Sing Your Pleasure
- -
- 100%
- +
She’d never been skinny like Candis, or even petite and curvy like Rachel. That wasn’t who God had meant for her to be, she accepted that. Still, some days she actually did plead with the man upstairs to just reduce her waistline by about five inches, shave off some of her thighs so she could fit in a size fourteen without busting the inner seams. As it stood, today, taking her daily supplements of Levoxyl to help increase the levels of thyroid hormones her body produced, she wore a size sixteen comfortably. And barring any flare-ups she held steady at that size.
So she hadn’t pursued a singing career, hadn’t wanted people staring and gawking at her, possibly talking about her. Teaching was an ideal job because she got the chance to do what she loved and still keep a low profile. However, Rachel and Sofia had convinced her that this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, and a small part of her knew they were right. With all her reservations, Charlene knew the smart decision was to at least give it a try. Not every singer received this chance: she’d be awfully ungrateful if she turned it down.
And now here she was, in Miami, standing in the home studio of the famous Akil Hutton wanting nothing more than to either walk out on his rude behind or sink into the floor where he couldn’t notice her—both options held equal appeal at the moment.
Instead, she steeled herself, took a deep breath and pressed on. “We didn’t get a chance to talk a lot about the project in L.A. I’m wondering what type of CD you have in mind.”
Akil didn’t even look up at her as he flicked his hand in her direction and said impatiently, “We’ll get to that later. Just take the songs with you, have Nannette show you to your room and get changed for dinner.”
She’d been dismissed, she was absolutely certain of that fact, and yet she still stood there. Just looking at him.
He wasn’t bad on the eyes, that was also a fact. Smooth tree bark–toned skin, close-cut dark hair and clean-shaven face. He wore slacks and a long-sleeved shirt that melded around taut bicep muscles and, from what she could see, a trim stomach. His hands, she noticed as he continued to work the controls on the board, were medium-size, with long fingers, like a piano player’s. He wore a gold watch but other than that no jewelry, which was outside the norm since most producers were just as jeweled-down as their artists these days.
“Is there something else?” he asked, yanking her out of her “he’s damned good-looking” reverie.
“No,” she said in a clipped tone. “There’s nothing else. See you at dinner.”
And with that she did finally turn, thanking her feet for getting the message, and stalked out of the room.
If this was any indication of how their time working together was going to be, Charlene feared this CD would never see the light of day.
The house was gorgeous, there was absolutely no doubt about that. On the ride in the limo from the airport Charlene had already assumed it would be. They’d only driven on the highway for about forty-five minutes before turning off on a road that seemed to be paved right through a forest. The stately mansion was all white with black bases around each window and a brick-colored shingled roof. It sat nestled between a scenic backdrop of even more trees. It was big and palatial, definitely a home for the enigmatic Akil Hutton.
Nervousness had swamped her as she’d stepped out of the car. The chauffeur, who’d told her at the airport his name was Cliff, had moved quickly to the trunk, unloading the two suitcases she’d brought along with her.
Now, two hours later, in the room Nannette—the pretty Latina housekeeper—had directed her to, she was standing at the window wondering what on earth she was doing. This room faced the back of the house so she had a view of the tennis courts and the corner of the pool where river rocks were piled into a small fountain.
She wasn’t overwhelmed by the space. Her family home in L.A. was just about the size of this one and the homes of some of the people her family had associated with were even bigger. So it wasn’t her surroundings that made her nervous. She attributed that to the man who could make or break her newfound singing career with the snap of a finger.
The low chime of her cell phone disturbed her thoughts and she moved from the window, where she’d probably been standing too long anyway, to get her purse.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Char, thanks for calling to let me know you got to Miami safely.”
Sitting on the bed, Charlene used one hand to smooth down the smoke-gray skirt she planned on wearing to dinner while holding the phone in the other. “Hi, Candis. Sorry, I was sort of caught up the minute I got here.”
“Really?” her older sister, with the sense of humor that skipped Charlene upon her birth, chuckled. “Caught up in what? In the arms of that fine ass Akil Hutton? I still can’t believe he’s going to produce your CD. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
Charlene didn’t even need to close her eyes to see his face again. With a little moan she said, “Girl, please. Akil Hutton isn’t concerned about anything but work. Which is just fine with me because I’d just as soon get this over with.”
“Get it over with? You don’t sound like you’re too happy about this opportunity. Which is plain crazy since you’ve been singing since Mama had you.”
“I know, but I was happy teaching.”
“No. You’re happy singing.”
Charlene really couldn’t argue with that statement.
“But I was okay just doing it in the classroom. I don’t know about performing in front of people, Candis. What will they think of me? What if they don’t like my music?”
“And what if the world were struck by a nuclear bomb tomorrow? What if after I flew all the way to Paris for a photo shoot I woke up the next day with a zit the size of Texas on my forehead? What if? What if?” She sighed. “Char, you can’t live your life wondering ‘what if.’ You’ve got a God-given gift, it’s only right that you use it and share it with the world.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Just stop worrying for a minute and go with the flow. Obviously the record execs thought enough of you to sign you to a contract and hook you up with Akil. They don’t do that for just anybody.”
Charlene nodded: Candis was right. The thing was, it wasn’t only about talent. There were lots of talented singers out there; take the ones seen on that reality show American Idol. Many of the most talented singers on that show were kicked out before the final rounds. And one of the most consistent things the judges on that show—most of whom were record industry professionals in their own right—said was that it wasn’t just about the voice, it was about the total package. A package Charlene wasn’t so sure she had.
“I know they don’t. And I’m not ungrateful for the opportunity. I’m just not a hundred percent sure about it all.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not the one who has to be sure. The record execs think you’re good and want to put your CD out, Akil has to think you’re worth his time. So you just open your mouth and sing.”
Leave it to Candis to be candid and honest with her, almost to the point of hurting her feelings. But if there was one thing Charlene knew it was that her sister had her back. When the girls in the neighborhood—the skinny, pretty ones who came to the house to hang out with Candis—made fun of the chubby younger sister with fat, too-thick braids, Candis had rounded them all up and kicked them out. She was fiercely protective of Charlene, even though Charlene had spent most of her teenage years both envying and hating her older sister.
“You’re right,” she said finally, smiling because she knew on the other end of the phone Candis was probably doing the same. “I’ll just do what I know how to do and pray that what’s meant will be.”
“What’s meant is already happening,” Candis said. “Now you get to work. I’ve got me a hot date tonight that I need to go and get ready for.”
Her words reminded Charlene that Candis was on the other side of the world in Paris. “I’m sorry you’re up so late checking on me. I know how you enjoy your sleep.”
Candis chuckled. “You’ve got that right. But I had to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine. Go ahead and get your beauty rest.”
“If you didn’t think to call me I know you haven’t called Mama or Daddy. Give them a call when you get a minute just so they won’t worry.”
“I’m not you. They won’t bother to worry.”
“That’s not true. You’re their daughter just the same.”
Not wanting to go into this years-old battle, Charlene cut it short. “Okay, I’ll call them when I get back from dinner. You go back to sleep.”
“All right. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, too, big sis.”
Clicking off the phone, Charlene knew she did love her big sister. For all that seemed different between them they were connected by a sisterly bond. As for her parents, well, that was another story entirely. But, as promised, she would call them later. After all, she was the responsible and mature sister, the one always expected to do the right thing.
She only prayed the right thing was going to dinner with Akil and the rest of the team when what she really wanted to do was teach the superproducer a thing or two about basic hospitality.
Chapter Three
Shula’s Steak House wasn’t exactly what Charlene had envisioned for a dinner to meet the team that would work on her CD. Something a little fancier had been her thought. But this was just as well. The dark wood floors and contemporary dining room she’d been escorted to made her feel a lot more comfortable than a dimly lit place with candles and lots of clinking crystal would have.
Not that Shula’s was slacking any, no, not at all. Located in the Miami Lakes district it had topped the list on the Miami Herald’s Best of South Florida, easily defeating the trendy Prime 112 and Manny’s Steakhouse. All places Charlene had been to in her trips to Florida and a ranking she happened to agree with.
Another surprise to her was that Akil had driven his own car to the restaurant, arriving just a few minutes after her with a tall, slim lady by his side. His bodyguards, two tall, beefy men she’d seen at the house when she was leaving, walked in looking all around the room right behind him. While her reaction to the fact that there was a gorgeous woman with Akil shouldn’t have been mentionable, the momentary envy toward the woman for her small waist and long legs gave her a jolt. This wasn’t new, she reminded herself. The supermodel look was more than popular where she came from and even more so in the music industry. And this woman fit the bill.
She had to be close to six feet with Akil only surpassing her height by about three or four inches. The dress she wore—or more aptly the swatch of material that covered her small, pert breasts and hugged every other inch of her from her shoulders to the upper part of her thighs, was fire-engine red and whispered sex with every step she took. Her skin was fair and coupled with her long dark hair gave her an exotic look.
Self-consciously Charlene brushed her hand over much heavier breasts and down past her thicker waist and meatier thighs. Taking slow, deep breaths, she tried not to acknowledge how much of a cliché this woman really was. She was exactly the type you’d expect to see on the arms of an NBA or NFL player, a rapper or, yes, even a superproducer like Akil.
She was so absorbed in the couple walking toward the table in the private dining room she hadn’t even heard the door behind her open and close or the people who had obviously entered approach.
“Hi, Charlene. It’s great seeing you again.”
She turned at the touch of his hand on her shoulder and stared up happily into the smiling face of Jason Burton, the A&R rep who had first heard her sing in the karaoke bar.
“Hi, Jason. I’m glad to see you,” she said with more enthusiasm than she probably should have. But it was true, she was glad to see him. Glad and hopeful that he’d be a buffer between her and Akil and his arm candy.
“Ace, my man. You made it,” Jason said, standing and gripping Akil’s hand in a shake.
He hadn’t changed much from when she’d seen him earlier this afternoon. Well, his clothes were different. He now wore black pleated slacks and a matching jacket. The gray silk shirt that molded against his muscled chest and abs almost matched the color of her skirt. He looked cool and comfortable, yet still powerful and important. Something about the air around him, the ambience of control, made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.
After the handshake Akil reached for his date, pushing her closer to the chair where Charlene sat as if to tell her to sit there so he didn’t have to. On the inside Charlene bristled but on the outside she found the strength to smile. “Good evening, Akil.”
“Charlene,” he said curtly, with a simple nod. “This is Serene Kravitz, head of Artist Development. Serene, meet Playascape’s newest R&B artist, Charlene Quinn.”
Reaching her hand up and shaking the other woman’s wasn’t as hard as Charlene thought it would be. Once she got over the fact that the other woman seemed to be drinking in the sight of her much like a lion would its next meal.
“Nice to meet you,” Charlene said with a polite smile.
“Likewise,” was Serene’s response before she dropped Charlene’s hand and walked around to the back of her, then to the front again. “Okay, I see what you mean, Akil. We do have our work cut out for us.”
What was she talking about? The calm that Charlene had fought to obtain was quickly slipping.
“Yeah,” Akil said, clearing his throat. “Let’s take our seats, then we can get started.”
Serene sat to one side of Charlene while Jason sat on the other. Akil sat directly across from her. They were in a private dining room so there was no one around them besides the waiters who had come out to fill their water glasses and set up buckets of ice with bottles of champagne sticking out of them.
“Where’s Five and Seth?” Jason asked.
Akil shook his head, picked up a napkin and sat it in his lap. “I told them we’d see them in the morning. We don’t want to overwhelm her tonight.”
“But I wanted Seth to see her and maybe get an idea of her range tonight.” Jason looked as perplexed as Charlene felt.
“Her voice is all right. I don’t think we have to work much in that area.”
Akil looked at her then, his dark eyes piercing as they found hers and held. Charlene wanted to squirm under his scrutiny, felt like slipping right out of that chair and running from that room. What was it about his glare, the intense edge to his looks, that stirred her?
“It’s the other that we need to work on right away.”
His words were like icicles scraping over her skin. “The other?” she asked before she could think of whether or not it was wise.
“Image and presentation, dear,” Serene said, extending a long, diamond-clad hand to pat Charlene’s. “That’s what I do. My job is to plan your career, spearhead promotion and publicity. I create the best image for Playascape’s artists and present them to the world long before the CD even hits the shelves, unlike other record labels that have downsized Artist Development to Product Development, which promotes artists heavily in the beginning of their career then stops abruptly. At Playascape we’re more interested in the long-term planning.”
So she wasn’t his woman. Charlene could breathe a sigh of relief on that one. This little aspect of the business that she’d explained was new to Charlene. While she knew the ins and outs of singing and a little about recording, the workings of the back end of the music industry wasn’t her forte. So Serene was like a publicist and stylist all rolled into one? Charlene had a feeling she wasn’t going to like her.
“We’re doing that now?” Jason asked.
“I think that’s the priority,” Akil responded tightly.
“The priority’s always been the music.”
“You know we work with the complete package at Playascape. And we don’t take any shortcuts.”
Suddenly she could see exactly what Akil meant. The “big picture” was her. Her appearance, to be specific. He didn’t seem worried about her voice because he’d already heard that, no doubt. What he was worried about was her look. Did she look like the singing stars hogging the charts these days? To that the answer was a resounding no.
Glancing down at her gray pencil skirt and white blouse, cinched at the waist with a thick black patent leather belt, she didn’t see Beyoncé’s tightly honed curves and blatant sex appeal. Lifting a hand to her thick hair lying on her shoulders in heavy curls didn’t bring to mind the short, sexy cuts of Rihanna or Keri Hilson. She just wasn’t in the same class as those acts. But she could sing. That was not a question.
“I see what he’s saying, Jason. We have to make sure every aspect of this CD is top-notch. Not just the vocals but everything that comes before and after the listener hears the music. Is that right, Akil?”
His gut clenched the moment he heard his name on her lips. She was looking right at him, one smoothly arched brow lifting over her hazel eyes.
He’d been trying to keep his composure. And to do that he found he needed to look at her directly as infrequently as possible. From her picture he’d thought she was pretty. Earlier today in the studio he’d felt a powerful thrust of lust at being so close to her voluptuous frame. Now, tonight, when he was supposed to be on his A game as her producer, he found it almost impossible to avoid the subtle hints of sexuality pouring from her.
Did she know what she was doing to him? Did she have any idea how the moment she’d touched her hand to her chest, smoothed down her clothes to her thighs, he’d wanted to clear the room of everybody but the two of them? When her fingers had grazed her hair he’d sighed inwardly, wondering how the soft strands would feel between his fingers. And her scent, it wafted through the air covering even the mouthwatering aroma of perfectly seasoned and cooked steaks throughout the restaurant.
No, he answered himself as he found the courage to look into her eyes once more. She didn’t know. Had no idea how she was turning him on. He’d know if she did because there’d be some semblance of triumph that she was getting to him. Akil had seen it a million times with groupies and other industry females. Charlene didn’t have that, the look of a hunter, he’d called it. And that angered him just a little more because that meant she didn’t easily fit into any mold.
“That’s correct. Listeners today are much more interested in the personal lives and the looks of an artist than they’ve ever been before. Twenty years ago the R&B reins were held by such heavy hitters as Whitney Houston and Anita Baker, where voices carried you to another plateau. Today’s listeners are much more materialistic. Everybody wants the bling, the high life, but most can only get it living vicariously through entertainers,” Akil affirmed.
“That’s why Beyoncé’s bootylicious persona sells records,” Charlene added.
“And once we get you into shape, yours will, too,” Serene said with a smile. “I think I’ll have Carlo come down for a look-see, Akil. You know he can work wonders with anybody. She may have to go to the spa for a week or so. I’d like to introduce her to the public at the Vibe Awards in two months.”
“No!” Akil said so loudly Charlene jumped.
“Man, what’s up with you tonight?” Jason asked. “First you say appearance is priority now you’re axing Serene’s plan.”
He shook his head, unable to keep his thoughts straight. But he knew what Serene was saying, knew what she was thinking as far as Charlene went, and had to put a stop to it. Sure, he’d thought the same thing initially, but that was before Charlene had arrived in Miami. Before she’d stood close enough for him to smell her or looked so enticing he could imagine tasting her.
“That’s not what I have in mind,” he said finally, motioning for the waiter to come over and open the bottle of champagne. “I want her polished and ready to go at Vibe.” He took a sip of his bubbly and managed to look at Charlene again. He’d thought about her all afternoon but wasn’t entirely sure of this new direction until this very moment. “But I don’t want her dieting down to a size two. I think the best way to present her is to be different. To take R&B back to its roots.”
To his surprise, Charlene lifted her glass to the waiter, watched as the chilled liquid filled to the top then licked her lips before taking a sip. “You mean you’re going to let me sing like Tina Turner and Gladys Knight did and not worry about the highly commercialized packages gracing the airwaves today?”
Akil nodded, inwardly applauding her intelligence. He had a feeling that there was much more to Charlene Quinn then he’d originally thought.
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Chapter Four
Music soothed his soul. Always had and Akil suspected always would.
Sitting back in the chair, pushing the springs as far as they would go, he folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. He was in his Miami home, past the personal rooms to the back where his studio was located. In the background a slow beat played. The piano solo was coming up in a few minutes, after the tight strain of violin notes. It was a riveting beat, an emotional ballad that he’d composed but had yet to find the words to accompany.
Be better than me, Akil. Promise me you’ll be better.
The familiar words echoed in his mind. That’s where they lived now, twelve years later. They were a whisper on swollen and ashen lips, a plea from the one person he’d loved the most at the time.
He’d made the promise. And he’d kept it. He was better than her. His life, because of hers, had gone down a similar path with an entirely different mind-set, one that brought him fame and fortune, everything he’d ever wished for.
But also one that had cost him much.
It was times like these, times when it was quiet except for the music of his heart, that he thought of his past, of the life he had left behind.
Of the one person he’d wanted so desperately to help but who was completely unreachable to him.
“Akil.”
At the sound of his name he was jolted out of the past.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Charlene was saying, already backing out of the room.
“No,” he said, halting her instantly with the single word. “It’s okay. Stay.”
She’d changed into lounge pants and a T-shirt that brushed just above her knees. On her feet she wore slippers and on her face a look of confusion that scraped over his already tense nerves. How did she do that? How did she look so naive and so innocent one minute, then open her mouth to talk and sound older and much wiser than he could ever be the next?
“I went to the kitchen for some water and heard the music.”
“I’m sorry. I should have closed the outer doors to block out the sound. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She was shaking her head, the long hair she’d pulled up into a ponytail swaying behind her.
“You didn’t wake me. I can never sleep the first night I’m away from home.” She was shrugging the words off as if she were embarrassed by them. “This is nice. Did you write it?” she asked about the music.
He nodded.
“What’s it called?”
“Nothing right now. The music was in my head one day so I composed it. But I haven’t come up with the words or theme for it yet.”
It was her turn to nod as if she understood exactly what he was saying. “It’s kind of sad,” she commented.
Pushing the button, he looped the song, let the slow, heated beginning start.
“Kind of.”
They remained quiet, letting the music move around them.
“But kind of inspiring, encouraging.”
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “She’s growing. Learning.”
“She?”
“I always call songs ‘she.’ Females have a lot more emotion, empathy, compassion, triumph, in their souls than men.”