Cherished (3 page)

“King of kings! Lord of lords!” he shouted into the microphone, echoing the name of the song he'd just done.

The crowd joined in the praise by roaring louder.

Brian looked out at the sea of people that had descended on downtown near the Arch on a Sunday afternoon. “Thank you, St. Louis! My home! I love you!” He pumped his fist and turned to leave the stage as they began chanting again. They were shouting the name of his signature song, the one he'd saved for last. He was surprised this crowd knew it.

At the back of the stage, Brian turned and cupped his ear. “You wanna hear what?”

“Out of This World,” they yelled.

He took a few steps toward them. “I thought people were tired of that one.”

“No!” they thundered.

Brian gave his trademark smile and cued the deejay with a glance. The thumping beat started, and the crowd went wild. He launched into the words as the dancers reappeared—four young women he'd told his manager he didn't want or need. But Harold had lobbied for them. With this bigger venue, he said, it was the perfect time to step up the “show” part of the performance. Brian wanted the focus on the message in the songs. He thought the women would unnecessarily distract—and he also thought the matter had been settled. But the dancers showed up today anyway, with choreographed steps to his songs.

He moved easily across the outdoor stage in faded blue jeans and a shirt, melding with the rhythm, the words, the energy. He loved this part, connecting with the people, imparting truth that would stay with them long after he was gone, words they'd repeat at home or in the car or at school. They might not even get the words right now, but he always prayed God would give them understanding. That prayer had been answered through countless e-mails, letters, and posts on Twitter and his Facebook page about how his songs had led listeners to the Bible. For him, that's what it was all about.

But music was also about business, a part he disliked more and more. Or maybe it was the people with whom he was doing business. He hadn't sorted it all out, but with each passing week, that was the part that was challenging him.

Maybe he wouldn't have to do anything. It was a very real possibility that he'd be giving all this up shortly to focus solely on a years-long ambition, a PhD in biochemistry.

Brian came to his favorite part of the song, where he rattled off the names of God. He'd never forget God giving that to him over a bowl of cereal. The words were strung together beautifully in his head, already rhyming. He only had to write them down. He never would have believed God was calling him to do this, even on a secondary level, without moments like that, one after another. Brian Howard, Christian rapper? He hadn't even been a big rap fan. Yet here he was.

The dancers struck their last pose as the song ended. Brian pumped his fist and took in the landscape of exuberant faces.

God, this is unbelievable, really unbelievable. Does this have anything to do with my prayers? Are You speaking through this?

“St. Louis, you're awesome!” he said. “Thank you for the love and the support. Keep living out of this world, living for Christ.”

He gave a final fist-pump and turned, making his way through a black curtain at the back of the stage and down a set of steps, the dancers following. A security guy met him in the restricted outdoor area, then his manager and a dozen other faces, familiar and unfamiliar. Someone passed him a bottled water, and he took a long swig as they ushered him to a tent area set up for the talent.

“Alien! That was the bomb!”

“You rocked the house, dude!”

Red-shirted workers gave him kudos, and he gratefully shook their hands. It had taken him awhile to get used to being called Alien, his rap name. It was another thing he felt God had given him. He'd been studying 1 Peter when he was struck by the apostle calling Christians “aliens and strangers in the world.”

Harold put a hand on Brian's shoulder as they walked. “Man, I'm telling you, you're about to go to a whole new level. Did you see how that crowd responded? You've got the skills, but it's more than that. They
like
you.” He pondered it, near giddy. “It's that clean-cut, boy-next-door look. I've got to hand it to you, that was the right call. I wanted edgy, but you knew the image that would work.”

Brian glanced at his manager. “I'm just being me, Harold. That's all I can be. But it's not about me.” He stepped inside the tent. “Did you see all those arms raised in worship when I was praying? Gave me goose bumps. That was awesome.”

Harold pulled out his phone and started texting. “Yeah . . . that was something.”

Brian stared at him a second, waiting for more. Seemed whenever he wanted to rejoice in the spiritual side of an event, Harold was focused on business. That was his job, but still . . .

“I'm already on this.” Harold's fingers flew across the phone. “Trying to figure out how we can capitalize on what we saw today. This is gonna be bigger than we thought. The demographic is wide open.”

“Don't get carried away,” Brian said. “I told you, this is a summer of decision for me. I'm not making any new directional moves until I know for sure this is what God wants me to do.”

“Uh-huh.” Harold kept typing. “You'd be a fool to give this up. And to sit in a lab? Boy, you're crazy.”

“Crazy or not, if I can't come up with any songs for this new album, that'll be a huge sign.”

“I ain't worried,” Harold mumbled.

Brian picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He wished he could say the same. The noise and activity of the other artists swirled around him. Beforehand he'd enjoyed meeting and talking to the others and praying in a circle with the sponsor organization. A local pastor, Dr. Mason Lyles, had led the prayer. Brian could see Dr. Lyles across the tent now—he'd hoped to get a chance to talk to the man before he left.

He pulled out his phone to check his messages and was surprised to see a text from Aaron, a grade-school friend.

I
N TOWN FOR WKEND
. I
KNOW YOU'RE THE MAN AND ALL, BUT HOW ABOUT MEETING A BRO AT
F
IVE
G
UYS FOR DINNER
?

Brian smiled. He hadn't seen Aaron in more than a year. He sent a quick reply.

“Brian?”

He turned and saw Nicole, editor of a popular online gospel magazine. He'd sat down with her earlier for an interview, and she'd shadowed him the rest of the day. “Hey, Nicole,” he said. “Been watching the performances?”

“Absolutely. You were amazing. I'd never heard you in person.” Her eyes danced as she looked at him. “I hear you all are going out tonight.”

Brian quirked his brow. “Nah, I'm actually headed to meet—”

Harold raised a finger at him, half listening to their conversation, half in his own on the phone. He brought the call to a close. “Actually,” Harold said, phone tucked in his hand, “we're planning to grab a bite, then check out Club Stratus.”

“All right, cool,” Brian said. “Have a good time. I'll catch up with you tomorrow.”

“Excuse us a minute,” Harold told Nicole. He pulled Brian a few feet away. “You're going too.”

Brian frowned. “You know I'm not into clubbing. Anyway, I've got plans.”

Harold shook his head. “You got to.”

“What do you mean—‘got to'?”

“Look.” Harold glanced over to make sure they were out of hearing range. “From the vibe I'm picking up, Nicole likes you. She's the one who asked what we were doing tonight and whether we could all hang out. Wouldn't hurt, if you know what I mean.”

Brian couldn't believe what he was hearing. And yet . . . he could. “What
do
you mean, Harold?”

Harold leaned in closer. “Nicole's got one of the hottest online trade magazines. Imagine the kind of press she'll give you if you flatter her with some time tonight.”

“You're serious.”

Harold grew exasperated. “Yes, Brian, I am. Hop aboard the real world.” He paused, letting a smile ease onto his face. “You should be jumping all over this. You're a hot-blooded male, aren't you?” He cast a glance Nicole's way. “
Look
at her.”

Brian stared at him a moment, unsure what to do—not about tonight but about the weeks to come. Did he need to end it now? And
could
he end it, given they had a contract?

“I'll talk to her,” Brian said finally.

“And say what? You'll go, right?”

Brian approached her. “I'm sorry, Nicole. My manager wasn't aware I had plans tonight. I appreciate all your time today, though. Can't wait to read the article.” He gave her a smile.

“I hate to hear that,” Nicole said. “I was looking forward to getting to know you a little better, but I understand. Maybe another time.” She pulled out a business card and wrote a number on the back. “That's my personal cell. Call anytime.”

As she passed Brian the card, her attention was diverted to someone behind him. “Dr. Lyles,” she said, moving to greet him, “what a pleasure to meet you. Nicole Armor.”

Brian stepped aside and watched them shake hands.

“Nice to meet you, Nicole,” Dr. Lyles said.

When she had moved away, Dr. Lyles put his arm around the young guy standing with him. “Forgive the intrusion, but we're about to leave, and my grandson just had to meet Alien and get a picture with him.”

“No intrusion at all,” Brian said. “I was waiting for the chance to meet
you
.” They shared a laugh. “Hey, man, what's your name?” Brian bent a little, putting an arm around him.

“Justin.”

“How old are you?”

“Twelve. I know all the words to every song on your album. I even got one of your mix tapes and did a song at our family reunion.”

“Whoa. And for a minute there, I thought you were shy.” Brian exchanged a smile with Dr. Lyles. “You wouldn't want a T-shirt like mine, would you?”

Justin's eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

Brian looked to his left. “Nate!” He pointed at Justin and then at his own shirt. “Hook him up.”

Nate gave the okay sign. “Come on over, fella. You can choose the color you want.”

Dr. Lyles gripped Brian's hand. “Thank you, Alien. You made his day.”

“Sir, please call me Brian. It's such a privilege to meet you.”

“Privilege is mine,” Dr. Lyles said. “I'm impressed with your work.”

“Really?” Brian said. “You mean, you've listened?”

“Justin calls it keeping me hip . . . as if I weren't already.” Dr. Lyles's eyes twinkled. “I admit he had to persuade me, because it's not exactly my genre. He kept saying, ‘Grandpa, this is the same stuff you talk about on Sunday.' So I listened and got excited because not only could I follow what you were saying, I
loved
what you were saying. The bonus was I got to talk to Justin about things like what it means to live unashamed of the Gospel”—he grinned—“which never happened after one of my sermons.” He put a hand to Brian's shoulder. “Keep doing what you're doing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Lyles. Really . . . to hear you say that, to know you see worth in my music, is huge right now.” Brian felt emotion rushing at him. His own childhood pastor had questioned what he was doing, even looked down on it. Out of respect for his grandmother, he had returned to the church he'd grown up in when he moved back after college. But he'd been struggling, especially this summer as he grappled with his future.

Dr. Lyles looked him in the eye. “Son, I'm not the only one who sees worth in what you're doing. I was out there during your performance. What a sight to see so many young people worshipping with you.”

Brian could feel his insides churning. “Dr. Lyles,” he said, “I know you're extremely busy, but is there any way we could set up a time to meet next week? I really feel like I need your counsel.”

Dr. Lyles reached for his wallet and gave him a card. “Let's do it, son. I'd love to meet with you.”

B
RIAN LAUGHED AND TOOK ANOTHER BITE OF HIS BURGER.

“So I show up for this audition,” Aaron was saying, “thinking I'm perfect for the role of the suave guy who tries to win the girl by offering the candy bar. But no. They think I'm perfect as the voice of the baby who steals her heart with the right brand of chocolate.”

Brian laughed again. “But that's cool. At least you got a part. When does it air?”

“Next month some time.” Aaron sipped his Coke. “I guess it's cool. But I've gotten two commercials, and both times I'm not actually onscreen. I'm starting to get a complex.”

“Just wait. You're at the humble beginnings stage, but one day you'll be a one-name star like Denzel or Leonardo.”

Aaron pointed two fingers at him. “Or Alien.”

“Yeah, right. I'm more ‘humble beginnings' than you are. You've got national television exposure”—Brian waggled his eyebrows—“even if we only see a cute baby face.” He paused. “But you should've seen the crowd today. It was incredible. If I'd known you were in town, I would've told you about it so you could've come down.”