Chapter Twenty
CALAMITY
LYRIC ~ A COUPLE MONTHS LATER
“ I t’s a full house.” Fifi squeals as we look out at the masses assembled in at the Hassan II, soccer stadium, but that’s not what they call it. “Here it’s football,” Hassan cooly informed me when he suggested that I do a benefit concert for the earthquake victims. The naming of the stadium in his honor had been a gift from his father on his return to take his place as heir to the throne.
I hate to say it, I really do. I was more than a little jealous when I found out Khadijah had a gala for the victims of the earthquake.
“You were recovering from the attack.” Hassan told me early the next morning as we breakfasted in bed after he made love to me all night, repeatedly driving the point home he was only focused on me and our family.
He then suggested that I do what I do best and have a concert for the people. I thought was a wonderful idea. We could’ve done it sooner, but I wanted to platform Moroccan artists. I still smile, thinking of the day the calls went out. Each of them was delighted to be showcased on the worldwide telecast. Humbled to be included in helping their fellow countrymen.
Hassan made it so that it could be telecast worldwide with Black Rock handling the concert to settle the lawsuit that I didn’t even know he knew about. Terrence it turned out only wanted to hear from me. He’d taken an enormous loss in the canceling of my tour. Hassan took care of everything with the help of FADE while I was sick financially, then when I recovered, he gave Black Rock the exclusive rights to the concert.
Looking out among to the crowd, I have to say they did a magnificent job. The venue looks like stars are falling all around with the stage set up like an imperial palace. The stadium is filled to capacity. Everyone who’s here has donated at least a minimum bid of one- hundred-fifty dollars to the earthquake survivors’s benefit fund set up by the Hassan with Black Rock receiving ten percent — half of what they normally commission after Hassan’s marathon negotiations with Terrance. Rumors spread this is my final concert and the bids skyrocketed. We exceed our goal raising over ten million for the event. I insisted on my original tour crew so they could be compensated for me having to cancel yet another tour. Hassan had already made them whole financially when he took me off the plane, so except for a couple who’d already taken new gigs everyone has happy to come help me with this concert.
I’ve still have not said anything publicly about my plans to retire, but I think tonight would be appropriate since I will have the eyes of the world watching me.
“We start with Sassafras,” Fifi needlessly reminds me. I’ve started every concert with that song since I began singing. Justice wrote it for me when we were sixteen. It went viral on YouTube. People fell in love with that song and our story. It started my career. I’d sing it at county fairs. Then I sang it opening for FADE and Ghad. Now it gets millions of plays on music apps and that money goes to his parents. It’s the least I could do for all their son gave me.
“Following with Baddie, your top singles, then ending with My Love, Hibibi” she says so low so no one can overhear the song I’ve been working on and will sing with only my piano and my guitarist.
Her eyes are a swimming when I look at her and it takes everything for me not to burst out crying. I hug my bestie. Fi knows, I love my husband probably knew before I did. Way before I even acknowledged it. Maybe it’s because I feel like I have so much to lose or felt that way until my life was almost taken. I don’t have time to be fucking around letting my pride dictate my actions. I need to take life with both hands just like my dad said in his letter all those years ago to my mom.
I won’t let another day pass without letting him know how I feel. I know he was close to letting us be more before he thought I was trying to leave him. I won’t ever betray Fi and I won’t confess to a lie but can tell him this truth. I love him with my whole heart.
Looking up to the press box where I know he’s looking on with Ayaan, I smile. This concert is the highlight of my career. My son and husband being able to so see my last public performance is the culmination of my career.
Every press organization is present, and we did an event with them that just ended. I don’t know if it’s my status as the High Consort or because this event is for the people, but they were the most respectful, than they have ever been. None of the diva questions. And not even anything about me keeping my pregnancy secret then marrying him in a shotgun wedding. I know without him even saying, Hassan has been protecting me from all the negative publicity that could possibly emerge from an event like this. Unlike so many times before, my motives have not been questioned.
“She loves the people of Morocco and she wants to help.” The only word from His Royal Highness on record and that has stood strong for the press outlets throughout the world. Nothing more, nothing less.
Never in my life has anyone ever stood ten toes down for me like this man. FADE has stood by my side, but Hassan stood in front — chest out. Taking all the slings and arrows that should have come my way unblinkingly.
I’ve seen proud Black men stand up for their wives many times, yet never have I ever thought a man would put himself at the front for me.
How could I not make a song like My Love Habibi for him?
Fi cried when I sang it for her the first time and that was enough for me to know that I should sing it for the world tonight.
“You got this! You see how they love you? The top prices was ten thousand. Somebody paid ten-K to see you, Lyric!” Fi whisper-shouts as we me look on at the act performing before me.
I glance back, seeing Aliah, Indigo, and Fariq in my periphery. My team, loyal and true. All here for me. Whether through loyalty to me or Hassan, they are present.
“Yes, they love me and I love them.” I say with the reverence I feel that encompasses me with every performance. It’s never lost on me that everyone doesn’t get their dream to come true and I’m blessed to be able to do what I love.
As the other artist leaves I’m on their heals striding onstage swinging this forty-inch ice blond buss-down with a Farah Fawcett fringe bang I totally had her copy from my favorite BookTok influencer with the confidence and love first instilled in me by Justice then completed by Hassan. Two very different men that have shown me love in their distinct ways.
Justice was light and Hassan — gray tinged with black. Still, no one who claimed to be light ever supported me like my husband.
This thought is my companion as I step center stage to the crowd of a hundred thousand.
When the explosion hits, it takes me by surprise. My husband covered every contingency. Covered all the gaps. How could this happen?
The stage shakes, shudders, then starts to crash as the foundation begins to crumble beneath our feet.
Flashes go off. I don’t know if it’s guns. Yeah, my mind goes back to living in the projects. Those are definitely gun shots.
A burning pain sears my arm. Bright crimson stains the rhinestone covered white sleeves of the couture jumpsuit Summer made me.
“Lyric,” I swivel, ungluing myself from the spot I’m standing in, trying not to be distracted by the people screaming and panicking. Another hard oscillation and the far right side of the stage crashes like the earth is opening up, but I know it’s not a quake.
“Lyric,” Fi screams again, “RUN.”
I don’t think. Heart pounding. I look toward the press box and seeing smoke pouring from it.
Ayaan. Hassan. The only thing pounding louder than my heart is my need to get to them. Running as fast as I can across the stage, I ignore the shattering of the bulbs. The acrid smell of smoke and sulfur threatens to overtake me. I hear the pinging bullets, and I know they are for me.
Somehow and I know it’s nothing but angels shielding me as I race to the dark corner where Fi is waving frantically with panic urging me to hurry.
Just as I reach her, she darts out to grab me.
“No,” Fariq shouts, rushing toward us. I don’t know what he sees, but Fi twists and her body jerks hard, pushing me forward and down under her.
The breath is knockout of me. Looking up through the smoke and a little dazed, I see Fariq unload his clip in the direction of the shots that took us down.
He reloads, then sweeps, taking out more assailants. Crouching, still shooting, somehow he’s able to get enough of our clothes and drag us out of the line of sight.
“Lyric, are you hurt?” He demands as he checks Fi’s pulse. I notice the trembling of his bloodied fingers. Fi’s not shot, she just took the brunt of the fall. I’m hoping it’s just the wind knocked out of her.
“It’s nothing, just a graze.” Medics swarm in, taking Fi, who starts to move groggily.
Fariq helps me stand.
“Hassan messaged me to come immediately. Said he needed to get Ayaan to safety—” I stare at him, confused. This is not protocol. He seems just as bewildered. “When I stepped away to call to verify, the explosion hit.”
“Sir, we have to take her. Now.” Then they a rushing Fi off. My security team is all in place surrounding me.
“Go with her.” I urge him. The team has me separated. Indigo and Aliah are ushered in one direction and I in another. We split off as protocol dictates. I step into a black hoodie set they provide, making sure to tuck the wig in neatly.
The entire thing takes seconds. Invisible among the troop of warriors handpicked by my husband, I head out of the stadium.
We have a rendezvous spot where we will change cars five miles from the venue. I suspect that’s where Hassan and Ayaan will be waiting. I know he’s going crazy.
As we reach the cars, the cadre of men surrounding me all freeze then collapses to the ground.
Three black security vans pull up and a tall man fully swathed in black steps from the side door. I can only see his eyes. Eyes I know. Mercury silver eyes of a beautiful little boy I didn’t think lived anymore.
So when the voice whispers. “Hassan did this. Come with me or die.” I don’t question it. I take the hand offered.