JAMAIS VU, kellyoncé

chapter four

four.

Aligning her prepped ingredients in order of preparation was like stealing candy from a kid. Everything in her kitchen needed to be perfect. Any wrong item or lack thereof caused havoc. She didn't need to be overwhelmed and in an irreversible manner.

For now she ignored the fact that she didn't have the honey she requested over two weeks ago from her farmer's bee yard. The recipe specifically called for the all natural substance. To go without it ruined the entire dish.

Her head bobbed to the muzak genre that failed to faintly play in the background. A smile ghosted across her lips at the elevator esq music that continued on an egregious loop. Normally the light instrumental sound was more of a torment than a corral of delight.

The events of last night lingered against her neuronal networks, edging her to reenact those same moments if granted. The lack of sleep didn't matter as long as her focus partially reflected her. What she was thinking, wearing, and feeling plagued her memories.

She stared into the camera, eyes cast to the camera crews' equipment. As the director went over a few points of emphasis, Beyoncé hurriedly discarded the hidden notecards. Blowing raspberries to pass the time, she awaited the countdown from the lead camera operator.

Like a profound discovery had been made, she stopped everyone's movements. She ripped her apron off.

"Somebody gettin' fired.."

Ripping the cords and mics from under her shirt, she shoved the equipment to any audio tech in sight. She busted through the doors, meticulously passing by the filming crew and her own workers.

The chefs at Blé knew her expectations without needing authority. Each employee knew coming in that this wasn't the job to fuck around or over on. As of recent the expectations of fine dining went out the window.

"Sis, why you rushing to get to the bar?" Solange licked her fingers clean of powdered sugar and syrup. She peered into the stash of beignets and opted into placing them within her care.

Before the door could completely close, she caught the door with her back. She followed her sister's footsteps.

Beyoncé barely heard Solange's words. The very woman who ran rampant through her mind was set to make an appearance on ESPN's network in the next few minutes and air later on CBS' evening special.

"Solo, pass me that remote. Hurry, hurry." Her eyes squinted at the bottom of the corner, checking to make sure her time aligned with the scheduled segment.

A sigh of relief was heard as she settled into a seat. The starting credits started, showcasing one of the world's most prolific athletes. After introductions and a brief overview of the program, a familiar figure graced the screen.

Her body twitched at the sight of the deep, sun-kissed woman. She was irresistible even through a television. Her beating heart subconsciously met in sync with the woman miles away. It was as if they were connected by an invisible thread.

Denouncing the idea that the thread was actually real, she roused the fanciful thoughts. Yet, the feeling persisted— a nagging sense of connection that she couldn't fully explain or dismiss. It was a calculated, magnetic pull as though the woman had somehow reached into her soul and wove a part of herself into Beyoncé.