VANTÉ. (D. SWING)

FanVanté

"And what is it that you love so much about her, son?"

Without a single hesitation in his words, he stares Don, Cornelius that is, in the eye and gives his answer. "Uhm, everything," he says falling into a cheeky grin. I can tell the first word of his reply is simply out of habit. The second word still makes me smile. I never get tired of it. There's an undeniable sparkle in this kid's eye, it's the kind of sparkle that only the real can recognize. It's the kind of sparkle that should not be tampered with.

I come to these meet and greets and television appearances all of the time. You see these kids with all this potential to do some major things in this world. Yet, so many want to be in my field of work. I'm only twenty and I can promise that there's nothing here but trouble, trouble, and more trouble. Trouble, lack of creative freedom, and maybe some money if you played your cards right. Truthfully speaking, I'd rather go back to school. Maybe get a degree... be a lawyer, maybe? I can't leave music though. It's my life. Maybe, just maybe, I could be an entertainment lawyer and help get people out of these bunk ass contracts.

You know, I don't like coming to Soul Train often either. The energy is always live, I'll give you that. However, lip-syncing has and never will be my thing. It only came up in recent years but, I hate it. I'm sorry, I cannot stand it.

I cross my arms, staring deep into the backstage monitor as I wait for my cue to enter the loving atmosphere. "We've got right here too, y'know." You feel a shift in moods as I enter. We've gone from an eight to a ten. Don's tall stature allows me to shimmy into the camera view. I stand on the left of him, the fan on the right. You can feel a coolness in the building due to the lack of dancing. Whenever it's really pumping, a thick, heavy musk-like fog blankets the present bodies. "She'll be hanging out with us after the break..." Don playfully glances at me. "Right?"

My head starts to nod. "Indeed, I will." As I turn to smile directly into the camera, the forced grin grows genuine at the feeling of my blushing face. He's smiling at me so hard.

After making a small joke that I fail to pay attention to, Don wanders off to the bathroom. A thump returns back to the speakers. One thing people fail to notice about Soul Train is that if you don't say stop dancing, they won't. They dance during commercial breaks and forever on. There's no stopping this party once it gets started. I should be dancing, I could be over at the crafts table, I could be in my dressing room. However, I'm still here in the exact same spot as I stood pre-commercial break. He's still here too. Pursed lips cause tension in his attractive face as he awkwardly focuses down on his shoes, his left foot tapping and right hand fidgeting to the beat.

I approach him, cautious of the possibility that this interaction can go far from the way I want it to. "Can I introduce myself to you so we can shake hands?" I laugh, mentally cursing myself. How corny can I possibly be?

His eyes widen as they shoot to my own eye level with the intentions of creating contact. A connection begins to establish itself as I study the most beautiful hazel orbs that I've ever personally witnessed in this eternity. My latest album cover is the pattern of his pin-back button that rests directly beneath his collar. Father Time does me the favor of allowing me to cherish this moment in its entirety. I am given the chance to study the details of his face in the midst of him taking his first breath. He's got the face of a model and glowing spirit of an angel, all while his attire poses as the fit of a regular boy kicking it on the block. I'd call it something like love at first sight but, my thoughts would simply be taken as a joke.

Lost for words at the fact that I am speaking to him, he struggles to formulate a sentence. "I–" He gets to grinning again. It doesn't appear as if he can control own his giggles. "I know who you are already." He knows I heard what he was saying about me earlier.

My index knuckle swipes my bangs out of my sight. "I really just wanted to shake your hand."

"Oh– I– You can shake my hand any time" Immediately, his large hand extends in an instant. "Here!" I glance at his hand before my eyes quickly fall on his large Doc Martens. My, what big feet he has... large hands too? I feel another wave of blushing following directly behind my dirty thoughts. "It's real nice to meet you. You're dope. You're so dope and just– I– dope. That's all I can really say."

Somebody this fine loves everything about me?

I take a step forward as I place my own hand into his. His firm grip and smooth palms send an electric shock through my limbs that raise every possible hair my body possesses. It's that sparkle I noticed earlier. The boy's practically my heart's messiah. Look, my day has been made.

I ask, "So, like, do you have a name?"

Of course he has a name, dumbass. Why would I even ask that?

"DeVanté."

"DeVanté? Like, Duh-Vanté?"

His nodding head allows a breathtaking glisten to take hold of his face beneath the studio lights. I wish he'd stop pursing his lips. Those lips alone are a woman's wet dream. That is, until my focus spots his nose ring. His name's DeVanté? Wow, he is really that fine. You don't know if a guy is ever truly that gorgeous until you find out that his name matches his face. His name is DeVanté.

I feel my pupils dilate with hearts in their centers as DeVanté swiftly removes his button. He holds it out before me. "Do you mind?..."

"Of course not!" My brain connects to reality, bringing forth a sad realization. "Except, I don't have a marker or anything"

"Oh, I do!" DeVanté reaches into his many pockets on a frantic search for his writing utensil so that I may sign his button. "Here you go," he says holding it out to me once he finds it.

He's a sweetheart.

Laughing, I take the button from his grasp and quickly leave my imprint, nearly identical to the way he's left an imprint on my mind. "There you go." I hand him the button. As he fixes his lips to express his gratitude, I notice the change in atmosphere. Everyone's getting back into their places and Don's quickly approaching the stage. Off impulse, I grab his closed, clammy fist. "Here," I say. My brain disconnects from my conscience as it pushes up his heavy denim sleeve to expose a smooth forearm that features two to three veins protruding through his flesh. I scribble a set of memorized digits. I'm sure to write on his arm that it is my hotel room's extension.

He stares at his arm in disbelief, his lips slightly parted.

"This isn't the end right? I'll see you later on after this, right? This is one of those sitcom moments where To Be Continued... shows up on the screen?"

He stutters with a smile that I'll remember for the rest of my life. "I– I hope so. I really do hope so."