fin
"all i do is finesse, man."
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singer, rapper, s.writer
kordei.
Studio A was brimming with both noise and people as an extensive performance rehearsal was under way. The loud claps of meticulously organized footsteps made to appear relaxed and composed cut through the air like a well-oiled machine, echoing throughout the large room. The Greek - Brazillian to be exact, god that stood before Kordei Grant had herculean arms that crossed over a bright white sleeveless, eyes that stayed glued to the singer, and an expression of ingratitude on his face.
For Kordei Grant, rehearsing for shows was only a luxury. Virtually the performance before the performance for backstage crew and staff. A show for those that tired hard to keep venues clean and tidy for the stars and the audience. Dei was considered a prodigy. A natural talent and somebody who’s talent knew no bounds. It seemed today, and in the past several weeks, that talent had met its match. Rather than the relaxed and cool disposition Grant usually sported on the stage, his choreography seemed tense and unnatural.
The thing about dance studios was that secrets could never survive in that environment. The wall-to-ceiling mirrors left each and every action bare and exposed. In his reflection, past Estevao’s displeased stare, was his own failure. The reflection of himself, sweatied and desperate to please the men in suits that’d come to watch him made a last ditch effort to harmonize the final tunes of his most recent single. The way Dei transversed through his music range was almost as smooth and chocolatey as his sweaty brown skin, woe the voice was only a small portion of the bigger picture. The way things looked was far more important. The choreography, the swagger, and the tabloids.
It felt like only yesterday that he’d been released from tour. An animal sent to the cages once again. A beast sentenced to the shackles. One simply did not see children regress to training wheels after mastering the bicycle. And yet as per his manager since freshman year, Tanner Knight, Puma had suspended him from the UK tour. Something about his outside antics having no place in the music business.
Dei had finally received a taste of what it felt like to go big and for the second time he had nothing to show for it. He’d had performances before, headlined Hollywood Arts’ own shows, but there was nothing quite like selling out Manchester Arena and basking in the glory of crazed fans afterwards. All independent from the school. Even only as the opening act, Kordei trusted that they were only there to see him. Nobody could convince him otherwise.
“Cordy… Cordy…” Estevao mispronounced his name as per usual. He’d been given a personal choreographer at the beginning of the tour and the men in suits had allowed the man to continue working with him during his suspension. Once a bundle of joy and foreign curiosity, Estevao had seemingly grown sick of Kordei since the embarrassing turn of events that quite literally sent him back to school.
“What did I say about phone?” The man scolded, brutish arms waving at the bench where Dei’s mess of clothes, Louis Vuitton duffles, and telephone were tucked aside. “Distraction!” Estevao added, forcing his right hand into an opened left palm as if to say, rules are rules, hermano.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t piss ‘ya pants, G.” Dei simply laughed it off. “Everybody take a breather anyways since Stevo on my dick.” He heard Estevao mumble something in his language. Alejandra probably could’ve translated for him if she were here. He made a mental note to query her about it.
The flock of backstage performers around him dispersed to their own corners of the studio. Things with Estevao weren’t usually so tense. They were once very cordial and friendly. That was back on tour. His choreographer’s temper towards him had changed significantly, and although Dei continued to handle it in his own way, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable dancing for him.
Dei crashed down onto the bench with a heavy sigh, and as quickly as he’d looked over at the phone, he wished he hadn’t. It was her. The source of his pain and confusion. If everything that Dei feared could be bundled up and made into one person, it’d have been her.
“dei.”
“Dei”
“DEI.”
Her messages read, accentuated with angry emojis within those bright blue text bubbles. They still hadn’t discussed things yet, and she stayed on his ass about it. If there was anything that any man feared in the world, it had to be those two red lines coated in plastic. The only thing worse than that was when three of those tests had been taken, all with the same result.
The groupies on tour had been crazy, but those backstage dancers were even deadlier. Choreography today looked odd, and haphazard because they were missing her from formation. After a little over a month, she claimed to already have a baby bump and had mountains of documents in atom-sized font mailed to her manager. Her flip switched from lovable the Atlanta cheerleader at his side to someone who simply wanted to hop onto his bandwagon as he was getting big. More than disrespect, Kordei hated being used. Fuck anybody who tried to take him for a fool. How the hell had she found this number anyway?
Dei tucked the phone into the chest of one of the bouncers at the main door to Studio A.
“Shatter this phone for me, the SIM card too. Ask Tanner to give me a new one. An’ ease up on the whole security guard shit you got goin’ on, n****. It’s a highschool.”
He waited a moment more for the man to take a hint and move aside as Dei exited the studio and entered into the Department of Dance corridor. Organized in glass display cases sat medals, trophies, and pictures of alumni that after HA, went on to do great things. Kordei couldn’t quite seem to do that and it ate at him. There was a humiliation in his return that kept ushering his brain towards a question unnerving for any aspiring super star, did he fucking peak in highschool?
Kordei exhaled a breath then, tearing his sights away from the longing stare at the accolades, and towards what he’d actually left the gym for, a breath. A drink of water from the fountain called to him too and he found himself sipping at the water fountain. A sip that turned into a prolonged trance out of seemingly nowhere. He stared ahead at the wall as water trickled against his chin. Only God knows how long it took for him to realize what had been going on. He choked on the water, and it spluttered out and onto his top. Dei reined his head back like an aggravated horse, whipping the water away from his nostrils and lips with dramatic flails at the hand.
It was only in the aftermath of his waterpark mess that he sensed the presence of somebody else in that corridor at the other fountain a couple steps down. She was far smaller than him, lithe and petite with large bug eyes that caught his own angry brown orbs.
He piqued a questioning brow over to the small girl, his lips curled down slightly at the tips into a loose glower. Within himself and the hard shell that he displayed, Dei’s heart skipped a beat at just how vulnerable he might have appeared before this kid.
“How long you been standing there for?” His tone was more accusative than questioning.
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