crowd had gathered, oohed and ahhed. He’d looked so hopeful. But she couldn’t say yes. She’d smiled and hugged him excitedly, making the crowd think she accepted so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. But later on she broke the truth. New York was her soul, Broadway her goal. That’s when he decided they needed a break.
And then Vince happened. She’d heard there’d been no shortage of women vying to claim the spot as Julian’s girlfriend that she’d vacated. A couple of them she knew. Word was he hadn’t dated, had focused on work. Once they got back together, she found out why and felt even worse about her rebound fling. Her rejection had hurt him as deeply as he loved her, a love so strong that when she reached out to him several months later, he took her back, no problem.
The train reached her stop. It was late. Only one other person got off with her. She walked to the stairs and climbed up them, trying to ignore the fearful thought that the duo she’d started calling Bert and Ernie might be waiting for her. Time for a diversion. It was either that or a panic attack. Pulling out her phone, she called Julian. Contrary to Paige’s advice, she would not tell him about what was going on. Julian didn’t know about that ill-fated tryst. She intended to keep it that way.
“Hey, babe. Thanks for the encouraging text. Didn’t read it until after, but the show was—” Nicki drew in a sharp breath as she watched a dark-colored sedan race toward her. Instinct took over. She ran against the light, chancing a look back as she crossed the street. Caught the first two letters on the license plate as the car zoomed through the intersection and continued on its way. Not after her. Just in a hurry. She remembered the license number Miss Frances had given her. The one she’d just seen wasn’t it.
She eased out of the storefront entryway, feeling silly. Paranoid much? She felt someone’s gaze and looked up to see an old man watching her intently. Could only imagine how she must have looked, running when no one was chasing her. Hiding from someone that he couldn’t see. She looked down and realized the call to Julian was still live. God, no. Had she made a sound? Nicki quickly pushed the end button, praying that somehow in the frenzy a message that would sound weird at best, maybe even frightening, wouldn’t go through. Minutes later a text came through. Her prayer had not been answered.
Babe, what’s going on? Where are you?
She continued the short distance to her house, formulating an answer on the way. Just inside her home, she dropped her bag and texted back.
Sorry about that. Just wanted to beat the light, that’s all.
Nicki continued up the stairs to her bedroom, hoping the casual answer would suffice. After several minutes had passed, she thought it had. She took a shower, washed her hair and slipped into a pair of comfy cotton pj’s. Grabbing her phone, she continued downstairs for a cup of chamomile. Julian had called. Left a message and a text. Not only did he not buy her lie, he told her he’d see her on opening night, in person, to find out the truth. Damn, damn, damn!
* * *
One week after that text exchange and ten minutes before curtain, the Drake entourage entered the theater and were ushered to the third row in the orchestra’s center section. They’d flown in for opening night on a company plane. A limo service met them at the private airstrip, with premium champagne and appetizers for the thirty-minute ride into the theater district. The men debonair, the women beautiful, they commanded the attention of the entire audience. Julian took the center seat. To his right was his oldest brother, Ike Jr., with his wife, Quinn. No question whose decision it was to accept his invitation. Ike, ten years older than his pretty wife, detested hip-hop or any similar sounding music. Or he had, until Quinn came into the picture. Of all Julian’s brothers, Ike’s temperament most closely matched his own. That the conservative executive who almost slept in a business suit tonight sported a matching shirt and slacks set from their fashion designer brother-in-law Ace Montgomery’s collection was proof of how Quinn had relaxed him.
Julian loved observing the laid-back Ike, almost as much as the fact that California’s next senator sat on his other side. After serving as mayor of Paradise Cove for several years, another brother, Niko, two years younger than Ike, was on a tireless campaign to represent the Golden State in the next election. He and attorney wife Monique crisscrossed the state tirelessly, so much so that the family staged a mock intervention to force a weekend of rest. The bribe? Tickets to Nicki’s sold-out show. A Monday morning meeting with a political think tank had been thrown in also, but Julian chose not to focus on that. His brother was here, relaxed, laughing with Terrell, Julian’s next oldest brother, in town with his wife, Aliyah. All in attendance to support his girl.
Their gesture was much appreciated. For almost a decade, his focus had been on getting his PsyD and completing his internship. Everything else had taken a back seat, including Nicki and his family. He blamed that fact on why Nicki turned down his marriage proposal. As for the people around him who shared his name? He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed them until just now.
He nudged Ike. “Ready to get the party started?”
“What I’d start would more likely be a mass exit.”
“Honey!” Quinn smacked his forearm. “That didn’t sound very supportive.”
“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes, with a pair of earplugs in your pocket.”
Julian leaned forward toward Quinn. “You’re kidding, right?” She shook her head. “Bro, really?”
“Guilty as charged.”
Julian and Quinn shared a sigh of exasperation. She watched him idly tapping the chair arm with his fingers. “Nervous?”
“Excited.”
“When’s the last time you saw her perform?”
New Orleans, Julian thought with a smile, remembering their secret family reunion getaway. “It’s been a while.”
“London’s going to hate that she missed it.”
Niko’s wife, Monique, sat next to Quinn. “All London is thinking about is fashion week. She and Ace are busy tightening up next week’s show-stopping finale.”
Julian’s youngest sister, London, was a superstar model, her husband, Ace, a model turned fashion mogul.
“Fashion week is impressive,” Quinn said, her eyes sparkling as she eyed the stage. “But this is Broadway.”
As if on cue, the lights dimmed.
The stage went completely black. A single drumbeat burst out of the darkness. Boom cha. Boom cha. Then several more percussion instruments along with a sequencer delivering an old-school scratch over syncopated beats, building with every note. Lights, like stars, began to flicker everywhere. On stage and off.
A group of dancers appeared, Nicki among them, lithe, graceful, beautiful, twirling and gyrating and skipping across the stage. Julian watched. Focused. Entranced. Her body seemed a mass of barely contained energy mixed with soulful joy and childlike timidity, personifying the young character she portrayed. A bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, the crystals covering it catching the light, mixing with the twinkling orbs around her that made her a star as well. His heart swelled with pride and, but for strong discipline, another body part would have also grown in size. She was beautiful and talented, amazing and perfect. And she was his girl.
The dance ended. For a second no one moved, then as one, the theater erupted in a round of earsplitting
