by Niyah Moore
“Hey, can we go ahead and call it a night?” I asked through the headphones. “My vibe is not right.”
Nuri and Lavish looked at one another and said a few words I couldn’t hear.
“Yeah, but you already know Luxury wants this finished tonight,” Lavish said.
“Fuck Luxury,” I said. “I’m tired.”
Lavish shook his head. “A’ight. We’ll pick back up tomorrow.”
I tossed off the headphones, rushed out of the booth and up the stairs. My heart was beating so fast that once I made it to the top, I was out of breath. I seriously needed to start working out. All this eating late and being booed up had me gaining a few pounds.
I made my way through the crowded kitchen, looking for Luxury. Panic was starting to rise inside me, as I thought that he might’ve left without telling me. The DJ had the music loud and bumping hard in the living room. The room started spinning around me, and I clutched my heart, because it felt like it was about to beat out of my chest.
Am I having a panic attack?
I drew in a few deep breaths to calm myself down. After looking for Luxury for what felt like forever, I finally found him engaged in a conversation near the staircase. I cringed, as women were all up on him, surrounding him.
“The fuck?” I said under my breath.
As I walked toward him, these bitches didn’t seem to give two fucks about me. Their eyes were sparkling in fascination, and their fake-ass laughs sounded stupid. One bitch had the nerve to stand in my way, so I couldn’t get to him. I fluttered my eyelashes and looked at Luxury, but he wasn’t looking at me. Matter of fact, he hadn’t noticed I was there.
“Excuse me,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear me.
The aggressive bitch’s lip curled into a snarl as she turned around to look at me, but still she didn’t move.
“Move, bitch!” I shouted.
“Bitch? Who you callin’ a bitch, bitch?” she asked, getting in my face.
Before I could snap back at her, Luxury barked, “Let her through.”
The girl moved to the side, though she made it clear that she really didn’t want to. “Are you his girl or somethin’?” she muttered.
“Bitch, you don’t worry about who the fuck I am,” I snarled.
Luxury grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. He walked me away from the crowd, but I could hear the girl talking shit about me to the others. I tuned them out, mugging Luxury.
“You finished the recording?” he asked, staring me right back down.
“Yeah. I was at the same song for hours. You didn’t even come back down there.”
“Is it done, though?” He was looking at me like I had done something wrong.
“Not yet—” I said, trying to explain, but he interrupted me.
“So, don’t you think you should be in there until it’s done?”
Was this nigga trying to check me? He hadn’t been the one in the studio, recording until he was hoarse. I was exhausted and ready to go to bed.
I blew air through my lips. “I’m tired, Luxury.”
“A’ight. Take a break for a minute or two.”
“I need sleep.”
“We ain’t got time to sleep . . . What’s the real reason you came out here trippin’?”
“Why can’t these broads take into consideration that you got a bitch?” I screamed, feeling frustrated. It was like he wasn’t listening to anything I was saying.
He frowned, shaking his head at me. “Chill . . . You act like everybody doesn’t know we’re together.”
“Everybody knows, but they clearly don’t give a fuck. So, which one are you fuckin’ or did you used to fuck?”
He chuckled. “You’re delirious and delusional. I’m gonna let you excuse yourself. Hey, why don’t you go upstairs, since you so sleepy?”
“I’m just tired of recording.”
“How you gonna be a star and you tired of recording? You better get used to it.” He stepped back and then nodded, as if a thought had come to him. “You can go to bed . . . but first, I gotta hear this song.” He walked toward the basement door.
He was the one who wanted me to be a star, not me. He was acting like this was my dream. I hadn’t asked for this shit. I had had crazy fun dancing at Queen’s. Recording music in the studio was far from fun to me. It was boring, and half the time I felt stupid. Luxury wanted every song to be perfect. No one was perfect. He was asking me to do the impossible.
I followed him down the stairs to the studio. Nuri was still around. And Lavish and Frill were there with their dynamic trio, Egypt, Lala, and Nia, and were listening and bobbing to a new Monnahan Boyz track. These two hardly went anywhere or did anything without these three broads, because the trio was behind their style and everything professional.
I didn’t fuck with them like that. Luxury had mentioned something about Lala and Nia working with me on my style and Egypt becoming my assistant, but I hadn’t commented about it. I hardly spoke to them, and they barely talked to me, so I wasn’t too thrilled about it.
“Aye, cut on the track Desire was just recording,” Luxury commanded.
Nuri cut off Lav’s track to put mine on. As soon as the beat came on, everyone’s heads were bobbing hard except for Luxury’s. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was staring straight at me. I crossed my arms over my breasts and looked right back at him. I dared him to check me in front of everybody. I could see that my music did not please him, as a hint of his temper crept into his expression.
Oh, God, he hates it, I thought to myself. I was nervous as fuck, afraid of what he was going to say, but I didn’t show it.
The song played all the way through to the ending chorus. Luxury made a cutting motion at his throat for Nuri to stop it. Then he folded his arms across his chest again and rubbed his facial hair, which was growing into a perfectly lined beard.
“Surely, I’m not the only nigga in here who knows that shit is weak as fuck,” he muttered.
“Nigga, you trippin’. That track is fye,” Frill hollered. “You be straight spittin’, Desire. You crazy for thinking otherwise, Luxury.”
Luxury ignored Frill and said, “Start the track from the beginning.” He listened once more, a deep scowl on his face, and then he made the cutting motion at his throat again before the hook. “Less than perfection won’t be muthafuckin’ tolerated. I know you can come harder,” Luxury said roughly to me. “I don’t know what all this prissy shit is, but you need to get nasty on this shit. You don’t need no featured rappers on it, either. That’s just how hot it is, but I want Frill on the track. Frill, hop in the booth and let me see something.”
“You ain’t said nothin’ but a word, bruh.” Frill hopped into the booth and put on the earphones. “Let me do verse two and that chorus with her, so run that shit back from the top, so I can get in my groove.”
“Babe, I’m tired,” I whined, not feeling it.
“I’m not tryin’ to hear that shit right now,” Luxury replied, staring at me coldly. “We’re not going to bed until you get this shit right.”
I had heard about how ruthless Luxury could be when he was in the streets, and his demeanor now let me know not to fuck with him when he was serious. I started thinking of what to say to change up my lyrics. I grabbed the pad and pen I had earlier.
Frill was going hard on my track, so I was left with no other choice but to bring it to keep up with him.
* * *
As it turned out, that song—which we worked on all night, until it was right—shot to number one on the rap/hip-hop charts on iTunes as soon as it dropped. I hated to admit it, but Luxury knew what he was doing. That song changed our lives.
Luxury handed me my first “music” check while I was making a salad in the kitchen, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had felt so mad at Luxury for forcing me to work on that song until he thought it was perfect, especially since he was doing way too much for nothing, but the money showed me that this rapping stuff yielde
d great rewards.
“One song and I get all these damn zeroes?” I said, incredulous.
“I told you I know what I’m doing, baby. I got you.”
I hugged him and placed a kiss on his soft lips. For the first time, I was glad I had quit the strip club.
Then I realized something. “How am I supposed to cash this? I don’t have a bank account.”
“You don’t? Why not?”
“I don’t trust ’em. I usually keep all my money in a safe in my closet.”
“Well, you ain’t got a choice now. I got a credit union you can go to. I’ll give you the address.”
“You can’t go with me?” I said.
“Nah. I got some business to handle with the label, but I’ll meet you on time at the spot for your album-cover photo shoot.”
He gave me the address for his credit union and left. I ate my salad, staring at the check the entire time. I recalled when I used to wonder what it would be like to have money like this, and what I would do with it. Now I had it, and I still didn’t know what I would do with it. The check was no more than a rectangle of thin paper, and the digits weren’t even aligned perfectly, but it was all mine. I couldn’t finish my salad, because I was too anxious to deposit my check into an account.
I showered and dressed in a cute summer dress and sandals. Using Google Maps, I found my way to the address Luxury had given me. It was a branch of the Miami Federal Credit Union. I parallel parked along the curb, in an open spot right in front of the grand building. I walked straight into that bank, feeling like my shit didn’t stink. I had new money, and my fine-ass man was making sure I was well taken care of. Nobody could wipe the smile off my face.
I wasn’t quite sure where to start. As I looked around, a woman walked up to me in her professional business attire and said, “Good afternoon. How can I help you today?”
“Um, I would like to open up an account and deposit a check.”
“Okay, no problem. Have a seat right over there, and a personal banker will be with you shortly. Would you like some coffee or water? You can help yourself at the station set up behind you.”
I looked behind me. “No, but thank you.”
I walked over to the soft chairs and sat in one. There was soft music and warm lighting. I stared at the posters of perfect-looking white people. They were all smiling, had perfect teeth, and were well dressed, like business professionals. I started feeling a little out of place, but I waited, anyway. After about five minutes, a personal banker smiled at me and invited me to sit at his desk.
“What brings you in today?” he asked once we were both seated.
I put the check on his desk. “I would like to open an account.”
“Okay. Awesome. Let me gather your information. I’ll take your ID and get started. Is your current address correct on your ID?”
I retrieved my license from my purse. “No, I moved. I live at thirty-four Tahiti Beach Island Road.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I’m an entertainer . . . a rapper.”
“Really? That’s cool. I don’t listen to rap much . . . Are you famous?”
“Almost, I guess,” I replied with a shrug.
“Okay. Can you write your SSN on this piece of paper for me? I’ll rip it up and toss it right after.”
He handed me a Post-it Note, and I wrote down my Social Security number.
After I passed him the Post-it, he typed the information into the computer. “Go ahead and sign the back of the check.”
I did that.
He picked up the check and said, “I’ll be right back. I’ll deposit your check, gather some paperwork for you, and then you’ll be good to go.”
While he went to the back, I noticed that a man across the room was staring at me. He was a tall, handsome light-skinned man with a nice fade and a shadow goatee. He was wearing that navy-blue suit and tie well. He was next in line at the teller. For a few minutes, I watched him conduct his transaction and put a fat stack of money in a briefcase. Before he left, we made eye contact briefly. Then he was on his way.
I waited patiently for the personal banker to return.
“All right, Miss Fernández, you’re all set. Everything you need to know about your new account is right here,” he said, handing me a folder with my account information and online banking directions. “Your ATM card will be coming in the mail. If you need to order checks, the paperwork explains how to do that. If you need to withdraw any money before your card comes, just come in and show your ID, and we will be more than happy to help you. Do you have any questions for me?”
“No, I’m all good. Thank you.”
The banker walked me to the front door and opened it for me.
I walked to where my car was parked along the curb. I couldn’t help but notice the man in the navy suit, his sunglasses on, leaning up against a white Porsche. He was parked behind my car, as if he knew the Benz was mine. I pretended my hardest to act like he wasn’t standing there.
“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said.
I looked at him and saw just how tall he was, as he had stood up straight.
I said, “You really should be careful about walkin’ up out of that bank with all that money in your briefcase. People could be watching—”
“You were the only one watching me.” He smiled sexily. Though his eyes were hidden, I could tell he was taking in all of me.
I pushed the door handle to open my car door.
“I can’t get your name?” he asked, revealing the tattoo on his neck when he turned to the side to watch a few cars driving past.
“What’s your name?” I asked, deflecting.
He removed his glasses to reveal his light hazel eyes. “I’m Nasim.”
I opened my door and got in my car without giving him my name.
“Damn. Like that?” he called.
I started up the car and rolled down the window. “You’re wasting your time. I’m in a relationship.”
“You can’t have friends? I’m new to Miami, and I don’t know many people out here. Can I get your number?”
“No.” I pulled out of the spot.
I drove off while shaking my head. Luckily, I was happy in my new relationship, or else I would have been all over that. I didn’t need no new friends, especially not fine-ass ones like him.
* * *
“The shoot is going to start in about ten minutes,” Luxury yelled as he breathed down the makeup artist’s neck.
Terry, the makeup artist, was finishing the last few touches on my makeup, and I could tell he was irritated at how Luxury was yelling at him every five minutes. Nia had already installed and styled my weave, and Lala was steam pressing my outfit.
I stared at Luxury out of the corner of my eye. You would think he wouldn’t be so antsy, since he was in the industry. He should’ve smoked a blunt or something, the way he was pacing. As my manager—a title he had given himself—he was a stickler about time, and nobody could be late. When he walked out of the dressing room, we all could breathe better.
“Is he your man or your manager?” Terry asked, prying.
“He’s both,” I replied, feeling my bad attitude rising.
The expression on Terry’s face as he chewed on that gum had me looking at him like he had lost his mind.
“Please, don’t frown. I don’t want your makeup to get fucked up, boo,” he told me.
“Why the fuck you looking at me like that?” I asked, gazing up into his eyes.
“Girl, how you deal with Luxury’s baby mamas? That’s what I want to know.”
“Baby mamas?” I kept my face as straight as I could, but my voice was raised.
“Shhh,” he said, going over my cheeks with the brush and lowering his voice so that Nia and Lala wouldn’t hear him. “You don’t know about his kids?”
“He don’t have any kids, boo boo.”
“Mmm, looks like somebody hasn’t told you. He definitely got kids, boo boo,” he repli
ed and smacked his lips together.
“How many you heard he got?” I asked, trying my best not to frown, but it wasn’t working.
“Two. The second one ain’t here yet, because she’s still pregnant, but she’s due any day now. I’m shocked you ain’t heard about it. Everybody’s talking about it.”
“Well, I don’t know who you been listening to, but I live with him, and I haven’t seen or heard anything about these bitches, so . . .”
“Wait . . . How long y’all been living together?”
“Nigga, finish my fuckin’ makeup before we have a problem,” I barked.
He pursed his lips while he continued his handiwork.
Terry seemed like the type who would be friends with one of the baby mamas and would run and tell all the business. I didn’t know him, or who he was affiliated with, so I kept my mouth shut. As soon as he finished my makeup, I made my way over to Lala so she could put me in my first look.
“What was Terry’s messy ass over there talking about?” Lala asked, fixing my pants at the bottom.
“Nothing,” I replied. I didn’t trust Lala, either.
She twisted her lips and rolled her eyes, as if she knew I was lying, but didn’t press me.
When she was done, I walked out of the dressing room. Luxury was waiting right outside the door to escort me onto the set.
When we reached the set, the photographer was still testing the lighting and wasn’t ready for me, so I stood there and looked over at Luxury. He was sending someone a text message.
“You got a baby on the way?” I heard myself ask.
He didn’t look up from his phone as he said, “She says so, but I don’t think it’s mine.”
“You don’t think? When were you going to tell me?”
“When I found out for sure he’s mine. No use in bringing it up if the baby is another nigga’s.”
“So, uh, what about the other secret kid somewhere?”
“Not mine. A blood test proved that, sweetheart.” He took a good look at me. “That pussy-ass nigga was in your ear, I see. I told Lala and Nia I don’t like that nigga, but they swear he’s the fuckin’ best. You believe everything everybody tells you?”
