Chapter 3
3
Was it something I said?
Perplexed, Angel stared after Iris’s quickly retreating form until she melded into the crowd on the dance floor. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood motionless, replaying and dissecting each moment of their interaction. Had he made her feel uncomfortable somehow? From the way she’d easily leaned into him, it seemed like she’d been enjoying their dance. Maybe he’d put his foot in his mouth by blurting out the suggestion that they take another walk on a different day. In retrospect, the line sounded corny to his own ears. It was just…after all this time, he still remembered everything about their conversation from three years ago. He remembered the sound of her sultry laugh and the slight tilt of her lips when she smiled. She looked almost exactly the same, except now her hair was longer.
Over the years, as he and Violet worked together and grew closer, Angel had expressed interest in Iris. He’d asked Violet to bring Iris to one of his shows, and Violet had vaguely told him that she didn’t think it would be a good idea. She’d gently encouraged him to aim his attentions elsewhere. Angel had been confused and disappointed by Violet’s response, but he’d respected the boundaries that she’d placed before him, figuring that she was trying to be protective of her sister. He’d tried not to mention Iris too often, but he’d been incapable of forgetting her completely, even if she’d slipped to the back of his mind.
Shortly after Violet’s anti-wedding party, Angel’s career had blown up overnight. His first single, “Better for You,” had gone viral and was declared the song of the summer. It rose to the number one spot on the Billboard charts, and Angel became top priority at Capitol Music Group. They’d thrown everything into the rollout for his first album. The budget for his music videos had been astronomical. He’d performed at almost every music award show. He’d signed endorsement deals left and right, and his newfound success gave him social currency. He sat courtside at Lakers games and was invited to birthday bashes thrown by celebrities he’d only dreamed of meeting. He was in the studio, on tour, back in the studio, onstage. It was never ending. A year later, when his second album dropped, and he’d evaded the sophomore slump and won a Grammy, his star had risen even higher.
And the women. They were everywhere. In his DMs. At his shows. Waiting outside his hotel with their phone numbers written on pieces of paper. They were his peers whom he met at industry events and parties and clubs. Beautiful women, talented women, who probably wouldn’t have given him the time of day before. At first, he hadn’t had the faintest idea of what to do with so much attention. A few of the women he’d been involved with over the years had been really lovely and accomplished and fun. But for some reason, Angel failed to feel a real, lasting connection with any of them, and that made him feel only lonelier.
Then tonight, he’d seen Iris standing there as the maid of honor. The initial potency of his crush on her had dulled for sure, but during the ceremony, his eyes kept drifting toward her. During her speech, Angel was spellbound as Iris shared the mic with Lily, speaking eloquently in her alluring voice. Throughout the reception, he’d kept his distance, remembering Violet’s directive about aiming his attentions elsewhere. He’d talked with other wedding guests and signed some autographs. He’d posed for picture after picture with the teenage cousins. And then when he’d realized that they were recording him, he began to feel self-conscious. The idea of being constantly perceived and picked apart by anyone with a smartphone was still difficult to get used to. Leaving his dinner half-eaten, he’d quietly slipped outside for a moment of solitude. And he’d wanted to check on Maxine. He’d found the oak tree in the middle of the vineyard…and then Iris had appeared.
Seeing her there had felt too good to be true. Like his long-ago prayer had been answered. He thought it might have been something like fate. Especially since he was the new brand ambassador for the company where she worked.
But given the way she’d practically run from him just now…maybe not.
An alert chimed on his phone, snapping him to attention. It was a text from his driver, Gabriel. Outside, boss.
Angel texted back, Thanks, coming now. Want some cake?
I shouldn’t , Gabriel responded. Then, But yes.
Angel laughed and walked back inside. The younger cousins whipped their phones out again. Angel searched the crowd for his best friend and bodyguard, Ray, and he found him slow dancing to a fast song with another wedding guest. The woman gazed dreamily up at Ray, like she’d been in love with him for decades and hadn’t just met him less than an hour ago. Ray often had that effect on women. Standing at six foot four with arms that looked like they could snap a tree trunk in half, a bald head and neck tattoos, there was something about Ray that women couldn’t resist. He’d moved to LA with dreams of becoming a professional bodybuilder, and he’d been Angel’s first roommate after connecting on a roommate app. They’d shared a crappy one-bedroom in West Hollywood that had low water pressure and frequent mice. To make money, Ray had worked as a bouncer at nightclubs, and Angel had bussed tables and sang at open mic nights. Ray eventually gave up on his dream of becoming a professional bodybuilder, but now he was paid very well to protect Angel.
Last year, after a fan had waited outside of Angel’s gated community and lain down in front of his car, his team had decided that it would be best if he didn’t leave the house without security. Angel had jumped at offering the job to Ray. If he had to have someone with him all hours of the day, he at least wanted that person to be a friend.
Ultimately, his level of popularity was what had influenced him to move to Manhattan last year. He was still recognized, but in the city, he had more anonymity and there were fewer paparazzi. New Yorkers didn’t care that he was famous. They’d still tell him to move out of their way if he was walking too slow.
Ray smiled at the woman and leaned down to whisper in her ear. The woman tightened her hold around Ray’s torso, and Angel laughed. It was funny that he had the reputation for being a Casanova or whatever when that title really belonged to Ray.
Angel kept walking in Violet’s direction, who stood arm in arm with her husband, surrounded by a group of older relatives. Angel waited patiently while Violet’s family members wished the bride and groom congratulations. When they walked away, he took his chance to slide in front of Violet and Xavier.
“Hey, you!” Violet beamed as she hugged Angel tightly. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you all night!”
“You’ve been too busy for me,” he joked, and Violet lightly swatted his arm. “I’m kidding, I wanted to say congratulations again before I left.”
“You’re leaving already?” Violet pretended to pout. “You can’t stay for late-night tacos?”
“We’ve got chicken, pork, barbacoa, and vegan, if you’re not into meat like the rest of her friends,” Xavier said.
“That sounds bomb,” Angel said. “But unfortunately, duty calls. Gotta go to the studio.” He dapped Xavier up. “Congrats, bro.” Then he leaned down and hugged Violet. “I’m happy for you, Big Sis.”
He’d given her the nickname shortly after they’d started working together, because Violet had always looked out for Angel and treated him like a person and not a product. She’d helped him develop his own sense of style. His clothes had become a unique avenue for him to express himself after spending most of his life doing the opposite. And she was genuinely his friend.
As he hugged Violet, he glanced up and caught eyes with Iris, who stood several yards away, holding hands with her daughter and speaking to Lily and her boyfriend. Their gazes held across the tables and chairs separating them. Spots of pink bloomed on Iris’s cheeks, and Angel’s pulse stuttered. Their gazes locked long enough for Violet to lean away from Angel and follow his line of sight.
“Let me guess,” she said quietly, smirking. “You still have a thing for my sister?”
Angel reluctantly pulled his eyes away from Iris. Violet’s head was tilted, observing him.
“I—” he started. “We went on a walk earlier and I basically asked her out. I think I might have made her uncomfortable somehow. I’m sorry.”
Violet looped her arm through Angel’s and began to pull him away, signaling to Xavier that she’d be back in a moment. Confused, Angel let Violet lead him to an unoccupied table. She leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“If Iris rejected you, don’t take it personally,” she said.
He glanced toward Iris again. Her back was facing him now as she talked with Lily. He studied the elegant slope of her neck and shoulders. Was it something about him that Iris found particularly unlikable?
“Why not?” he asked.
Violet bit her lip. “She’s been through a lot. I don’t think dating is really one of her priorities right now.”
Angel nodded slowly. He wanted to ask for more clarification, but he didn’t feel like it was his place. He glanced up, searching for Iris again, but she’d disappeared from her previous spot in the ballroom. He thought of the troubled look on her face when he’d asked her out.
“Understood,” he said quietly.
Violet wrapped Angel in a hug. “For the record, I do think you’d make a nice couple. You’re ridiculously easygoing and she’s not. It’s a whole opposites-attract vibe.” She pulled back from Angel and smiled. “I’ll see you in a few weeks for your next fitting?”
“Yeah.” Angel fought the urge to glance around the room for Iris one last time. He kept his gaze fixed on Violet’s joyful face. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”
After stepping away from Violet, he waved to Ray, who looked reluctant to separate from his dance partner.
“Sorry to bust up your groove,” Angel said, once he and Ray met halfway.
Ray shrugged. “It couldn’t have gone anywhere. She’s a marine biologist in Alaska, which is cool as shit, but I’m not tryna freeze my balls off whenever I have time to visit her.”
Angel snorted and swiped two slices of cake on their way out the door. Three women, fellow wedding guests, were waiting for valet to bring their cars around in the horseshoe driveway. They whispered to one another as Angel and Ray passed them. Angel smiled politely.
“Can we get a selfie, please?” one woman asked, already holding up her phone.
Angel doubled back toward them. “Sure,” he said.
He was tired, but during these moments, he always heard his mom’s voice in his ear, reminding him to be thankful for all the good that he had in his life. He wouldn’t be here without the fans who listened to his music.
He leaned down between the women and smiled as they snapped several selfies. Then he thanked them for their support and smoothly excused himself. He heard them giggling as he and Ray approached a black Mercedes with tinted windows. Angel tapped the back window and Gabriel unlocked the doors. Angel and Ray slid into the backseat and Angel passed a plate of cake up front to Gabriel.
“Got you a vanilla slice,” he said.
Gabriel nodded in thanks. He tucked a napkin in his shirt, always careful not to mess up his clean black suit. With one hand, he stuck a fork in the cake, and with the other he put the car in drive.
“Home or the studio, boss?” Gabriel asked.
“The studio,” Angel said, which was basically his home lately.
Gabriel kept his eyes on the road. “Did you have a good time?”
Ray stretched out his long legs and cracked his neck. “I’m gonna need to soak my feet after all that dancing. They couldn’t get enough of me.”
Gabriel laughed and looked at Angel in the rearview mirror. “And you?”
Angel pictured Iris’s face again and realized that tonight would probably be the last time he’d ever talk to her.
“Yeah,” he said. “It was beautiful.”
—
As Angel entered the recording studio in Chelsea, a familiar sense of calm washed over him. For as long as he could remember, music had always been his outlet.
There had been many rules in his house growing up. No swearing. No lying. No suggestive television or movies. No suggestive music. Activities that were allowed: school, church, Bible study and choir practice. His parents’ main goal in life had been to keep Angel and his younger sister, Leah, on the straight and narrow path. At night, while the rest of his family was asleep, Angel huddled under the covers in his bedroom, listening to CDs on an old portable CD player that he’d found at the thrift store.
His favorite artists were the greats like Marvin Gaye, James Brown, Al Green and Prince. But he loved nineties R & B too. Groups like Jodeci and H-Town and Next, and solo artists like Maxwell and Ginuwine. They sang songs that talked about women—songs that talked about sex. Angel loved the passion in their voices. As a sixteen-year-old virgin, Angel hadn’t done even so much as kiss a girl, but he wrote his own passionate love songs, inspired by the music that he loved. He’d been blessed with the gift of song himself, but his talents were solely reserved for singing solos before the congregation with the youth choir every Sunday.
Once, while cleaning his room, his mom had discovered his notebook of songs and his secret stash of albums, and she’d been beside herself as she’d shouted and lamented about Angel’s sinful thoughts. She’d grounded him for an entire month and made him meet weekly with his youth pastor. Angel always seemed to be getting in trouble somehow. At school, he was written up on multiple occasions because he couldn’t stop humming in class. At home, he forgot to take out the trash or fold his laundry because his head was stuck in the clouds, imagining a life outside of his bubble of Maren, Georgia, where he could sing the kind of music that he wanted to.
A few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, a visitor who worked for a small Christian record label in Atlanta happened to attend church service. The label rep saw something special in Angel and extended an invitation for him to audition for the larger team. Angel’s mother, Cora, had joined him on the drive to Atlanta, and after singing for the label execs, they offered to sign him on the spot. Cora had been hesitant because Angel still had two months of high school to finish, but after the execs assured her that Angel’s music wouldn’t interfere with his studies, she became more agreeable. Angel signed a one-album contract, and that day, Cora instated herself as Angel’s manager, because, in her opinion, he needed her there for his protection.
Angel loved singing gospel. He felt overwhelmed with a deep sense of joy whenever he sang in church. But it didn’t change the fact that his dream was to be an R & B singer.
His gospel album, while well reviewed, had performed to middling success. But it was enough to encourage him to chase his real dream. Shortly after turning twenty-one, he moved to LA. He hadn’t known a soul, and most of the money he’d made from his small gospel deal had gone toward helping his family, so he didn’t have much liquid cash. And, of course, his parents—particularly his mom—were against his decision to leave gospel behind for secular music, so that weighed on him too. But Angel tried to break into the industry in every possible way. In addition to the billions of open mic nights he attended, he posted his original songs on SoundCloud and made YouTube videos singing covers of popular songs. A video of him singing a D’Angelo cover got the attention of an R & B showcase organizer, who invited Angel to perform at their next event. That night, an A&R rep from Capitol Music Group listened to Angel sing and told him that he could be the next big thing in R & B, and Angel signed with the label.
The A&R rep had been correct in one regard: eventually, Angel would turn out to be the next big thing. But straight up R & B? Not exactly. For his first album, his label had pushed him in a pop-ish direction, saying that the sound would help break him out, and later he could transition to full-on R & B. Angel had believed them. He’d worked with their appointed physical trainer and changed his eating habits so that his body was perfectly sculpted for photo shoots. He’d taken the dance lessons and learned the choreography for his music videos. His first two albums had been filled with up-tempo tracks. He’d garnered the popularity and sales that the label had been hoping for. He’d even won a Grammy for Best New Artist.
Now he was working on his third album. His soul R & B album, supposedly. But every time he recorded a new song and turned it into his label, the song was swiftly rejected. This runaround had been happening for the last three months.
“Yo, bro,” Angel said, greeting his friend and producer, Malik, who sat at the mixing booth, nodding his head to a newly created beat.
Malik stood and dapped Angel up, then Ray. Ray sat on the couch and quickly fell asleep, which is what he usually did whenever he joined Angel at the studio.
Angel and Malik had been paired together for his first album, and even though Angel had worked with other producers since, he preferred working with Malik the most. They just vibed. Maybe it was because Malik was from Atlanta, which felt closer to home for Angel.
“Made some beats for you,” Malik said, sliding back into his seat. “Wanna hear ’em?”
“For sure.” Angel took the open seat beside Malik, loosened his tie and shrugged off his suit jacket.
Malik played a new beat. It was up-tempo, something you usually heard at clubs and parties. The same kind of music on his first two albums.
“Sounds dope,” Angel said.
Malik smirked at him. “You don’t like it, though. They keep rejecting everything else, so.” He shrugged.
“I know,” Angel said, sighing. “They’ll probably love this beat.”
Lately, his artistic integrity was in a constant war with his practicality. This kind of music had made him popular. It sold well and led to endorsement deals that lined his pockets and made it so that he could live his current lifestyle and pay for his parents’ mortgage and his dad’s diabetes medication and doctor visits and Leah’s college tuition. Being able to take care of his family was important to him.
So, if it wasn’t broke, why fix it? At the same time, he craved creative freedom.
He was exhausted by the current stalemate, though.
“Let me see if I can come up with something,” he said.
He pulled out a pen and his small notepad that he usually carried with him because he wrote the majority of his own songs and never knew when inspiration would strike.
He listened to the beat on several loops, gaining the rhythm, and waiting to see if any words or hooks jumped out at him. Nothing.
“Can we turn that off for a second?” he asked.
“Of course.” Malik cut the music.
Angel sat at the electric keyboard across the room and plucked a few notes. That was how some of his best songwriting sessions started: a pen, a paper, an instrument and a question. What did he want to say? What was on his heart? Ideas for songs usually came to him while he was focusing on other things, like showering or doing vocal exercises. He’d have to stop midtask and jot words down in his Notes app if he couldn’t get to his notepad. In high school, he used to carry around sticky notes and a pen.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. An image of Iris materialized in his mind. She was smiling at him as the sun set in the background. Wearing her light gold dress. No, it had been champagne gold. Angel played a few more keys and began to hum.
She’d been wearing a dress…the color of champagne.
He tapped his pen against his notepad and played the keys again before transcribing the words to paper.
You in that dress, the color of champagne.
He needed something to rhyme with champagne .
If he could go back in time, he’d try to make it clear that whatever he’d done, he hadn’t meant to upset Iris. He hurried to write again.
I don’t know how else to say it. How can I make it plain?
He was starting to find a groove. Her name was a flower. What rhymed with flower?
Your name’s just like a flower…
Someone he could think about every hour.
He felt the headlong rush of a creative flow underway. The words poured out of him, quicker than he could write. When he put them to music, lightly pressing his fingers against the keys, the song was soft and slow. The way he wished he could record it.
“That’s dope,” Malik said, listening quietly.
Angel grinned. But just as quickly, his smile fell as realization dawned.
“I need the label to finally approve something,” he said. He sighed and stood, approaching the recording booth. “Let’s record it over your beat.”
He spent the next hour recording, changing the lyrics when necessary. By almost midnight, the song was finished. Malik played it back a few times, tweaking here and there. The final product was good, something Angel pictured people blasting in their cars all summer. It wasn’t the sound he would have chosen but whatever. He’d send it to his manager in the morning to share with the label. Hopefully this song would be approved.
After leaving the studio, Gabriel dropped off Ray and drove Angel to his condo, which was also in Chelsea. As Angel exited the elevator and walked to his door, getting his keys out of his pocket, he heard Maxine whining and scratching at the door. She catapulted into Angel’s legs the moment he stepped inside.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Angel cooed. Maxine beat her tail against his thigh as he bent down to scratch behind her ear. She covered his face in exuberant kisses. She was too big to be carried now, but Angel scooped her up anyway and carried her into the living room, where he found his sister sprawled out on his couch, digging into a bag of Funyuns.
“You’re home earlier than I expected,” Leah said, sitting up. She was wearing an oversize hoodie, and when her hood fell back, revealing her head, Angel blinked. She’d buzzed off half of her curly hair.
“Leah…”
“Yes?” She stretched her arms and smiled innocently, picking up one of Maxine’s toys and tossing it across the room. Maxine jumped out of Angel’s arms and raced for it.
“When did you do that to your hair?” Angel asked, standing at the arm of the couch.
“About an hour ago.” She moved her head from side to side. She looked so much like their mom with her almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones. “Do you like it?”
Angel sat next to her and inspected her hair more closely. Lucky for Leah, she had a nice-shaped head. The look was actually pretty dope.
“I do, but you know Mom is gonna say this is my fault.”
Leah smirked at him. “What else is new?”
Every time that Leah did something that their mother deemed rebellious, she blamed Angel’s influence. Leah’s decision to go to NYU instead of staying close to home in Georgia? It was because of Angel. Leah getting a tattoo of a butterfly on her arm? That was because of Angel too, even though he didn’t have any tattoos himself. And most definitely, Angel, who dyed his hair frequently, would be to blame for Leah’s new halfway buzz cut. But Leah was twenty years old. Her frontal lobe might not be fully developed yet, but she was capable of making her own choices, despite what their mom thought.
“You know,” Angel said conversationally, as he took the bag of Funyuns from his sister and shook some into his palm, “I don’t pay all that money for your on-campus housing just for you to be here all the time.”
“My roommate’s girlfriend is over, and I’m tired of being a third wheel.” Leah rolled her eyes. She was taking summer courses to complete her degree in sociology early. “How was the wedding?”
“It was nice.”
“Did you bring a date?”
Angel laughed midchew. “If you count Ray, then yeah.”
“I don’t count Ray.” Leah snorted and took the bag of Funyuns back. “You and Gigi broke up almost two months ago. I’m surprised you haven’t already found someone new yet.”
Angel shook his head and laughed again. “You make me sound like a ho.”
“You kind of are, but I’m not judging.” Leah shrugged. “I liked Gigi, though. She was nice.”
“She was,” Angel said. “But we agreed we’re better as friends. We’re cool.”
“You said the same thing about that singer Shana Shah and that actress Tracey what’s her face, and then that model—”
“Okay, okay .” Angel plucked Leah in the arm. Sometimes he missed when she was the little girl who followed him around adoringly and didn’t comment on his failing love life. “Your point has been made, ma’am.”
“As your sister, it’s my job to be in your business like this.”
Angel rolled his eyes but smiled.
Each of his relationships (and the situationships too) had ended on good terms. There was no bad blood with any of his exes. At first, dating had been an exciting, new experience, because he hadn’t dated at all as a teenager and during his first few years in LA, he was practically broke and entirely too focused on trying to get signed. But when he did start dating, the fleeting relationships grew old pretty fast. They had been fun and new, but they hadn’t been anything deeper than that. He wanted something beyond the superficial.
Before he’d become famous, Angel had always known that he wanted to share his life with someone. He wanted to get married and have a family. Maybe he was a traditional Southern guy in that way. He craved a real connection with someone. With his kind of career, it wasn’t always easy to feel grounded. He just wanted to be with someone he could really talk to.
Leah rolled up the bag of Funyuns and yawned, standing. “Mom asked which day we’re coming down for the ceremony next month, by the way.”
Angel was being honored in his hometown Maren as a thank-you for funding renovations for his parents’ church and donating new equipment and instruments to the school district’s music department. The ceremony was held every year to celebrate different people in the community. His mother had been honored twice for her work with the church.
When he’d heard about the honor, he hadn’t planned on attending. He didn’t visit home very often. Mostly because his mom made his visits so stressful. But if the town was taking the time to honor him, and his old pastor was presenting him with the award, Angel figured at the very least, he could be bothered to show up.
“I’ll handle getting our flights booked,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
“Cool.” Leah began to walk toward one of the guest rooms that she reserved for herself, but she doubled back. “Hey, do you want to come to church with me tomorrow?”
Angel shook his head. “I’m good, but thanks.”
Leah smiled softly. She was used to this answer. She’d found a church in the city that she really liked. Angel hadn’t been to church in years.
“Okay. Good night,” she said.
“Good night.”
Maxine trailed behind Leah, and when she realized that Leah was going to bed, she returned to the living room and clambered onto the couch, dropping her slobbery bone toy in Angel’s lap. Technically, Maxine was Leah’s dog. She’d begged Angel for one since their parents hadn’t allowed them to have pets growing up. But Maxine lived with Angel, and he took care of her, so she was his too. He picked up her squeaky toy and threw it across the room. Maxine lunged and scrambled across the carpet.
Angel laughed and eased back onto the couch. He’d be separated from her in a couple weeks. He was going on a makeup tour for Save Face Beauty. No, wait, it was skincare. He’d been paid a lot of money to shoot ads and videos looking at his reflection in the mirror as he covered his skin in face jelly or moisturizer. Something to prevent dry skin and acne. He rarely said no to opportunities because, one, he never knew if or when they’d stop coming, and two, a check was a check. It was more money to ensure he’d be able to buy his parents a new house if they ever let him or to help Leah with whatever she needed once she graduated. He had a series of meet and greets scheduled throughout the country to promote Save Face Beauty’s new skincare products. He was traveling with a woman named Paloma and her assistant. Foolishly, he wished that Iris was the one accompanying him.
Maxine brought the toy back to Angel, and they played their rowdy late-night game of fetch for another hour.
In the morning, Angel received news that the label loved the new song. They changed his original title from “Infatuated” to “Summertime Fine.”
When it released two weeks later, it debuted at number four on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.