The Choir Director 2 (8 page)

Despite the fact that the bishop had spoken to Aaron and gotten him to go back to work, he was still moody as hell. Yes, he'd stopped his hard partying, but he still didn't seem like himself. He was distracted most of the time, and “sullen” and “brooding” had become the best words to describe my once outgoing friend. He'd gone from the good guy on the straight and narrow to Mr. I-Don't-Give-a-Fuck in no time flat, and it had me truly worried. Not just for him personally, but for his career. It was the reason I'd arranged for us to meet with Jackson Young. I hoped that a meeting about his career would remind Aaron how much he had to lose if he didn't shape up soon.

I was relieved when I saw Pippie's car pull into the parking lot and Aaron climbed out of the passenger side. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to agree to the meeting, and until now, I'd had my doubts about whether he'd actually show up.

“Hey, man, thanks for coming.” I attempted a brotherly hug, but he left me hanging.

“Fifteen minutes and I'm out of here,” Aaron replied.

“What's up?” Pippie fist-pounded me in greeting. He rolled his eyes in Aaron's direction, letting me know he'd put up with the same kind of attitude on the drive over here.

“Aaron, this is a really important meeting. This man could take your career to the next level. I think we owe him more than fifteen minutes.”

“Right now, Ross, I've got a lot on my mind and very little patience. You're supposed to be my manager, so manage. I trust you,” Aaron said as we stepped inside the Red River Restaurant. Jackson had picked a high-end establishment for our meeting. Either he had money to burn, or he was really trying to impress Aaron, I thought, as the maître d' led us to the best table in the house.

Jackson stood up and reached out to shake Aaron's hand. “Mr. Mackie, it's good to see you again. Please, have a seat.”

Once we were all at the table, Jackson got right down to business. “So, can I get you gentlemen anything? Drinks? Food? An agent?” he joked.

“Water is fine,” Aaron responded without any hint of humor in his voice.

“Heineken,” Pippie said.

“I'm good,” I said from my seat between Aaron and Jackson. Jackson made it apparent that as far as he was concerned, what I wanted didn't really matter anyway.

“Aaron, I'm going to cut to the chase. I think you are being poorly managed,” Jackson said, as if I weren't even there. “I've looked into how things are being handled for you, and I have to say, not only am I unimpressed, I'm disappointed.”

“Excuse me? What the hell did you just say?” I said, leaning close and glowering at him. It was a good thing we were in such a fancy restaurant, because I was about two seconds from putting my foot in his ass. Who the hell did he think I was, some punk who would sit on the sidelines while he ripped apart the hard work I'd put in for my friend and client? I may have been dressed in a suit, but I was more than capable of getting hood if need be.

“Ross, no.” Pippie shot me a look warning me to keep it calm. It wasn't really necessary, though, because I looked at Aaron and realized he was barely paying attention to Jackson. Aaron's mind was somewhere else, so there was no reason for me to let this jackass get me all riled up.

Jackson gave me a smug look and a fake apology. “Hey, I'm not trying to offend anyone. I'm just speaking the truth. Aaron, I know that you have a good career in gospel, but frankly, you have an R&B voice.”

Aaron didn't answer. He looked at his watch, probably checking to see if his fifteen minutes were up yet.

“He wants to be a gospel singer and a choir director,” I answered for Aaron. “This is what God put him on earth to do.”

“Is that right?” Jackson asked Aaron directly.

Aaron finally spoke. “It's true. I've always loved singing in the church and giving back to God, who has given me so much,” he responded, with the stock answer that he usually gave for radio interviews. He was clearly not trying to be here longer than his promised time.

“All this talk about God. What did God do for you on your wedding day?” Jackson asked boldly. This guy had a lot of balls bringing up the worst day of Aaron's life as part of his sales pitch. “I can make you rich,” he said. “I'm talking about the kind of money where you can buy your mother a house and let her retire so that she never has to work again. Send her on cruises around the world. I'm talking real money. That's the kind of rich I can make you.”

He waved a dismissive hand in my direction. “See, unlike your current situation, where you are regrettably being mishandled, I will look out for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Whether or not Aaron was paying attention, I had to stop this guy from running his mouth.

“Are you the manager of Aaron Mackie, or Aaron Mackie and the First Jamaica Ministries choir?” he challenged.

“What the f—” I stopped myself from cursing as a waitress approached the table. Jackson shot her a look. She got the hint and backed away without asking for our orders.

“Can you really look out for both Aaron
and
the church choir? And honestly, tell us, how many pieces are being cut from his pie? And once that pie is cut, how many pieces go directly into your pocket?”

“You gotta be kidding me with this bullshit. I'm a good manager,” I said, feeling more defensive by the minute. All the while, Aaron's eyes wandered around the restaurant like he was totally bored by the whole conversation.

“So you say?” Jackson pushed on. “Let's be honest. Who do you work for? Bishop TK Wilson signs your check, doesn't he?”

“This isn't about the church.”

“Exactly my point. You work for the church, so who is working for Aaron?” He turned to Aaron and said, “I'm not just an agent. I will make sure your every need is met. I look out for clients, because when they're happy, I'm happy. That's how this works.”

I pounded my fist on the table. “You saying I don't look out for Aaron? Man, you have no idea what the hell you're talking about.” I was so close to going upside the dude's head, but he didn't know it, because he didn't even look in my direction.

“Be honest with me, Aaron. You love singing gospel, but haven't you ever thought about being a pop star? You have the voice for it.” Aaron didn't answer, but the look in his eyes said enough to let Jackson know he had his attention. “I work with people like Clive Davis, Quincy Jones, Jay-Z. I put someone with your talent with the right people and you become an overnight sensation. Has anyone even offered you the opportunity to work with people like that?”

Aaron looked at me, and for a second I thought he was going to ask me why he'd ever let me manage him. Instead, he said, “Mr. Young, I'm late for a meeting with Bishop Wilson. I trust Ross to handle my business, so you two can stay and continue this conversation without me.” With that, he stood up, shook Jackson's hand, and said, “Pippie, let's go. I don't want to be late.”

Not even loudmouth Jackson had time to protest before Aaron was out of there.

Jackson and I sat eyeing each other for a minute like two warriors about to do battle. I imagined myself reaching across the table and wrapping my hands around his neck.

“What the fuck was that about?” I hissed, leaning toward him. “You're trying to steal my client, who also happens to be my best friend? What kind of snake are you?”

Jackson smirked. “If he's your best friend, then you better make sure you sign with me, or you're gonna lose him.”

If I hadn't realized it that day in the bishop's office, I sure as hell did now: This guy was beyond arrogant. The fact that he would come for another person's client in front of their face told me he was either stupid or dangerous.

“Aaron's not leaving me. Like I said, we're tight, and our business relationship works.”

“This ain't called show
friendship
. It's called show
business
.” He pulled out a legal pad, ripped off the first page, and handed it to me. “That's a list of things I'm going to need you to get Aaron to agree to if you still want to be his manager. You've got forty-eight hours to get him to sign off on it.”

“And if I don't?”

He laughed. “If you don't, then I'll walk into First Jamaica Ministries with Clive Davis, and when we walk out, I can promise Aaron will be with us, and you'll be out of a job.”

“I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm gonna do whatever is best for my client, so don't threaten me.”

“For the record, I'm Jackson Young, superagent to the stars, and I don't make threats. Consider it a promise.”

I picked up the paper and turned to leave, almost crashing right into Monique Wilson as she approached the table.

“First Lady?” I didn't disguise the surprise in my voice.

“Ross,” she said, sounding like she was less than happy to have run into me. “I didn't know that you were going to be here.”

“I was just leaving,” I said, looking with disgust at Jackson. Once again he ignored me as he turned on the charm for the first lady.

“Monique, I was just finishing up this meeting. I ordered us a very expensive bottle of champagne.”

She looked at me and quickly tried to explain. “I'm meeting Jackson to talk about my acting career. As you know he's a—” I raised my hands, stopping her mid-sentence. It was information I neither needed nor believed.

“None of my business, First Lady. None of my business,” I said before getting the hell out of there.

“How do you like the champagne, Monique?” Jackson's voice snapped me out of my worried daze. From the moment I'd arrived at the restaurant, I was distracted with thoughts of Ross and what he might have done after he left the restaurant. Lord knows, I wanted to trust his “none of my business” comment, but the way things had been going in my life lately, I couldn't be sure this meeting would remain secret. For all I knew, Ross had already told Pippie, and who knows where the news would go after that? God forbid TK discovered my whereabouts.

I hated the idea of being untruthful to TK, but his jealousy was making him entirely unreasonable. If Jackson had been a woman, TK wouldn't have had a problem with this meeting or with me taking up an acting career. I couldn't let that stop me from agreeing to meet Jackson when he called, though, because if I hadn't taken this meeting, I would have spent my life wondering, “What if?”

“I'm sorry. Did you say something?” I looked up to see Jackson gazing at me across the table, and it gave me a jolt. Even if this visit was strictly business, I had to admit he was a handsome man.

“You seem a little distracted. Is everything okay?” he asked.

I sighed and answered honestly, “I didn't tell my husband about this meeting. I'm afraid Ross will.”

“I wouldn't worry about Ross Parker right now. He's got plenty of other things on his mind,” he said with a smirk. “So, back to my question: How's your champagne?”

I glanced down at the nearly empty glass I was holding. “I like it. I'm sensing a mixture of a few things,” I said as I finished off the last of the champagne.

He gave me an appreciative nod. “You're very perceptive. It's nice to meet a woman with a sophisticated palate.”

“So what exactly is it called?”

“Armand de Brignac Ace of Spades rosé. Jay-Z made it famous when he featured it in his video ‘Show Me What You Got.'”

“Well,” I said with a smile, “I can't say I watch too many Jay-Z videos, but I know when I like something, and this is some of the best champagne I've ever tasted.”

“I'll have a case sent over to your house,” he said nonchalantly.

“A case? This must be a two-hundred-fifty-dollar bottle of champagne.”

“Four fifty, to be exact, but when you're talking about good champagne like this, who's thinking about price?”

“My husband.” I chuckled. “I don't think he'd approve of me spending that kind of money on champagne.”

“Who said anything about you paying for it? I'm making it a gift. I like giving gifts.” He poured me another glass then sat back and watched me take a sip. Something in his eyes made me feel like it was best to take the conversation back in the direction of business.

“So, Mr. Young, why exactly am I here?” I asked.

“You're here because we both know you have what it takes to become famous. We could be a formidable team. I can make you a star. The real question is: Are you going to let your husband stop us?”

“What makes you think he would do that?” I asked, though we both knew the answer.

Jackson didn't bother to entertain me with an answer to my question. “This is not a business for the faint of heart. It takes time, dedication, and a great work ethic,” he said. “But it's a great opportunity for you, Monique. What neither of us can afford is your husband running around all half-cocked, having tantrums because you're not around to make him eggs in the morning.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, challenging me with, “So, if you can't control him, we might as well end this meeting and forget the whole thing now.”

“Mr. Young,” I started, but he raised his hand to stop me.

“Please, call me Jackson.”

“Okay, Jackson. You don't have to worry about my husband. I'll take care of him,” I said. Jackson looked satisfied with that; I, on the other hand, wasn't even sure I could do that. Given his feelings about Jackson Young, getting TK on board might prove to be impossible.

“I can't wait to get those beautiful eyes of yours in front of the camera,” Jackson said.

I couldn't help blushing.

“You really believe it's possible?” I hated to sound insecure, but this was new territory for me, and as exciting as it was, it also felt scary.

“Give me six months,” he said with confidence. “Now, we're going to have to get you acting lessons, but that's just standard. Don't worry; I know a great coach. He's worked with Angela Bassett, Goldie Hawn, and Madonna, although he insists she wouldn't take any of his direction.”

“Really?” This went beyond even my biggest dreams.

Jackson leaned in closer and spoke dramatically. “I'll tell you a secret. A friend of mine is doing his next film based on a book I'm sure you've read. Can't tell you the title, but you would be perfect for one of the leads. It's about a group of four best friends. Blows
Waiting to Exhale
away. You'll wind up on the cover of
Essence
magazine for sure.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed with excitement.

“I believe in celebrating a sure thing.” Jackson lifted the bottle and poured me another glass of champagne. He raised his glass and waited until I picked up mine. “Here's to the beginning of a great career.”

I couldn't stop grinning as we drank to my success. I had heard that both Morgan Freeman's and Samuel L. Jackson's careers didn't take off until after they were forty, so why couldn't it happen for me?

As we finished off the bottle of champagne, Jackson gave me the inside scoop on the business and how he saw it working for me. I loved hearing all the plans he already had for my career.

“You're going to be the next Angela Bassett,” he raved as he ordered a second bottle.

I didn't know how TK would react once I shared Jackson's vision for my career, but at that moment, fueled with alcohol and visions of my new life dancing in my head, I didn't even care. When the time was right, I would set TK straight about his opinion of Jackson. TK had been totally wrong about him. Jackson had remained a complete gentleman during this meeting. Not once had he made a suggestive or disrespectful comment. In fact, I was starting to feel a little insulted that he hadn't. I mean, a woman like me does like her compliments, you know. Why else would God have given me a figure like this? But all Jackson did was keep pouring me glasses of that fabulous champagne as he plotted a course for my future.

“I'm so excited to begin,” I gushed. “Just let me know what I have to do.”

“Hell, why not just jump right in?” he said, then sat back and waited for my response.

“You mean now?” I asked, glancing at my watch. I was surprised to see I'd already been with him for two hours.

“Nah, never mind,” he said when he caught me checking the time. “We'll just wait until next week and then set you up with an acting coach.”

“No, wait. We
can
start right now,” I blurted out, wanting him to understand that I wasn't taking this opportunity lightly.

He didn't answer right away. It was obvious he was toying with me a little as he sat back and let me squirm for a minute. Jackson was obviously very good at what he did. He gave off an air that wasn't totally unfamiliar to me. Some people might call it arrogance, but to me it was an aura of confidence that transcended looks or money. It was the swagger of influence, and the mark of a very powerful man. To a woman who understood it, it could be intoxicating. My husband had it to an extent, but not quite like Jackson, whose aura was on steroids. One thing was for sure: It could get a woman into a lot of trouble if she wasn't careful.

When he finally spoke, he said, “John Legend is a client at the agency, and tonight he's gonna do a surprise late-night show. He's performing his new material at a small venue in the Village. I'd love for you to be my guest.”

“John Legend? He's my favorite. He's so smooth.” For a hot second I was envisioning myself in the club listening to John Legend croon, but then reality hit in the form of my husband. A brief afternoon meeting was one thing, but how would I explain being out late at night?

“I can't go,” I admitted, feeling annoyed with TK and then ashamed for feeling that way.

“That's a shame,” Jackson said, “'cause I wanted to introduce you around. Robert De Niro will be there, along with my good friend Laurence Fishburne. I hear that Jay-Z and Beyoncé will be making an appearance.”

“You're kidding me, right?” I got so excited my hands started shaking.

“That's what I'm talking about. It's important for you to meet people like this, especially in a social setting. People like to work with people that they know and like. It's not just what you know in show business. It's also
who
you know.”

There was no way I could miss this. If Chaka Khan was giving a concert and TK had five minutes to decide to attend, there was no way he'd miss it, so why should I be denied the same kind of opportunity? TK would just have to understand.

“You know what? I think I will—”

Before I could finish, my phone started vibrating. I felt like a child who'd just been caught red-handed, even though I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was sure it was TK. Maybe word had gotten back to him about my meeting with Jackson. I truly didn't want to answer and hear TK going off on me, but I knew it would be a lot worse to ignore him and let his imagination slip into overdrive.

“Excuse me a minute,” I said, stepping away from the table as I pulled the phone out of my purse. When I looked down at the caller ID, I was relieved to see it wasn't TK's number on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Monique.” It was Tia, and she sounded distressed. “I followed him, Monique. I followed him from the bar to his house.”

“Followed who?” Before she even answered the question, I understood who she meant: She had followed her rapist.

“Where are you?” I shouted, suddenly feeling panicked. Rushing back over to the table to get my things, I tried to keep the conversation going with Tia. I wanted to understand what was happening, and I had to talk some sense into her.

“I'm in Hollis Gardens on Murdock. I just watched the bastard walk into his house,” she said with pure hatred in her voice. “Me and him are about to have a talk.”

“Don't do anything stupid, Tia. I'm on my way.” I knew that my words fell on deaf ears.

I held my hand over the phone and whispered to Jackson. “Look, I'm sorry, I know meeting people is important, but I have a friend who is in a lot of trouble, so I have to cut this evening short.” I didn't even give him a chance to reply before I hurried away, listening to Tia ramble on almost incoherently.

“Please, Tia, just go home,” I pleaded with her. “Promise me you're going to go home.”

“I can't promise you that.”

“Tia! Dammit!” I yelled as I realized she had hung up on me. A hand on my shoulder caused me to almost jump out of my skin.

“It's just me.” I'd been so distracted by the call that I hadn't realized Jackson was on my heels. “Monique, talk to me. What's going on?” he questioned, looking genuinely concerned.

“I can't talk right now. My friend's in trouble and I have to get to her before something bad happens.” My voice was shaking I was so concerned.

I tried to step away, but he put a hand on my arm to stop me.

“You've had too much champagne to drive. Can't someone else help her?” he asked.

“The man she's about to confront is her rapist!” Maybe he was right about me having too much alcohol, because the words just spilled out, in spite of the fact that I'd promised Tia not to tell anyone about her problem.

“I can't let you go there by yourself,” Jackson said. “It could be dangerous.”

“But I have to help her,” I insisted.

“Then we'll go together.” The look on his face told me he wasn't going to accept anything except my complete submission, so I stopped protesting and let him lead me over to his Mercedes. All my thoughts were on Tia as he pulled out of the parking lot. I prayed that she was all right and hadn't done anything crazy.