lined up in front of the third bus.
The second bus was for the security team—
and me.
Dali, Merc, Marissa,
and management
rode on the lead bus.
Without me.
It’s like Merc played Ping-Pong with us:
Who’s the favorite today?
“Why can’t I ride with you and Dali?”
I was all for discipline,
but life on the road
shoulda been a little fun, no?
“We’ll swap midway through,”
Merc said.
“Gonna take some time to work on Dali’s upper register.
You want her to sing with you eventually, right?”
The doors on the bus closed in my face.
Meat told me to make myself at home.
what a tour bus looks like,
picture an apartment on wheels.
Inside:
a mini kitchen,
table with a cushioned bench
against double windows
a row of single beds,
six of ’em,
each with curtains for privacy
a small bathroom
with a small shower
and even smaller toilet
clearly not made
for humans,
and in the back,
Merc’s private bedroom
always locked
whether he was in there or not.
Rule #1: Each crew was to remain separate—
for focus, of course
Merc didn’t need no one messing up his vibe
That focus was what made his show
Top notch
The best there ever was
Rule #2: Don’t nobody talk to Dali or Denver
Rule #3: annnnnnd vice versa
A new city each week
Nashville
Charleston
Raleigh
Richmond
Spotlights zoomed
on Merc
Dancers grinding
Band grooving
Me
Sharmaine
Althea
The perfect
soprano-alto-tenor blend
beneath
the bass of his
melodies
while Merc
was center stage
living his best life
That girl behind stage right,
off in the shadows?
That was Dali
watching, watching, watching.
Two a.m.
Hunger pangs
ricocheted through my ribs,
up to my eyes, blasting
me awake.
In the bunks around me,
everyone
was snoring hella loud.
Outside my window
a crescent moon followed
the bus down I-95.
I got up
for the bathroom,
ran cool water on my face,
headed to the kitchen,
quietly poured half a can
of Pringles in my mouth,
saw the blue light blinking
laptop open, headphones attached,
crying out
Denver, come talk to me …
What was life
without checking
email,
Instagram,
text messages?
Hard at first,
easier as the weeks went by.
But that open screen
was like dangling a steak magnet
in front of greedy lips.
From: drlafleur@wemail.com
To: denverleexoxo@wemail.com
Cc: captainlafleur@wemail.com
September 10
Subject: Please come home, baby
From the moment I felt your first kick inside my womb, I knew you were my special girl. Feisty. Fearless. You entered this world singing in the key of C sharp, so says your papi.
And when we laid eyes on you, all pink and wrinkly, one brown eye, one eye blue, we made a vow. To love you down to your bones. To always be there, listen, support your dreams. To allow you to spread your wings, let you love how you choose, let you make mistakes along the way.
I think we may have failed you in our promise. Papi and I understand why you left. It’s not your fault. We will take some of the blame. But your “music producer” is not without fault. The way he manipulated you into leaving has left us empty.
Mr. Ellis recently sent Esme a check for $5,000. His team contacted us as well to offer the same, but your father and I declined. We do not care about money. We care about your well-being.
It’s not too late to come home, Denny.
Love,
Ma and Papi
PS: Attached is a gift from Papi.
PPS: I am worried for your mental and physical health.
and clicked play
The video opened
and I heard Ma whisper,
“It’s recording.”
She tried her best to hold
the camera steady,
zooming in on
an image of hands
I knew all too well
fingernails begging for a trim
ashy-ass knuckles (you stay needing lotion, Papi)
and that ebony skin.
You sat at the piano in our basement,
the one you hadn’t touched in years
From the very first chord
of Prelude in E Minor,
you
gutted me,
broke me,
tears warm
and thick,
falling in rapid succession.
The memory
of you both
lovingandleaving me
on repeat,
was enough
to make me click
STOP
Because that song
and that video
were like a heavy anchor
on the soul.
I suppose that’s just
the way Chopin (y’all)
intended it to be.
Three things:
I wasn’t some victim.
It’s not like Merc kidnapped me.
Even if I wanted to leave, I wasn’t going nowhere. Not without Dali.
I had so much more to say to y’all
but all I could email back was:
I am not sick.
I am safe, I promise.
Now, please, just let me live.
Google and I reconnected once more.
Told me all the things
I already knew about Merc
Superstar
Award-winning artist
Tour dates
Collabos with the finest in the industry
Page after page
of all that was right
about the King of R&B.
It wasn’t until I got
to page sixteen
that I stumbled on
a clickbait site with
that stupid article Shak sent.
Seriously, who even digs that far?
My next search, Marissa Avent,
produced an Instagram page,
six years ago, not a single post since.
A fresh-faced, messy-bunned Marissa,
pressing play on her iPod,
volume up on the instrumental track
for Merc’s “Strawberry Lipstick.”
The second she opened her mouth,
vocals set fire to my ears,
a gut-deep blend of
Lizzo-meets-Adele,
which begged the question …
Why on earth would she give up singing
just to be Merc’s personal assistant?
a rustling coming from the bunk beds,
a planting of feet against the floor.
I cleared my history,
put the screen to sl
eep,
and dashed to the sink,
cup in hand
just in time to hear
“What’re you doing up?”
It wasn’t a lie
that I was thirsty—
both in the literal
and metaphorical.
Either way,
it was enough to
make Meat believe
that nothing more,
nothing less
took place in the dark.
Weight: 22.9 lbs down
Breakfast: we don’t get down like that no mo’
Lunch: celery, tuna, crackers, air
Dinner: see lunch
Today’s workout: Ain’t nobody got time.
Life on the road was
practicing background vocals,
studio time after the show
till the wee hours of the morning,
while Dali looked and looked and
nothing else.
Life was me
questioning
the when,
the why,
the how much longer,
he would do my girl like that?
Though I never spoke up.
Life was Merc
honey-coated promising,
capturing special moments,
camcorder gripped in hand.
Life was shopping sprees,
clothes and jewels and kicks
to purchase the “forgetting”
of who I once was.
Life was being spotted by fans,
girls drooling at Merc’s feet,
hard eye-rolling at me and Dali
as if we were in the way.
And sometimes life was
a nosy-ass TMZ cameraman,
in hot pursuit
as we walked back to the tour bus.
“Merc, what do you have
to say about
the recent accusation
you are holding girls hostage?”
And you know me and my tongue
these teeth
this mouth
was never afraid of unleashing the heat!
“Look around, idiot!
Does it LOOK like any of us are hostages?
It’s not 1821!
You got your centuries wrong, bruh!”
Merc started laughing,
still walking,
but didn’t stop me,
so I kept going.
“I swear the media tries so HARD
to bring a Black man down!”
“I’m sorry, miss. And you are?”
“Denver.
Half of Untouched—remember that name.”
“Lafleur?”
Legs on full stop. The whole crew, too.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Any comment on the latest article in the Buzz?”
TMZ dude, paper in hand,
reached toward me,
too slow for Merc’s swift snatch.
Merc laughed a laugh
that I couldn’t quite read.
Part amused?
Part shocked?
“No comment.”
Stuffed that paper in his pocket,
climbed on the bus,
as if those TMZ folks
never existed.
OH, THE SHADE!!!!!
But I was still standing there,
teeth gritted,
eyes rolling like
Y’all can keep it moving.
Dali yanked me by the arm
extinguishing the rest of the heat
I wanted to let out,
pulled me onto her bus,
just in time for the driver to close the door
and dip off.
Read that out loud for me.”
Dali smoothed out the crumpled-up paper,
cleared her throat,
and began …
Written By: The Buzz Staff
SECOND SET OF PARENTS STEP FORWARD WITH ACCUSATIONS AGAINST SEAN “MERCURY” ELLIS
An article in the Daily Gossip featured an interview with parents who have asked to have their names withheld. After further investigation, it was found that the daughter is indeed safe and thriving as a valuable member of Mr. Ellis’s Merc World Productions team.
A new report has cropped up, this time from a married couple out of Shohola, Pennsylvania. Dr. and Captain Lafleur claim their 18-year-old daughter, Denver, and her best friend (name withheld) left home and dropped out of school, under Mr. Ellis’s influence.
“It is our belief that Sean Ellis has brainwashed our daughter,” Captain Lafleur tells us. “Because of that, we are worried for her safety,” the mother added.
Attempts to file kidnapping charges proved futile after Atlanta PD conducted a wellness check to verify that Ms. Lafleur was indeed safe. Ms. Lafleur left home in August to pursue her musical ambitions under Merc World Productions, and turned the legal age of eighteen shortly after her arrival. The parents claim they have not heard from their daughter since.
In response to these new allegations, a representative for Mr. Ellis stated: “The parents of both girls signed contracts, allowing Mr. Ellis to take them under his tutelage for the purpose of developing them into recording artists. Their relationship is professional. Further, both families have been compensated to assist with expenditures, though they have since repeatedly requested more money.”
where there’s smoke,
there’s fire.
Well, I was on the defense with that one.
Where there’s smoke,
sometimes that’s all it was.
A gray cloud of nothingness,
the truth lurking behind
just waiting for the smoke to clear.
your parents are starting to become a problem!”
That act with the TMZ folks—
the soft chuckle,
the “take the high road” demeanor
was just that—
an act.
The Merc inside the walls of that bus?
His mood slowly unraveling.
“I don’t know why they did that,”
I said, leaving out
the part about
our email exchange a few weeks back.
I looked at Dali,
seated at the kitchen table,
literally folding into herself,
locking in all the secrets I’d shared with her:
that song I stole on my flash drive,
that email I sent,
that Google search.
The reality settled
that even though that Buzz article
was covered in lies,
there was one part that was true.
Dali’s mom needed that money.
Every cent of it.
But mine didn’t.
At all.
“Did my parents really try to stick you for coins?”
Merc looked at me,
like how dare I ask such a question?
“I told you how folks get, Denver.
How fame and money
make people change.
Like it or not,
even your own blood will
do whatever they can
to stop what you got growing.
It’s up to you to make a decision:
You in or you out?”
Dali zapped me with those pleading eyes.
I couldn’t turn back.
Not when I knew what was waiting for us.
Radio. Videos. Red carpets. Fame.
“What can I do to
kill the noise and get them off our backs?”
Merc finally smiled,
pulled me in for a hug
as Dali stared at us both,
finally exhaling a trapped breath.
“You my little ride-or-die chick,
aren’t you, baby gurl?”
I nodded, eyes sealed,
safeguarding defiant tears.
“I got a little project
for both of
y’all.”
anything in the world
other than world-famous,
legendary,
the best to ever
throw down on a beat,
he woulda been a director
and gave
Ava and Spike
a run for their money.
That iPhone,
that tripod,
those hands
blended together
like the perfect coverup.
The script was done—
he wrote, Dali and I memorized—
We looked like
a real-deal
singing duo,
matching black-and-silver outfits.
Our newest song
“Brand-New Me”
played low in the background,
lights on,
me and Dali
side by side in our seats,
quiet on set,
going live on Instagram
in three, two, one …
Interviewer (aka Meat, off camera, news reporter voice down pat):
What would you like to say in response to your parents’ accusations?
Me: As you can see, I’m fine.
Dali: We both are.
Meat: Why do you think your parents went to the media?
Me: Control.
Meat: How so?
Dali: That’s what parents do sometimes. And I won’t speak for Denver’s parents. My mom, on the other hand, isn’t that controlling. She didn’t like that I left school and home, but I know that she understands why. This is a chance to make something of myself, to pull my family out of the situation we’re in.
Meat: What do you want Merc’s fans to know?
Me: That he is an incredible human being, an amazing musician, who puts other people first.
Dali: That’s why he’s taking all this time to help us grow as artists.
Meat: Do you think your parents are exploiting the situation for money?
Me: …
Meat: Denver?
Me: … I can’t speak on that right—
Merc swiped his hand across his throat.
CUT!
275,953 views
MERC PROTÉGÉ BREAKS SILENCE AFTER HOSTAGE ACCUSATIONS.
View all 3,812 comments
Justbecool: Time to #MuteMerc. Seeing this headline creep up again on this dude.
_Markani4: Damn, even parents tryna stick you for your paper!
WeKangz: Anybody see the hand shadow, telling that poor girl to shut her mouth?
Ballershak: Praying for my sisters. Wake up @denverlee01 @dalisaybabe!
GwennieLafleur: @denverlee01 what is happening to you? You look emaciated and pale!! I’m taking the semester off and coming back home to help find you. Please, please call me! I promise I will answer.