Steel letters spelling out “Zen” - the name of his 5-month-old son who died from brain cancer last year - rest against a windowsill. In Cannon’s private domain, immense black-and-white photographs of him marching in Black Lives Matter protests hang above the desk.
It’s the most sober area at Ncredible Productions, where the chalkboard walls are covered in scribbles and employees have access to a candy bar, game room and a pingpong table. We watch the baby bounce in her jumper, cooing at her when she presses buttons or shakes a rattle.Īt 6:45 p.m., Cannon arrives, cuddles Onyx and then leads me into his office. So Onyx is alone in the play space with her nanny, who notices me waiting and invites me to take off my shoes and join them. He has yet to return to his Burbank headquarters after dropping off his 6-year-old son, Golden, at Mandarin class. Today, his 6-month-old daughter, Onyx, is the only one of his children using the space. That’s how he ended up with a nursery in his office building - a neon-lit room with tumbling mats, a ball pit and toy instruments. “And I just wanted to give them what they desired. “A lot of them are in the same age group,” he says.
So during the pandemic, when a number of his lovers began to express anxiety about their biological clocks, he obliged.
0 kommentar(er)
