Muted Page 14

  lined up in front of the third bus.

  The second bus was for the security team—

  and me.

  Dali, Merc, Marissa,

  and management

  rode on the lead bus.

  Without me.

  It’s like Merc played Ping-Pong with us:

  Who’s the favorite today?

  “Why can’t I ride with you and Dali?”

  I was all for discipline,

  but life on the road

  shoulda been a little fun, no?

  “We’ll swap midway through,”

  Merc said.

  “Gonna take some time to work on Dali’s upper register.

  You want her to sing with you eventually, right?”

  The doors on the bus closed in my face.

  Meat told me to make myself at home.

  what a tour bus looks like,

  picture an apartment on wheels.

  Inside:

  a mini kitchen,

  table with a cushioned bench

  against double windows

  a row of single beds,

  six of ’em,

  each with curtains for privacy

  a small bathroom

  with a small shower

  and even smaller toilet

  clearly not made

  for humans,

  and in the back,

  Merc’s private bedroom

  always locked

  whether he was in there or not.

  Rule #1: Each crew was to remain separate—

  for focus, of course

  Merc didn’t need no one messing up his vibe

  That focus was what made his show

  Top notch

  The best there ever was

  Rule #2: Don’t nobody talk to Dali or Denver

  Rule #3: annnnnnd vice versa

  A new city each week

  Nashville

  Charleston

  Raleigh

  Richmond

  Spotlights zoomed

  on Merc

  Dancers grinding

  Band grooving

  Me

  Sharmaine

  Althea

  The perfect

  soprano-alto-tenor blend

  beneath

  the bass of his

  melodies

  while Merc

  was center stage

  living his best life

  That girl behind stage right,

  off in the shadows?

  That was Dali

  watching, watching, watching.

  Two a.m.

  Hunger pangs

  ricocheted through my ribs,

  up to my eyes, blasting

  me awake.

  In the bunks around me,

  everyone

  was snoring hella loud.

  Outside my window

  a crescent moon followed

  the bus down I-95.

  I got up

  for the bathroom,

  ran cool water on my face,

  headed to the kitchen,

  quietly poured half a can

  of Pringles in my mouth,

  saw the blue light blinking

  laptop open, headphones attached,

  crying out

  Denver, come talk to me …

  What was life

  without checking

  email,

  Instagram,

  text messages?

  Hard at first,

  easier as the weeks went by.

  But that open screen

  was like dangling a steak magnet

  in front of greedy lips.

  From: drlafleur@wemail.com

  To: denverleexoxo@wemail.com

  Cc: captainlafleur@wemail.com

  September 10

  Subject: Please come home, baby

  Dearest Denver,

  From the moment I felt your first kick inside my womb, I knew you were my special girl. Feisty. Fearless. You entered this world singing in the key of C sharp, so says your papi.

  And when we laid eyes on you, all pink and wrinkly, one brown eye, one eye blue, we made a vow. To love you down to your bones. To always be there, listen, support your dreams. To allow you to spread your wings, let you love how you choose, let you make mistakes along the way.

  I think we may have failed you in our promise. Papi and I understand why you left. It’s not your fault. We will take some of the blame. But your “music producer” is not without fault. The way he manipulated you into leaving has left us empty.

  Mr. Ellis recently sent Esme a check for $5,000. His team contacted us as well to offer the same, but your father and I declined. We do not care about money. We care about your well-being.

  It’s not too late to come home, Denny.

  Love,

  Ma and Papi

  PS: Attached is a gift from Papi.

  PPS: I am worried for your mental and physical health.

  and clicked play

  The video opened

  and I heard Ma whisper,

  “It’s recording.”

  She tried her best to hold

  the camera steady,

  zooming in on

  an image of hands

  I knew all too well

  fingernails begging for a trim

  ashy-ass knuckles (you stay needing lotion, Papi)

  and that ebony skin.

  You sat at the piano in our basement,

  the one you hadn’t touched in years

  From the very first chord

  of Prelude in E Minor,

  you

  gutted me,

  broke me,

  tears warm

  and thick,

  falling in rapid succession.

  The memory

  of you both

  lovingandleaving me

  on repeat,

  was enough

  to make me click

  STOP

  Because that song

  and that video

  were like a heavy anchor

  on the soul.

  I suppose that’s just

  the way Chopin (y’all)

  intended it to be.

  Three things:

  I wasn’t some victim.

  It’s not like Merc kidnapped me.

  Even if I wanted to leave, I wasn’t going nowhere. Not without Dali.

  I had so much more to say to y’all

  but all I could email back was:

  I am not sick.

  I am safe, I promise.

  Now, please, just let me live.

  Google and I reconnected once more.

  Told me all the things

  I already knew about Merc

  Superstar

  Award-winning artist

  Tour dates

  Collabos with the finest in the industry

  Page after page

  of all that was right

  about the King of R&B.

  It wasn’t until I got

  to page sixteen

  that I stumbled on

  a clickbait site with

  that stupid article Shak sent.

  Seriously, who even digs that far?

  My next search, Marissa Avent,

  produced an Instagram page,

  six years ago, not a single post since.

  A fresh-faced, messy-bunned Marissa,

  pressing play on her iPod,

  volume up on the instrumental track

  for Merc’s “Strawberry Lipstick.”

  The second she opened her mouth,

  vocals set fire to my ears,

  a gut-deep blend of

  Lizzo-meets-Adele,

  which begged the question …

  Why on earth would she give up singing

  just to be Merc’s personal assistant?

  a rustling coming from the bunk beds,

  a planting of feet against the floor.

  I cleared my history,

  put the screen to sl
eep,

  and dashed to the sink,

  cup in hand

  just in time to hear

  “What’re you doing up?”

  It wasn’t a lie

  that I was thirsty—

  both in the literal

  and metaphorical.

  Either way,

  it was enough to

  make Meat believe

  that nothing more,

  nothing less

  took place in the dark.

  Weight: 22.9 lbs down

  Breakfast: we don’t get down like that no mo’

  Lunch: celery, tuna, crackers, air

  Dinner: see lunch

  Today’s workout: Ain’t nobody got time.

  Life on the road was

  practicing background vocals,

  studio time after the show

  till the wee hours of the morning,

  while Dali looked and looked and

  nothing else.

  Life was me

  questioning

  the when,

  the why,

  the how much longer,

  he would do my girl like that?

  Though I never spoke up.

  Life was Merc

  honey-coated promising,

  capturing special moments,

  camcorder gripped in hand.

  Life was shopping sprees,

  clothes and jewels and kicks

  to purchase the “forgetting”

  of who I once was.

  Life was being spotted by fans,

  girls drooling at Merc’s feet,

  hard eye-rolling at me and Dali

  as if we were in the way.

  And sometimes life was

  a nosy-ass TMZ cameraman,

  in hot pursuit

  as we walked back to the tour bus.

  “Merc, what do you have

  to say about

  the recent accusation

  you are holding girls hostage?”

  And you know me and my tongue

  these teeth

  this mouth

  was never afraid of unleashing the heat!

  “Look around, idiot!

  Does it LOOK like any of us are hostages?

  It’s not 1821!

  You got your centuries wrong, bruh!”

  Merc started laughing,

  still walking,

  but didn’t stop me,

  so I kept going.

  “I swear the media tries so HARD

  to bring a Black man down!”

  “I’m sorry, miss. And you are?”

  “Denver.

  Half of Untouched—remember that name.”

  “Lafleur?”

  Legs on full stop. The whole crew, too.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Any comment on the latest article in the Buzz?”

  TMZ dude, paper in hand,

  reached toward me,

  too slow for Merc’s swift snatch.

  Merc laughed a laugh

  that I couldn’t quite read.

  Part amused?

  Part shocked?

  “No comment.”

  Stuffed that paper in his pocket,

  climbed on the bus,

  as if those TMZ folks

  never existed.

  OH, THE SHADE!!!!!

  But I was still standing there,

  teeth gritted,

  eyes rolling like

  Y’all can keep it moving.

  Dali yanked me by the arm

  extinguishing the rest of the heat

  I wanted to let out,

  pulled me onto her bus,

  just in time for the driver to close the door

  and dip off.

  Read that out loud for me.”

  Dali smoothed out the crumpled-up paper,

  cleared her throat,

  and began …

  Written By: The Buzz Staff

  SECOND SET OF PARENTS STEP FORWARD WITH ACCUSATIONS AGAINST SEAN “MERCURY” ELLIS

  An article in the Daily Gossip featured an interview with parents who have asked to have their names withheld. After further investigation, it was found that the daughter is indeed safe and thriving as a valuable member of Mr. Ellis’s Merc World Productions team.

  A new report has cropped up, this time from a married couple out of Shohola, Pennsylvania. Dr. and Captain Lafleur claim their 18-year-old daughter, Denver, and her best friend (name withheld) left home and dropped out of school, under Mr. Ellis’s influence.

  “It is our belief that Sean Ellis has brainwashed our daughter,” Captain Lafleur tells us. “Because of that, we are worried for her safety,” the mother added.

  Attempts to file kidnapping charges proved futile after Atlanta PD conducted a wellness check to verify that Ms. Lafleur was indeed safe. Ms. Lafleur left home in August to pursue her musical ambitions under Merc World Productions, and turned the legal age of eighteen shortly after her arrival. The parents claim they have not heard from their daughter since.

  In response to these new allegations, a representative for Mr. Ellis stated: “The parents of both girls signed contracts, allowing Mr. Ellis to take them under his tutelage for the purpose of developing them into recording artists. Their relationship is professional. Further, both families have been compensated to assist with expenditures, though they have since repeatedly requested more money.”

  where there’s smoke,

  there’s fire.

  Well, I was on the defense with that one.

  Where there’s smoke,

  sometimes that’s all it was.

  A gray cloud of nothingness,

  the truth lurking behind

  just waiting for the smoke to clear.

  your parents are starting to become a problem!”

  That act with the TMZ folks—

  the soft chuckle,

  the “take the high road” demeanor

  was just that—

  an act.

  The Merc inside the walls of that bus?

  His mood slowly unraveling.

  “I don’t know why they did that,”

  I said, leaving out

  the part about

  our email exchange a few weeks back.

  I looked at Dali,

  seated at the kitchen table,

  literally folding into herself,

  locking in all the secrets I’d shared with her:

  that song I stole on my flash drive,

  that email I sent,

  that Google search.

  The reality settled

  that even though that Buzz article

  was covered in lies,

  there was one part that was true.

  Dali’s mom needed that money.

  Every cent of it.

  But mine didn’t.

  At all.

  “Did my parents really try to stick you for coins?”

  Merc looked at me,

  like how dare I ask such a question?

  “I told you how folks get, Denver.

  How fame and money

  make people change.

  Like it or not,

  even your own blood will

  do whatever they can

  to stop what you got growing.

  It’s up to you to make a decision:

  You in or you out?”

  Dali zapped me with those pleading eyes.

  I couldn’t turn back.

  Not when I knew what was waiting for us.

  Radio. Videos. Red carpets. Fame.

  “What can I do to

  kill the noise and get them off our backs?”

  Merc finally smiled,

  pulled me in for a hug

  as Dali stared at us both,

  finally exhaling a trapped breath.

  “You my little ride-or-die chick,

  aren’t you, baby gurl?”

  I nodded, eyes sealed,

  safeguarding defiant tears.

  “I got a little project
for both of

  y’all.”

  anything in the world

  other than world-famous,

  legendary,

  the best to ever

  throw down on a beat,

  he woulda been a director

  and gave

  Ava and Spike

  a run for their money.

  That iPhone,

  that tripod,

  those hands

  blended together

  like the perfect coverup.

  The script was done—

  he wrote, Dali and I memorized—

  We looked like

  a real-deal

  singing duo,

  matching black-and-silver outfits.

  Our newest song

  “Brand-New Me”

  played low in the background,

  lights on,

  me and Dali

  side by side in our seats,

  quiet on set,

  going live on Instagram

  in three, two, one …

  Interviewer (aka Meat, off camera, news reporter voice down pat):

  What would you like to say in response to your parents’ accusations?

  Me: As you can see, I’m fine.

  Dali: We both are.

  Meat: Why do you think your parents went to the media?

  Me: Control.

  Meat: How so?

  Dali: That’s what parents do sometimes. And I won’t speak for Denver’s parents. My mom, on the other hand, isn’t that controlling. She didn’t like that I left school and home, but I know that she understands why. This is a chance to make something of myself, to pull my family out of the situation we’re in.

  Meat: What do you want Merc’s fans to know?

  Me: That he is an incredible human being, an amazing musician, who puts other people first.

  Dali: That’s why he’s taking all this time to help us grow as artists.

  Meat: Do you think your parents are exploiting the situation for money?

  Me: …

  Meat: Denver?

  Me: … I can’t speak on that right—

  Merc swiped his hand across his throat.

  CUT!

  275,953 views

  MERC PROTÉGÉ BREAKS SILENCE AFTER HOSTAGE ACCUSATIONS.

  View all 3,812 comments

  Justbecool: Time to #MuteMerc. Seeing this headline creep up again on this dude.

  _Markani4: Damn, even parents tryna stick you for your paper!

  WeKangz: Anybody see the hand shadow, telling that poor girl to shut her mouth?

  Ballershak: Praying for my sisters. Wake up @denverlee01 @dalisaybabe!

  GwennieLafleur: @denverlee01 what is happening to you? You look emaciated and pale!! I’m taking the semester off and coming back home to help find you. Please, please call me! I promise I will answer.