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  “I know why I wanted her yesterday. But this is today. A new day. I don’t want anyone to train my accent out of me. I’m done with that. Who else is here?”

  “Mali, Josephine Bennett’s assistant. She has sketches for the bridal dress you are modeling in her show during Fashion Week.”

  “Not going. Sorry. Next.”

  “Mrs. Bennett will be quite disappointed.”

  “I’ll send her some flowers. Next.”

  “Your trainer. He’s going over the menu with the chef. This is an all-protein week.”

  “Fuck that. I want a cinnamon roll from Au Bon Pain. Can you please get Elizabeth to get me one?”

  “They don’t carry them anymore.”

  “What?” Kipenzi placed her hands on either side of her body on the bed and gave Ian a dramatic wide-eyed look of desperation. “Since when?”

  “It’s been a while. The mayor banned trans fats. The folks at Au Bon Pain couldn’t make them taste the same with any other kind of fat. So they just took them off the menu.”

  Kipenzi swung her feet over the side of her bed, planted them on the floor, and then rested her chin in her hands.

  “Can you tell Elizabeth to get the recipe and use trans fat and make me a cinnamon roll?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can you call Melinda and tell her I quit?”

  “No. I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Ms. Hill, are you not feeling well this morning?”

  Kipenzi stood up and stretched. Then she clasped her hands behind her back and put one of her feet into both hands. She pulled her leg up and up and up until it was fully extended over her head in a move called a six o’clock because her legs were perfectly vertical like the hands of a clock at that hour. She released her leg and then gave Ian a wide smile.

  “I feel wonderful. I feel relaxed.”

  “You also have some designers waiting in your office for you. They had staggered appointments from eight a.m. to ten thirty to show you their ideas for the redesign of your office.”

  Kipenzi twisted her lips to the side. “What time is it?”

  “It’s eleven.”

  “And they waited all this time?”

  “Of course. I told them you were running behind schedule.”

  “And because I’m Kipenzi Joy Hill, they are waiting for me.” Kipenzi gave Ian jazz hands. “ ’Cause I’m a stah!”

  Ian ran his hands over his hair and raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh God, Ian. Stay with me. I’m not crazy, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I just don’t want to deal with this business anymore. I’ve been working since before I could walk. Did you know that?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I was on Family Matters. I played a baby whose father was dating Aunt Rachel.”

  “You’ve told me several times.”

  “Ian, how long does the typical American work before retiring?”

  “You can receive Social Security benefits beginning at age sixty-two. Assuming you start working at twenty-one, that would be forty-four years.”

  Kipenzi’s mouth dropped. “That’s insane.”

  Ian let his head dip to one side and shrugged his shoulders. “It is difficult for the common man.”

  “What about early retirement?”

  “Depends on the company you work for. They can offer you a package.”

  “Great. So my company is giving me an early retirement. I offered. I accepted. Beginning today.”

  “And the people who work for you?”

  “I’ll still need you, Ian. But everyone else can go kick rocks.”

  “A bit harsh, no?”

  “Yes. Very harsh. That’s exactly how I’m feeling this morning. Harsh.”

  “With all due respect, Ms. Hill. You have a staff that depends on you to feed their families.”

  Kipenzi closed her eyes for a moment and then ran her hands across her hair. “I understand that. I do. But I have to do what’s right for me right now. I don’t know if I’ve ever done that, Ian. I don’t think I’ve ever made a decision that was based on what was best for me.”

  “Understood. Should I dismiss everyone downstairs?”

  Kipenzi walked into her closet and began to look around. “Yes, please. And can you get Elizabeth to get me a pair of pink high-top Converses?”

  “Should I reschedule the designers?”

  Kipenzi turned around. “You know what? I think I will meet with them. I’d like to see their idea of what would make a good office for a stah like me.”

  “Maybe you should wait.”

  “No, no, no, don’t start, Ian. I’m just different. Don’t you ever wake up and just feel different?”

  Kipenzi didn’t wait for a response. She found a pair of jeans in a built-in drawer at the back of her cedar-lined closet. She put on a T-shirt, a souvenir from her last tour that was hanging up as a decoration.

  “Shall we?” she said to Ian.

  “Would you like me to get you a pair of slippers?” Ian asked, gesturing to her bare feet.

  “How often are the floors in this apartment cleaned, Ian?”

  “Twice a day.”

  “I think my feet will be just fine.”

  Ian put his hand on his hip and Kipenzi slipped her arm inside.

  “Front staircase or rear?”

  “Front,” Kipenzi said, smoothing back her hair with one hand. “Just because I’m retiring doesn’t mean I don’t like to make an entrance.”

  Ian gave Kipenzi a look. That line was written in one of her binders, but he wasn’t sure which one. Maybe it was one of the inspirational quotes she liked to collect for interviews. He dismissed the creepy feeling the quote gave him and then led his client down the spiral staircase into her new life as a retiree.

  KIPENZI NODDED HER HEAD UP AND DOWN, ALTHOUGH SHE COULDN’T hear a word the designer was saying to her. The woman had on bright red lipstick. It was applied too thick, like she’d done it with her fist while driving around midtown Manhattan, looking for a parking spot.

  Physically, Kipenzi Joy Hill was in the living room of her apartment, expertly designed by Sills Huniford in all white, cream, and shades of beige. Natural, the designer had said to her. We’ll use natural for the window treatments. “Is that the same color as flesh?” Kipenzi had asked her. The decorator had just smiled. She didn’t get it.

  Mentally, she was everywhere but her living room. She was three years old, sitting next to Bill Cosby, waiting for a scene to begin in which she was playing Rudy’s best friend at a sleepover. She was seven, belting out “The Greatest Love of All” on Star Search and getting a perfect four stars from Ed McMahon seven weeks in a row. She was fifteen, losing her virginity to her boyfriend in the back of his tour bus. Her group, Love and Happiness, was opening for his. He teased her about being his opening act. Now he was releasing singles on his myspace page while Kipenzi was selling out arenas as a solo artist.

  “How long have you been doing this?” Kipenzi asked the designer, who was holding up a large piece of foam core with sketches on it. The designer slowly lowered the paper, as if she’d known all along that Kipenzi wasn’t really paying attention to her.

  “I gave you a copy of my resume. I have over twenty years of experience.”

  “Right. What do you think of a SpongeBob theme in here?”

  “SpongeBob.” The designer looked around the living room as if she expected someone to pop out and clue her in on the practical joke.

  “Yes, SpongeBob SquarePants. You know, that little yellow—”

  “Right. I know SpongeBob.”

  “I’m thinking bright yellow on the walls. And the office can be an exact replica of his little pineapple under the sea.”

  “I’m not sure if I know what that would consist of . . .”

  “I know he has a television that looks like it’s inside of a diver’s helmet. That’s pretty cute.” Kipenzi looked up at the ceiling. “And I know he has bambo
o wallpaper. That would be fun. We could get Pierre Deux to make us a custom roll.”

  The designer blinked a few times and then smiled. She had a bit of red lipstick on her front teeth. “I think that could be very kitschy and cool!” she blurted.

  Kipenzi’s heart sank. Her worst fears were true. Her life was a joke. This woman, lipstick on her teeth and all, was a professional. She’d graduated from Parsons. Owned her own firm. Came highly recommended. And yet she was willing to sit here and agree to convert her client’s study into an ode to a cartoon character. She wouldn’t dream of telling Kipenzi that it was nouveau, déclassé, or just silly. Because her client was a stah, the woman would tell her whatever she wanted to hear. And that made Kipenzi sad.

  “Fame is a motherfucker,” Kipenzi whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you play an instrument?” Kipenzi asked.

  “Took piano and violin lessons for years.”

  “Do you still play?”

  “I can plink out a few things.”

  “I think I’d like to teach piano,” Kipenzi said.

  “Think you’d have time for that?”

  “I’m making time. Starting today.”

  “That’s … that’s great. I think that’s a great idea.”

  Kipenzi leaned over and put her elbows on her knees. “You do? You think it’s a good idea to walk away from my career and do what I really want? Teach piano and voice lessons to kids?”

  “I’d imagine you might miss … your fans?”

  Kipenzi shuddered. “When I do a show, I look out in the audience and I see people with their mouths gaping open. They all look like reflections in a fun house mirror. Wearing those masks from Scream.”

  “That doesn’t seem like fun.”

  “It’s not. I mean it used to be. But it hasn’t been for a long time.”

  The designer put her hands down in her lap and looked up at Kipenzi. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I have a bunion,” Kipenzi said, holding up her foot to show the swollen bone area on the side of her left big toe. “It bleeds after I dance on it for an hour. I’ve had surgery twice. Still all screwed up.”

  The designer winced when she looked at Kipenzi’s toe, bulbous and purple from years of abuse. “That looks like it hurts.”

  Kipenzi shrugged. “I’m used to it now. Thanks for coming by and thanks for waiting for me. I slept in today.”

  “Oh. You were … sleeping.”

  “Yes. I am very, very tired. What’s your name again?”

  “Denise. Denise McMillian.”

  “Denise, I am tired down to the marrow of my bones. I could sleep for three weeks.”

  “I understand.”

  Ian showed the designer out and dismissed the others.

  “Anything else?” Ian asked, as he watched his client crawl onto the loveseat in her bedroom and pick up her Hello Kitty telephone.

  “One more cup of mint tea would be awesome,” Kipenzi said. Ian nodded and left the room as she picked up the phone.

  “Jake. Do you love me for who I am or for what I represent to you?”

  “You. I love you. I gotta go.”

  Her boyfriend hung up before she could say another word. Kipenzi used a pencil to stab the keys on her phone once again.

  “Beth, are you busy?”

  Beth yawned. “Just taking a nap. You feel better today? Had me worried last night.”

  “I’m thinking of doing my office over in a SpongeBob theme. What do you think?”

  “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  “But I like SpongeBob.”

  “Hell, so does Zach. Doesn’t mean it makes sense. Kipenzi, what are you smoking?”

  “Love you,” Kipenzi said.

  “Call you later.”

  “Zander’s on his way over there,” said Beth. “Wants to know what you think of his new music.”

  “The stuff he’s doing with his little girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I gotta make a few more calls.”

  Kipenzi took a deep breath and stabbed the keypad once again.

  “Mommy? It’s Penzi. Is Daddy there? Tell him to pick up.”

  “Peaches, how you feeling?” Kipenzi’s father’s deep voice boomed out and she had to hold the phone away from her ear a bit.

  “Mom, Dad, I’m thinking of doing a cartoon theme in my home office. SpongeBob. What do you think?”

  “I think if you say you want to do it, then it must be hot,” John Hill said with a laugh. “You could probably do a spread in People and get a licensing deal with the show!”

  “Always thinking business, right, Daddy?”

  “You better believe it, Peaches. Speaking of, I need to go over some contracts with you. When can you—”

  “I’m taking a day off, Daddy. Call you tomorrow!” Kipenzi made kissing noises into the phone over his protests and then hung up.

  An hour later Kipenzi’s beloved godson, oldest son of her best friend, Beth, appeared in the door of her study. Zander had an ear-to-ear grin, and his smooth, ebony skin made his smile seem even brighter. It was the same kind of smile he used to give her when she would pick him up from Fresh Meadows for a day in the park.

  “Zander, get in here.”

  Zander glanced behind him and then looked at Kipenzi. “I brought someone with me …”

  Kipenzi rolled her eyes. “Bring her in, Zander!”

  Zander slinked his way across the room, clutching his girlfriend’s hand tight. He managed to lead them both to a loveseat and sank down, his eyes on the floor.

  “A proper introduction, please,” Kipenzi said.

  “Auntie, this is Bunny Clifton. Bunny, this is my aunt Kipenzi.”

  Kipenzi reached over the coffee table with an outstretched hand. Bunny was light brown, with a blond weave styled almost identically to Kipenzi’s. She grabbed Kipenzi’s hand with both of hers.

  “Is that your real name?”

  Bunny smiled. “Yes. I’m from Jamaica. Named after Bunny Wailer.”

  Kipenzi nodded. “Nice.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Ms. Hill. I love everything you’ve ever done.”

  “Really? You heard my first album? It was a piece of crap.”

  “I don’t agree,” Bunny said, shaking her head. “I loved your first album.”

  “It’s not even worth using as a coaster. But thank you. I like what you’re doing too.”

  “You’ve heard my stuff?” Bunny asked, her voice near squealing.

  “Yo, chill,” Zander said, rolling his eyes.

  “Yes, I have. I heard the stuff you and Zan put up on YouTube.”

  Zander put his head in his lap. “You hate it,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “I don’t hate it,” Kipenzi said.

  “You don’t love it.”

  “No, I don’t love it. But I could love it. It needs work. First of all, you guys need a better engineer.”

  Zander lifted his head. “I used my dad’s engineer.”

  “And he’s fine,” said Kipenzi. “For that little rinky-dink studio at Electric Lady lined with egg crates. Your father refuses to let them update his studio. But it works for him.”

  “So how come it can’t work for us?”

  “Z’s music is about rawness and aggression. But your voice—and Bunny’s too—is different.”

  Kipenzi stood up and motioned for Zander and Bunny to do the same. Zander was a full head taller than Kipenzi but she still seemed to tower over them both.

  “You guys know ‘Gentle’ by Frederick?”

  “How’s it go?” Bunny asked.

  “I’m in a daze, I’m so confused,” Kipenzi belted out.

  Zander and Bunny both nodded. “We know it,” Zander said.

  “Let me hear it,” Kipenzi said.

  Zander wrinkled his nose. “Too hard. The chord changes are crazy.”

  Kipenzi glanced over at Bunny.

  “I can d
o it,” the young lady said, her chin jutting out.

  Zander inhaled sharply, closed his eyes, and began to sing.

  Bunny took in a deep breath, pulled her fists up to her chest, and harmonized with Zander on the chorus. “’Cause I know you’ll be coming.”

  The hair on Kipenzi’s arms stood up. The girl’s voice was crystal clear and flawless. She was loud enough to be heard without a microphone. But her voice was light enough to ripple through the air like a kite on a windy day.

  Kipenzi continued to conduct them, keeping one eye on the way their lips formed every word and using a pointer finger to direct how high or low each note should go. Her eyebrows creased when Zander missed a note—which was only once. She smiled brightly when they finished the verse with a strong vibrato.

  “Calling, calling, calling your name …”

  They sang facing each other, staring into each other’s eyes. The intensity of both their performance and their emotion made Kipenzi feel light-headed and dizzy. She had looked that way once. She had sounded that way once.

  “You’ve both got such great breath control!” Kipenzi said, squeezing Zander’s shoulders and winking at Bunny.

  “Feels like we sing old-school stuff better than the stuff we’re writing now,” Zander said.

  Kipenzi shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I used to perform En Vogue for every audition. Slinky black dress, red lipstick, and all. It showcased what I could do. You’ll have time to get your own sound.”

  Zander nodded and slumped back down on the sofa. Bunny remained standing, staring openly at Kipenzi.

  “Ms. Hill? Are you working on new music?”

  “No, not right now. I’m actually thinking of taking a break.”

  Zander popped his head up.

  “So I can’t get a hook or two from you for my album?”

  “No. You couldn’t afford me anyway.”

  “Why would you want to take a break?” Zander asked.

  Kipenzi rubbed the back of her neck. “Because I’m tired.”

  “You take a break and you’re giving the new girls a chance to take over,” Zander said.

  “New girls like who? Like this one here?” she said, gesturing to Bunny.

  Zander bowed his head but Kipenzi could still see his smile.

  “I like her,” Kipenzi said. “She’s got a great voice. Good look.”

  She let her smile fade and then looked directly at Bunny. “We’ll see if she can sell twenty million records …”