Sing Your Pleasure. A.C. Arthur
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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