King of Durabia Page 4

  “I’d like to see them try.” Dolly assumed a fake fighting stance that made Ellena laugh. “I’ll pull out that Chicago South Side so quick, they won’t know what hit them.” She zeroed in on Kamran and nodded so Ellena would look his way. “What is he like?”

  What was Kamran Ali Kahn, like? Honestly, there was so much he wanted to do here in Durabia but the restrictions that came with his status made that impossible. Sometimes she saw the sadness in his eyes when he stared at the downtown skyline.

  “He is … he is amazing.” She locked gazes with Kamran across the room. The intensity of his eyes caused heat to wash over her. “And he’s genuine. I don’t think any of what he does is an act.”

  Dolly touched Ellena’s hand. “So, what’s the real deal with that ring?”

  “I made the mistake of joking that I didn’t have a husband and the Sheikh offered Kamran Ali Khan as a gift.”

  Dolly’s head whipped to him, where he was now engrossed in a conversation with the men in their group. David and Ronnie mostly dominated the exchange. “So, they’re just giving out rich good-looking men with bodies like that, all willy-nilly, huh?”

  “Special circumstances.”

  “Girl, I need to tumble my ass on a conveyor belt my damn self. You were lucky. Two more seconds and it would’ve been me landing that man.” She shook her head. “Never seen a woman move all four cheeks and a couple of chins like that.”

  Ellena tried to hold in a laugh. “I didn’t think. I simply reacted.”

  “Well, it paid off big time, didn’t it? And I am not going to lie. I’m a whole lot of happy for you, but just a wee tiny bit jealous, though.”

  Dolly had always been known for her kind heart and level head. In freshman year, she alone spearheaded a campaign that raised money for a classmate whose family was burned out of their home.

  “Question,” Ellena said. “Should I be worried?”

  “No girl. That’s just human nature kicking in.” Her gaze wandered to the bodyguard on Kamran’s right, who was trying—unsuccessfully—not to lay eyes on Dolly’s lush curves. “Besides, Rashid is more my speed. But I am going to give you a piece of unsolicited advice.”

  Ellena looked her way.

  “If you’re able to find one iota of happiness with that man, take it.” She placed her hand over Ellena’s. “I know what you’ve been through. You deserve any good thing that comes your way. You feel me?”

  “I do,” she whispered.

  “Come, everyone.” Kamran beckoned them to dispatch from all areas of the restaurant to the elevators. “You will take the lift down to the first level where one of the guides will direct you to our designated seats.”

  Ellena left Dolly and slid up to him, whispering, “You’re enjoying this?”

  “It is not often that I am able to be a host,” he said, favoring her with a heated glance. “Yes, I am enjoying all of this.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me what we’re about to get into?”

  Waiting for the lift to return, he leaned closer to murmur in her ear, causing Ellena to perk up. Then he simply placed a kiss on her lips that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. He pulled away, watching her reaction to his gentle caress. Desire smoldered in his eyes and she had to force herself to look away to get her bearings.

  “That was so unfair.”

  Kamran extended his arm, and she released a steadying breath. Ellena hooked her arm under his as he guided her into one of the empty lifts once the doors opened.

  An attendant beckoned them to approach an entrance where her classmates were congregated. “Your seats are at the front, near the stage.”

  “Thank you,” Kamran said.

  Dolly caught up with her. “Wow, top-flight all the way.” Then did a little two-step in her long dress.

  “Opera? Really?” David griped to Kamran with a sarcastic tone as Ronnie nodded, looking like he’d eaten sour grapes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. “I’m about to get my snooze on.”

  Kamran smiled in that self-satisfied way, which made her give him a side-eye. Every poster or advertisement had been covered with silk cloths. When they made it to their reserved seats, instead of a full orchestra and instruments on stage, a keyboard, drum set, and three microphones were situated there.

  “Did he tell you?” Dolly asked Ellena in a low enough tone that Kamran couldn’t hear.

  “No, he’s keeping me in the dark, too.”

  “Damn, I’m so curious,” she said, sighing.

  The rest of the crowd came in and settled in the areas behind them. The drummer, bassist, and lead guitar players along with a keyboardist took their places. They were followed by two singers with ivory skin and long dark hair that complimented their tea-length black gowns.

  “I don’t ever remember an opera with this kind of set up.”

  Kamran chuckled and he stroked her hand but kept his focus on the stage.

  “And tonight,” a voice bellowed several minutes later. “Durabia Opera House says welcome to Mica Paris.”

  The audience erupted in cheers and applause.

  “Who?” Dolly piped in.

  “One Temptation,” Ellena offered the name of the artist’s major hit song. “Breathe Life Into Me.”

  Damaris leaned forward so she could see past Dolly. “Oh, she sings opera now?”

  “Something is telling me this is not the traditional opera,” Ellena answered, unable to miss the smirk on Kamran’s face as he still wouldn’t give up the goods.

  “Change of plans, people,” Mica Paris said, sauntering out on the stage to another roar of applause. The songstress had creamy dark skin, wore a floor-length black gown fitted with a cape about the shoulders; a cap of ebony curls framed her angular face.

  “They flew me in for one show but looks like I’ll be doing a late night after this one.” She scanned the area closest to the stage. “Is Kamran Ali Khan in the house?”

  Kamran raised his hand.

  “Thank you for your kind offer,” she said, beaming down at him, then leaned out to shake his hand. “This Jamaican girl can put away a whole lot of jerk chicken for that kind of dunsai.”

  Laughter trickled through the audience as she settled the mic in the right position and glanced over her shoulder to make sure everyone in her band was in place. “First, y’all, I’m about to take you to church. This tribute to Aretha Franklin is a nod to the Queen of Soul. Put away your cell phones and cameras. Thanks to Sheikh Kamran, there is no need to record this experience.”

  Ellena was familiar with a few Mica Paris tunes but didn’t realize she had the singing chops to pull Aretha off. Mica’s voice had that smoky, sexy sound more reminiscent of Sara Vaughn than the Queen of Soul.

  The room grew eerily silent. Mica hit the first notes of Amazing Grace, and Ellena gripped the hand rest. The song struck a deep chord within.

  Kamran lifted her hand to his lips and said, “Enjoy, my love.”

  Chapter Eight

  A tear streamed down Ellena’s face before others joined it at her chin. Kamran kept his hold on her hand, squeezing it to show support for whatever she was feeling.

  He was aware that Aretha’s songs captured a good range of female experiences and emotions. He had taken a chance, having Saba and Saqib contact Mica’s management team to make a request to provide this special experience for Ellena and her people, then flew her in earlier from Great Britain.

  “I can’t be Aretha,” Mica confessed between the verse and chorus. “There is only one Aretha, but I promise to do my best to honor her the best way I know how. Y’all with me?”

  Kamran tucked a few strands of Ellena’s hair behind her ear so he could clearly see her face. She closed her eyes, letting the words and the music flow over her. Towards the end of the song, she lifted her gaze to the stage.

  Soon the tempo changed into the classic I Say a Little Prayer for You. Her classmates in the front area, rocked side to side and snapped their fingers with the beat. The audience sang along
before transitioning into Respect and Rock Steady. The song choices were stellar. Only when the band lit up with Freeway of Love did the concert hit a glitch.

  The audience was on their feet giving Mica some major love. But something was off. Mica felt it, too. She held up a hand. The band and the background singers faded to a halt. So did the audience.

  “Why are they”—she gestured to the audience—“giving me more energy than you are?” Then she put one hand on her hip and Dolly said, “Whoops.”

  “Let’s try this again,” Mica demanded. “Come on, now.”

  The band took a moment to regroup, and then struck up the song again, this time with a noticeable difference. Mica took the mic and they went in!

  Everyone in the Opera House—from all ethnic backgrounds—was on their feet rocking and grooving, and Ellena noticed that Kamran had rhythm. Hmmmm, very promising.

  The set went through Think, Something He Can Feel, Dr. Feelgood, A Natural Woman, before sliding into a duet with special guest McFarland who crooned Gotta Find Me an Angel.

  “What do you know about Aretha Franklin?” Ellena asked.

  “Her voice is magical,” he whispered. “Gladys, Luther, Chaka, even Prince are all on my playlist.” He glanced at her. “That surprises you?”

  “It does,” she confirmed. “Is that what your father meant about your love of Western Culture?”

  “Maybe.”

  The audience was still cheering after the stage had been clear for several minutes. Suddenly, the band strolled back out and the applause was deafening. Mica followed and slid straight into Jump to It. The audience. The love. That musical stride. Everything was on point.

  When the show was over, the guides directed Kamran, Ellena, and their guests to an area backstage to meet the star and take pictures before the next show.

  Mica embraced Kamran warmly. “Only you could get me to do two shows in one night.” Then she peered at Ellena. “So, who’s the special woman that you needed to fly me in for?”

  “Ellena, meet Mica. Mica meet Ellena, my … beloved.”

  Mica’s eyebrow went up as she favored Ellena with a glance. “A sister, huh? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I love your work,” Ellena said, trying to ascertain what the artist meant by that.

  Mica gave her a megawatt smile. “See, I love her already.”

  “Seriously,” Ellena admitted, chuckling. “The house remix of Breathe Life Into Me.”

  “You’re from Chicago?” Mica asked, peering at her closely.

  “The House Music capital of the world.”

  “So glad you could come,” Kamran said, as Rashid tapped his watch to signal they had to keep it moving. “And, I owe you one.”

  Mica nodded. “Although, I think that second crowd is going to be asleep before I start. How are you going to feed them to keep them happy because they have to wait?”

  Reality slammed into Ellena. “Wait a minute, you had them add a show and push the people who were supposed to be in this show to another time?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Why not just have a private show somewhere else?”

  “Because the feeling, the sound with all the people here, is a different type of atmosphere than with a private show. I wanted you to see what the opera house offers. Especially since it’s part of a major decision for you.”

  She totally understood. The crowd had been a mix of White, Asian, Middle Eastern people. Ellena and her classmates were the only Blacks in the house. But the fact he understood the nuances of vibration meant so much on a deeper level. Eight days left before she had to give his father that decision. Things were certainly off to a great start.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Always.” His smile gave him such an elated air she could almost imagine what he had looked like as a little boy.

  “Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?”

  “Is it working?” he said, and his voice was so serious she could barely formulate an answer.

  The bodyguard came up holding a package, which he handed to Mica. “Could you put an autograph on these?”

  Ellena did a mental count and realized one thing. “Those are recordings of her performance?”

  Before he could answer, Sherelle, one of Carrie’s friends who had managed to break ranks on day one and land the last spot available with the Kamran group, slithered in. She had been reporting back to Carrie with everyone that transpired with Ellena’s group. She parted her lips to say something, but glanced down at Ellena’s left hand. Then looked up to lock gazes with Ellena who simply tilted her head, waiting.

  “Um, I, um,” she stuttered. “Thank you, Sheikh.” Then scurried away.

  Kamran’s gaze followed the woman’s hasty retreat. “What was that all about?”

  “It’s almost after midnight?”

  “And?” he prompted, putting his focus on Ellena.

  “My grandmother said it’s the time when inhibitions and common sense are at an all-time low and you’re supposed to have your ass in the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Because nothing is open that late except the emergency room, liquor stores, and legs.” She gave him a knowing smile. “Guess which one she was about to offer you?”

  Chapter Nine

  That next morning, Kamran stepped out of a black SUV outside of the Hyatt and was met with a resounding applause and cheers from everyone.

  “I’m still on a high from that concert,” Dolly said, embracing him. “Thank you. And thank you for that DVD.”

  Damaris ambled up to his other side and also embraced him as he said, “It was my pleasure.”

  David offered his fist for a pound. “Who knew we had to travel to the Middle East in order to hear some good old-fashioned R&B?”

  Kamran tapped his fist to David’s then Ronnie’s, who was a concert producer and had a handle on a great deal of talent back in the States.

  “So where are we going today, Crown Royal?”

  Kamran frowned.

  “Outside joke,” Ellena said giving Ronnie the evil eye, causing him to chuckle.

  Ellena laid her head on his shoulder. She was a little weary because last night they stayed up late with him asking her questions about her life, trying to make sure he knew as much about her as possible. He was an open book, and it took a long while before she finally opened up enough to have the deepest conversation she’d ever had with anyone in her entire life. Being with him had made her reflect on her experiences and how they had made her the woman she was today.

  “When I was a little girl,” then she laughed and added, “Don’t you love confessions that start that way?”

  His lips lifted at the corners and she could swear that all the charm poured right out of him and into her.

  “I wasn’t taught to love myself. I wasn’t taught what “self” was. I was a child in a home with a mother who didn’t want me. I was a sister in a home with a brother who always tried to protect me from my mother’s rage. I am sister to nine other girls, only two of them I have a relationship with right now. The others are so toxic that I haven’t spoken to them, my mother or brother in years.” She glanced down at their joined hands. “I was a student who only knew that I was supposed to be in school because that’s what a child did. But who was self? Who was Ellena Kiley? I existed. I did what I was told. I moved when I was told to move. I lived for acceptance and praise from those who did not show signs that they would hurt me.”

  Kamran took her hand in his, a gesture he did all too often and she was beginning to take great comfort in.

  “Teachers were pure gold. Recently, I've realized that I might have left the classroom, but my teachers have come in a different form—people in my immediate circle. See, you don't let strangers get close. You don't let co-workers get close. Sometimes, you don't even let family close. But others that you love, you are open and unguarded—and therefore ... vulnerable when you least expect it.

/>   “Even now, as an adult, I struggle with identifying self. Self has been attached to survivor, auntie, mentor, and a few things that tip on the negative side. But when I was married, something else came to light that I had not ever considered. Too giving, too caring, not protective of my emotional health, not protective of my physical well-being, not protective of my mental health, not protective of my financial health, not protective of … self.” She inhaled, using one of his techniques, and let it out slowly. “I’m telling you that sometimes a person comes along and blatantly introduces you to a part of self that sends you into reflection. The whole ‘who am I, what is my purpose thing’.” She locked gazes with him and there was a sadness in her eyes that was so profound, he wanted to curl her into his arms and never let her go. “Why do I invite or keep people into my life who can hurt me on a level so deep that it makes me question why I do the things I do for others?”

  “Because it takes a while to master the art of self-preservation,” Kamran explained, and she realized that on some level he had done the same. From what he had told her earlier, his brothers warranted the distance he had given them, same as with her own family. They shared that in common. She could count on her left hand how many family members with which she had any dealings.

  “We tend to overlook that,” he continued. “We give to others—time, money—opportunities—sometimes because it’s in our nature and it’s part of who we are. Sometimes that giving takes more from self than we have to give. We don’t recognize it until what’s supposed to be our normal self has hit a mental, emotional, and physical pain threshold and we realize we’ve absorbed a blow that wouldn’t have happened if we were self-aware. That’s when regret sets in.” He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “That’s when kicking ourselves sets in. That’s when realizing ‘self’ had already given you a warning that you didn’t heed, hence …” He simply shrugged but his words let her know that he knew exactly what she felt inside.

  They shared the same thoughts on a number of things and she fell asleep in his arms, and was reluctant to let go when Rashid came to make sure they made it to the Hyatt on time.