Larger Than Lyfe (29 page)

T
iming conflicts between the nationwide talent search project and Rasheed the Refugee’s touring sche
dule had repeatedly kept Keshari and Rasheed from meeting, per his request, for weeks. The two were finally able to sit down and have lunch together on the sectional in Keshari’s office right before she and her crew flew to Houston, two cities away from wrapping up the talent search’s audition phase. Terrence had ordered Mr. Chow’s for the two of them. Keshari uncorked a bottle of pinot grigio for herself and Rasheed poured Pellegrino over ice. Rasheed seemed to be in a very serious frame of mind that day, but he managed to kick back casually and make small talk with Keshari about the b
usiness, about their lives. Over time, they had become good friends as well as business associates. Rasheed held a great deal of respect for Keshari and she held tremendous respect for him.

“A lot’s been going on in your life lately,” Rasheed said.

“Yeah,” Keshari said. “This talent search is absolutely wearing me out.”

“You’ve got much transpiring in your life outside the record label,” Rasheed said.

“Very true,” Keshari responded without elaborating.

“I’m leaving the label,” Rasheed said. “My contract is up in six months and I’ve opted not to renew. I’m also requesting release from the remaining six months of my current contract and I’d
like to purchase the masters for all of the songs that I produced.”

“Say what?!” Keshari said, snapping up in her seat in complete shock.

“Word has it that a price is now on your head. Are you aware of that?” Rasheed asked.

“Yeah,” Keshari answered seriously, “but I can’t stop the wheels of my life from turning. I’ve got a business to run…and, for the time being, at least, I’ve got a life to live.”

“You know I love you,” Rasheed said. “You are my sister and you always will be, but it’s gotten too dangerous to be around you…and I’m headed in a different direction with my life and my music anyway. I’m taking greater control of my intellectual property and I’m laying the groundwork as we speak for my own label.”

Tears filled Keshari’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Maybe you need to take a break and go somewhere for awhile,” Rasheed suggested, “until things calm down or until you can reach some sort of compromise with these people.”

“I can’t go anywhere for awhile, Ra. I’m an unapologetic work-aholic. You may as well tell me to slit my wrists.”

“You can’t keep doing what you’re doing, Keshari, like nothing is seriously wrong. You’re like a moving target at this record label every day…no matter how specialized your security is. You’re endangering your staff.

“Look…,” Rasheed went on, “I never judged you for what you did and I always knew what you were involved in. I’ve got people who were involved in the game. I’ve got some people who are still involved in the game. You know like I know that the Mexicans will walk right into this record label and kill you if you don’t find some way to make this whole thing right. You’ve got DEA breathing down your neck and you think that you can just
continue to pretend and try to carry on some semblance of a regular life and ignore the rest? Your whole staff knows about the DEA agent showing up here. Before long, this whole mess is going to blow up in your face.”

“You were the very first artist I signed to my label,” Keshari said nostalgically, changing the subject. “You brought me my very first platinum plaque. You were my very first superstar…and now the whole game’s changing…in so many ways.”

“Yeah,” Rasheed said, squeezing her hand and staring at her seriously.

“Whatever you want,” Keshari said. “I’ll get with my attorney. We’ll touch bases with you and your people to finalize.”

“Get out of here for awhile, Keshari. I mean that. I don’t want to turn on the news and hear that you’ve been killed. You know the game. These people are not fucking around with you.”

“I know,” Keshari responded, “and, as much as it looks like it, I am not asleep at the wheel. I’ve got this thing under control. My entire life’s changing and what’s taking place right now is the ‘storm,’ so to speak, before major transformation.”

A
week passed and the sequestered jurors continued to deliberate. The deliberations were ugly. Jurors were practically at each other’s throats, trading ugly words, and then going into complete silence, unable to reach unanimity on the verdict. Los Angeles news stations and news stations in other major cities around the country now covered the trial with the same, around-the-clock fervor as they had on the first day of the trial when Richard Tresvant was escorted into the courthouse, surrounded by law enforcement like a high-profile, political figure. On CNN and truTV, attorney
s wielded their legal expertise regarding the likely outcome of the verdict. None of them had any idea that the ferocious arguments taking place behind closed doors among the jurors would easily be almost as hot a story as the notorious defendant and the trial itself.

On more than one occasion, one juror threatened to request a meeting with the judge to discuss what was transpiring in the deliberations room. After two weeks of being no closer to a verdict than they had been on the day that deliberations started, quarters that were entirely too close and disagreements that had grown increasingly per
sonal, had them all at their breaking points. One Black and one White juror were about to come to fisticuffs over their conflicting opinions. They literally had to be physically separated by two other jurors. This information somehow found its way outside to the media and media quickly inserted the race card into what was already madness.

“I know this Richard Tresvant character,” the Black juror said. “I grew up in the neighborhood where he’s done his dirt and where he still probably owns crackhouses. I’ve watched an entire community change for the worse because of scum like him. FUCK A REASONABLE DOUBT! I vote guilty!”

“We took an oath to examine the evidence and testimony of this case…ALL OF IT…and render a fair and IMPARTIAL verdict BASED UPON THE EVIDENCE!” Sally Goldenblatt, the jury’s foreman, reminded all of them. “This is a man’s life! Despite what he’s allegedly done in the past, despite what has been said about who he is and what he’s gotten away with, the real murderer is probably walking the streets right now because a few of you have decided to become vigilantes, instead of doing your civic duty! If we cannot come to the resolve RIGHT NOW to do what we each took an oath to do,
I am going to go to the judge myself!”

There was silence as each of the jurors’ consciences seemed to weigh what Sally Goldenblatt had said. They were tired. They all wanted to go home. A couple of them couldn’t wait to put as much distance as possible between themselves and a couple of the other jurors they’d come to despise over the course of the trial and more than two weeks’ worth of completely unsuccessful deliberations. They all reached the agreement that they needed to immediately set aside their personal feelings about the defendant and get seriously down to the business of deciding the right verdict.

After three-and-a-half weeks and Judge Bartholomew not having to intercede, the jury had reached a verdict. Members of the national and local media were lined up outside the courthouse in
Downtown Los Angeles, almost as they had been for the verdict on the infamous O.J. Simpson murder trial.

Richard Tresvant was brought into the courtroom in black Hugo Boss, surrounded by his throng of attorneys, his assistants, and his attorneys’ assistants. The Bernard family sat together in the gallery right behind the prosecution table. Phinnaeus Bernard’s only son watched Richard Tresvant with venom and disgust. Phinnaeus Bernard’s widow had not been able to sleep at all the night before. She couldn’t even bring herself to look in Richard Tresvant’s direction when he was brought into the courtroom.

“Madam Foreman,” Judge Bartholomew said to Sally Goldenblatt, “has the jury reached a verdict?”

“The jury has, Your Honor.”

She carefully unfolded the verdict form and read it with a strong, loud voice for all to hear. “We, the jury, find the defendant, Richard Lawrence Tresvant, guilty of first-degree murder.”

For a moment, the courtroom was completely silent like the eerie silence that precedes a very destructive storm. Then, all hell broke loose.

“Agh-h-h-h-h!!! I didn’t do this! I didn’t do it! I’m not going to jail for something that I didn’t do!”

Ricky hopped up from the defense table and began throwing laptops, legal pads, the water pitcher, anything and everything that he could lay his hands on. It was an all-out melee, a cyclone of chaos in the tight area of “dream team” attorneys and their out-of-control client. Bailiffs rushed to restrain Richard Tresvant and try to gain some semblance of order in the courtroom. Spectators, the ones who had not hopped up and made an immediate run for the door to get out of harm’s way in the volatile situation, watched the chaos in horror. Judge Bartholomew banged his gavel furiously to no
avail. Phinnaeus Bernard’s wife, who had
been seated quietly and with dignity with the rest of her family in the gallery directly behind the prosecution table since the first day of the trial, burst into tears. Family members tried to console her.

Keshari had just wrapped four days of auditions in Philadelphia when the verdict came down on Ricky’s murder trial. She and her crew were all gathering in the hotel lobby at the Rittenhouse Hotel in Philadelphia. Their limousines were being loaded with all of their luggage and equipment, preparing to take them to the airport to fly back to Los Angeles.

Terrence was scrolling through the local, Los Angeles news on his BlackBerry when he caught the breaking news regarding Richard Tresvant’s murder trial. Terrence, like everybody else, had gotten himself addicted to the drama
and had been following Richard Tresvant’s trial the way people had glued themselves to television sets, newspapers and the internet to watch every detail unfold in the O.J. Simpson murder trial.

“Whoa-a-a-a!” Terrence said. “That gangster guy, Richard Tresvant, was just found guilty of first-degree murder.”

Keshari’s legs seemed to turn to jelly under her as she passed out.