Larger Than Lyfe by Cynthia Diane Thornton

was clearly flirting with her. A faint smile seemed to play at the corners of Keshari’s lips.
This is definitely not the time
, she thought.
    “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Buchanan,” she said, “but if you will excuse me, I’m expected up front.”
    “The pleasure was meeting you,” Mars replied graciously, “despite the unfortunate way that we did meet.”
    Moments later, Mars heard Keshari’s sultry voice.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope that you’re enjoying yourselves this evening.
    “We are here to give honor and recognition to one of the music industry’s premier artists, one of the most prolific voices in today’s hip-hop.
    “This young brotha, with his extraordinary talent for flipping a metaphor, brings back the days when hip-hop involved knowledge-dropping and was used as a political tool for consciousness and empowerment… the days of Chuck D. and Public Enemy, X-Clan, Poor Righteous Teachers, KRS-One and Boogie Down Productions…”
    Loud applause. Excitement was building.
    “
TIME
magazine asks if this brotha is a ‘prolific phenom or a threat?’
Rolling Stone
calls this brotha ‘Hip-Hop’s Messiah.’
The SOURCE
gave him an unbelievable five mics on all three of his albums. And, in my opinion, he’s got to be one of the most AMAZING brothas I’ve ever met in my entire life. Without further ado, let’s give the man of the hour his props. RASHEED THE REFUGEE!!!”

    The crowd went wild. The men “let loose their dogs,” whooping it up throughout the packed outdoor living room, and the females screamed in sheer delight as Rasheed the Refugee took the stage.
    Mars Buchanan secured a fresh glass of champagne, then maneuvered his way toward the front of the crowd. He stood amongst the partygoers, his eyes riveted to the stage, not at Rasheed the Refugee receiving his platinum plaque, but at the president & CEO of Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment.
    He smiled a very satisfied smile to himself and sipped his drink.

“Looks like Miss Thing’s got a secret,” Keshari’s assistant said when she arrived at the office the next morning.
    “What are you talking about, T? I am really not in the mood.”
    “Check your desk,” Terrence answered coyly as Keshari passed his workspace and went into her office.
    On the corner of her desk was an exquisite, Baccarat vase filled with three dozen, long-stemmed, hot pink tulips. She pulled the card from the tiny pitchfork sticking from the arrangement. She already knew that her busybody assistant had sneaked and read it.
    “Here’s to the two of us meeting again under much less awkward circumstances. Mars Buchanan.”
    Keshari smiled to herself and rolled her eyes as she thought of the gorgeous, apologetic general counsel from ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers) who’d spilled champagne all over her $5,500 outfit the night before. She dropped the card into the trash.
    There was a small stack of CDs on her desk in an interoffice envelope from the A & R department. A & R received literally hundreds of demo CDs every single month from aspiring artists, hoping to sign recording contracts with Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment. A & R forwarded the most promising CDs to Keshari. When Keshari liked what she heard, A & R would often contact the artist to arrange to hear more of their music. Sometimes the record label requested that an artist go into the studio to lay down another track…a “no strings attached” arrangement to see howthe artist worked and if the artist showed consistency in their likability and talent. Ultimately, Keshari decided whether or not LTL would extend the artist a recording or production contract.

    She popped the first CD on the stack into her stereo system. It was a female artist…Tanjika Miles…and she couldn’t sing worth a damn. Keshari already knew what she looked like, the exotically pretty, hot, and tempting video model type whose demo CD had made its way to Keshari’s desk because the girl