“You know I wouldn’t miss seeing the next big thing before she blows all the way up.” Monk grins. “I haven’t gotten the chance to personally congratulate you on landing Dessi. It’s a big deal.”
“I have you to thank,” I tell him. “If you hadn’t put me on Canon’s radar, none of this would have happened for me.”
“I knew at that gig when I heard you sing there was something special about you,” Monk says, his usual easygoing expression serious. “I know talent when I see it, and I love when I meet someone before they really take off.” He tosses a glance at Canon, the cocksure grin returning to his lips. “Take Canon, for instance.”
“I knew this was coming.” Canon groans, swiping one big hand over his face. “He tells this story every chance he gets.”
“What story?” Arietta leans forward, her face animated. “I haven’t heard this.”
“I have.” Evan stands. “I’m going to the little boys’ room. Be right back.”
“So I was on the set of this music video,” Monk says.
“Half his stories start this way,” Canon interrupts. “In case you’re wondering.”
I laugh, enjoying the dynamic of their friendship.
“It was a video for a song I co-wrote.” Monk grimaces. “Not my proudest moment.”
“Tell it all,” Canon says. “If you’re gonna tell it.”
“It was ‘Grind Up on Me, Girl,’” Monk admits, his smile chagrined.
“Ew,” Arietta murmurs. “You wrote that?”
“Co-wrote, thank you very much.” Monk tips his head toward Canon. “And guess who directed the video?”
“No way!” I screech before I remember not to be rude. “You did that?”
“In my defense,” Canon says, his full lips spread in a self-deprecating smile, “I was twenty-two years old and had bills to pay. A Grand Jury prize does not pay your rent.”
“Seriously?” Arietta asks. “I can’t imagine you struggling after all the accolades you got forThe Magic Hour.”
“Hype is not money,” Canon says, sobering. “And buzz doesn’t keep the lights on. Truth be told, I took all those prizes and awards for a documentary, and it was great, but nobody was beating my door down. It’s a haul for anyone in Hollywood, but a young brother like myself fifteen years ago? Man, I was grateful when they asked me to direct the video for that cheesy song Monk wrote.”
“Alright now,” Monk protests. “I can talk shit about my songs. You can’t.”
“Bruh, it was bad.” Canon laughs. “I thinkit’s not your tits, but your witswas my favorite line, and by favorite, I mean that it made me cringe the most.”
Monk almost spits out his drink. “I said Ico-wrote. I do not takeresponsibility for that line and begged them not to keep it. Don’t you put that on me, motherfucker.”
“You did win a Soul Train award for it,” Canon says.
“So did you, though I at least showed up to accept mine.”
“By then I was making another documentary.” Canon takes a long swallow of his Macallan. “I was in South America during that awards show. I meant no disrespect. Hell, I may have gotten more mileage out of the Soul Train award than I did from Sundance in some ways. I just had to be more discriminating about what I accepted.”
“What part of South America?” Arietta asks. “My neck of the woods?”
“Not Venezuela, no. I’ve never been there, actually. It was Brazil.”
So that’s the accent I hear, and it accounts for her beautiful coloring. “You’re from Venezuela?” I ask.
“Yes.” She waves her hand to encompass the rooftop. “Thus The V. When my father arrived in America, his business associates called him the Venezuelan. He bristled at first, but then embraced it and has turned it into a brand, The V.”
“The hotel is amazing,” I tell her. “I’m glad Graham booked me here. Can’t wait to meet her.”
“She’d be here tonight, but had a family commitment. You’ll meet her soon. She keeps the ship running,” Evan says, taking a seat and joining us at the table again. “Speaking of running, I’m on empty. Can we order some actual food?”
