I turn away, adrenaline running at the announcement of one name. A name I’ll never forget as long as I live. The name that’s brought pleasure and pain in equal servings.
“Thirteen years is a long time, son. What’s at stake here is this Black ass history this young lady is about to bring to American and sports history. And I know no one can cover this event like my most erudite, culture-protective protégé.”
My nostrils widen as defeat coats my body from head to toe.
“Hey, Tori, heeeeey!” Candice, the receptionist, sings as I approach the desk outside of my PR head’s office.
Her gaze goes between me and the area behind me, toward the elevators.
“Hey you, Ms. Hunter,” I return, then turn around to find the area empty.
No one’s on the other side of her booth besides me and the plush furniture and massive plasma television mounted on the wall.
“Who ya waiting on?”
Her eyes are on me again. “Goddamn Rut Amare is on his way up here.”
“And?”
“And,” Her head swings dramatically then. “errrrbody know that’s my forever crush!”
My head draws back. “Even though he’s married with a kid?”
“He was my crush before he fucked her. Before the million-dollar endorsement deals.” Her nose spreads and top lip lifts above the teeth line. “She better be lucky I ain’t go awf at their lil’ ceremony.”
I don’t recall seeing her at Rut and Parker’s wedding this past summer. “Were you there?”
Candice’s eyes roll, hot air rushing from her nose. “My brother said I couldn’t.”
Jackson Hunter, the head of Dynamic Branding’s public relations firm, is Candice’s big brother. Dynamic Branding is the parent company to the sports agency I’m signed to, Love Is Action. And it so happens that Jackson is my agent at Love Is Action—he and his wife, Elle Hunter. They sort of do this dynamic duo thing, without the intended pun.
But Rut, who she’s referring to, is the homie. I know how he feels about his new family, and Candice here doesn’t stand a chance. Nevertheless, this is Candice Hunter; always on the prowl. She’s young, only in her early twenties, so much of her behavior is dismissed. Today, I don’t want to be around for her trying her hand at Rut’s attention.
“Is Parker coming up with Rut?” I ask. Candice shrugs, blowing off the idea. I need to clear this waiting area. “Is Elle available?” She should have been. She called for this meeting.
Without looking at me, Candice waves her hand toward Elle’s office door. “She’s been in there waiting on you,” she mumbles.
I walk past her desk for the door. The moment I twist the handle and open it, a blast of familiar tunes hit me. In an instant, I’m transported back to seven years old in the living room of my Margaret’s trailer home in Millville, New Jersey. I’d wake up some Saturday mornings to her using the broom, mop, or brush as a mic. And quite often, it would be one of Shirley Murdock’s hits she was playing from the big flat screen mounted on the wall.
Elle’s singing into a microphone feeding into the television screen, one of the most familiar songs in Shirley Murdock’s catalog for me, “Go On Without You.” Elle’s blonde hair is cut into a fade with a sharp part drawn at the left side of her scalp. The blonde tint is lighter than I saw when we had lunch together a couple of weeks ago. But that’s Elle Hunter; stylish and never boring to look at or follow.
She isn’t alone in her office. Maggie from Finance sits on the couch swaying, amazed by Elle’s stapler performance. Lamont from Product Management is squatting on the armrest, cracking the hell up. There’s a woman of Asian descent I don’t know standing in the corner, clutching a clipboard and smiling on. Elle’s husband, Jackson, sits behind Elle’s desk with his chin propped up on his fingers, swinging in the chair. So much expression in his eyes though his smile is reserved.
Then I glance at the screen again and see the lyrics are populating. The words are moving and before I know it, I’m next to her, singing my heart out. I don’t need the microphone, my fist works just fine. I close my eyes to a squeeze and recite the lyrics from memory. So many recollections flash behind my lids. As a child, when Shirley’s songs played, you had no idea of the experience but could feel the emotion so vividly, conveying it was easy. Ms. Murdock’s songs were a key thread in the fabric of my psyche, I learned some time ago.
“Never again, will I let you go…” I belt out with strong emotion.
“Okay, Tor!” I hear Jackson encourage from a distance.
That quickly, I’m in an emotional zone. As an adult, you collect enough experience to finally match the emotions of the songs. Experiences so vivid, sometimes listening to Shirley’s music isn’t the best idea. But it’s fun singing with Elle. When a high note comes in the track, I lower my voice and look to Elle. Her bold persona stays true when she delivers it beautifully. I’m no singer, but remember Elle actually is. Since I’ve been signed to Love Is Action, I’ve spent lots of time with her, learning her many talents. Elle directs some of the lyrics to Jackson behind her desk. That cool veneer remains as his partial smile appears pleased.
We sing until the last note, eyes landing on each other expressively. “I can’t go on without yoooooooou!”
The office erupts with heavy applause, and I turn to find Maggie and the Asian woman taking pictures and recording a video with their phones. That is the last thing I expect, but I giggle in good nature. Cutting up with Elle is always fun. When I turn toward her again, Jackson is kissing her forehead before heading for the door.
“Who knew another woman under forty-five knows a Shirley Murdock classic other than ‘As We Lay’?”
“Man, are you kidding me?” I’m out of breath, but still buzzing from the nostalgia. “I love me some Shirley!”
“Did you tell her at my wedding?” he asks, now holding the door open.
My lips pout. “I wasn’t able to make it. Remember? I was in China, promoting the fight with Lian Liu.”
“Shit.” He smacks his teeth. “I forgot about that. But I ain’t forget about that knockout at the start of the second round!”
“Aye!” I throw an air jab.
Laughing, Jackson leaves with Maggie behind him. I turn to find Elle signing off on a document as Lamont hovers over her, waiting on it. The other woman sits on the couch, sporting a smile.
“Tori, have a seat.” Elle points to one of the chairs right in front of her desk.
She’s done signing for Lamont and goes for her seat.
“Peace, Tori,” Lamont offers on his way out.
“Later, Lamont,” I return over my shoulder.
“You alone today?” Elle asks while scrolling down the face of her phone.
I shook my head, feeling my phone vibrate in my purse. “Security’s down in the café.”
“Oh, good!” She places her phone down on the desk and squares her shoulders. “Two things. This is Michelle Wu, the new head of Image Management.”
I stand to meet her midway for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. McNabb. I’m a huge fan and have been since forever.” She nods slightly. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”