Perchance Meeting

Sophia brushed past him on her way to the cigar bar. As she did this, a feeling of recognition – no, familiarity – washed over her. Sure she recognized him; he was the star (pseudo-star) of his own music-based reality show, (New York Minute, the producers of which were hosting this album release party in its name). As she buzzed by him on her beeline to her next nicotine fix, it was as if she’d blown by an old friend who she hadn’t seen in years and had much to catch up on.

That, of course, was impossible, as she could only wish he was an old friend of hers. Never one to be star-struck, Sophia couldn’t deny he was magnetic; he wasn’t terribly good-looking, yet there was something about his features that she found irresistible (his wide, round eyes, that scar on his forehead, his creamy café-au-lait complexion, his brow that hung a tad too low which made him seem like he was always in deep thought, that scar on his forehead…)

It was that scar that kept pinging her subconscious as she stood waiting for her cigar to be cut and lit. From her vantage point she could watch him without him noticing (he was far too busy chatting up fans to notice much), and she could not stop herself from analyzing that scar. She felt that if she could just touch it, trace its outline with her fingers, press her lips to it, she’d find out everything she needed to know, everything about him, about her, about life and her reason for being…

Wait, wait, wait. “Where the hell did that come from?” she thought. He was attractive, to be sure, but hardly a god. Those types rarely know the path to the fountain of knowledge; she’d bet the farm that he was any different.

Freshly cut and lighted Cuban treat in hand, Sophia made her way to the stage area, where the indie funk band Cherry Pumpkin Soul Soldiers were playing. Despite the trippy name, they were actually quite good. Sophia found herself bopping along before she knew it.

Though she came to the album release party alone, Sophia always found that it was not to remain so. Truth be told, she was hardly ever alone whenever she stepped out. Her strange but exotic looks guaranteed that. Never one to cop to being a beauty, something about her always drew men to her like a magnet. Her heritage was mixed, and this is reflected in her smooth caramel skin tone, her slightly slanted, chestnut brown eyes, her cute round-tipped nose, her strong (if too-wide) jaw line. Admittedly a bit too wide framed for her own liking, she nevertheless was able to find good company whenever she needed it.

A kind of geeky-looking guy in a green message tee (one that was too worn to make out what the actual message was) strolled up behind her and started dancing. “What the hell”, she thought, and she danced along with him. This was a challenge for her because he didn’t have any rhythm and kept throwing hers off. She made the best of it anyway and danced two songs.

Thirsty and slightly sweaty, Sophia begged off another dance and headed for the bar. She couldn’t believe she’d been at this party this long without a drink. She was losing her touch.

After waiting in line for a few minutes, she finally reached the bartender and was about to order when she was interrupted by a cast member who began to (very rudely) order ahead of her.

Coldly staring at the bartender (because she knew these newly famous types didn’t know any better), he said, “I’m sorry, but I believe this young lady is placing an order first.” Going into a diatribe she was sure was solely for the benefit of the two young groupies he’d acquired, the young cast member started shouting things like, “Do you know who I am?” and “I don’t see anybody, the little people know their place”, Sophia found herself about to check out on this nobody when the show’s lead appeared, playing referee. “Chuck, I know your mom taught you better than that, don’t make me call her up. I have her on speed dial.” There was laughter in the background, and as he turned his back to Chuck, he said (quite loudly), “Bartender, please, whatever this young lady wants, she gets, on me. I see I need to teach Chuck about being humble to everyone: strangers, his fans, even the “little people”, especially the little people who happen to be big time media executives.” He turned back to Chuck, who had a look that was a mixture of disbelief and shame.

Having at least six inches over her in height, Simon (the star of the show and Sophia’s bar-side rescuer) reached over her head to grab her drink from the bartender, so that he could hand it to her personally. “Please accept my apologies for Chuck’s behavior, Ms. Jamison,” he said as he handed her her drink, “some people just have no couth.” With that, he thumped Chuck square-dead in the center of his forehead.

Sophia was taken aback. True, her media status is what got her invited to this party, yet she’s a behind-the-scenes player (a status that she loves), hardly someone outside her level of the industry would recognize. He gestured that they walk toward the V.I.P. seating.

“How do you know my name?” she asked. They sat down, and he smiled at her and said, “I make it a point of knowing all I can about this industry. I know many people regard me as just another pretty-faced flash-in-the-pan, but I’m serious about my work and my future. I know I can only milk this reality TV thing for, what, maybe two or three more seasons, and then I’ll be forgotten about. I have plenty of other good ideas, so I know I need to make the proper connections to make them happen. Needless to say, your name came up in my research. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.” Sophia thanked him, thinking to herself “there goes the farm”, and said, “I’m impressed. I have to confess that I’m one of those people who don’t give reality TV stars a lot of consideration, but you seem to have a good head on your shoulders.” With that she found herself snatching a glimpse of his scar again, and that feeling of familiarity washed over her again.

“Would you think that I was crazy if I said I felt like I knew you from somewhere?” she asked. “It’s just that, here in person, when I look at you, I feel like I’ve known you before. Is that strange?”

“Sure it’s strange,” Simon replied, “I mean, I know I’ve never met you before tonight. I’m sure you feel the same way. To be honest, though, I keep getting the same feeling. Wonder what that's about?”

“Maybe I was your husband in a past life, or some trippy shit like India.Arie would come up with,” she laughed. “Who knows. So tell me about your ideas, your plans for your future in the biz…or are they secret?” She asked this with a raised eyebrow.

“No secret for you, past husband,” Simon replied with a smile. “I’m glad you’re taking an interest. Whenever I bring it up to people in your position, they usually just smile and nod like I’m a retard. I actually want to do what you do – I want to have my own production company. I think I have good ideas for fresh new television, but I see that I’m going to have to make my own way for them to come about. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

Sophia nodded a sincere agreement. While her production company is small in comparison to her dream (she does well in syndication), she knows how hard it is to get relevant television programming aired through traditional channels. She has a whole cache of programming ideas that can’t leave the house, so to speak. This is why she’s trying to get her own network off the ground. It’s been an uphill battle to date.

“It’s no piece of cake, and I have a long way to go before I get to be where I want to be, but it’s rewarding work, to be sure,” she said. “So, why do you want your own production company? I mean, I know my reasons, but everybody in the business has different motivations. What are yours?”

“Well, you know how it is, being a minority in this country. The images that are painted of you, they don’t always ring true, do they? I’m sure you feel this better than I do; you’re both Black and a woman. You’re seen as either an oversexed ghetto whore or a mammy-type; from where I’m sitting, neither one of those stereotypes seem to apply. But, that’s what the average, ignorant viewer wants to see, whether they realize it or not. There may be a calling for more accurate, intelligent portrayals of Black women on television, but if I were to release a show depicting your life right now, it would be crushed in the ratings – few people would watch because few people would feel that your character is true.

“My goal is to develop multi-ethnic programming, intelligent multi-ethnic programming, that’s both entertaining and informative. There is a need for that, even though there isn’t much of a mainstream want. I want to force change in the perception of ethnic groups here in America. I know it’s heavy, but that’s my goal.”

Sophia looked at him in disbelief. “Are you stalking me or something?” she asked. “That’s very close to what I’m doing now, except my plan is a bit more selfish, since I only focus on things from a Black point of view. So, if you don’t mind me asking, are you yourself multi-ethnic? It’s hard to put a finger on your 'heritage'…”

Simon bent his head and smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. My mother is West Indian, from the islands…I hear that my father was Jewish, though it’s just a rumor.”

“So, did you grow up here in the States? I hear you have a slight accent,” she asked. “Yes, I was born here, but my family, they are very tight, we would visit the islands often, so I developed this,” he said, pointing at his mouth as if an accent could be seen there. “What about you? I mean, I know you’re Black, but some of your features don’t match...”

“Very perceptive. I am the product of racial disenfranchisement bonding together for the sake of love; there are Black, White, and Native American mixtures on both sides of my family. I heard rumors of Chinese a few times, too,” she said.

For the rest of the evening, Simon and Sophia compared notes about their respective ethnic heritages, their dreams and goals in television, and their lives in general. The more they talked, the more their mutual attraction for each other became evident. More than physical, they both developed a desire to consume all they could for one another. After a while, they decided to meet at Simon’s suite after the party wrapped; Simon was a magnet, and Sophia found herself as iron, strong, though not enough to resist his pull.

She knew she had to be with him this night, or risk never being with him ever again.

Next - Business leads to pleasure