, seeing the world. I want to hear about all your adventures.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time for that,” he counters. “Besides, this isn’t just one of my friends. This is family.”

  I notice the way her back goes rigid at his words, but she still turns in her chair, slowly, cautiously, until her bleary blue gaze falls over me.

  “Roxy? Is that…is that you?”

  I smile and take a step towards her, unsure of what I should do. However, Riot’s mother lifts her thin body from her chair and meets me halfway, arms stretched wide and face glowing with genuine happiness.

  “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Wright. How are you doing?” I say as we embrace.

  “Oh, to heck with that Mrs. Wright business. You know to call me DeDe.” She pulls away, yet keeps ahold of my forearms as she takes inventory of my frame. “Let me get a good look at you. Oh, little Roxy is all grown. You have grown up to be an absolutely gorgeous young woman.”

  “She’s always been gorgeous,” Riot interjects, sidling up next to his mom.

  Deidra Blufield Wright is on the taller side for the average woman, but she looks tiny beside Riot. She’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw her, and her skin is ashen. However, she’s still a glamazon, even though her hair has gone thin and brittle, her face is devoid of makeup, and she looks as if she’s aged twenty years instead of ten. People always said Riot was DeDe with shorter hair. Who knew the baby-faced boy would grow up to be one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive?