Without Knowing My Way~ Rondell's Encore: The Soul Of A Man

By Thaddeus Kane

Young, brilliant, sexy Rondell Williams is a marketing agent on a meteoric rise at Mercury Consultants, a premier public relations firm. His talents and entrepreneurial ambition nurtures the founding of his own artist management agency, Encore Entertainment, but causes dissension between him and his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend, India. As a newly available bachelor, he is thrust into the throes of a passionate partnership with his easy going White coworker, Victoria, which causes him great professional pains and personal tensions. He loves Black women; his loyalties lie with the melanated sistas. But is curiosity killing the cat with the romantic possibilities of his first White girl experience?


Simultaneously, an affair with his former trainee, Carmelita, a spicy Brazilian senorita and Victoria's friend, starts to sizzle, giving him the soothing heat that every broken heart seeks.


And what shall he do about Phoebe, Mercury's most famous client, the sexually adventurous soul singer who has her mind set on experiencing Rondell's erotic power?


Who will he choose? Will he slay his White girl curiosity and pick Victoria? Or will he remain loyal to Black women with Carmelita or Phoebe by his side? Is it possible to rekindle with India, the woman he wanted first?


Ultimately, can Rondell balance his need for love and his passion for music or will his world come crashing down before he can build his empire? Will. He. Find. His. Way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Platinum Quill Publications
• Release date: May 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201369286

Thaddeus Kane

Thaddeus Kane is an husband, father,  author, musician, educator, playwright, Love warrior.

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Copyright 2020 Platinum Quill Publications

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the publisher. This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+

About the Author

Thaddeus Kane is an author, musician, educator, playwright, Love warrior.

Dedication

This work is dedicated to all of those that are learning Love’s lessons.

Cover Design

Jess Purmeswar, SkyChild Graphic Studios

Acknowledgements

Eternal love and gratitude to all of those that love, support, and encourage creative fire. All of my mothers, fathers, children, family, and friends, especially Gwendolyn Elizabeth and Marji Jihada- I love you, forever, for always.

Supreme Love and Gratitude to Helen D. Clark-Speedy, Tera Kirksey, Rise Bullard, Sharon Armalin, and all the Butterflies in The Kaleidoscope~ I Love you!

Chapter One

Sunday, 11:00 am

You know what? I’m really not understanding you.

What the hell do you mean, you’re really not understanding me, Rondell? India was becoming more upset. You didn’t get in until after four this morning!

India. Rondell raised his hands and kept his cool to calm her down. It was a concert. A show. I told you that I was going to Masquerades to see Priest perform. I didn’t get there until just before midnight. We left at three, got a bite to eat, and then I came home. Ain’t nobody creepin’.

To hell with Priest! India barked. I can’t stand his ass. Fuckin' low life rock slinger. Every time you deal with him, it’s some mess!

Hold on, hold on. First of all, Priest has left the streets alone. And second, didn’t you go out last night?

Yeah. So?

You left here at eight-thirty and didn’t get in until what? Two o’clock?

You damn right! Two, not four!

Okay, so you were gone for how many hours? Five and a half?

Yeah. And?

I was only gone for let’s see... Rondell counted on his slender, copper infused chocolate fingers. Eleven-thirty... twelve-thirty... three-thirty... four-ten... I was only gone for four hours and forty minutes. So now who might’ve been creepin’? Rondell laughed.

Oh, so you think it’s funny?

Listen, India. You’re blowing this outta proportion. For real. It’s really not that serious. That was business. I have money invested in Priest, so I have every right to see how my money is working for me, from beginning to end. Besides that, I invited you to the show, and you declined.

You’re missing my point, Rondell. Four in the damn morning?

India, is there something that you want to tell me? Is there something troubling you? Because I have the strange feeling this is a lot deeper than Priest, Masquerades, and four o’clock.

India huffed. You know what? It’s no use. You and I are on two different levels. We’re growing apart because you’re not growing up.

Growing up? Growing up? You’re talking to the same brother that pays the rent. The same brother that pays your car note although you can. The same one that gives you money on top of the money that you make so that you can shop your ass off. I take good care of you, India. And I’m faithful to you.

But you—

But I what? Let me think. What’s your line? Oh, I’m not here for you.

Rondell, you're not. You're not here.

He massaged his temples. I’m always here for you, but I leave because you start trippin’ over little shit and want to argue, and you know I ain’t down for that.

Maybe we need some time apart. You know, to make sure this is what we want.

So that’s what you think? Is that what all of this is about? Time apart?

I’m just saying. We’ve been going at it for weeks now. I just—

You mean you’ve been going at me for weeks. I think I’ve been playing by the rules.

The rules? Does Alves play by the rules?

Damn you, India. You know Carmelita is just a colleague. I trained her.

You trained her to meet up for lunch? And racquetball?

Why are you bringing this up?

Because you’re talking about rules. I just wanna know where the Brazilian bombshell fits in?

You’re just jealous because she has done more for Encore than you have.

Than I have? She marched the floor, puffing her anger, here a puff, there a puff. Oh yeah. Right. More. Okay. Head bobbing back and forth, she screeched, She ain’t the one here dealin' with late nights, ALONE! And all the questions that go with it.

Girl. You don’t get it. Four years. And still. You know better. I ain’t that dude. He jumped in her face, jabbing his fingers in her heart, then his. She retreated, folding her body from the force, her stare frozen inside his fervor. "I'm this dude."

There was a knock at the door. India welcomed her best friends, Kyra and Janae.

Hey, girl, Kyra sang. You ain’t ready yet?

All I have to do is put my sandals on. Come in. She brushed her pixie curls with frustrated palms, mouth dropping in a sheepish defeat, dimming the brightness of her cider colored skin.

You alright? Kyra craned her neck toward her friend.

Girl, yeah. I'm fine.

Hey, Ron. Janae greeted Rondell.

What’s up, Jai? Kyra?

Janae sat on the cream-colored loveseat. I heard about Priest 's show last night. My brother said he put it down.

Yeah. He did his thing. Rondell leaned against the wall. The place was standing room only.

When is his album dropping? Kyra inquired.

Hopefully within the next couple of months. As a matter of fact, I have to go to the studio today. He’s got four more songs to record before next Thursday. Y'all follow him on Soundcloud and Spotify, right?

I do, Kyra sang. Wit' his fine ass. Indeed!

You crazy, Ky. Rondell chuckled at her 'that boy is fine' dance while Janae tugged at the hem of her dress.

Girl, you are way too in tune with your inner thot. Kyra kept twerking and licked her tongue at Janae.

Okay, I’m ready. India emerged from the bedroom. Light-blue denim jeans, a long-sleeve, white blouse, and a pair of white sandals showed off her sleek figure, petite stature, and mild curves. She smiled at Rondell. Baby, I need some money.

He grinned. Uh-huh. Some? What’s some?

Maybe five.

He reached into his pocket, peeled off ten one-hundred-dollar bills from a wad of cash, and handed them to India’s outstretched hand. It’s a good thing I stayed at Masquerades late, or I wouldn’t have been able to do this. His full goatee brushed his chest as he tucked his chin and aimed the top of his head at his disgruntled fiancée, coal black eyes pressing into face.

Thank you, baby. She kissed him on the lips, and he grabbed her around the waist, locking her inside his arm.

Yeah. And we need to finish talking this evening. She wrestled from his grip and followed her girlfriends out the door.

She pecked him again. Okay. A doe-eyed innocent batting of eyelashes followed her reply. Rondell smirked.

Bye, Ron! Janae yelled.

Yeah, yeah. Peace.

12:00 Noon

Rondell arrived at Vanguard Recording Studios and parked his maroon Range Rover next to Priest’s onyx black Chrysler 300. He stepped out of his SUV, his blue and white cotton Adidas jogging suit settling around his sinewy six-foot physique. Matching cross trainers comforted his feet as he strode toward the studio door, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight. He pressed the buzzer and looked into the camera.

A voice spoke from the small two-way speaker by the door. Yo, yo. What up, Ron?

What’s good, Q?

The door buzzed. Rondell entered the building and walked to the main studio suite where homegrown producer-engineer extraordinaire, Q Moon made his magic. After observing him at the boards sweetening one of Priest's tracks, he settled onto a sofa behind the hip-hop maestro. Priest was in the booth writing in his notebook. Rondell gave him a nod and Priest responded with a raised fist.

Q Moon started rendering a mix and spun around to face his comrade.

Rondell spoke first. What’s up, Q? He gave him a pound.

Ain’t nothin’, man. Bangin’ this album out, that’s all. What do you think about this joint right here? Priest just laid it down. Q Moon turned the volume up more. The Tannoy Reveal monitors sustained the heavy kick of the Roland 808 drum and the pounding bass:

Priest is not a Catholic,

So, am I bound for Hell?

I’m a warlock wit’ these words.

Hear me cast my spell.

Torture the soul with my holy hook.

Got you shook from the first look

The first listen

The lyrics glisten...

Rondell was bobbing his head to the snap of the metal snare drum. Ay, yo. That joint is hot. How many more songs does he have left to record?

Two more.

That's what's up. If we keep this pace, we’ll be way ahead of our deadline, man.

Fa’ sho'!

Q Moon returned to his mixing while Rondell watched him work his magic. He signaled for Priest to come out of the booth and turned the volume down. So what’s the deal, man? I heard Priest did his thing last night. He said Masquerades was over capacity.

Hey, he didn’t lie. The joint was packed. Women everywhere. Brothers showing love. And the show!' Rondell shook his head. Aww, man! Off the meters! When he did that club banga Don’t Take It Personal, people went bananas up in there for real."

Word?

Man, you know you did dat shit! Innately humble, Q Moon rarely acknowledged the fact that he was a gifted, well-respected, multi-platinum producer in the music industry. His small muscular build and five-foot five-inch height packed an artistic punch. Light skin and an immaculately manicured Afro spoke volumes of Black power prowess often conveyed in his compositions. He and Rondell had grown up together in the same neighborhood, three doors down from each other, their parents still living in their childhood homes.

If you say so, bro.

I say so.

Priest walked into sound room, bright yellow skin on a hair-free face, buffed, fully tattooed arms swinging easily about his slim, sinewy five-foot, ten-inch frame, and a skull cap pulled down on his curly top fade. "Sup, Ron?’

You already know, man. Trying to get this money so we can do this. After this album drops, you’ll be on your way. The singles are blazing, the show was crazy, and that joint that you just laid is fire.

Hey. I do what I do. Ya' know?

Yeah. Well, keep doing it, Rondell encouraged.

So, did I get you in any hot water with India, bro?

Somewhat. She was heated.

Damn, Q Moon remarked as he continued tweaking the music. Y’all been going at it for some time. Weeks, man. What’s up with that?

Rondell ran his fingers over his head. I can’t call it, man. But it’s getting deeper by the day. As a matter of fact, she said something to me this morning about separating.

What? Priest stood straight up. She’s giving you the green light to get out there, bro. Take that and run. He laughed.

Man, it ain’t that simple. We’re talking about four years together. I'm not ready to fold. At least not until I have played my hand fully. She’s my future wife, I hope. We need to find a resolution. Negotiate a compromise.

I can respect that, Q Moon said, holding out his fist to give Rondell pound. Rondell obliged. I feel you, Ron. He thumbed at Priest. He's just used to dealing with them groupies. Ain’t no love involved in that.

What? Priest laughed with surprise. "There is always love involved. I love what they do to me."

They howled at Priest’s statement of defense.

Q Moon rolled his cocoa colored captain's chair to the console, its lights blinking a Christmas tree effect. Priest. You ready to knock this other joint out, yo?

Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute, though. I wanna go out back and blaze this leaf.

Aight. Ten minutes, and we’re back on board.

Ten is peace.

Priest left to fulfill his marijuana fix while Rondell and Q Moon chatted about business and the growing crisis with India.

Look. This is me, Ron. Q Moon leaned back in his chair. What are you going to do India?

Like I said, Q. Four years. I think we need to work it out. Talk it out or something.

You think she’s seein' somebody?

Nah, man. With her, it’s because I’m away from home. Busy. Building. Grinding. I’ve explained to her a hundred times that it’s business. It’s good, and it’s getting better. I keep telling her that it won’t be like this much longer.

Uh, yeah. She complains about your being away but not the benefits upon your return.

Spoken like a true scholar.

"That's typical. Wham gave us the theme song for that."

Rondell started singing. And everything you want and everything you see~hee...

Q Moon joined in. ...is out of reach not good enough. I don't know what the hell you want from me. Ohhhh! In unison, they harmonized,

"Ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah...oh-hoh-oh, oh-hoh-oh...ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah...do do doo, dah-da-da-da-dahhh...

Ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah...oh-hoh-oh, oh-hoh-oh...ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah...do do doo, dah-da-da-da-dahhh..."

They shared hearty laughter on the final note, flapping their legs back and forth, pumping the air with their fists, rolling side to side in their seats, and holding their bellies with soulful delight.

Maaan, dem '80's! The white boys put it down!

No question, Q Moon concurred.

Rondell changed the subject. What's our completion date for the project?

Let’s see. Two songs left to record. Eleven recorded. Mixing, mastering. Q Moon paused. I could have the entire project on a drive by Friday.

"That’s what’s up, Q. You are the high priest. The High Priest Of Beats. Among other things."

I do my best. Q Moon swerved around to face his altar, the congregation of buttons waiting to be blessed. As soon as Priest comes back in, we will get it thumpin’ again.

I plan on sticking around for a minute anyway. After I leave here, I’m going to Redd’s to get something to eat.

What? India stopped cooking too? Q Moon asked with humor in his tone.

Yeah. She stopped cooking...baking...taking...shaking...

Damn. Better you than me.

Man, it’s hell tryin’ to read her. She has some kinda protective shield or something around her mind.

Yeah.

What was it Superman couldn’t see through?

Lead.

Yeah. Lead. She’s got lead wrapped around her. Index finger pointed down, Rondell circled his head. I'm frustrated. I mean, I’m out here making money on two ends, trying to give her the finer things in life. I’m building my business because I don’t plan on working for Mercury Consulting all of my life. I’m just not built like that. It’s not in me to slave for someone else forever.

I feel you on that.

Why can’t India? Why can’t she be patient with me, man?

Ahhh, patience. Q Moon looked up from his altar. I guess, she's no grasshopper.

I guess not. Q Moon kept ministering to his flock, symphonic sounds orbiting around the two comrades, salve for an unsettling conversation while Rondel continued venting. When Priest's album drops, I'm on my way, man. I’ve got some more MCs waitin’ in the wings and some singers.

I know, bro. You stay gettin' it. And you know I'm here for all of it.

I know, Q. I just want a wife, a good wife to take the ride with me. Am I askin' too much?

Nah. I don’t think you’re askin' too much. India has issues she needs to work out. A lot of brothers don’t have the motivation and the vision you have, Ron. Trust and believe. The woman, that good wife you want...she will grasp the big picture. She will appreciate and respect that. India on the other hand...she hates to help you pick, cut, and squeeze the lemons, but I’ll be damned if she doesn’t love to drink that sweet lemonade.

Well put. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

True indeed. Q Moon nodded.

Priest returned to the room, rubbing his hands together. Aight, Q. Let’s get it jumpin’.

What’s next?

"Let’s bang out Who I Am. Priest looked at Rondell. Yo, Ron. You gonna love this joint. It’s an ace in the hole. On God."

Knock it out then.

You ain’t said nothin’. Priest grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and left the room to enter the booth.

Q Moon cued up the track. "Now, this beat here—it’s bananas. If you thought that Don’t Take It Personal was like that, then you’ve sadly underestimated your boy’s potential."

I never underestimate The Q!

Priest gave his producer a thumbs up after placing the headphones over his ears, ready to record. Q Moon acknowledged him with a nod and a thumbs up in return.

The monitors rumbled from the track's thunder. The LED indicators illuminated the red zone briefly. When the thunder ceased, the display went black. The drum roll created responses in the indicators once more. The mixing console cast a red, yellow, and green light show of the highest luminescent order. Q Moon and Rondell bobbed their heads to the beat. Priest executed his first verse while The High Priest guided the sound, a holy ritual. Once again, Vanguard, a symphonic sanctuary, baptized another hit.

4:40 p.m.

I don’t know, girl. It just feels like we’re growing apart. He’s so consumed with Priest that he acts like I don’t even exist. Maybe if we were separated for a little bit, he could gain some perspective on us. India opined her position to her friends as they took turns sipping cocktails.

Janae never blindly took her friend's side. "India. You’re trippin’, girl. You, for one, are too hard on Rondell.

Too hard? Here we go. India tapped the sofa with the back of her head, once, and then a sigh. Twice, then a murmur of no distinct verbiage.

Yes. Too hard. Janae rested her elbows on her knees, unmoved by India's display of disgust. I mean, for real, you don’t have to work if you don’t want to. Rondell takes good care of you, and he’s faithful as far as I know. You need to be patient with him because what he’s doing with Priest is for the both of you. It's about the two of you. He's not a selfish man. He's building an empire that includes you. She guzzled the last of her martini. Tell her, Kyra. Kyra drank her liquor instead.

Damn. Y’all are supposed to have my back. India took a sip of her fruit punch champagne.

We do have your back, Janae responded. But that doesn’t mean telling you what you want to hear. I’ve never been a fan of that ‘let’s separate for a while’ biz. My thing is love together, struggle together, and get it right together. Together forever.

Kyra looked at Janae and laughed. I’m really not in the mood for your psychoanalytical hood therapy quotations and shit, Jai.

India laughed at Janae's mean stare response to Kyra. Ooh, no she didn’t.

Janae sighed into a fake smile. One day, you’ll get it. That is, one day, when you’re able to keep a man for longer than a week.

Now, see. You ain’t have to go there, but since you did. The reason that men don’t last longer than a week with me is because I’m not easy. Kyra straightened her back against the armchair and wriggled to its edge, tilting her head back with grand conceit. They are afraid of a strong, beautiful, independent Black woman. It’s not me; it’s them. So I have no guilt or shame, okay? Mkay. A dramatic eight-second eye roll with a double finger snap followed.

Whatever truth makes you feel good, Janae retorted.

Honestly, y'all. I just think that the time apart would be healthy for us.

Janae advised, Whatever you do, do it for the right reasons.

Now that! I will agree with, Kyra pointed out. If you want it to be over, then end it. Don’t play games with him, especially after all that he’s done for you. He deserves your honesty.

My intentions are good. India defended her decision

Are they? Kyra asked. I mean, do you love him?

India swallowed more of her champagne. The fruit punch had no answers. Silence hovered in their midst.

Janae offered, See, that’s the trouble. She shook her head from side to side in slow motion. You takin' too long to answer. It's a heart question, not a head question. Heart answers come quickly.

That’s bad, girl. Kyra sipped and sank into her seat. There’s no doubt in my mind that Rondell loves you.

Okay, okay, India pleaded. I don’t love him like I used to. We’ve grown apart.

Why haven’t you tried to involve yourself with what he does with Priest? Janae inquired.  You know, show interest? Support him? Attend a show or two? You have a role to play as his woman. You’re supposed to be his support system.

"Because I don't like Priest,