Any Way the Wind Blows - E. Lynn Harris [30]
“Yep, I read it.”
“You know this might be controversial and we’re on a tight schedule. We need to shoot this in a week or two. Will that be a problem?”
“Not as long as you pay me and my staff overtime, and we shoot up in Harlem.”
“Harlem? I don’t think so,” I said as I looked cross-eyed at Michel.
“Then I can’t do it,” Desmond said as he got up from his chair.
“Why do you have to do it in Harlem?” I asked.
“You must be from L.A.,” Desmond said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“’Cause Harlem is the joint these days. Besides, I have a wonderful relationship with a studio up there who can pull this shoot together fast. It’s top-notch,” Desmond said.
“Let’s talk about the treatment,” Michel said.
“Yeah. How do you see it?” I asked.
“Some of the stuff is cool. But this is your video and you should be the focal point, not the dudes. I mean, we need them to convey the song’s story. I’d like to see you in something real sexy, but dressed down and revealing with your hair flowing. I would begin with a close-up of your face, with you singing the chorus without music, kinda like Whitney Houston did in ‘I Will Always Love You.’ Like this: ‘I can see your love goes … any way the wind blows … even though I know I have to … I don’t want to be without you … I can see your love flows … any way the wind blows …’” Desmond said as his words and singing melted together.
“You have a great voice,” I said.
“I do all right for a director,” he said.
“We still have to cast the men, and do you think we need dancers?”
“No dancers. Just this beautiful lady, the dudes, the sets and a little computer magic,” Desmond said.
“The sets have already been prepared. That’s why the Harlem studio might be a problem,” Michel said.
“Not really. Let me check out whatever sets you got and if I decide to use them, I can get my guys to move up there in a minute. The other scenes we can do behind a white background and then use the computer to put in what we need. Simple, just like that,” Desmond said as he snapped his fingers in the air.
“What casting agents would you recommend?” Michel asked.
“Jakki Brown is the best in New York, but you don’t really need strong actors. You just need a couple of pretty boys in the background. So I would suggest using one of the modeling agencies like the Lyon Group or Ford. I want Yancey B out front singing her ass off, or should I say lips off, since she’ll be lip-synching,” Desmond said, and looked over at me just long enough to make me feel a little uncomfortable about the eye contact I’d made with him.
“So you want the focus on me,” I said. I suddenly loved his vision, and maybe the Harlem studio would be less expensive. I didn’t want to be one of those singers who ended up in bankruptcy court because I spent too much money on my video or my jewelry. I planned to walk right into places like Harry Winston and Versace and demand the same kind of goodies they give women like Whitney, Lil’ Kim and Mary J. Blige.
“Yeah … yeah, Yancey B. I want you to show anguish and pain about losing your love to a dude. I want people to say, ‘What kind of dumb mofo would leave such a beautiful woman?’” Desmond said thoughtfully.
I smiled and looked at Michel and said, “I think we’ve found our director.”
• • •
I was getting ready to go home when Michel stopped me just as I was pushing the door buzzer. It was after hours, and the receptionist was gone.
“Hey, I got a package for you,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Probably some fan mail. You better get used to it.” Michel smiled.
I took the package from Michel, and the first thing I noticed was there was no return address. I shook the package gently, and it felt like it contained some type of cards or pictures. I tore open the package as I pushed through the glass door and walked toward the elevator. A few moments later the elevator arrived, and as I walked on, I dropped the contents of the package. Photographs of several pretty black girls fell out. How sweet, I thought. They were probably some of my young fans who wanted autographs, or