Grown(34)
Korey twists up his mouth with a snarl.
“Man, that show is for has-beens! D-shit celebrities. What you take me for?”
Stunned, Richie tries to smooth the waters. “Calm down, playboy. I’m just messing with you. Lighten up.”
The door to the suite opens, and in walks Derrick with two trays of Starbucks.
“What’s good, everybody! Order up! Here you go, Pops,” Derrick says, passing Richie an iced coffee. He notices me at the table and waves. “Hey, Enchanted!”
“Hi,” I say in a quiet voice, keeping my eyes down.
Korey raises an eyebrow, toggling from me to Derrick. “You two know each other?”
“Yeah! We met at your afterparty in LA,” he says, and you can almost hear the duh following it.
Richie rubs his knees, cracking a stiff smile.
“Aight, son, let’s get out of their hair. Help the team load up the gear.”
“Cool. See you later, Enchanted!”
As everyone leaves, Korey glares at me.
“Get in your room,” he growls under his breath.
I shuffle across the suite to the connecting door. Jessica’s voice eases through the thin wood on the opposite side.
“Maybe we should send Enchanted home.”
“Why?”
“Well, ’cause she’s . . . just think how it’ll look to people. Having . . . another young singer around while you are going through all this might not be the best idea.”
“Yo, why are you always trying to get rid of her? You jealous?”
“No! But consider what the lawyer said. Think of the optics. Also, I’m worried about you. Enchanted . . . she has trouble following the rules.”
“She’s not going anywhere. She’s staying here. With me.”
The thick Miami humidity creates a muzzle of sweat around my neck, holding me back from what I want most. To jump, to fly, to glide . . . right into the ocean. The yearning is physically painful, like holding in a sneeze.
I sit outside on the balcony, and can’t remember the last time I sat so close to the ocean.
Or maybe I can. Maybe it was that time on the boardwalk, right before climbing into the back seat of Dad’s truck as we drove away from Grandma’s house. I clung to the memory like a lifeline, the last ounce of hope that Mom would change her mind about moving to the suburbs. That maybe they would see we weren’t meant to live in the shadow of some damp woods. We were made to live by the sea, in the sun.
“You ain’t leaving,” Grandma said from her recliner, shaking her head even as the last boxes were carried out.
“I am, Ma,” Mom barked.
“You take them, you’re gonna be sorry! You can count on that!”
Their voices clapped like seashells, and Mom vowed to never come back. You can try all you want to control the wild sea, but in the end, it’ll always do what it wants. And Mom was done with Grandma’s stubborn irrationality for good.
So here I am again, sitting by the beach hoping that someone’s claim is a lie.
The sliding glass door opens behind me and I catch a whiff of his cologne. He plops next to me, bottle in hand, and I can’t hold the question in any longer.
“Did you really work with that girl?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why all these secrets? Thought you said we didn’t have secrets?”
He sighs. “I didn’t want to tell you this ’cause I didn’t want you blaming yourself or nothing.”
“Huh? Why would I blame myself?”
“She’s . . . jealous. She’s seen us perform, knows we’re gearing up to do an album . . . but she wasn’t as talented as you. I could only help her so much. That’s why she’s jealous. Of you, of what we have. So she’s hurting me, to hurt you.”
This is all because of me? It doesn’t make sense.
“Were you two . . . together? Like us?”
“No! No, of course not. We . . . we’re different.”
He must read the skepticism on my face.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
I want to believe him. My heart longs to believe him . . . but then I think of the ice bucket and my emotions lock down. Wish I could just wish the thoughts away.
“I know I’ve . . . made some mistakes. But love ain’t no fairy tale, ain’t no Disney movie. Love . . . REAL love . . . is complicated. It’s hard. It’s gonna hurt some days. Then some days it’s not.”
His face cracks, and he breaks down crying, falling to his knees as he sobs.
“I don’t know why they coming for me like this! After all I’ve done! I’m a good man! Take care of my fans, give to the poor . . . what more do they want from me?”
I’ve never seen a man cry. Never seen someone so broken. It’s a strange, unbalanced puzzle. I hold my chair arms, glancing at the ocean just to anchor myself.
“If they ever arrest me . . . I can’t go to prison. It’d kill me. Just kill me. I’ll kill myself!”
He clambers around me, wiping his wet face on my stomach.
“You’re all I have, Bright Eyes. It’ll just be me and you. I swear, we’ll record your album and then maybe . . . maybe we can go somewhere. Live by the beach. Watch Disney movies, eat popcorn, and make music. That’s all I want. OK? Is that OK?”