Read Searching for Tina Turner for Free Online Page A

of Randall and encouraged them to share TIDA pillow-talk gossip. She was Randall’s
     behind-the-scenes ears, and her public relations skills sold Randall to them, so that they would do the same to their husbands.
    But that was Randall, she thinks now, tucking the stationery and business plan back inside the drawer and locking it. When
     he committed, he went all the way. Home. Family. Work. If he had thoughts about giving up, he never told Lena, and, at the
     time, she felt blessed knowing his loyalty extended past TIDA to her and their family.
    Once the computer awakens, ten hasty keystrokes yield 11,200 hits and 952,000 Tina Turner mentions: flawless skin and charismatic
     smiles, albums, song lyrics, an international fan club, the location of Tina’s star on St. Louis’s walk of fame. The official
     fan club site is filled with one-line blurbs of adoration and appreciation.
    So much information, so much tiny print. Each mouse click directs her to different links and websites, each portal leads to
     more information: a home in Zurich, another in the south of France. Lena scribbles the album titles on a monogrammed tablet,
     crosses off duplicates. Scroll. Flip. Click. Buy, buy, buy: thirty-eight albums with and without Ike, five DVDs. At another
     site the lyrics to Tina’s songs are available for free.
    PRINT PRINT PRINT. Pages spew from the printer with repeated taps on the button in an erratic rhythm of whoosh and whine,
     then flutter across the floor. Lena stoops to pick up a page and sinks back into the chair, overwhelmed by the wisdom and
     specificity of her random selection: the song, “I Don’t Wanna Fight”; the line,
“This is time for letting go.
”

Chapter 4
    T he phone rings for the first time all day. Either Kendrick or Camille will answer it. Lena is unsure until she hears Camille’s
     voice. Kendrick never liked talking on the phone, and now, more than ever, he avoids it.
    “Hey, Dad.” Camille paces the hallway and responds to what Lena assumes is her father’s litany of questions. Her voice is
     conspiratorial. “School’s okay… my senior project… any day now. Get ready. It’s either Columbia or NYU… in the bed… in his
     room. Yes, Dad, I’m taking care of Kimchee. I miss you, too.” Camille pounds on Kendrick’s door—the pesky little sister she
     pretends to be. “It’s Dad.”
    Kendrick’s deep pitch is barely distinguishable from Randall’s. Like Camille, he paces the hallway, too, allowing Lena to
     overhear fragments of his conversation: Dr. Miller, car, the fellas. He walks into the master bedroom, hands the phone to
     his mother as if she cannot use the one beside her bed, and pauses long enough to take a pair of sunglasses from the top of
     Randall’s dresser.
    Lena greets Randall in what she hopes is a version of Camille and Kendrick’s light, happy tone.
    “Today’s been a fiasco.” Randall yawns. “Thompson fucked up the terms for a critical section of the contract. He forgot federally
     regulated language that could have blown this whole deal wide open.”
    The negotiation for TIDA’s acquisition of another high-tech communications company has taken most of the past eleven months.
     So long that Lena wonders how his veteran assistant could have made such a grave error.
    “He’s on his way home.” The irritation in Randall’s voice is unmistakable, although Lena can’t decide if it’s because of the
     error or his fatigue. “I had to postpone my return. So, I’ll be home Tuesday night instead of Sunday. The limo service will
     pick me up.”
    Lena winces. The next photography class is Tuesday night. “Other than that, what’s it like over there?” Her intention is not
     to trivialize his return.
What’s it like over there
? Stupid. Maybe the connection will soften her words, soften him.
    “Hong Kong is just another big city with signs I can’t read. I can’t wait to meet up with Charles. I hear Bali is beautiful.”
     When Randall found