[Alyssa]
Chandler and I exit the building, and the first thing I notice is the royal blue, fancy, expensive looking sports car parked next to Chresanto's car. My mouth falls agape as I continue to stare at it, and Chandler laughs.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" he questions as we pass the car.
"Yes. I thought you drove a silver SUV, though?" I quiz, staring in awe at the car as I prepare to stand beside it.
"I do, but that's more mine and Dahlia's car," he answers, then adds, "and we're not driving my baby. We're taking Santo's car." He pulls out a set of keys and points it at Chresanto's car before unlocking it and stepping in.
I get in after him and inquire, "How can you guys afford these nice cars?"
He chuckles as he pushes the start button, and the car purrs to life underneath us. "Well, as you know, Santo is a solo artist. Shiloh is his hype man-"
"I'm sorry, but his what?" I interrupt as he backs out of the building's spacious parking lot.
"His hype man. Basically, Shi pumps up Santo's audience, whether it be on stage or radio interviews," he explains.
I could see how that works out. Shiloh is the most playful of the three, but what about Chandler? I hope he isn't their personal chauffer or anything like that. As I open my mouth to voice my thought, Chandler begins speaking again.
"You're probably wondering where I fit in with all of this, aren't you?" He pulls up to a stop sign and faces me, just in time to see me nod as he checks for traffic. "I'm his manager, well, more or less his P.R., which means I handle getting him radio interviews, deal with publicity stunts, the whole nine. In other words, if it has to with Chres' public image, it has to do with me."
Chandler pulls out on the main road, casually blending in with traffic. "So, you guys have known each other for a long time then?"
"If you count a decade as a long time, then, yeah," he nonchalantly shrugs, making a right turn after at least three miles, "but we lost touch for a few months after me and Shi moved out to the A." I want to question why they moved out here, but I go against it; surprising, I know.
Instead, I ask, "If Chres is famous, how come paparazzi isn't always over him?"
Chandler pulls up behind a line of cars stopped at a red light then retorts, "He usually keeps a low profile, but there's always that one person who manages to recognize him."
Chandler presses his foot down on the gas as the light turns green. "How come I've never heard of him before now?" It was an honest question.
"Like I said, he likes to keep a low profile," Chandler rebuttals. "He's been in the music business for some while now, though. About, two or three years." Chandler turns on his left hand turn signal and pulls in front of a white sedan.
"Oh. Why did he move to Atlanta?" I ask. I've always wanted to ask Chresanto this himself, but I could never find the courage or words to do so.
Chandler sighs. "That's not my place to give out his reasoning for moving out here. You should ask him that yourself." He turns left onto a one way street.
"I understand," I reply. An awkward silence hangs over us for at least five minutes, but I break it. "Thank you."
"For what exactly?" Chandler quizzes as he pulls into a parking garage and shuts the car off.
