Hip Hop Heat by Tricia Tucker Page B

move up and do more communty outreach, but they outsource for that right now."
    "Well, it still sounds interesting."
    Lalana shrugged. She didn't like talking about work, but he seemed genuinely interested.
    "The Four Seasons, huh?" Lalana asked. "What - did they rent a ballroom?"
    "Oh, no," Logan answered, "he's got the Presidential Suite there."
    Again, he spoke of such luxury with the kind of simplicity that told Lalana Logan had grown accustomed to that kind of lavishness. For years, she'd lusted over pictures depicting unimaginable extravagance. Her monthly subscription to Vibe magazine, the Bible of the hip-hop world, stayed paid up years in advance. And now, Logan all but dangled access right before her eyes like it meant nothing to him. She couldn't begin to imagine what a Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons looked like. But she wouldn't have to wait long to find out.
    They pulled up at the hotel's main entrance and the car was nearly swarmed by valet parking attendants.
    "Good evening, ma'am. Welcome to the Four Seasons Beverly Hills," one man greeted her with a thick accent.
    "We're here for the Swanson party," she heard Logan say.
    "Yes, sir, to the 16 th floor."
    Lalana walked with poise as she strolled along the marble floors. She strutted as if she was used to such surroundings. They quickly whizzed into the elevator, and rode up to the 16 th floor. Lalana couldn't imagine how ROC planned to hold a private concert inside a hotel room, but she sure was excited to find out.
    At the door, another couple stood waiting for access. Logan stood back a bit and soon the door swung open. All Lalana could do was hope her face didn't give any hints as to the wonder she felt. They stepped into a black marble foyer.
    From where she stood, Lalana could see out to the spacious balcony overlooking the mountains. There were about 20 people drinking, talking and snacking on a variety of passed hors d'oeuvres, courtesy of young women wearing tight shorts and bikini tops while carrying trays of food. Massive prawns, chunks of crab meat, and even half-shells of mini lobster tails circulated the space.
    Nearly everything in the living room was accented with black and gold colors. To the left, near a fireplace, sat a baby grand piano. The young lady who was playing was a member of one of the hottest female groups, but Lalana couldn't think of her name. In addition, she recognized a few other people whose faces where a permanent fixture in the hip-hop world of flashy pictures and equally flashy music videos.
    Lalana noticed a mini bar directly across from the piano, staffed by a bartender mixing drinks. Despite this, bottles of Dom Perignon and Cristal sat chilling in standing ice buckets near the sofas.
    "Logan, my man," someone greeted.
    Lalana stood by quietly as Logan exchanged handshakes and greetings with a group of men.
    "Oh, this is Lalana," Logan finally said.
    "This is Doug, Shane, and The General," he introduced her to the group.
    "This is tight, huh, Dawg?" one of the guys asked Logan.
    "Yeah, it's cool." He turned to Lalana and asked, "You want something to drink?"
    "Sure," she said.
    Lalana took a seat on a black-and-gold wing chair next to the opened balcony door. The artist on the piano was very talented. As Lalana sat absorbing the scene, she couldn't believe she was hob-nobbing with hip-hop royalty. A few people had already spoken to her and introduced themselves. As Lalana sat gloating, another woman joined the piano player. She hopped up on top of the baby grand and started singing an old Anita Baker hit. The girl's voice was like velvet.
    "Hope I wasn't gone too long," Logan said over Lalana's shoulder, startling her. He handed her a glass of champagne.
    "Oh, no, I'm fine," she answered. "You know, you don't have to babysit me. Mingle with your friends, I'm good."
    Logan looked up at the singer. "She's good," Lalana said.
    "Yeah," Logan agreed. "Oh, not sure if you've ever had Cristal before, since you didn't