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| All site contents are owned and copyrighted under Crystal Bright. Use of any content on this site without express permission of the owner is prohibited. But go ahead and test me. I don't spend enough time in court now as it is. © 2002-2008 |
:: Crazy In Love (formerly titled Tru Lee Stellar) ::
Crazy in Love
Chapter 1
“Tell me again, Craig. What do you mean I have nothing?” Shauna Stellar slumped down in the red
leather chair that sat in front of her business manager’s desk. She remembered buying him this pricey
show-piece for his fiftieth birthday along with a black leather couch, mink carpet, mahogany desk with
platinum fixtures.
Good to see that they all traveled well from the office building she used to own to Craig’s new digs on the
second floor of a building down on the beach in Virginia Beach.
Craig adjusted his glasses on his thick nose. “Your year stint at the nuthouse hasn’t done wonders
for your career.”
Shauna pulled her floppy red hat down lower over her eyes. “It wasn’t a nuthouse,” she mumbled. “I
just needed some time away.” She balled her hands into fists to keep Craig from seeing them tremble.
His harsh words bounced around in her head in the same way she used to drum her head against her
mattress at night during her stay at Peaceful Acres.
Come on. Don’t panic. They’re just material possessions. It’s not you anymore.
Craig snickered in that manner that made Shauna cringe. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time now, Ms.
Thang.” He stood from his desk. “Audiences are fickle. Stay out of the spotlight and they forget about
you.”
“But I pre-recorded so much material. What happened to releasing my CD?”
Craig lowered then shook his shaved head. He reminded Shauna so much of her late father right at
that moment. Her heart slowed its beat and she felt a heavy pressure on her shoulders, the same
pressure that had crippled her spirit.
Come on, girl. Breathe. Just breathe.
“No one bought the CD you released before you committed yourself.”
“Stop saying that. I didn’t commit myself.” She folded her arms and brought her legs up on the chair
to make herself into a little ball. “I wasn’t crazy.” Maybe if she said it enough people would believe her.
Maybe she would believe it herself.
“What would you call it when you suddenly dropped out when you were at the top of your game?
Radio stations stopped playing you. I couldn’t sell MTV or BET on one of your videos. The fans stopped
writing.” Craig tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’d call it crazy.”
“I got fan mail. They cared.” Yeah, all one hundred of them. Used to be Shauna’s fan mail came by
truckloads. Now the mail carrier could deliver them to her in one trip.
When Shauna lowered her head she heard Craig sigh. His tough love bit even wore on him. His hard
edge worked on concert promoters, record execs and attorneys, which is why she didn’t bat an eye when
he’d used it on her. But now, after what she’d been through, she felt she didn’t deserve this treatment.
Not now.
She chewed on her lower lip to suppress her tears. Thank God her hat covered her face.
“I was tired,” she muttered.
Craig stood from his desk and planted himself in front of her. He brought his hands to his hips. From
under the brim of her hat, Shauna spied his knock-off Rolex watch and simple gold wedding band that
glowed against his dark skin. This was a man who she used to kid about that he had his own Mr. T starter
kit for all of the jewelry he wore. Now he was reduced to a department store watch and his original
wedding band. Her sabbatical had limited him to this.
“When you dropped out, all hell broke loose at the office,” Craig began. “Your accountant ran off with
half of your money and fled the country. We tried to get your attorney to sue the bastard but she was in
on the scam too and took off with more of your dough. Then you had all of the other people in your
employ.” He brought his hand up and ticked off people on each finger. “Your personal chef, your
masseuse, your stylist, your dog’s stylist.”
“What about you?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You could have gone
off and represented some other hot up-and-comer.”
Craig put his hand on top of Shauna’s shoulder. It was the first personal touch she’d had since being
away for a year. She relaxed her tense shoulders but kept her head down.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Craig said, his already deep voice dipping down a lower octave. “I gave up my
pay months before you went in. I hired my own lawyer to go after the bastards but they made sure to have
ironclad contracts. I saw the writing on the wall and I tried to tell you but, well, you know.”
Yes, Shauna knew. She hadn’t listened to anyone. She now paid the price for having too many people
hanging on to her and having almost all of them be yes-men. All except one.
Craig said, “I also sold my house, the cars, the jewelry. Delores and I don’t mind the comparably smaller
house. She says there’s less to clean especially since the maid stopped coming by three times a week.”
He snickered again but this time it was meant to ease her mind.
Shauna patted his large hand and took a deep breath.
“And the restaurant?” she asked. She remembered when Craig had bought the place for his wife because
it was Delores’s dream to own her own southern cuisine restaurant.
Craig smiled. “I don’t care if I have to dig ditches to keep that place going. Delores has more than earned
her right to have Back In The Day Place. Besides, it pays rent here and the mortgage at home.”
It was nice to see a man so supportive of his woman’s goals. Shauna’s father supported her mother when
she wanted to get into music and get Shauna into it too. It would have been nice to have someone
supporting Shauna instead of using her.
Shauna scanned Craig’s much smaller space. The brick walls were painted a bright white color and it
didn’t match the expensive items he’d brought into the room. But as soon as Shauna’s eyes settled on his
shelves and she caught a glimpse of her Grammy awards, she raised herself from the chair and strolled to
them like a light luring sailors to shore.
When she stood in front of the gold awards, she stared at them. They reminded her of her old self.
Her confident self. What had happened to her?
She put her hand on the plate and ran her fingertips over her engraved name. A shiver crept up her back
as though she had touched a tombstone.
“When the I.R.S. sold your house and all of your possessions while you were, uh, away, I couldn’t
bear to let them sell those,” Craig said from behind her. “I didn’t have enough money to buy anything
else.”
How fitting that Shauna would be getting this news on the fifteen of April. She thought the springtime
meant renewal. Getting rid of the old and ushering in the new. She felt more like Old Man Winter had just
dumped a ton of ice and snow over her head.
Shauna took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
What world had she returned to? She would have been better off staying at Peaceful Acres but the
doctors there had convinced her to go, move on with her life. How the hell was she supposed to do that?
What life? The life of cameras in her face? Never-ending stories in the press that were full of lies?
Having no privacy? Having no life? Having no family?
But she used to sing. That had given her joy. But could she be happy again?
“So now what, kid?” Craig asked as he strolled back to his desk.
Shauna turned around. She didn’t want to keep staring at her awards anyway. They were painful
reminders of a life she used to have, about a person she used to be.
“I’m going to sing.” The statement made her blink. She’d thought about it during her time away but
never verbally expressed her desires. But what else did she have?
“Good girl!” Craig beamed, a smile spreading from ear to ear.
“But I haven’t written in a while and I want my first CD to be my music,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I’
m not ready.”
In more ways than one, Shauna wasn’t ready. She hadn’t sung a note in a year. She hadn’t written a
song in that same time period. She wasn’t even sure she could get up in front of a crowd of people and
sing like she used to. But she would. She would have to.
“I figured you would say that.” Craig rifled through some papers on his desk as she approached him.
“So if I have no money, if everything I own is gone, what do I do now? Where do I go?” Shauna
reclaimed her seat. This time she pushed her hat back and stared at Craig in his eyes.
“You will stay with me and Delores. She’s missed the kids since they’ve gone off to college and gotten
lives of their own. You’ll be good for her. She can lay off of me for a change.” Craig chuckled. “And your
cousins are in and out of the house all the time.”
Shauna exhaled in relief. She really didn’t want to stay on her own right now. She still needed some
support. Craig’s tough love and Delores’ good ol’ home cooking would do her fine. Plus seeing her
cousins would do her a world of good. She needed family.
Craig clasped his hands together and sat the union on his desk. With a grin as big as the Atlantic Ocean,
he said, “And you, my dear, are going to get back by producing.”
Shauna furrowed her eyebrows, which were in dire need of a good waxing.
“Producing what?” she asked.
“Music. You know. That thing you know about so well.” He smiled.
Shauna couldn’t help but to smile with him. It was that same reassuring smile that got her through her first
on-stage performance by herself. He’d given her that same grin when he convinced her that she was
going to win her first Grammy the night she did. And he’d smiled at her the day he’d dropped her off at
the rehabilitation center and told her she would be fine. But she wasn’t feeling this new plan of Craig’s.
“Who will want me to produce them? You’ve called me crazy. Don’t you think other artists out there
think the same thing? I want to work, Craig, but I don’t think even my opinions will matter to anyone.” She
wiped her eyes.
Craig squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that negative talk from you
anymore. I’ve known you since you were fifteen.” He held his hand about three feet above the floor like
her five foot ten stature could have ever been that height at fifteen.
“Besides,” Craig opened his eyes, “it’s all you have left.” He plopped a file in front of her with Charisma
Music in iridescent lettering across the top. The folder nearly knocked over his nameplate. Craig George,
Business Manager.
“This was my mother’s studio,” Shauna whispered.
“The smartest thing your mother did before she died, besides raising a wonderful daughter, was to will
this place over to you once you turned twenty-five. I didn’t want to tell you this before because of
everything that was going on with you. I mean with the record deal then your mom and---”
Shauna raised her had to stop him. She didn’t want to hear a replay of the last few months before
she took her year of rest, especially not about Raheem, the main reason she couldn’t handle being in the
real world anymore. She didn’t know the heart and mind were related but as soon as her heart broke her
mind snapped.
Craig straightened his tie. “The studio is yours. The I.R.S. didn’t take it.”
“So?” Shauna didn’t see the possibilities like Craig. But from the way he flashed his megawatt smile,
she knew he had something in mind.
“So, you do what I said. You produce. Get your name back out there. Then eventually when you’re
up to it, you’ll sing again.”
Shauna shook her head. “I have to write first. I have nothing to sing about. The Princess of Love
Ballads is dead.”
At one time she hated that media nickname. As an R&B singer, she’d sung more than just ballads. But
the slow love songs did put her over the top as a multi-platinum artist. What did she have to show for it
now except for some memories and awards bought at a yard sale?
“She doesn’t have to be.”
Right now she would pay her whole life’s earnings for one person to call her that. She wanted to give her
life to be able to sing one note, one perfect note.
Before Shauna could object, Craig raised his hand in front of her to stop her. Her father used to do
that when he was alive. It annoyed her then and it still bothered her.
“Don’t shush me,” Shauna said.
“Hear me out.” Craig’s low voice rose until it squeaked.
“I still don’t see how having a studio is a good thing except for recording my next album. And what
artist is going to want to want me to produce them?”
“The one artist your mother signed before she died. He’s all we have left in the stable so we have to
work with what we have.” Craig looped his thumbs around his black suspenders and leaned back into his
creaky swivel chair. His normally rounded belly appeared flatter. Shauna knew it wasn’t from exercise but
rather an adjusted new diet that excluded the rich foods he enjoyed when money had rolled in steadily.
Craig continued. “We released his first CD but it didn’t do that great in sales. Critically it was mixed.
But we gave him a two-record deal and we have the funds in the operating budget to produce his next
album.”
“Why not drop him and use the money for me?”
It was a selfish thought but this was her career they were talking about, not someone else’s. She needed
to work and it didn’t matter who this guy was. Besides, it was her turn to walk all over a man to reach her
goal. Raheem had done it to her. Bastard.
“One word, my dear. Lawsuit. We don’t have the money to fight him and he would definitely win.”
“No loophole?” Shauna wasn’t that far removed from the business to know that every contract had its
loophole. Then again, had she been such an expert on contracts, her accountant and attorney wouldn’t
have stolen all of her money.
Craig continued, interrupting her thoughts. “No loophole. His second album is all but done. I want you to
go over it and clean it up. Plus he has a couple of tracks to lay down first.” He hunched his shoulders.
“Sorry, baby girl. I hadn’t expected you to get out so soon. I was hoping the money generated from this
guy’s album would bankroll your comeback CD.”
Damn. Her pride had been broken before when a man’s music career came before hers. Now it was
happening again? Her pounding heart thumped in her head. With a deep inhalation through her nose
and a long, smooth release of breath out of her mouth, she managed to calm her raging heart. No man
was going to use her to get ahead in music again. But she needed to know the man’s name who thought
he would drag her down.
“So who is he?” Shauna asked in a nonchalant fashion, her gaze fixed on the folder and a hand on
her lap keeping her bouncing knee restrained.
Craig pointed down to the folder. “Look inside.”
Shauna flapped open the cover and caught an eight-by-ten glossy colored picture of a man, a white
man, in a cowboy hat, jeans, cowboy boots and white button up shirt that was opened down to mid-chest.
In the shot, the man with a goatee leaned against a wooden fence with a lasso in one hand and the reins
of a horse in the other. It was so over-the-top, stereotypical country that Shauna couldn’t believe this was
real.
“You’re kidding, right?” Shauna asked as she kept her gaze on the singing cowboy’s mesmerizing
brown eyes.
“Does it look like I’m laughing?” Craig’s face had gone stone cold serious.
“Please tell me he’s the next white soul singer who happens to like wearing this Grand Ol’ Opry getup.”
“Nope. Country. Straight up and down.”
“I sing R&B. All I know is R&B. How in the hell am I supposed to produce a country singer? I don’t know
anything about their music. I mean I can even understand hip-hop or rap, but this…”
“Sure you can do it. Whitney sang a country song.”
“Yeah, she sang it in an R&B way and made it her own. This man is a country singer who wants to sing
that way. I can’t do this.” She slammed the cover on the Dukes of Hazzard cutie and brought her hat
down over her eyes again. “Why would my mother have even signed him? I didn’t know she knew
anything outside of soul music.”
“She wanted to branch out. Try some new things. Why don’t you take a page from her book and try
producing?”
Shauna shook her head, nearly losing her hat in the motion. “Let’s just cut our loses. I’ll sell the studio,
pay this guy off and go on---”
Craig cut her off. “Go on what?” He shot his hands up. “This is it, little girl. Music is all you have. My life,
my world is wrapped up in this business. I believe in you. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have made it here into
my office. Now I’ve been waiting patiently for you to come back. I have made plans and back-up plans
and back-up plans to those back-up plans for when you come out. And when I present you with an offer
you turn your nose up at it? I don’t think so. You’re going to go down to the studio every day with Truman
Woodley.”
“His name is Truman Woodley? What is he, a Boy Scout?”
“Maybe when you start working with him you two can decide on a suitable name change. But you are
going to do this. All of this is going to lead you back to one thing.” Craig held up his index finger like God
prophesizing her fate. “You’re going to sing again and to packed houses.”
Shauna’s stomach churned. Although she’d said she wanted to sing, the idea of standing in front of a
crowd hit her like a punch in her gut. She swallowed hoping to calm her tightened insides but instead
everything in her belly felt like it was going in reverse. She hadn’t felt this way since the first time she’d
sung on stage by herself at the tender age of fourteen. She bolted from her chair and ran to his glass
doorway.
“Down the hall to the right!” Craig screamed after her. He must have known that the idea of her
aiding another male singer sickened her. And knowing that she held the fates of her dear friend Craig and
his family as well as this artist unknown to her and whatever family he had, made her even sicker.
Shauna’s pounding footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed in her ears. She ran passed an office
worker who must have recognized the international sign of being nauseous. He directed her to the
bathroom but all she heard was “…door on the right.”
Shauna burst through a door, pushed open a stall door and collapsed at the toilet, purging her
insides into the white, automatic bowl. As soon as she lifted her head slightly, the murky water swirled
down, offering her a clean bowl to continue vomiting. She inhaled and caught the putrid stench of her pre-
digested food.
After her second heave and the toilet’s second auto-flush, she felt something over her shoulder.
Shauna turned her head to see a crumpled white paper towel by her.
“Thanks,” she said as she took the paper. “God, what a day.” She said it out loud to herself but also
to the kind stranger behind her who had just offered her some compassion in the form of the gritty paper
towel.
“Do you ever get the feeling like the world is laughing at you and you’re not in on the joke?” Shauna
began. “That’s the way I feel. I get home today and I’m told to produce this country singer who I have
never heard of. I don’t even listen to country music. And I have that guy’s career, my manager’s career
and my own career riding on everything that I do. It’s too much. Something’s got to give and I think it’s
going to have to be Slim Pickens.”
She heard a flush from a couple of stalls down from her and a creaky door opening and closing.
When her stomach felt settled after she’d purged, both physically and emotionally, she sat up on her
knees, still facing the toilet.
“I just don’t think I can do all of this.”
When she heard the water in the sink turn off, Shauna raised herself up from the floor.
“I don’t know who your are, but thank you for listening to me make a fool of myself.” She smiled and
laughed until she turned around and was face to face with her Bo Duke-Slim Pickens singing cowboy.
Shauna allowed her eyes to peek behind him briefly to catch the row of urinals. Among everything else,
she’d run into the wrong bathroom. And she ended up confessing that she didn’t want to produce Truman’
s album.
Shauna swallowed uneasily and attempted a clumsy smile, one that twitched at the corner and didn’t stop
twitching until she put her hand over her mouth.
Truman towered over her. The gaze from his tobacco brown eyes bore down on hers until she felt
smaller than the brain of an ant. Had she had a brain in her own head she would have remembered her
own first rule of being a celebrity: never speak your mind in public. The truth was always twisted into
something distorted and ugly. But this time it wasn’t her rule that got her. It was her own rude statements
that had stung her.
Shauna took a step back into the stall. Truman, looking like he had stepped right off of his photo in
his jeans and white button up shirt, scratched his head. His short, brown hair barely moved in the motion.
He put one hand on the doorframe of the stall. The other hand held his cream-colored cowboy hat.
Just seeing his hat propelled Shauna to a time she’d tried desperately to block from her memory. She’
d never wanted to see another cowboy hat again and here she was face to face with one and its wearer.
As long as Truman didn’t put it on, she would be fine.
Truman smelled like the great outdoors, which included a mixture of fresh cut grass, leaves, tree bark and
honeysuckle. When she used to spend summers with Craig and Delores in Virginia Beach, the outdoorsy
scent used to calm her. Now she would always associate the scent with embarrassment, fear and anger,
Truman’s anger.
He placed his hat on his head, tipped it back with one finger and said, “And I thought our first meeting
would be awkward,” in this smooth country accent. He backed from her and made his way out of the
bathroom.
Shauna let out her breath, leaned against the cool tiled wall and slid back down to the floor.
“Great. Just what I needed, someone else to hate me.”
The door opened. She expected to see Truman, ready to formally curse her out for her stupidity.
Instead it was a young, pimply face man who did a double-take when he found Shauna in one of the
stalls. He stared at her then the urinals while hopping from one foot to the other.
He opened his mouth to say something when Shauna cut in.
“Don’t worry. I’m out of here.”
# # #
Truman stomped his way toward the elevator as some bald-headed black guy tried to stop him. In his
suspenders and with a fancy gold watch, the dude didn’t look like security. But then again Truman never
thought he would have seen a big star like Shauna Stellar on her hands and knees chucking her guts out
in a men’s bathroom toilet.
“Just wait, Mr. Woodley,” the man said in a pleading tone.
Oh, so now he was Mr. Woodley. So this guy knew him. Couldn’t have been from his one and only
CD. And hearing Shauna talk, Truman wouldn’t have a number two.
Damn it. He didn’t want to go back home to Georgia with his tail stuck between his legs. He wanted to
prove he could make it, especially to his parents who would welcome him back with that I-told-you-so look
and the keys to the business he didn’t want to run.
“I don’t know who you are, man, but you’re in my way,” Truman said, not stopping his trek.
“I’m Craig George.” He presented his hand.
Truman had never turned down a man’s handshake. He grabbed Craig’s hand, gave him one solid hand
pump and continued on to the elevator.
Craig continued. “We spoke on the phone. I don’t know what just happened with you but I would like to
talk before you leave.”
Truman stared into Craig’s eyes. Craig seemed sincere. He didn’t have that sleazy look most record
execs had. Actually, looking at him closely, Craig seemed desperate. No. Scared was more like it.
The man fidgeted with his suspenders and ran his hand over his smooth head. He adjusted his glasses
so many times Truman knew the arms of the glasses must’ve been loose with all of the handling.
Truman was desperate too. He wanted to sing more than anything else. Fatima Evans seemed to be on
his side when she’d signed him a year and a half ago. After she died, Truman felt like he was left twisting
in the wind. God, he needed this record to make his career.
Truman punched the down button for the elevator. “There ain’t nothing to talk about.” He peered over
Craig’s shoulder and saw Shauna creeping to a set of glass double doors. Truman pointed to her. “She
said enough.”
Craig turned to her. She held the glass door open, looking through it at the two of them until she finally
ducked inside. She couldn’t mask the scared look on her face, the little bit he could see of it. She had on
that ridiculous hat that looked cartoonish.
Truman had been nervous about meeting the infamous Shauna Stellar. Stories of her diva attitude and
tough demeanor paled in comparison to the heap he found on the bathroom floor. Maybe the other
stories he’d heard about her were true. Maybe she was crazy. Charisma Music had been nicknamed Ca-
Razy Music by some insiders. Truman understood why now.
“What did she say to you?” Craig asked when he turned back to Truman.
“She said exactly what I thought you called me up here for in the first place. Y’all are cutting me off. I’m
not getting to finish my second album.”
The elevator dinged. Truman didn’t know what he was going to do once he got on and out of that office
but he knew his dignity was worth a whole lot more. He’d lived on tuna fish and crackers before. He could
do it again.
Hell, who was he kidding? He didn’t want that life again. Not when he and his friends were so close to
breaking through.
Stop being so irrational, man, and hear him out.
“Wait,” Craig said and put his hand on Truman’s shoulder. “Please listen. I only want a few minutes of
your time. And if you decide after what I propose you still want to walk, then I’ll be the first to wish you
luck.”
The doors opened. Truman remained in his spot. He’d never been known to walk away from a bad
situation. He’d been a man about every hardship in his life. If he couldn’t see this thing through, what kind
of man would he be? What kind of example would he be to Carlton, his son?
“What would you have to lose?” Craig asked.
“Five minutes,” Truman said. The elevator doors closed. His chest felt tight and he took in a deep breath
to relieve the pressure.
Craig exhaled and put his hand on his chest. “Thanks, man. It’s all I ask.” He led Truman back down the
hallway. Craig turned to him and said, “And don’t listen to Shauna. Sometimes she speaks before she
thinks.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Means you’re speaking from the heart. No barriers.”
Truman had to admit that although he didn’t particularly care for what Shauna had said, he appreciated
her honesty. That trait didn’t come along so often in the music industry.
After opening the glass door for Truman, Craig followed him inside. Truman took off his hat. He found
Shauna sitting still in front of a large desk with her back to him.
She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. For as tall as she was, she seemed small. The only thing he could tell
about her was that she had light brown hair in braids that hung below the brim of her hat.
When he’d first seen her in the bathroom, he wasn’t sure who she was. From the curve of her waist and
roundness of her backside, he knew she was definitely female. And from the way she threw up, he knew
she needed some help.
Truman took residence in the chair next to her, being sure to keep his eyes forward. He wasn’t sure what
would blurt from her mouth if he’d looked at her.
Craig stood in front of his desk, splitting his attention between the two of them as he leaned back.
“Everyone comfortable?” Craig asked. “Either one of you want something to drink? There’s coffee or I
could get you a soda from the machine and there’s juice in the refrigerator. I don’t know who it belongs to
but I’m sure they won’t mind if you---”
“Your time is ticking, Mr. George,” Truman said. He didn’t want to be where he wasn’t wanted. Besides, if
Truman was about to get the boot, he needed to start looking for a job.
Craig held up his hands and plastered a smile on his face. “You’re absolutely right. And call me Craig.
Although I’m not your manager, I don’t want us to be so formal.”
“Fine, Craig. Let’s get on with this.” Truman sat his hat on his knee.
“You don’t have to be so snippy with him.”
Hearing Shauna’s voice drew Truman’s attention to her. Her low, breathy voice commanded his interest.
He also wanted to catch the quiet queen’s expression.
“I’m not being snippy as you call it.” Truman sat up straighter. “You know it would be easier to talk to you if
I can see your eyes.”
Shauna turned to him. Instead of taking off her hat, she pushed it back and flipped up the brim to expose
her face.
“Happy?” Shauna asked.
Seeing her clear light brown almond-shaped eyes, her high cheekbones, and her full lips, Truman could
honestly say that he wasn’t unhappy to see this vision. He was used to seeing her, or her image, in this
glamorous way. Tons of makeup, glittery outfits, a seductive look in her eyes, skinny little stiletto heels
that pumped her ass up like it was on a pedestal. Without her makeup and in a plain white t-shirt and long
denim skirt that rested way below her exposed belly button, Shauna didn’t look like that same larger-than-
life celebrity.
Still pretty. A pain but pretty.
“It’s better,” Truman said, brushing a non-existent piece of lint from his pant leg. “I want you to tell me to
my face that I’m not recording my second album.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Craig said. “Who said you wouldn’t be recording?”
Truman said, “She did,” just as Shauna said, “I never said that.”
“I just said that I shouldn’t be the one producing your next CD.” Shauna lowered her hand and the brim of
her hat remained in its spot, folded up and keeping her face exposed.
“Why would you want to produce my next album?” Truman turned to Craig. “I wanted to finish producing
my album. I know what songs I want on this one and what artists I want on it with me.” He turned to
Shauna. “And I don’t think you would do my music justice.”
“Why is that?” Shauna folded her arms. She was starting to look like her celebrity self and less like that
real, vulnerable woman who seemed tiny just a second ago.
“Because you’re---” Truman waved his hand to her but cut himself off.
“If the word ‘black’ comes from your mouth, I swear I’ll---”
Craig cut Shauna off. “I’m sure Truman has the same trepidations about you producing him that you had
about doing it. Style of music, etcetera.” He slammed his hand on Truman’s shoulder. “I’m sure race has
nothing to do with it, right?”
Truman knew a leading question when he heard it. Besides, he’d been through strained race relations
back home in Georgia. He didn’t think it would still exist in the music industry.
“No, I’m sure Mr. Woodley has black friends, right?” Shauna said.
Truman slumped in his chair and rolled his eyes back. “I’m here to talk about my music not getting into
some argument with a temperamental diva.”
“Oh no you didn’t!”
“Stop it. Both of you.” Craig stood between the two of them but Truman felt Shauna’s venom even
through Craig’s mature voice of reason. “You’re both going to co-produce. You’re both going to do this
CD.”
“No,” Truman said. “Absolutely not. It’s already out there that I’m producing this CD. If word gets out that
Shauna Stellar had to come swoop in and take over, it’s going to make me look like some amateur, like I
don’t know what I’m doing.”
“That’s the first thing we can agree on.” She nodded, flopping her hat brim like a flag.
“Don’t look at it that way, Truman. We can release a statement that Shauna is co-producing a couple of
tracks but in all actuality she’ll be listening to what you’ve recorded to see if changes are needed.”
Truman’s mouth dropped open and from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Shauna did the same but
then composed herself. He felt like a knife twisted in his stomach. His one true accomplishment, his
album, was slipping through his fingers right in front of him.
Craig flashed a grin. “And I have a surprise.”
Truman didn’t want or need any more surprises. The last thing he wanted was to have his second, maybe
his last, album sounding as mixed up as Shauna.
“We need to have a Shauna-produced song of yours on the air in a month,” Craig said. He volleyed his
head from Truman to Shauna.
Truman breathed a sigh of relief, afraid Craig was going to ask for something outrageous like a duet or
something. “Good,” Truman began. “That’s all I wanted. All I want to do is sing and perform.”
“And one more thing.” Craig made his way around to the other side of his desk, out of striking distance. “I
want a duet on the album.”
Truman’s heart pounded. It was as though Craig had read his mind. “Okay. There’s a country artist I’ve
been dying to work with.”
“No.” Craig pointed to Shauna. “You and Shauna.”
The bottom of Truman’s stomach felt like it fell to the floor along with his chin. He and his band had sung
songs about staying away from women like Shauna, flashy women with no substance, heart or morals.
How could he go back to his band, his friends since childhood, and admit to them that they were going to
have some pop princess recording on their album?
“Oh God!” Shauna leapt from her seat and ran from the office.
Truman felt an immediate pang in his stomach. Did Shauna get sick from the idea of singing with him?
Was there anything about Truman that didn’t make the woman ill?
Craig patted Truman’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine on recording day.”
Chapter 1
“Tell me again, Craig. What do you mean I have nothing?” Shauna Stellar slumped down in the red
leather chair that sat in front of her business manager’s desk. She remembered buying him this pricey
show-piece for his fiftieth birthday along with a black leather couch, mink carpet, mahogany desk with
platinum fixtures.
Good to see that they all traveled well from the office building she used to own to Craig’s new digs on the
second floor of a building down on the beach in Virginia Beach.
Craig adjusted his glasses on his thick nose. “Your year stint at the nuthouse hasn’t done wonders
for your career.”
Shauna pulled her floppy red hat down lower over her eyes. “It wasn’t a nuthouse,” she mumbled. “I
just needed some time away.” She balled her hands into fists to keep Craig from seeing them tremble.
His harsh words bounced around in her head in the same way she used to drum her head against her
mattress at night during her stay at Peaceful Acres.
Come on. Don’t panic. They’re just material possessions. It’s not you anymore.
Craig snickered in that manner that made Shauna cringe. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time now, Ms.
Thang.” He stood from his desk. “Audiences are fickle. Stay out of the spotlight and they forget about
you.”
“But I pre-recorded so much material. What happened to releasing my CD?”
Craig lowered then shook his shaved head. He reminded Shauna so much of her late father right at
that moment. Her heart slowed its beat and she felt a heavy pressure on her shoulders, the same
pressure that had crippled her spirit.
Come on, girl. Breathe. Just breathe.
“No one bought the CD you released before you committed yourself.”
“Stop saying that. I didn’t commit myself.” She folded her arms and brought her legs up on the chair
to make herself into a little ball. “I wasn’t crazy.” Maybe if she said it enough people would believe her.
Maybe she would believe it herself.
“What would you call it when you suddenly dropped out when you were at the top of your game?
Radio stations stopped playing you. I couldn’t sell MTV or BET on one of your videos. The fans stopped
writing.” Craig tapped his fingers on the desk. “I’d call it crazy.”
“I got fan mail. They cared.” Yeah, all one hundred of them. Used to be Shauna’s fan mail came by
truckloads. Now the mail carrier could deliver them to her in one trip.
When Shauna lowered her head she heard Craig sigh. His tough love bit even wore on him. His hard
edge worked on concert promoters, record execs and attorneys, which is why she didn’t bat an eye when
he’d used it on her. But now, after what she’d been through, she felt she didn’t deserve this treatment.
Not now.
She chewed on her lower lip to suppress her tears. Thank God her hat covered her face.
“I was tired,” she muttered.
Craig stood from his desk and planted himself in front of her. He brought his hands to his hips. From
under the brim of her hat, Shauna spied his knock-off Rolex watch and simple gold wedding band that
glowed against his dark skin. This was a man who she used to kid about that he had his own Mr. T starter
kit for all of the jewelry he wore. Now he was reduced to a department store watch and his original
wedding band. Her sabbatical had limited him to this.
“When you dropped out, all hell broke loose at the office,” Craig began. “Your accountant ran off with
half of your money and fled the country. We tried to get your attorney to sue the bastard but she was in
on the scam too and took off with more of your dough. Then you had all of the other people in your
employ.” He brought his hand up and ticked off people on each finger. “Your personal chef, your
masseuse, your stylist, your dog’s stylist.”
“What about you?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You could have gone
off and represented some other hot up-and-comer.”
Craig put his hand on top of Shauna’s shoulder. It was the first personal touch she’d had since being
away for a year. She relaxed her tense shoulders but kept her head down.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Craig said, his already deep voice dipping down a lower octave. “I gave up my
pay months before you went in. I hired my own lawyer to go after the bastards but they made sure to have
ironclad contracts. I saw the writing on the wall and I tried to tell you but, well, you know.”
Yes, Shauna knew. She hadn’t listened to anyone. She now paid the price for having too many people
hanging on to her and having almost all of them be yes-men. All except one.
Craig said, “I also sold my house, the cars, the jewelry. Delores and I don’t mind the comparably smaller
house. She says there’s less to clean especially since the maid stopped coming by three times a week.”
He snickered again but this time it was meant to ease her mind.
Shauna patted his large hand and took a deep breath.
“And the restaurant?” she asked. She remembered when Craig had bought the place for his wife because
it was Delores’s dream to own her own southern cuisine restaurant.
Craig smiled. “I don’t care if I have to dig ditches to keep that place going. Delores has more than earned
her right to have Back In The Day Place. Besides, it pays rent here and the mortgage at home.”
It was nice to see a man so supportive of his woman’s goals. Shauna’s father supported her mother when
she wanted to get into music and get Shauna into it too. It would have been nice to have someone
supporting Shauna instead of using her.
Shauna scanned Craig’s much smaller space. The brick walls were painted a bright white color and it
didn’t match the expensive items he’d brought into the room. But as soon as Shauna’s eyes settled on his
shelves and she caught a glimpse of her Grammy awards, she raised herself from the chair and strolled to
them like a light luring sailors to shore.
When she stood in front of the gold awards, she stared at them. They reminded her of her old self.
Her confident self. What had happened to her?
She put her hand on the plate and ran her fingertips over her engraved name. A shiver crept up her back
as though she had touched a tombstone.
“When the I.R.S. sold your house and all of your possessions while you were, uh, away, I couldn’t
bear to let them sell those,” Craig said from behind her. “I didn’t have enough money to buy anything
else.”
How fitting that Shauna would be getting this news on the fifteen of April. She thought the springtime
meant renewal. Getting rid of the old and ushering in the new. She felt more like Old Man Winter had just
dumped a ton of ice and snow over her head.
Shauna took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
What world had she returned to? She would have been better off staying at Peaceful Acres but the
doctors there had convinced her to go, move on with her life. How the hell was she supposed to do that?
What life? The life of cameras in her face? Never-ending stories in the press that were full of lies?
Having no privacy? Having no life? Having no family?
But she used to sing. That had given her joy. But could she be happy again?
“So now what, kid?” Craig asked as he strolled back to his desk.
Shauna turned around. She didn’t want to keep staring at her awards anyway. They were painful
reminders of a life she used to have, about a person she used to be.
“I’m going to sing.” The statement made her blink. She’d thought about it during her time away but
never verbally expressed her desires. But what else did she have?
“Good girl!” Craig beamed, a smile spreading from ear to ear.
“But I haven’t written in a while and I want my first CD to be my music,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I’
m not ready.”
In more ways than one, Shauna wasn’t ready. She hadn’t sung a note in a year. She hadn’t written a
song in that same time period. She wasn’t even sure she could get up in front of a crowd of people and
sing like she used to. But she would. She would have to.
“I figured you would say that.” Craig rifled through some papers on his desk as she approached him.
“So if I have no money, if everything I own is gone, what do I do now? Where do I go?” Shauna
reclaimed her seat. This time she pushed her hat back and stared at Craig in his eyes.
“You will stay with me and Delores. She’s missed the kids since they’ve gone off to college and gotten
lives of their own. You’ll be good for her. She can lay off of me for a change.” Craig chuckled. “And your
cousins are in and out of the house all the time.”
Shauna exhaled in relief. She really didn’t want to stay on her own right now. She still needed some
support. Craig’s tough love and Delores’ good ol’ home cooking would do her fine. Plus seeing her
cousins would do her a world of good. She needed family.
Craig clasped his hands together and sat the union on his desk. With a grin as big as the Atlantic Ocean,
he said, “And you, my dear, are going to get back by producing.”
Shauna furrowed her eyebrows, which were in dire need of a good waxing.
“Producing what?” she asked.
“Music. You know. That thing you know about so well.” He smiled.
Shauna couldn’t help but to smile with him. It was that same reassuring smile that got her through her first
on-stage performance by herself. He’d given her that same grin when he convinced her that she was
going to win her first Grammy the night she did. And he’d smiled at her the day he’d dropped her off at
the rehabilitation center and told her she would be fine. But she wasn’t feeling this new plan of Craig’s.
“Who will want me to produce them? You’ve called me crazy. Don’t you think other artists out there
think the same thing? I want to work, Craig, but I don’t think even my opinions will matter to anyone.” She
wiped her eyes.
Craig squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t say that. I don’t want to hear that negative talk from you
anymore. I’ve known you since you were fifteen.” He held his hand about three feet above the floor like
her five foot ten stature could have ever been that height at fifteen.
“Besides,” Craig opened his eyes, “it’s all you have left.” He plopped a file in front of her with Charisma
Music in iridescent lettering across the top. The folder nearly knocked over his nameplate. Craig George,
Business Manager.
“This was my mother’s studio,” Shauna whispered.
“The smartest thing your mother did before she died, besides raising a wonderful daughter, was to will
this place over to you once you turned twenty-five. I didn’t want to tell you this before because of
everything that was going on with you. I mean with the record deal then your mom and---”
Shauna raised her had to stop him. She didn’t want to hear a replay of the last few months before
she took her year of rest, especially not about Raheem, the main reason she couldn’t handle being in the
real world anymore. She didn’t know the heart and mind were related but as soon as her heart broke her
mind snapped.
Craig straightened his tie. “The studio is yours. The I.R.S. didn’t take it.”
“So?” Shauna didn’t see the possibilities like Craig. But from the way he flashed his megawatt smile,
she knew he had something in mind.
“So, you do what I said. You produce. Get your name back out there. Then eventually when you’re
up to it, you’ll sing again.”
Shauna shook her head. “I have to write first. I have nothing to sing about. The Princess of Love
Ballads is dead.”
At one time she hated that media nickname. As an R&B singer, she’d sung more than just ballads. But
the slow love songs did put her over the top as a multi-platinum artist. What did she have to show for it
now except for some memories and awards bought at a yard sale?
“She doesn’t have to be.”
Right now she would pay her whole life’s earnings for one person to call her that. She wanted to give her
life to be able to sing one note, one perfect note.
Before Shauna could object, Craig raised his hand in front of her to stop her. Her father used to do
that when he was alive. It annoyed her then and it still bothered her.
“Don’t shush me,” Shauna said.
“Hear me out.” Craig’s low voice rose until it squeaked.
“I still don’t see how having a studio is a good thing except for recording my next album. And what
artist is going to want to want me to produce them?”
“The one artist your mother signed before she died. He’s all we have left in the stable so we have to
work with what we have.” Craig looped his thumbs around his black suspenders and leaned back into his
creaky swivel chair. His normally rounded belly appeared flatter. Shauna knew it wasn’t from exercise but
rather an adjusted new diet that excluded the rich foods he enjoyed when money had rolled in steadily.
Craig continued. “We released his first CD but it didn’t do that great in sales. Critically it was mixed.
But we gave him a two-record deal and we have the funds in the operating budget to produce his next
album.”
“Why not drop him and use the money for me?”
It was a selfish thought but this was her career they were talking about, not someone else’s. She needed
to work and it didn’t matter who this guy was. Besides, it was her turn to walk all over a man to reach her
goal. Raheem had done it to her. Bastard.
“One word, my dear. Lawsuit. We don’t have the money to fight him and he would definitely win.”
“No loophole?” Shauna wasn’t that far removed from the business to know that every contract had its
loophole. Then again, had she been such an expert on contracts, her accountant and attorney wouldn’t
have stolen all of her money.
Craig continued, interrupting her thoughts. “No loophole. His second album is all but done. I want you to
go over it and clean it up. Plus he has a couple of tracks to lay down first.” He hunched his shoulders.
“Sorry, baby girl. I hadn’t expected you to get out so soon. I was hoping the money generated from this
guy’s album would bankroll your comeback CD.”
Damn. Her pride had been broken before when a man’s music career came before hers. Now it was
happening again? Her pounding heart thumped in her head. With a deep inhalation through her nose
and a long, smooth release of breath out of her mouth, she managed to calm her raging heart. No man
was going to use her to get ahead in music again. But she needed to know the man’s name who thought
he would drag her down.
“So who is he?” Shauna asked in a nonchalant fashion, her gaze fixed on the folder and a hand on
her lap keeping her bouncing knee restrained.
Craig pointed down to the folder. “Look inside.”
Shauna flapped open the cover and caught an eight-by-ten glossy colored picture of a man, a white
man, in a cowboy hat, jeans, cowboy boots and white button up shirt that was opened down to mid-chest.
In the shot, the man with a goatee leaned against a wooden fence with a lasso in one hand and the reins
of a horse in the other. It was so over-the-top, stereotypical country that Shauna couldn’t believe this was
real.
“You’re kidding, right?” Shauna asked as she kept her gaze on the singing cowboy’s mesmerizing
brown eyes.
“Does it look like I’m laughing?” Craig’s face had gone stone cold serious.
“Please tell me he’s the next white soul singer who happens to like wearing this Grand Ol’ Opry getup.”
“Nope. Country. Straight up and down.”
“I sing R&B. All I know is R&B. How in the hell am I supposed to produce a country singer? I don’t know
anything about their music. I mean I can even understand hip-hop or rap, but this…”
“Sure you can do it. Whitney sang a country song.”
“Yeah, she sang it in an R&B way and made it her own. This man is a country singer who wants to sing
that way. I can’t do this.” She slammed the cover on the Dukes of Hazzard cutie and brought her hat
down over her eyes again. “Why would my mother have even signed him? I didn’t know she knew
anything outside of soul music.”
“She wanted to branch out. Try some new things. Why don’t you take a page from her book and try
producing?”
Shauna shook her head, nearly losing her hat in the motion. “Let’s just cut our loses. I’ll sell the studio,
pay this guy off and go on---”
Craig cut her off. “Go on what?” He shot his hands up. “This is it, little girl. Music is all you have. My life,
my world is wrapped up in this business. I believe in you. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have made it here into
my office. Now I’ve been waiting patiently for you to come back. I have made plans and back-up plans
and back-up plans to those back-up plans for when you come out. And when I present you with an offer
you turn your nose up at it? I don’t think so. You’re going to go down to the studio every day with Truman
Woodley.”
“His name is Truman Woodley? What is he, a Boy Scout?”
“Maybe when you start working with him you two can decide on a suitable name change. But you are
going to do this. All of this is going to lead you back to one thing.” Craig held up his index finger like God
prophesizing her fate. “You’re going to sing again and to packed houses.”
Shauna’s stomach churned. Although she’d said she wanted to sing, the idea of standing in front of a
crowd hit her like a punch in her gut. She swallowed hoping to calm her tightened insides but instead
everything in her belly felt like it was going in reverse. She hadn’t felt this way since the first time she’d
sung on stage by herself at the tender age of fourteen. She bolted from her chair and ran to his glass
doorway.
“Down the hall to the right!” Craig screamed after her. He must have known that the idea of her
aiding another male singer sickened her. And knowing that she held the fates of her dear friend Craig and
his family as well as this artist unknown to her and whatever family he had, made her even sicker.
Shauna’s pounding footsteps on the hardwood floor echoed in her ears. She ran passed an office
worker who must have recognized the international sign of being nauseous. He directed her to the
bathroom but all she heard was “…door on the right.”
Shauna burst through a door, pushed open a stall door and collapsed at the toilet, purging her
insides into the white, automatic bowl. As soon as she lifted her head slightly, the murky water swirled
down, offering her a clean bowl to continue vomiting. She inhaled and caught the putrid stench of her pre-
digested food.
After her second heave and the toilet’s second auto-flush, she felt something over her shoulder.
Shauna turned her head to see a crumpled white paper towel by her.
“Thanks,” she said as she took the paper. “God, what a day.” She said it out loud to herself but also
to the kind stranger behind her who had just offered her some compassion in the form of the gritty paper
towel.
“Do you ever get the feeling like the world is laughing at you and you’re not in on the joke?” Shauna
began. “That’s the way I feel. I get home today and I’m told to produce this country singer who I have
never heard of. I don’t even listen to country music. And I have that guy’s career, my manager’s career
and my own career riding on everything that I do. It’s too much. Something’s got to give and I think it’s
going to have to be Slim Pickens.”
She heard a flush from a couple of stalls down from her and a creaky door opening and closing.
When her stomach felt settled after she’d purged, both physically and emotionally, she sat up on her
knees, still facing the toilet.
“I just don’t think I can do all of this.”
When she heard the water in the sink turn off, Shauna raised herself up from the floor.
“I don’t know who your are, but thank you for listening to me make a fool of myself.” She smiled and
laughed until she turned around and was face to face with her Bo Duke-Slim Pickens singing cowboy.
Shauna allowed her eyes to peek behind him briefly to catch the row of urinals. Among everything else,
she’d run into the wrong bathroom. And she ended up confessing that she didn’t want to produce Truman’
s album.
Shauna swallowed uneasily and attempted a clumsy smile, one that twitched at the corner and didn’t stop
twitching until she put her hand over her mouth.
Truman towered over her. The gaze from his tobacco brown eyes bore down on hers until she felt
smaller than the brain of an ant. Had she had a brain in her own head she would have remembered her
own first rule of being a celebrity: never speak your mind in public. The truth was always twisted into
something distorted and ugly. But this time it wasn’t her rule that got her. It was her own rude statements
that had stung her.
Shauna took a step back into the stall. Truman, looking like he had stepped right off of his photo in
his jeans and white button up shirt, scratched his head. His short, brown hair barely moved in the motion.
He put one hand on the doorframe of the stall. The other hand held his cream-colored cowboy hat.
Just seeing his hat propelled Shauna to a time she’d tried desperately to block from her memory. She’
d never wanted to see another cowboy hat again and here she was face to face with one and its wearer.
As long as Truman didn’t put it on, she would be fine.
Truman smelled like the great outdoors, which included a mixture of fresh cut grass, leaves, tree bark and
honeysuckle. When she used to spend summers with Craig and Delores in Virginia Beach, the outdoorsy
scent used to calm her. Now she would always associate the scent with embarrassment, fear and anger,
Truman’s anger.
He placed his hat on his head, tipped it back with one finger and said, “And I thought our first meeting
would be awkward,” in this smooth country accent. He backed from her and made his way out of the
bathroom.
Shauna let out her breath, leaned against the cool tiled wall and slid back down to the floor.
“Great. Just what I needed, someone else to hate me.”
The door opened. She expected to see Truman, ready to formally curse her out for her stupidity.
Instead it was a young, pimply face man who did a double-take when he found Shauna in one of the
stalls. He stared at her then the urinals while hopping from one foot to the other.
He opened his mouth to say something when Shauna cut in.
“Don’t worry. I’m out of here.”
# # #
Truman stomped his way toward the elevator as some bald-headed black guy tried to stop him. In his
suspenders and with a fancy gold watch, the dude didn’t look like security. But then again Truman never
thought he would have seen a big star like Shauna Stellar on her hands and knees chucking her guts out
in a men’s bathroom toilet.
“Just wait, Mr. Woodley,” the man said in a pleading tone.
Oh, so now he was Mr. Woodley. So this guy knew him. Couldn’t have been from his one and only
CD. And hearing Shauna talk, Truman wouldn’t have a number two.
Damn it. He didn’t want to go back home to Georgia with his tail stuck between his legs. He wanted to
prove he could make it, especially to his parents who would welcome him back with that I-told-you-so look
and the keys to the business he didn’t want to run.
“I don’t know who you are, man, but you’re in my way,” Truman said, not stopping his trek.
“I’m Craig George.” He presented his hand.
Truman had never turned down a man’s handshake. He grabbed Craig’s hand, gave him one solid hand
pump and continued on to the elevator.
Craig continued. “We spoke on the phone. I don’t know what just happened with you but I would like to
talk before you leave.”
Truman stared into Craig’s eyes. Craig seemed sincere. He didn’t have that sleazy look most record
execs had. Actually, looking at him closely, Craig seemed desperate. No. Scared was more like it.
The man fidgeted with his suspenders and ran his hand over his smooth head. He adjusted his glasses
so many times Truman knew the arms of the glasses must’ve been loose with all of the handling.
Truman was desperate too. He wanted to sing more than anything else. Fatima Evans seemed to be on
his side when she’d signed him a year and a half ago. After she died, Truman felt like he was left twisting
in the wind. God, he needed this record to make his career.
Truman punched the down button for the elevator. “There ain’t nothing to talk about.” He peered over
Craig’s shoulder and saw Shauna creeping to a set of glass double doors. Truman pointed to her. “She
said enough.”
Craig turned to her. She held the glass door open, looking through it at the two of them until she finally
ducked inside. She couldn’t mask the scared look on her face, the little bit he could see of it. She had on
that ridiculous hat that looked cartoonish.
Truman had been nervous about meeting the infamous Shauna Stellar. Stories of her diva attitude and
tough demeanor paled in comparison to the heap he found on the bathroom floor. Maybe the other
stories he’d heard about her were true. Maybe she was crazy. Charisma Music had been nicknamed Ca-
Razy Music by some insiders. Truman understood why now.
“What did she say to you?” Craig asked when he turned back to Truman.
“She said exactly what I thought you called me up here for in the first place. Y’all are cutting me off. I’m
not getting to finish my second album.”
The elevator dinged. Truman didn’t know what he was going to do once he got on and out of that office
but he knew his dignity was worth a whole lot more. He’d lived on tuna fish and crackers before. He could
do it again.
Hell, who was he kidding? He didn’t want that life again. Not when he and his friends were so close to
breaking through.
Stop being so irrational, man, and hear him out.
“Wait,” Craig said and put his hand on Truman’s shoulder. “Please listen. I only want a few minutes of
your time. And if you decide after what I propose you still want to walk, then I’ll be the first to wish you
luck.”
The doors opened. Truman remained in his spot. He’d never been known to walk away from a bad
situation. He’d been a man about every hardship in his life. If he couldn’t see this thing through, what kind
of man would he be? What kind of example would he be to Carlton, his son?
“What would you have to lose?” Craig asked.
“Five minutes,” Truman said. The elevator doors closed. His chest felt tight and he took in a deep breath
to relieve the pressure.
Craig exhaled and put his hand on his chest. “Thanks, man. It’s all I ask.” He led Truman back down the
hallway. Craig turned to him and said, “And don’t listen to Shauna. Sometimes she speaks before she
thinks.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Means you’re speaking from the heart. No barriers.”
Truman had to admit that although he didn’t particularly care for what Shauna had said, he appreciated
her honesty. That trait didn’t come along so often in the music industry.
After opening the glass door for Truman, Craig followed him inside. Truman took off his hat. He found
Shauna sitting still in front of a large desk with her back to him.
She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. For as tall as she was, she seemed small. The only thing he could tell
about her was that she had light brown hair in braids that hung below the brim of her hat.
When he’d first seen her in the bathroom, he wasn’t sure who she was. From the curve of her waist and
roundness of her backside, he knew she was definitely female. And from the way she threw up, he knew
she needed some help.
Truman took residence in the chair next to her, being sure to keep his eyes forward. He wasn’t sure what
would blurt from her mouth if he’d looked at her.
Craig stood in front of his desk, splitting his attention between the two of them as he leaned back.
“Everyone comfortable?” Craig asked. “Either one of you want something to drink? There’s coffee or I
could get you a soda from the machine and there’s juice in the refrigerator. I don’t know who it belongs to
but I’m sure they won’t mind if you---”
“Your time is ticking, Mr. George,” Truman said. He didn’t want to be where he wasn’t wanted. Besides, if
Truman was about to get the boot, he needed to start looking for a job.
Craig held up his hands and plastered a smile on his face. “You’re absolutely right. And call me Craig.
Although I’m not your manager, I don’t want us to be so formal.”
“Fine, Craig. Let’s get on with this.” Truman sat his hat on his knee.
“You don’t have to be so snippy with him.”
Hearing Shauna’s voice drew Truman’s attention to her. Her low, breathy voice commanded his interest.
He also wanted to catch the quiet queen’s expression.
“I’m not being snippy as you call it.” Truman sat up straighter. “You know it would be easier to talk to you if
I can see your eyes.”
Shauna turned to him. Instead of taking off her hat, she pushed it back and flipped up the brim to expose
her face.
“Happy?” Shauna asked.
Seeing her clear light brown almond-shaped eyes, her high cheekbones, and her full lips, Truman could
honestly say that he wasn’t unhappy to see this vision. He was used to seeing her, or her image, in this
glamorous way. Tons of makeup, glittery outfits, a seductive look in her eyes, skinny little stiletto heels
that pumped her ass up like it was on a pedestal. Without her makeup and in a plain white t-shirt and long
denim skirt that rested way below her exposed belly button, Shauna didn’t look like that same larger-than-
life celebrity.
Still pretty. A pain but pretty.
“It’s better,” Truman said, brushing a non-existent piece of lint from his pant leg. “I want you to tell me to
my face that I’m not recording my second album.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Craig said. “Who said you wouldn’t be recording?”
Truman said, “She did,” just as Shauna said, “I never said that.”
“I just said that I shouldn’t be the one producing your next CD.” Shauna lowered her hand and the brim of
her hat remained in its spot, folded up and keeping her face exposed.
“Why would you want to produce my next album?” Truman turned to Craig. “I wanted to finish producing
my album. I know what songs I want on this one and what artists I want on it with me.” He turned to
Shauna. “And I don’t think you would do my music justice.”
“Why is that?” Shauna folded her arms. She was starting to look like her celebrity self and less like that
real, vulnerable woman who seemed tiny just a second ago.
“Because you’re---” Truman waved his hand to her but cut himself off.
“If the word ‘black’ comes from your mouth, I swear I’ll---”
Craig cut Shauna off. “I’m sure Truman has the same trepidations about you producing him that you had
about doing it. Style of music, etcetera.” He slammed his hand on Truman’s shoulder. “I’m sure race has
nothing to do with it, right?”
Truman knew a leading question when he heard it. Besides, he’d been through strained race relations
back home in Georgia. He didn’t think it would still exist in the music industry.
“No, I’m sure Mr. Woodley has black friends, right?” Shauna said.
Truman slumped in his chair and rolled his eyes back. “I’m here to talk about my music not getting into
some argument with a temperamental diva.”
“Oh no you didn’t!”
“Stop it. Both of you.” Craig stood between the two of them but Truman felt Shauna’s venom even
through Craig’s mature voice of reason. “You’re both going to co-produce. You’re both going to do this
CD.”
“No,” Truman said. “Absolutely not. It’s already out there that I’m producing this CD. If word gets out that
Shauna Stellar had to come swoop in and take over, it’s going to make me look like some amateur, like I
don’t know what I’m doing.”
“That’s the first thing we can agree on.” She nodded, flopping her hat brim like a flag.
“Don’t look at it that way, Truman. We can release a statement that Shauna is co-producing a couple of
tracks but in all actuality she’ll be listening to what you’ve recorded to see if changes are needed.”
Truman’s mouth dropped open and from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Shauna did the same but
then composed herself. He felt like a knife twisted in his stomach. His one true accomplishment, his
album, was slipping through his fingers right in front of him.
Craig flashed a grin. “And I have a surprise.”
Truman didn’t want or need any more surprises. The last thing he wanted was to have his second, maybe
his last, album sounding as mixed up as Shauna.
“We need to have a Shauna-produced song of yours on the air in a month,” Craig said. He volleyed his
head from Truman to Shauna.
Truman breathed a sigh of relief, afraid Craig was going to ask for something outrageous like a duet or
something. “Good,” Truman began. “That’s all I wanted. All I want to do is sing and perform.”
“And one more thing.” Craig made his way around to the other side of his desk, out of striking distance. “I
want a duet on the album.”
Truman’s heart pounded. It was as though Craig had read his mind. “Okay. There’s a country artist I’ve
been dying to work with.”
“No.” Craig pointed to Shauna. “You and Shauna.”
The bottom of Truman’s stomach felt like it fell to the floor along with his chin. He and his band had sung
songs about staying away from women like Shauna, flashy women with no substance, heart or morals.
How could he go back to his band, his friends since childhood, and admit to them that they were going to
have some pop princess recording on their album?
“Oh God!” Shauna leapt from her seat and ran from the office.
Truman felt an immediate pang in his stomach. Did Shauna get sick from the idea of singing with him?
Was there anything about Truman that didn’t make the woman ill?
Craig patted Truman’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine on recording day.”