Larger Than Lyfe (8 page)

She popped the first CD on the stack into her stereo system. It was a female artist…Tanjika Miles…and she couldn’t sing worth a damn. Keshari already knew what she looked like, the exotically pretty, hot, and tempting video model type whose demo CD had made its way to Keshari’s desk because the girl had been so hungry to get her music heard by the right connection that she’d performed a whole host of sexual favors for the male A & R exec who’d promised her the world. The industry was filled with these young, beautiful, talentless creatures. They fit the sex-driven visual image that record l
abels generally marketed to the public and their voices were made to sound sellable in the studios via implementation of state-of-the-art recording equipment and techniques. Keshari removed the CD from the system, attached a note requesting that A & R try and find out the particulars of the producer, and then tossed the CD aside. She had no interest whatsoever in the singer. The music industry had overlooked enough true creativity and artistry in music already for these types and Keshari was bound and determined that Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment would never lower its standards
to swim around in the cesspool with some of the other record labels, signing talentless creatures who only looked like stars.

She inserted the next CD. It was a male rapper, “Mack-A-Do-Shuz.” Mack-A-Do-Shuz wove intricate, philosophical, lyrical storylines of an urban gangster and his oftentimes dangerous life in the streets. The total package was impeccable, impressive creativity in the lyrical stylings and an innovative producer who worked in perfect synchrony with the artist.

Keshari called Sharonda Richards in A & R.

“Sharonda, who is this Mack-A-Do-Shuz? I’m listening to his demo right now.”

“Chuckie Townsend has run into him a few times at The Gate and at Savannah West and he’s been begging Chuckie to listen to his demo. I take it you liked him.”

“Definitely. Get him into our studios with the same producer who did his demo to drop a couple more tracks. No promises. If we like what we hear, we’ll negotiate a contract. We’ll even work out a production deal for the producer. Touch bases with me in two weeks.”

“Key, here’s something you’ll really like. Mack-A-Do-Shuz completely produced the entire demo. He’s both rapper…he writes all of his own material…AND producer.”

“Whoa,” Keshari said. “Get him in here right away. It’s a wonder that no one has snapped him up and signed him already.”

She hung up and began going through the stack of documents that had also been delivered to her that morning. Some of them were very time-sensitive. She had checks to sign and return to accounting, a couple of artist management contracts to review and sign and return to the legal department, several video budgets that required her review and approval, and finalized invoicing from The Mondrian Hotel for the platinum party had been faxed over to Andre’s attention just that morning. Andre forwarded copies to her for her review and signatures before he submitted the invoices to ac
counting for payment.

Every penny that was spent at Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment had documentation to come across Keshari’s desk. Projects with large budgets always required Keshari’s signed approval before they commenced; and she and her accounting department always kept a watchful eye on everything so that projects did not wind up going over budget. She ran a very tight ship.

As she sat there at her desk signing documents, taking phone calls, and considering taking a ride up to the Malibu mansion where a music video was being shot for LTL’s girl group, Cashmere, she glimpsed the heavy, cream-colored, parchment card that had been attached to Mars Buchanan’s flowers to her. She lifted the card from the wastebasket and smiled to herself at its message. Then she dropped the card back into the trash.

Moments passed and, as she was checking her voicemail and e-mail messages, something compelled her to pluck the card out of the trash again. She gazed at it for several moments, then rang her assistant.

“Terrence, get me Mars Buchanan at ASCAP on the line. He’s in Legal Services.”

“No problem,” Terrence replied.

A couple of minutes later, Terrence buzzed Keshari back.

“Keshari, I’ve got Mars Buchanan on the line.”

“Thanks, T. Put him through.”

“Well, hello, Keshari Mitchell. What can I do for you?”

“Good morning, Mr. Buchanan. I received your flowers. They’re beautiful. Thank you. But you really didn’t have to do that.”

“It was the least that I could do to compensate for our initial meeting…and since you liked the flowers enough to call and thank me for them yourself, perhaps I can persuade you to have dinner with me…tonight.”

Keshari was already backpedaling away fast from her impulsive notion to call him.

“I don’t think that that would be a good idea,” she said.

“I strongly disagree…unless you’re married or otherwise involved. Are you married or otherwise involved?”

“I don’t think that my personal life is any of your concern, Mr. Buchanan.”

“Please…call me ‘Mars.’ ‘Mr. Buchanan’ is my father. Is seven o’clock a good time to pick you up? And would you prefer if I pick you up at your home or at your office?”

Keshari laughed. “Mr. Buchanan…Mars…random drug testing of the legal counsel over at ASCAP might not be a bad idea. But, on a serious note, I really don’t think that it would be a good idea for the two of us to go out. I only called to thank you for the beautiful flowers that were delivered this morning.”

“Why don’t you think that it would be a good idea for me to take you out?” Mars asked. “I’m a good guy.”

“I’m sure you are.” Keshari smiled. “I just have a lot on my plate, that’s all, and I hardly have the time for any…entanglements.”

“I expected that you would have a full plate, Keshari, but even the most powerful people have to set aside little blocks of personal time to eat. Look, I met…by accident…an extraordinarily beautiful woman last night and I want to get to know her better and, just for a split second, I saw a little glint of something in your eyes, felt a tiny bit of chemistry, giving me the impression that you might like to get to know me, too. You and I both know that you didn’t call my office just so you could thank me personally for the flowers I sent to you. Your assistant could have left that ‘
thank you’ with my secretary or mailed me one of those generic ‘thank you’ cards and we both could have gone on with our respective days without a moment’s direct contact. So, stop fronting. You like me. Admit it.”

Keshari smiled to herself. She had to admit that she was both intrigued and amused by the relentless and extremely attractive attorney.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it counts,” Mars answered. “Come on. Have dinner with me tonight. If we don’t click…which, in my belief, is highly
improbable…you will never have to be bothered with my presence again. My word is bond.”

Keshari didn’t say anything.

“HEL-LO?!” Mars said, loud enough to cause Keshari to hold the telephone receiver away from her ear. “Give me an answer. I feel pretty damned certain that you’ve closed major business deals in less time than this.”

Keshari laughed. It felt good to laugh like that.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll have dinner with you tonight.”

She could feel Mars smiling triumphantly through the telephone.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” she asked. “I’m really not in the mood to do the…you know…the ‘public’ thing. I’ve had a tremendously busy week…plus the party last night…and I’d just like to kick back and relax. Why don’t you drive up to my house and I’ll have my cook put something together for us?”

“Nah, tell you what,” Mars said. “If you don’t want me to take you out for dinner, why don’t you come to my apartment and I’ll cook for the two of us?”

“Oh, you cook, do you?” Keshari asked, impressed.

“I dabble a bit,” Mars answered.

“That settles that, then. We’ll have dinner at your place. I have only one, small request. No pork or red meat.”

“Not a problem there, my queen. I don’t consume the stuff either. Seven o’clock?” Mars asked.

“Seven o’clock’s fine,” Keshari replied.

“Would you like me to pick you up?”

“I’ll drive,” Keshari responded.

Mars gave her directions to his condominium and they hung up. Keshari buzzed her assistant again.

“Terrence, run a full background check on Mars Buchanan.”

“Hmmmmm,” Terrence said coyly, “bouquet of fl
owers…background
checks. New love interest on the horizon? It’s about time.”

“Don’t be silly, T. Get back to me with the findings of that background check in a couple of hours.”

“No problem,” Terrence said, chuckling and clicking off his extension.

Terrence got back to Keshari in just over an hour with the background information that she was seeking. Keshari regularly used a Los Angeles intelligence agency that was able to provide fast, accurate and extensive details, from medical histories to criminal backgrounds and credit profiles, on anyone. She read the findings of the background check that Terrence had printed from his e-mail and smiled to herself. Mars Buchanan’s background couldn’t have been any more spotless.

Keshari wasn’t naively deluding herself into believing that nothing could or would happen to her in regard to her current predicament with The Consortium, particu
larly after Marcus Means’s entirely unexpected visit at the party the night before, but she certainly wasn’t going to be fearfully crawling under any rocks either. It was time that she started living her life COMPLETELY on her own terms, from running her record label to getting up in the morning fully able to face herself in the mirror without having a constant, moral tug-of-war taking place in her head and maybe…just maybe meeting someone fun and smart and sexy and worthy of her and, as her best friend constantly admonished her, getting herself laid.

For the time being, at least until Ricky’s trial wrapped, she would not deviate from the regular program of her obligations, including her obligations to The Consortium. But her mind would not be swayed in terms of her ultimate intentions.

She had a date that night…a real date…for the first time in she didn’t know how long.

K
eshari had no idea why her heart was racing a mile a minute as she rang the doorbell outside Mars’s condominium in the posh, Los Angeles suburb city of Marina Del Rey.

“I bet you could make wearing a Hefty trash bag look like a fashion statement.” Mars smiled when he opened the door.

“That’s cute.” Keshari smiled back. “That’s really cute.”

Keshari was very casually chic in skintight, cuffed Roberto Cavalli jeans and fire engine-red Jimmy Choo sandals. She walked into Mars’s huge apartment and looked around, thoroughly impressed. Mars had a table set on his terrace complete with linen tablecloth, matching napkins, and floating candles. There was a gazeboed Jacuzzi at the far end of the terrace just begging for a middle-of-the-night rendezvous with chilled champagne and strawberries. Ceiling-to-floor windows gave a spectacular, 180-degree view of the marina from the huge, sunken living room.

“Who did your decorating?” Keshari asked. “Your apartment is beautiful.”

“A friend of mine is an interior decorator. She owns the PFI Firm in Beverly Hills. She did it.”

“She did a great job. The soft grays and black leather are very tastefully masculine and you have a very substantial African art collection. That large, Yoruba fertility statue is one of my favorites.”

“I’m glad you like it. Actually, I purchased two of the condos, had an architect and contractors knock out a few walls, make the floor plan flow, and make it my own. I’ll show you the rest of it later. Let’s go outside, kick back, and get better acquainted.”

Mars poured Keshari a glass of chardonnay, then went to attend to their meal. He brought back salads, handmade chicken ravioli with a spinach and cream sauce, and fresh Italian bread with extra virgin olive oil.

“You said that you dabble a bit in the kitchen. You didn’t tell me that you’d been to culinary school. Did you really make all of this yourself? And how did you prepare it so fast? What? Did you leave your office to start cooking as soon as we finished talking on the phone earlier today?”

Mars laughed. “Cute,” he said. “Very cute. I made the ravioli a couple of weeks ago. I vacuum seal it and freeze it. The cream sauce only takes a few minutes to make. My housekeeper picked up the bread for me. And, no, I haven’t been to culinary school. I took a few cooking classes at Williams-Sonoma. You know, a little sumthin’ sumthin’ to add to the ol’ repertoire.’”

“A New Millennium Black renaissance man,” Keshari said as she tasted the food. “Ummmmmm…, this is really good.”

The sun had almost completely set and the burning candles on the table illuminated Keshari’s face with a warm glow. Mars stared across the table at her and took in everything that he possibly could about her, from the mystery in her almond-shaped, green eyes to the curve of her beautiful, full lips when she smiled and savored her food. Everything about her attracted him to her. He sipped his wine and began to talk animatedly about growing up in Brooklyn, New York.