velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 4

JAIRE

Alaia's skin is a deep, luscious brown, reminding me of the satiny smoothness of chocolate icing on my grandma's city-famous cake. Her calm and confident presence hasn't wavered since she entered my office. No shaky speech or nervous jitters at all. It's as if she's the label owner of Certified 4 Eternity Records, not me.

She sits across from me, legs crossed and tapping her foot, while I struggle to keep my composure. She relaxes with her Chanel glasses and bag resting in her lap. The scent wafting from her magnificent physique draws me in closer. Every fiber of my being encourages me to join her on the opposite side of my desk, but I'm staying put.

When my A&R representatives presented Alaia to us, my first question was if she was AI-generated. In a world populated by billions, possessing a distinct voice is a rare blessing. What's even rarer is her allure. I've lived in LA for almost a decade now. I've seen drop-dead gorgeous women of every ethnicity and body shape. Alaia, through a pixelated screen, had my heart pumping and my brain wondering. How the hell could someone be so damn flawless?

As she sits across from me, I'm pondering the same thing. Alaia is in the same category as Beyoncé's "Alien Superstar." She has the sex appeal of Janet Jackson, Mariah Carey's elegance, and Whitney Houston's humor. Everything wraps in one perfect package and creates Alaia Mondesir. I'm not sure who made her. Was it God? The Universe? A divine entity I'm clueless of? It seems whoever forged her had specifically designed her to be my kryptonite. Her knockout symmetry and riveting cadence will soon enthrall the world, and I can't help feeling envious.

When I sign an artist to C4E, I recognize their potential and limitations. There are no limits to Alaia's artistry. Her style is so innovative that it will keep evolving. Her music will be treasured for generations. Future superstars will analyze and deconstruct her performances. People will try to reproduce her angelic vocal range, harmonious tone, and inventive techniques, and they'll fail.

After sending the contract of every artist's dream and every label's nightmare to my legal team, I have to share Alaia with the rest of my bandmates. They're probably wondering what the hell is taking us so long. I text Serenity, both my big sister and the band's manager.

Me: Yo...so, your boy came through. She's down. Y'all ready to meet her?

Serenity: LET'S GOOOOOOOO AHHHHHHHH

Serenity: Bring the Haitian Doll through!

Serenity: Hold on...you told her about Malibu, right?

"F-ck!"

"Hm."

The "hm" is an icy blast that turns my spine into a frozen icicle. My posture straightens as I shudder. Alaia's "hm" is not a question. It's not a statement. It's not anything but menacing as f-ck. No one makes me anxious but my momma. But Alaia...she has your boy's leg shaking and stomach churning.

My palm rubs against the back of my neck. "Um, so I kinda forgot something."

Her eyes dart from side to side. It's a politer way of saying: "Get to the f-cking point."

"Is it a bad thing?" she asks.

"Depends how you feel about it."

"Hm."

"Chill. That 'hm' is some scary sh-t."

She mocks my fear by laughing at it. "You chill. I'm not gonna do anything to you, Jaire." She cocks her head to the side and gives me a smile that feigns innocence. "Well, that's unless you're f-cking with my money. If you mess with my finances, well," Alaia pauses. Her shoulders lift and drop nonchalantly. "My aunt is a manbo, a Vodou priestess, and she doesn't play about her niece."