much gold around his neck that he had to walk bent over. His work was his focus and the only bling he cared about were the Grammys and Platinum awards he and his stable of artists displayed on the walls of their homes back in L.A. At present, he was on his way to a breakfast in conjunction with the fiftieth-anniversary celebration of Grady Records, one of the pioneering recording companies of R & B. At thirty-three, Jamal was too young to have grown up owning any of the Grady hits, but he and everyone else in the music business owed their careers to the tracks laid down fifty years ago by the great Charles Grady.
The hotel room’s phone rang. It was the front desk informing him that his hired driver and town car were downstairs. Grabbing his bag, he quickly left the room.
He and the driver were just about to pull away from the hotel when Jamal realized he’d stupidly left his phone in the bathroom. Offering a quick apology to the driver, he hurried back inside.
A maid’s cart was outside his room and the door was open. Not wanting to scare whoever might be inside, Jamal entered and called out, “Hello?”
In reply, he heard a woman singing an old Anita Baker classic in a voice so fine it stopped him cold. The pitch and intonation were perfect. The resonation, pure. His heart raced as it did when he heard a new talent, so he peeked into the bathroom and got the backside view of a woman in a shapeless gray dress on her knees cleaning the bathtub. Headphones were in her ears, and her voice was rising and falling as if it had been sent from heaven.
He listened intently. Not only did she have amazing range, but more often than not an untrained singer sang flat when wearing headphones and this woman was blowing. Fighting to keep the excitement out of his voice, he called a bit louder, “Excuse me? Miss?”
Singing away and in her own world, Reggie happened to look around and jumped, startled at the sight of the tall, good-looking man in the doorway. He was dressed in all black and the dark beauty of him almost knocked her over. All she could do was stare at how absolutely gorgeous he was. She finally shook her mind loose, hastily snatched off the headphones and got to her feet. She wasn’t supposed to be plugged in while working and she prayed he wasn’t a new member of the hotel’s security detail.
“Um, I forgot my phone,” he explained.
Relieved that he wasn’t security, she asked, “May I see your room key, please?” No matter how cute, the rules came first.
He handed it over. As she walked to the open door and stuck the key card into the lock, she could feel his eyes on her. She tried to ignore the silent scrutiny but found herself peeking over at him just the same. The speculative amusement in his gaze made her hastily turn her attention back to the door.
Satisfied his key was legit, she handed it back, then reached into the pocket of her dress and withdrew his phone. She handed it over. “I already called security about finding it, so make sure you let the desk know you have it. I don’t want them thinking I kept it.”
“I will.”
Reggie wondered why she couldn’t seem to move. He had his phone and she had a roster full of rooms to take care of but they were staring at each other like two people caught in time.
“I heard you singing,” he confessed.
“Please don’t tell anyone. I’m not supposed to have headphones on, but it makes the day go faster.”
“I understand. You have a great voice. My name’s Jamal Reynolds.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’d like to talk to you, if I could.”
“Concerning?”
“Getting you into a recording studio.”
That broke the spell. She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Nice meeting you, Mr. Reynolds. Have a good day.” She moved back into the bathroom.
“No, wait. Here. Let me give you my card.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a platinum-engraved card holder.
“No, thank you.”
“But I’m a producer.”
“And I’m a maid with a bunch of rooms to do, so you go produce and I’ll clean.”
For a moment he appeared to be confused, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her. As if thinking maybe she wasn’t getting it, he stated plainly, “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Reggie knew better than to antagonize a guest, but the last thing she needed was to start her day having to fend off some joker intent upon Lord knew what. “Do I go back to work or do I call security?” she asked gently.
“So I can tell them you were singing when I came in?”
“Now you’re threatening my job?”
He stiffened a bit. “ No. I just want you to hear me out.”
“And if I don’t, you’ll tattle like somebody in middle school?”
He stared. He didn’t seem to like the sound of that. “Look, I’m Jamal Reynolds.”
“You said that, but did you hear what I said?” she asked quietly and as politely as she could manage. “I don’t have time to listen to whatever it is you think you’re going to run on me, so just go, please, so I can get done in here.”
He looked exasperated, then sighed. “Okay, you win. I’ll leave, but I can make you a star.”
“Uh-huh.” She took the embossed card he was holding out, hoping it might speed up his departure.
“I fly back to L.A. tomorrow night,” he said, looking all the world as if he couldn’t believe she was actually turning down his offer. “Would you call me when you get off work, please?”
“Sure.”
“Promise?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be expecting your call.”
“Okay, okay. Just go.”
So he did, and as soon as he disappeared, Reggie tossed the fancy business card into her trash can and went back to cleaning his room so she could move on to the next one.
At the end of the long day, she pulled into her grandmother’s driveway, turned off the engine and dropped her head wearily onto the steering wheel. Lord, I’m tired, she thought. Thanks to Trina not showing up, Reggie’s normal eight-hour workday had been lengthened to ten. There’d be overtime pay in her next check as a result, but at the moment the prospect of the extra money wasn’t enough to compensate her for the weariness plaguing every bone in her body. She’d made endless beds, cleaned endless bathtubs and vacuumed until her back begged for mercy. Now, all she wanted to do was crawl into a nice hot tub and soak until she turned into a raisin.
Inside the house, she found her pajama-clad grandmother chilling on the living-room sofa watching an old Western. Her long dreadlocks were piled neatly atop her head.
“Hey, Gram,” she said with a warm smile.
“Hey, baby. You look whipped. Long day, huh?”
“Too long.” Reggie plopped down into their worn green recliner. “Trina didn’t show up again.”
Gram looked over and smiled. “Good thing you love her so much.”
“I know. Otherwise I’d be tempted to kick her butt for having to cover for her again. How was your day?”
“Mr. Baines and I spent the morning riding through the Pointes looking at the rich folks’ homes. You should’ve seen the tulips on Lakeshore Drive. Absolutely beautiful.”
Mr. Baines was Gram’s current boo. They’d been together a few months but Gram wasn’t sure how much longer the relationship would continue. Being a retired English teacher, she thrived on intelligent conversation and that was not one of Mr. Baines’s strong suits. The Pointes,