his wallet, clumsy. It took him nearly thirty seconds to pull his license from its sleeve. Kendrick Allen Hart, Brooklyn, New York. Just turned nineteen. If he’d been seventeen or eighteen, Phoenix would have sent him back to the playground. Nineteen made him more interesting. Hell, she was only twenty-four, and her promo packets claimed she was twenty-one. There was only a two-year age difference between this boy and Phoenix singular, The Phoenix, no last name necessary. Sarge said if Beyoncé and Ashanti and Imani didn’t need surnames, neither did she.
“Phoenix, ma’am, you’re more beautiful in person,” Kendrick said, smart enough to keep his distance in the hall. She saw perspiration across his forehead, but his cologne smelled fresh. His smile struggled against a twitching bottom lip, but held on.
“Thank you. Give me your bag,” Phoenix said.
Quickly, Kendrick complied, ducking beneath its strap as he swallowed hard.
Phoenix gave the lightweight duffel bag to Gloria, who unzipped it behind her, stone-faced. Most days, Gloria was hardly better than no help at all, but she liked playing bodyguard. If Kendrick forgot himself, Gloria would put him on his back.
“You coming to the New York show?” Phoenix said, small talk during the inspection.
Kendrick’s admiration, loosed from all restraint, leaped free. “ What? I ain’ missin’ it! Front and center. I can’t hang out in St. Louis and see you Friday ’cuz of my Af-Am lit final, but I will hear you at the Osiris. Believe that. History in the making. Phoenix, you are off the hook .”
Friday’s show was a small listening party at a club called Le Beat near the University of Missouri, no big deal. But next week, Phoenix had a gig opening for the New York leg of the Hip-Hop R&B Summer MegaJam, joining the show at the historic Osiris Theater in Harlem. That show would be the biggest of her life, maybe seventeen hundred people. A few days later, she would begin shooting her first music video for her single on location in L.A. The sun is about to shine on you, Peanut, Sarge told her. Time to open the blinds.
“Where’d you get the nerve to come stand outside my door?” Phoenix said to the boy.
“I prayed on it. I won’t get another chance after you blow up like you’re gonna do.”
“You know you’re crazy, right?”
“Hell, yeah. Gotta be crazy in a crazy-ass world.”
Gloria was grinning while she went through the duffel bag. “Ooh, he brought the good kind,” she said, playfully shaking a black box of condoms. Lambskin, the brand Ronn preferred.
She was going to do this, Phoenix realized, her heart racing. She had never done this before, not with a fan on the road, but she was going to do this tonight.
“You really brought a medical report?” Phoenix said.
“Yes, ma’am. Got it from my doctor on Monday, before I left. It’s in there.”
“Bring your crazy ass in here, Kendrick. Don’t make me sorry. And if you call me ma’am again, you’re gone.”
“What should I call you?”
“What do you think? Call me Phoenix.”
The sound of her name lit his face afire.
P hoenix worked hard not to think about Ronn as she climbed out of her robe and sank into the jetted marble tub Kendrick filled to the sky with bubbles. The boy’s eyes on her made her body feel clumsy—breasts too small, legs too thin, stomach pooch too big—but her uneasiness vanished in the embrace of the hot water and the blanket of bubbles. The bubbles rose up past her chin as water beat into the tub amid the whir of the jets. In Kendrick’s eyes, she was a goddess.
Kendrick let his shirt fall from his shoulders, past his hips, revealing the banks of his dark chest’s muscles, unburdened by body fat. His erection cast a shadow across the crotch of his pants in the candlelight. He looked like a Herb Ritts photo, except his head wasn’t shaved.
He was beautiful.
Shit. She was really going to spend the night with a fan. What would Ronn say if he
“Phoenix, ma’am, you’re more beautiful in person,” Kendrick said, smart enough to keep his distance in the hall. She saw perspiration across his forehead, but his cologne smelled fresh. His smile struggled against a twitching bottom lip, but held on.
“Thank you. Give me your bag,” Phoenix said.
Quickly, Kendrick complied, ducking beneath its strap as he swallowed hard.
Phoenix gave the lightweight duffel bag to Gloria, who unzipped it behind her, stone-faced. Most days, Gloria was hardly better than no help at all, but she liked playing bodyguard. If Kendrick forgot himself, Gloria would put him on his back.
“You coming to the New York show?” Phoenix said, small talk during the inspection.
Kendrick’s admiration, loosed from all restraint, leaped free. “ What? I ain’ missin’ it! Front and center. I can’t hang out in St. Louis and see you Friday ’cuz of my Af-Am lit final, but I will hear you at the Osiris. Believe that. History in the making. Phoenix, you are off the hook .”
Friday’s show was a small listening party at a club called Le Beat near the University of Missouri, no big deal. But next week, Phoenix had a gig opening for the New York leg of the Hip-Hop R&B Summer MegaJam, joining the show at the historic Osiris Theater in Harlem. That show would be the biggest of her life, maybe seventeen hundred people. A few days later, she would begin shooting her first music video for her single on location in L.A. The sun is about to shine on you, Peanut, Sarge told her. Time to open the blinds.
“Where’d you get the nerve to come stand outside my door?” Phoenix said to the boy.
“I prayed on it. I won’t get another chance after you blow up like you’re gonna do.”
“You know you’re crazy, right?”
“Hell, yeah. Gotta be crazy in a crazy-ass world.”
Gloria was grinning while she went through the duffel bag. “Ooh, he brought the good kind,” she said, playfully shaking a black box of condoms. Lambskin, the brand Ronn preferred.
She was going to do this, Phoenix realized, her heart racing. She had never done this before, not with a fan on the road, but she was going to do this tonight.
“You really brought a medical report?” Phoenix said.
“Yes, ma’am. Got it from my doctor on Monday, before I left. It’s in there.”
“Bring your crazy ass in here, Kendrick. Don’t make me sorry. And if you call me ma’am again, you’re gone.”
“What should I call you?”
“What do you think? Call me Phoenix.”
The sound of her name lit his face afire.
P hoenix worked hard not to think about Ronn as she climbed out of her robe and sank into the jetted marble tub Kendrick filled to the sky with bubbles. The boy’s eyes on her made her body feel clumsy—breasts too small, legs too thin, stomach pooch too big—but her uneasiness vanished in the embrace of the hot water and the blanket of bubbles. The bubbles rose up past her chin as water beat into the tub amid the whir of the jets. In Kendrick’s eyes, she was a goddess.
Kendrick let his shirt fall from his shoulders, past his hips, revealing the banks of his dark chest’s muscles, unburdened by body fat. His erection cast a shadow across the crotch of his pants in the candlelight. He looked like a Herb Ritts photo, except his head wasn’t shaved.
He was beautiful.
Shit. She was really going to spend the night with a fan. What would Ronn say if he
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