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( CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: PRYING EYES ) July, 1993
❝ nothin's ever gonna happen between us, hil.❞
◯
"He's on his way," Janet announced to her impatient set of dancers, who kept badgering her with questions about Devon's whereabouts. It appeared that her boyfriend—who was also the head choreographer for Janet's new video, If— was a tad bit late. Sure, he wasn't known for having good time management skills, but this time he had a solid reason.
He was making a new film, which was in very early development, and that meant a lot of time was spent meeting up with John Singleton to discuss the script, schedules and choreography. So, when Devon Emmet swore up and down that he'd still be available to choreograph Janet's new video, that meant that he was juggling two big jobs, which often left him darting back and forth on either ends of the city, trying his best to simultaneously make each rehearsal and film meeting.
Janet barely even saw him nowadays. For the past two weeks, he's been leaving the beach house at the crack of dawn and coming back when it was nearly midnight. But she tried not to worry too much, given the fact that she knew how demanding working in this business was, especially for a choreographer like Devon, who was well and truly in his prime. But still, her stomach knotted at the thought of the excessive work hours that he endured. Because one thing was for sure about Devon Emmet—he worked his ass off.
"We have to start soon," Tina Landon whispered over to Janet, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. The dance studio was crawling with energetic dancers—some of whom were new, and some who were old—but they were all very excited to work with The Drum. "In a minute Tina," Janet growled, shooting her friend a slight glare, still hopeful on Devon's arrival. Luckily, almost on cue, the prestigious choreographer made his delayed entrance.
"I'm here, sorry y'all," Devon Emmet rushed through the door, draped in his signature ensemble of clothes. Black sneakers, a dark green baseball cap, a pale green shirt and a long pair of matching, army-printed jeans that hid the new set of tattoos trailing down both of his defined calf muscles. He got it a few days ago, and Janet found it very amusing that Devon was suddenly into tattoos now, after he claimed that he didn't like needles.
His new tattoos made Janet intrigued, knowing that she couldn't help but notice that he was developing a distinct, personal style. Sure, he's always dressed like a hip, street dancer with a natural swag, but lately, he was adding a tad more... glamour to his outfits. Whether it was more jewellery—like chains, watches, earrings and rings—or expensive sunglasses and aviators. Somehow, Devon Emmet was allowing himself to immerse in the extravagance of his riches. Riches he so rightly earned.
"Look when the cat dragged in," Tish commented, playfully resting her hands on her hips, "What were you doin'? Gettin' your head buffed?"
"Just for that, you're gonna be dancin' in the back," Devon said over to the cheeky woman, who immediately frowned at Devon's command. The young dancer set down his duffel bag, his eyes narrowing with concentration, apparently not even the least bit disorientated from his busy schedule. To Janet, it appeared that he was more focussed than ever, already wanting to jump right into the work. Which was only natural, since Devon hadn't choreographed a video in—upsettingly—months.
