Beats of the Heart - Chapter 2: Chapter 2

There is magic in this world.
It lingers behind the masks of capitalism, politics, and technology. When the clamor of society quiets down, one can hear the whispered spells through the music vibrating in the air.
A press of a button will start a beat that will make a room jump with excitement. A change of a record could change the mood of a crowd bristle with excitement or burn with lust. Sometimes, a song will elicit a precious memory, or it could make a person weep. It creates memories and nostalgia.
Music was power, and Miles was able to wield it.
The music in the club was vibrating the walls. It was loud with the roar of the crowd. The sweat and unveiled lust of the people on the dance floor were intoxicating.
Miles didn't need alcohol when he had this.
However, unlike most people, he bypassed the dancing and the attractive men and women looking his way. Instead, he slipped through the employee door towards the room nestled behind the stage.
Miles stretched his arms and hands and warmed them up. With a quick tug of his zipper, he shrugged off his jacket revealing his simple attire; a loose tank top and ripped jeans.
He usually hid the intricate tattoos that covered his body, which was regretful because he cherished the ornamental blackwork. It had started years ago, just enough to cover the long scars on his wrists, but now they covered his body. A beautiful intricate piece that covered his upper body and legs.
However, he would cover his face in exchange for showing off his tattoos on stage. He grabbed his familiar mask and slipped it over his head, letting the blue LEDs display Xs for eyes and a stitched smile. It was something straight out of The Purge movies.
But this created a mystery about him—his alter ego and other half. No one knew a thing about him. There were no scandals surrounding him. There was only allure and his music.
After a couple more stretches, Miles walked out to the stage. Fog and the lights distorted his view, but he could hear the crowd's enthusiasm.
He reached the turntables, and he lovingly touched the vinyl. His fingertips relished the touch of the grooves etched into the wax. It was a familiar home and made the world disappear around him. His other hand flicked the crossfader, and he hummed with delight as he felt its smoothness.
He slipped on his headphones and moved to the laptop. He ensured his playlist was in order, including his samples and songs. His heart was pounding with adrenaline, ready to start his set.
The audience saw him on the stage, and even though he hadn't started, they were already buzzing with excitement.
He felt his skin vibrate with anticipation. This was his favorite time.
He flipped on a song that was slow to start but hit with a hard bass line when the beat dropped. When it did, he grinned under his mask.
"I am DJ Requiem." Miles' low and gravelly voice was distorted through his effects.  He had to go through these efforts because his voice was unique—octaves lower than most men's. Puberty hit him hard, and he was left with a voice that would make a bass singer envious.
As he echoed through the microphone, the crowd's cheers became deafening. The laser lights flickered in the fog-filled air as a hard beat hit, rumbling through the club. The crowd screamed and jumped to the music.
His introduction was all he needed to say, and it was the only thing he would utter throughout the show. He never hyped the crowd, only moved them with his music.
One beat mixed with the next, and the songs lured the people to dance and move. With a flick of his fingers, he could make the entire dancefloor jump or slow it down and have everybody rubbing and grinding each other.
He was in control of everyone's desires, emotions, and actions. He was the spellcaster, and this was his stage.
He weaved through the songs, sometimes jumping with the crowd, and other times he scratched over the music, giving them a different flavor.
This was all he needed right now. He could forget the chaos plaguing his life and integrate himself into the world he was creating through music.
The night turned to early morning, and Miles wound down the crowd. When he ended his setlist, he was drenched in sweat, and his face was burning beneath the mask. The heat was overwhelming. After wearing a mask for his gigs, he had removed his curls and now sported a simple buzz cut, which matched well with his stubble.
He raised a hand in the air, drawing another cheer from the crowd, and left to the room behind the stage.
His best friend and owner of the club, Eve, met him in the back room with a grin and a towel.
"No surprise you rocked it," she said with a grin. "I'll kick them all out, so you rest up for a moment."
She rushed off as Miles sprawled out on the couch. He had torn the mask off and replaced it with a cold, damp towel. He was spent and the adrenaline tapering off, but hell, he was in love with nights like these.
Everything fell into place. His cuts were crips, his blending was smooth, and his beats were on point. He was on fire.
It didn't matter how long you DJed; there was always a chance of a slip with your scratch, a jumped needle, or a poorly thought-out transition. A lot depended on the crowd as well.
Many just wanted the house music, but he could never remove his hip-hop roots. He always found a way to blend his favorite rhymes and beats.
Tonight was a hit. It was a good crowd who knew exactly who Requiem was as a DJ.
It wasn't always like this. Before, he would DJ in those shit clubs where drug deals took place under the table so that he could earn a few extra bucks. He could have made more money by standing on the corner with the other kids his age, but music was where his heart was, and he would gladly lay it out on vinyl.
After his mom died, he found his way through his depression. He went to college and pushed himself to excel. At the same time, he threw himself to the turntables. One small break led to an abundance of opportunities. Soon the masked figure trailblazing through clubs known as Requiem became a legend in the music world.
However, signing with an agency was difficult. Being a turntablist was difficult for many to understand, and they wanted to dictate how he played his music. After a few disappointing meetings, he gave up on trying to work with anyone.
The only company he truly wanted to connect with was Aura.  They had extended a deal to Requiem and understood his music and needs. They would set him up with a manager, a tour, and albums. Aura could help him connect with other artists so he could lay down tracks for them. It would have been smooth sailing.
But he remembered the man who stood at the helm of Aura. He was embarrassed and couldn't face him. He walked away from Shawn once, and he was damn sure Shawn had already forgotten all about him. Who would want to remember the sobbing boy in a bar who forced a kiss on them?
Besides, it turned out that Shawn was a genius businessman. He raised that little company that made him smile sheepishly to something that stood at the apex of the entertainment world. He had plucked out some of the greatest talents in the world and dominated. Every artist yearned to be under the Aura banner.
He was well-known as a CEO, and his good looks helped promote his business. His face covered magazines more than some artists.
According to those many magazine articles, Shawn was from old money, but his family had never been content with just inheriting funds. The Pierces came from a long line of successful entrepreneurs and held a stake in anything worth mentioning. Distilleries, hospitals, technology—you name it, they own a share of it. But Shawn stood out amongst the rest. He didn't just invest but built his enterprise by himself.
Miles hesitated to reach out, and that hesitation turned to despondency. He tucked away Shawn's business card and his turbulent feelings and ventured off on his own.
All he wanted to do was make music, so he started a small recording label, Dirge Records. It was just something that he could slap on records and help him negotiate with other artists.
Miles Mendez ran Dirge Records, while Requiem was one of the few artists signed to Dirge. It made sense. Requiem could remain a faceless figure that was just about music. No drama. No headlines. No paparazzi. Just music.
It worked for a while—the awards and platinum records hanging in his small basement studio proved that. But he was being dragged more into the business side of things, and he felt that his music was being neglected.
If only he had someone like Shawn to take the reins... but he and Shawn were still living in two different worlds.
Requiem has a fanbase, but it is still minuscule compared to some of Shawn's artists. He made a decent amount of money, but he could not stand amongst the elites that Shawn did.
In fact, he had seen Shawn once at one of the few parties his father invited him to. He watched how everyone flocked to him and preened while Miles hid in a corner. Even his father had practically salivated to shake his hand.
But there was something about Shawn that made people gravitate toward him. Hell, even Miles still had his business card tucked in a drawer on his nightstand. And there was no way he would forget that damning kiss they shared.
When someone kissed as thoroughly as Shawn did, nothing compared. Shawn Pierce ruined kissing for Miles.
But Shawn was now only a memory—a resident in Miles' mind.
His label remained a growing concern. More people had come to tear it down and steal away his artists. Requiem could never grow past the few albums he produced or the random performances at the club.
Miles and Requiem stayed as two very separate identities. The weight of both masks was becoming heavy.
A heavy sigh escaped Miles' lips as he pushed the thoughts of Shawn from his head. Miles heard Eve speak through the mic, announcing that it was closing time. Shortly after his mom's death, she started this club, The Apple, with him and her husband, Desmond. It kept him busy and gave him a stage to perform. Now it was one of the best nightclubs out there.
"Alright, animals. Stop fucking on my dancefloor. It's time to go home!" She yelled with a laugh. She could play the crowd well, and they had come to love her as much as Requiem. With a few words, she was able to close up for the night.
When she returned to the back room, Miles was sprawled on the couch with a towel over his head.
"How are you doing?" Eve asked as she walked into the room.
"I just need a sexy man to suck my cock, and the night will be perfect." Miles joked from under the towel.
"I cannot—and will not—help you with that."
Miles chuckled, pulled the towel off, and used it to wipe his neck. "If only you were a man and not married, Evie."
"I still wouldn't fuck you." She snorted.
"Just a quick BJ?"
She threw another towel at him. "Go fuck yourself."
Miles released a dramatic sigh. "I guess I'll have to tonight."
Eve laughed. "Go take a shower and get the hell out of my club."
"Our club," Miles corrected her.
Eve grinned and playfully rolled her eyes. "You just play music and throw money my way."
"Proud to be your money-making machine." He said with a laugh and ran his hand over his short hair.
He got up and pulled his hoodie over his head.
"No shower?" Eve asked.
"I'll take one at home. I'm spent... See you Sunday for brunch?"
"Of course. Mom and Bree have been missing you."
Miles smiled warmly. He usually spent Sundays with Eve's family, including her mom and daughter, Aubre. However, he had been stuck in the studio the last few Sundays because inspiration had hit him.
"I can't wait," he said as he quickly looked at his phone. He grimaced at the number of emails that piled up from other agencies requesting to make a deal to acquire Dirge and Requiem.
"How do you do it?" Eve asked quietly.
"Do what?"
Eve sighed. "Help raise Bree, Requiem, the record label... Isn't it too much sometimes."
"I'm doing the things I love, Evie. I love being a godfather, and music is my passion. Life can get busy sometimes, but I wouldn't trade this for the world."
"Have you thought about meeting someone?"
Miles groaned and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. "I'm happy with the way things are. I don't need some man complicating things."
He gently knocked her forehead with his knuckle. "I'm off."
It was a short ride back to his townhouse in Brooklyn. He entered the empty home and sighed heavily as the lights flickered on. It was a beautiful home with a large open floor plan, brick accent walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows. He had shelves lining the walls filled with books and vinyl records, but only a few pictures or memorabilia. He had two pictures, one of his mother, and the other was a picture of him, Eve, and Desmond in their graduation robes.
The room echoed with each step, and the loneliness settled in.
He found a remote and turned on the stereo, letting the house liven up with music as he dragged his body to the shower. He leaned his head against the tile of the shower a sighed. Maybe meeting someone new wasn't a terrible idea.