Cherise’s Industry Rules

Cherise was awakened by the sound of her phone vibrating against the nightstand.   She immediately sat up and searched for a clock.  She’d been up until 2AM working on her article.  The effort had been painstaking, trying to fill the pages with words and ideas that weren’t in her interview notes and she’d crashed and burned after finally putting together something worth reading.  Now she sat up in bed, feeling like she’d only gotten an hour’s sleep as slivers of sunlight began to peak through the New York City skyline.  Was it really morning already?

The urgent buzzing of her phone broke her thoughts.  Who the hell was calling or texting her at this time of day/night?  Eyes still half-closed, she fumbled around the nightstand until her hands finally landed on her iPhone. The light from the phone forced her eyes open to read the alert across the screen.  ”Text Message from Mr. Smith.” Her heart skipped a slight beat at the sight of his name as she touched the screen to read the message. “Wassup? I’m in town next weekend. Let’s hook up.”  Cherise smiled slyly, her mind rewinding to their last encounter.  Before she could answer the text, common sense kicked in and she sighed. “Damn,” she whispered into the silence of her bedroom.

Working as an entertainment journalist came with a set of rules.  Sure, the rules in Cherise’s case were self-imposed, but they were rules nonetheless.  The first rule on her list was to not screw around with artists.  In her eyes, it tainted her credibility.  Her dealings with Mr. Smith was a violation of that rule, and no matter how much she tried to rationalize the situation, it was still against her moral code.  She had to give herself a break, though.  It wasn’t as though it had always been that way.  She’d met him long before the rule had even been created, when she was still a student at Howard University.  She was the editor of the entertainment section of Howard’s newspaper and he was an up and coming songwriter visiting for Howard’s famed Homecoming festivities.  Their shared passion for music caused them to click instantly and they were inseparable for the remainder of the weekend.  Over the years, they kept in touch via phone, email, and the occasional visit where they would casually pick up where they left off during their initial meeting and then go back to their separate worlds.

Time went by and the two advanced in their careers.  Mr. Smith stepped from behind the scenes and became a full-fledged R&B sensation and Cherise was slowly working her way up the urban entertainment journalism totem pole.  They began to run into each other at industry functions, during which Cherise would try her best to not be seen.  Her efforts were always futile and they’d always end up back at his hotel, dancing on his sheets.  It was always beyond good and in the moment, worth the mental anguish that Cherise often suffered as a consequence.

Not that it was a relationship.  It most certainly was not.  And their get-togethers weren’t even that frequent.  She probably saw him every three or four months.  Each time, he was warm and kind.  Never disrespectful or full of himself despite his newfound fame.  He was always that cool, charismatic guy that she’d met seven years ago at Howard.  And the sex.  The sex was always off the charts.  As much as she tried to suppress it, Cherise was weak against the calls of her libido.  Great sex had always been her weakness.  But with Mr. Smith, it was more like her kryptonite.

Unable to go back to sleep, she rose from her bed in search of jeans and a T-shirt.  The sun had completely broken through the clouds which meant that the Starbucks on the corner was open for business.  Perhaps a carmel macchiato (another of Cherise’s guilty pleasures) would ease her current frustrations and calm her mind.  Before hitting the door, she looked at her cell phone one last time.  It’s better if I just leave it, she said to herself.  Maybe she’d forget all about the text by the time she got back.

Want to know Cherise’s back story? Meet Cherise here.