“Good luck, Pops,” Ennis said.
“Yeah, good luck, Dad,” Junior added.
“Thanks.”
The three dapped and then the boys disappeared again.
Terrence turned at the door. “Think I have a chance?”
Charisse was one of the few people, assuming there were any others, that he admitted his insecurity to. He wanted the Song of the Year award, no matter how much he joked that the honor was simply in being nominated. Sales on his last album dipped lower than expected, as his unique sound—the lyrical stylings of an East Coast flow combined with the bounce of Southern hip-hop—was replaced by new and younger artists coming onto the scene. His income hadn’t declined, though. He expanded his fortune by investing in multiple business ventures—flavored water, a line of specialty vodkas, shoes, and other opportunities presented to him. He courted the idea of retiring, though he wanted to tour one more time before he left the rap game.
“I think you have every chance of winning. Win or lose, you did an amazing job, but I really think you can win, Terrence.” She crossed her fingers and held them up. “I have my fingers crossed for you.”
His eyes softened on her. “Okay if I call you after the show?”
“Of course. You know you always can.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He gave her the quickest, faintest peck on the cheek. “You’re the best.” He winked and then left.
Charisse quietly closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, chest heavy with an emptiness she couldn’t seem to shake. His cologne lingered in the entryway. He’d worn the same scent for a long time—a French brand that layered the crispness of citrus over the fullness of musk.
She placed a hand over the spot that he kissed. She shouldn’t dwell on the sensation but couldn’t help it. Divorced five years, they were in a good place now. They really were, considering how painfully their marriage ended. It took a while to get to this point of being friends and co-parenting in a positive way. But there were times when he touched her that the memories came barreling back and she longed for a simpler time, when they lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the west end and his popularity was limited to a small fan base. Before the record deal, the money, the glamour. Before the many women who’d catch his eye.
“Mom?”
She swung around and faced her eldest son. “Yes, baby?”
“Can we eat now? I’m starving.” Ennis’s caramel-toned skin was a mixture of his biological father’s fairer complexion and her deep brown complexion.
She walked over to him and looped an arm through his. “Yes, we can eat now.”
So her marriage was over, but she had three beautiful kids and lived a full life, simply because of them.
2
Terrence shouldered his way through the crowd at Madison Square Garden, clutching the gold-plated gramophone that proclaimed he won for Song of the Year. As he moved through the producers, musicians, and songwriters, he accepted words of praise, offered his own, and shook hands with more people than he could count.
Bo, his longtime assistant and friend, was somewhere nearby, but he didn’t bother to look for him after the backstage interviews. His only concern was to find a quiet corner to call Charisse. Finally, he found a spot at the end of a less-crowded hall that led off the main floor of the venue and dialed her number.
“Hello?” She answered on the first ring, as if she’d been waiting by the phone for his call.
“I won! Did you see?”
“Yes! Terrence, I’m so happy for you. I swear, there’s nothing you can’t do.” Her voice, full of happiness for him, sent chills over his skin.
That was Charisse, his greatest encourager. She’d been that way from day one, even when he doubted himself. Her words kept him hustling at the clubs and opening for better known acts. He wished she’d been here with him, like in the past, blowing him a kiss from the audience. Then he could squeeze her tight in a celebratory embrace afterward. Instead, he settled for her voice and imagined the grin coming through loud and clear.
“Have you called Grandma Esther yet?” she asked.
“Nah, you were the first person I called. She’s probably asleep, anyway. She doesn’t stay up like she used to.”
His grandmother raised him from the age of twelve, after his father walked out and his mother overdosed on drugs. Those first few years he gave her hell, and as an adult often did things that most definitely didn’t make her proud. Yet her love for him never wavered, remaining steadfast no matter how much he screwed up. If Charisse was his encourager, Grandma Esther was his rock.
“Yo T, you coming or what?”
Terrence twisted around to see Bo standing down the hallway. He was a big dude and looked like a light-skinned Terry Crews—with bulging muscles and a bald head. Two lovely young women were with him. Clearly, Bo was in a celebratory mood, too.
“Was that Bo?” Charisse asked.
