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I swallow, my mind still whirring, attempting to catch up. The bizarreness of the situation is so heightened that ironically it makes it easier for my mind to answer questions on autopilot. ‘Well, the first few songs were beautiful, and I could see the influences, but I think that’s the issue. They’re so close to something transcendent, but I canseethe influences. They’ll do well for what you want to do, but there’s something embedded in the songs that’s fighting to get out. I guess it depends how far you wanna go, how experimental you want to go. The last song, though? Is perfect. Otherworldly. But together, all of them, they’re this epic tapestry. A story. I don’t know if you’ve thought about visuals, but I’m thinking not quite Afrofuturism, but a. . . Taréfuturism. It fuses everywhere you’ve been with everywhere you’ve been wanting to go, everything you will be—’ I stop for a second, realising that I have essentially told Taré how to do her job. ‘I mean those are just general thoughts. I’m no exp—’

‘Stop that.’ Taré has been looking at me with eyes narrowed in focused assessment, and now she nods to herself, her smile broadening. ‘Don’t doubt yourself. I thinkyouhave something fighting to get out. I see it. Look, I’m in a new phase of my life, Kiki. I’ve split with my record label and I’m almost done with building a new team.I’ve written this new album, but I’m still honing it, figuring out its story.’ She waves her hands like she’s conjuring the reality from air, and her eyes dance around like she sees it. ‘A visual album. A documentary with the album, alongside music videos. I want the documentary to be the definitive script on my work. I’m not doing any interviews or explainers. This will be it. Not a reinvention, but a reintroduction. In four months, I want to do an intimate pop-up gig that will double as the music video for the lead single. It will be a mix of professionals and just lovers of music. I want it to feel real, authentic. The whole project will be released behind a paywall on my website.’

I try and fail to subdue the burgeoning thrill running through me. ‘Taré, this sounds. . . amazing. The intentionality behind all of it disrupts what the industry is becoming right now. . . It’s incredible.’

Taré’s lips curl in bemusement. ‘Yeah, well, I’m glad you think so. Because I want you to be my creative producer for the documentary, and that gig.’

It’s entirely the wrong time to take another sip of my drink because I splutter so hard I have to thump my chest. ‘Sorry, I’m. . . what?’

Taré shifts in her seat, her eyes glittering with resolution. ‘I have a gut feeling about you, and I’m trying to listen to that more these days. I think I need your eye and your ear and your heart. I want you to helm the documentary, interview me as I embark on the creative process leading up to the release and help explore my. . . musical resurrection journey. This is going to be the definitive media for the album. I’m not going to do any interviews. I won’t be on any podcast. This will be it, and I feel like you’re the perfect person for it. You also, I think, have what it takes to help create a magical show. Plus, you’re a truth-teller. I need that around me. It will be a gamble– I won’t lie to you. I don’t know what the reception will be and it’s almost entirely self-funded. This shit is all independent. It’s gonna be intense– this is a tiny space of time, but I know it has to be now. I’ll pay you as much as I am able to, but I’ll be honest and say that it won’t be what you would get if you were being paid through a major label. It’s a labour of love and faith. Plus, you can’t take on any other jobs while you’re working on it. This has to be it. I need complete discretion. Obviously, we will discuss further and get lawyers and managers and agents involved, but for now– how does it sound to you?’ In her eyes, I see not quite desperation, but something heavy lining the effervescence and passion.

She swallows and her smile wavers a little. ‘This album helped me find my way back to me. I just know that yougetit. That’s what matters to me. I can’t make promises, but I know this is special. It won’t change the world, but it can changesomeone’s.Make them feel less alone. I think that’s what The Heartbeat did too.’

Her words are heavy enough to land within me with a thud, agitating a hunger.I haven’t felt like this since I came up with The Heartbeat, and, yes, the woman sat before me is a little high and kind of quirky, but some of my best friends stay a little high and kind of quirky, and something about the glint in her eye is reassuring to me. I see someone like me. Anchored by a vision and fuelled by passion. I remember the last time I collaborated with someone to create something special; it was in university, and, yes, I sort of fell in love with my co-collaborator, but I also fell in love with theprocess.The alchemy of visions, and adjusting and perfecting and tweaking and moulding to make something beautiful. It was a uniquely satisfying feeling, making me feel full up within my skin, like I was pouring into all the parts of me that were created for creation. A million questions turn in and around themselves on my mind, and I don’t know if it is the Elevated Matcha Margarita, but I’m OK with keeping them at bay right now. My palms prickle and I feel butterfly wings in the pit of my belly, the kind you feel when you’re on the edge of something that you feel will impact your life. This is ajob.A dream one. I flick my eyes from my glass to Taré’s expectant shimmering face.

‘That last song you played? It’s perfect, but you didn’t give it a name. What’s it called?’

Taré shrugs. ‘I have no idea. It’s more like. . .conceptualthan literal. Love lost then found again. Not just a person, but in yourself. A rebirth of something. It’s yearning, but triumphant too. The yearning is in the process. It’s hard to pin down.’

I pause, and let the memory of the lyrics and the song and its atmosphere wash over me, humming a little.

Taré releases a sly smile. ‘Oh. She’s a singer. Collab?’

‘I have a residency in my shower. I have an idea for a title. How do you feel about “Phoenix”?’

Taré tilts her head in thought, eyes narrowed before they gleam and her face brightens and, just like that, I think we’ve formed some sort of team. ‘Please tell me you’re about to say yes.’

I smile, the thrill of possibility thrumming with THC in my veins, about to reply, when Celestial appears– literally appears– next to her and whispers in Taré’s ear. She grins and claps her hands. ‘Amazing. Tell him to come down.’

Taré turns to me, conspiratorial. ‘Full disclosure, the person you’re about to see is an old link of mine. Well, we had one month of bliss before we went our separate ways. Decided to keep in contact, because, shockingly, I actually liked him as a person. I don’t keep in contact with straight men unless absolutely necessary and he’s cool enough. Do you know how hard it is to find a guy that’s sweet and funny?’

I release a sardonic chuckle. ‘Yeah and I’m still recovering. Look, um, I can get out of your hair–I can just email your people tomorrow morning—’

Taré waves a bejewelled hand in dismissal. ‘No, no, so here’s the thing–I invited him here specifically because I wanted you to meet. He’s heard the new stuff, has an eye, and I’m thinking of adding him to the team, but I wanna check the vibes first. If you don’t like him, we can explore other options. My judgement could be compromised by his charm. And other things.’

I raise a knowing brow. ‘Oh yeah? That good?’

She smirks. ‘Sis. And he’s nineties fine. Look, I’m not stingy, and I’m all about professional boundaries.’ I assume that this is despite accidentally allowing me to ingest THC. ‘So nothing can happen again, and I don’t want it to. Necessarily. We’re better off as pals, but if you wanna have a go—’

I compose myself, containing an incredulous bark, because a few minutes ago I was jobless and now I’m in the absolutely insane position of creative-producing a project by an artist I admire whilst balancing an offer of one of her ex-lovers on my lap. I should tell my mum, so she can give it as a testimony in church this Sunday. I’m guessing Taré doesn’t have an HR department.

I adjust myself on my seat, managing to sound level. ‘Uh, I trust your taste, but I’m currently on a man sabbatical. Nothing can shake me. Not even hoop earring Denzel.’

Taré husks out a raucous laugh. ‘Good to know. Because this man is that dangerous.’

Her gaze snags on something behind my head, and her smile turns minxish. ‘Ay. Speaking of the devil.’

Pointing at the gold cross pendant on my neck, I say, ‘Don’t worry, I got you.’ I rise with Taré and turn round, ready to potentially perform an exorcism, when she chimes, ‘Kiki, the director I wanted you to meet.’

Director.She never said he was going to be a director.I know before I know. Horror curdles my blood, thickening it so it seems to stop in its flow through my body as my eyes crash land on the very last person I want to see right now.

‘. . . Malakai Korede.’

Chapter 9

Phoenix

Film:Untitled