God Don't Like Haters 3

by Jordan Belcher

  Kirbie Amor

  Hunts Point, Bronx

  "Why did you bring her?" I asked Coras, my hand a tight umbrella over the microphone. We were closed off in the booth together, surrounded by gray sound-absorbing foam panels, and I didn't want DJ East or Ashleigh—actually just Ashleigh—to hear what I was saying.

  Coras whispered, "You didn't say she couldn't come."

  "Really? That's your excuse? You brought her out to New York because I didn’t say she couldn’t come? You thought I’d want her to?"

  "Kirbie, the girl is my manager."

  This was a cop-out. I knew it was, because I knew Coras. He was afraid to admit that he didn't have a choice if Ashleigh came or not. She probably forced him to bring her somehow.

  I turned and looked out the glass partition and saw Ashleigh staring at me with her arms crossed. Her eyes were digging into me with a jealous ferocity, and it was obvious that she felt entitled to hear our conversation. I knew it didn't help either that me and Coras were standing practically shoulder to shoulder, with my small shoulders inches shorter than his of course. I forgot how much I loved being close to him.

  I kept the mic covered and smiled into Coras's ear from my tippy toes. "She's watching us."

  "I know."

  "I'm pissing her off right now by talking to you this close. I'm having fun doing it too." I mumbled incoherent gibberish in his ear and he chuckled. I laughed too. "I bet she thinks we're talking about something sexual."

  I cut my eyes and saw Ashleigh shift her weight to the other foot, closing her crossed arms tighter. She was fuming.

  Coras said, "Why pretend?" as his hand found my backside and squeezed hard, triggering an unexpected tightness in my pussy that gave my whole body a seismic jolt. It took everything in me not to cry out.

  Only Coras's touch could cause this internal reaction from an ass grab.

  "What kind of panties you got on?" he probed. "Any at all? I can't feel a panty line."

  The height of the booth window and the wall it was framed in sat high, so neither Ashleigh nor DJ East could see what was going on in here below our waists.

  So Coras's hand roamed over my plump derriere without consequence. "If we gon' make her mad, I wanna get something out of the deal."

  "Okay, stop," I said, even though I didn't want him to. "You're taking it too far."

  "Am I? Nah, this is too far," he said as his hand found a way inside the back of my jeans.

  "Are you really doing this right now? Quit it, Coras."

  "Almost ... there."

  I gasped—away from the microphone luckily.

  He had wiggled his fingers between the split of my butt cheeks, where he met up with my womanly flower petals and began finger-feeling the silky wet texture. My pussy must have remembered him from the last time he invaded me, because it voluntarily opened up for him like an old friend reunited—Come on in, my pussy seemed to say through its natural softening of its muscles.

  It felt like a river poured out of me. I never would have thought that my first orgasm by Andre "Coras Bane" McDougald would have taken place while Ashleigh was watching. It felt amazing.

  And then Archie popped in my mind. Kirbie, you're engaged to me! I thought you was loyal! And my subconscious reply was, I thought so too. But right now loyalty was only occupying a small part of my brain, while all that Coras stood for—mind, body, and his beautiful soul—became a monsoon, violently washing away every rational thought I ever had.

  "Okay, guys. Sorry about the wait," came DJ East's voice through the intercom. "Every now and then I lose where I've saved and stored tracks. But I'm ready for you now. The next instrumental will be playing in three ... two ... one."

  A second later it started streaming through our headphones, melodic and classical with soft kick drums intertwined. From the erotic fingering taking place inside my denim it sounded like victory music.

  But then suddenly Coras's hand was gone like a thief in the night.

  Recess was over.

  Together, we churned out two great songs—one slow and ballad-y, the other upbeat and saturated with obnoxious bass that I was sure would be a hit in the night clubs. We were going for a third song, something tailored to perseverance in the street life that would resound with everyday folks from other walks of life, but we were cut off when La'Renz Taylor walked in the studio in a new three-piece suit.

  His fine gentleman attire was in sharp contrast to the nasty mug on his face. He looked upset with me. Through the glass window, he jabbed two fingers at me and Coras and waved us both out of the booth.

  "What's going on in here?" La'Renz questioned us when we were all standing near each other.

  I frowned, trying to understand the problem. "We're busy making hits," I stated.

  "See, that's the problem," La'Renz said combatively. "The only person that's supposed to be making hits in here is you, Kirbie."

  "But this is a rapper I've been knowing for a long time," I explained. "He flew in to record a few songs with me. His name is Coras Bane. Coras, this is La'Renz Taylor."

  Coras extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Taylor."

  La'Renz hesitated, as if he didn't want shake his hand. But he did.

  Then Ashleigh butted in and introduced herself. "Ashleigh Hedgman. I'm Coras's manager."

  La'Renz shook her hand as well, then said loudly, "I need everybody to step out of the studio for a minute so I can talk to Kirbie in private. Can I get you guys to do that for me, please?"

  "You want me to leave too?" asked DJ East. He placed his hands on the arms of his swivel producer chair, unsure whether he should get up or not. "I don't have a problem with it. I'll step out too."

  "If you would," La'Renz said.

  My heart started beating faster. What is going on here?

  When everyone was out of the room but me and La'Renz, he cocked his head to the side, assessing me. "Are you the boss?"

  "No, I'm not," I said.

  "Who's the boss?"

  "You are. Why are you talking to me like this?"

  "Because you don't invite people to the studio on my time."

  "I'll pay for the time then."

  He rubbed his forehead with his palm in frustration, bunching the skin up just below his perfect hairline. He grunted like he was having trouble getting through to me. "I don't wanna see anybody in the studio but you and the engineer. Unless I authorize it. Got it?"

  "Why?"

  "Because this is my mixtape you’re putting out and I'm not letting just anybody feature on it."

  "Coras isn't anybody. He's a well-known underground rapper. Google him."

  "Key word: underground. Only famous rappers are going on this mixtape. It's your debut and I'm not going to let you fuck it up. We don't put our buddies and our friends on projects of this magnitude. This mixtape is a big fucking deal, and you need to realize that. I'm gambling my career on this project. This can make or break me, and it can make or break you too. I don't know how it's done in the Midwest, but here in New York we don't play favorites. We play smart."

  "I'm offended by that."

  "Well get used to it. Because it's an offensive industry."

  Chapter 10

  Kirbie Amor

  Manhattan, New York

  Back at the hotel in Manhattan, I found myself smoothing the wrinkles out of my fullsize bed in endless, tedious sweeps of my hand. Housekeeping had done a good job making it up, but I was just occupying time until La'Renz finished his talk. He was at the window with his back to me, on his cell phone with Sundi Ashworth.

  When he hung up though, he continued to stare out the window. He was silent, focused, unmoving. I knew he was looking out at the Mount Eliyah ENT building, lost in another one of his vengeful trances.

  I sat down on the bed, pulled my phone out and scrolled through The Site, clicking on a viral video here and there with the sound muted, as I decided to give La'Renz more time to himself. But I looked up after ten minutes and he was still standing there
.

  I was at a breaking point. I had too much on my mind. "La'Renz, I need to talk to you," I announced, placing my phone facedown on the bed.

  He didn't respond right away. And when he did, he still didn't give me the respect of turning around to face me. He kept staring out the window rudely. "About?" he asked.

  "My mixtape."

  "My mixtape?"

  "Our mixtape. It's not solely yours or mines. It's a collaborative effort." I was irritated. "I'm sorry to say that it might not ever get finished."

  He turned to me then. It took a threat to get his attention. "And why wouldn't it get finished?"

  "Because I don't know if I want to continue working on this project."

  "You're under contract."

  "I understand that. And if my friend Coras Bane and his producer Gee Beats can't be on my mixtape, then I'd like to entertain the idea of buying my way out of the contract."

  "Do you have any idea what that number would be? You can't afford to buy your way out."

  "You don't know me very well then."

  "I do know you very well," he stated, crossing the room and standing at the base of the bed I was sitting on. "You're just like any other female ruled by her emotions. You'll let your love for a nobody-ass rapper ruin the biggest opportunity you'll ever get in your lifetime."

  "If you knew me, you'd know I was a loyal person and I don't turn my back on my friends."

  "Typical female, like I said. You're gonna let your voice go to waste."

  "It'll never be wasted. I can take my talent elsewhere."

  "Not if I don't let you out of your contract."

  "Nobody has ever made me stay somewhere I don't wanna be. And you won't be the first, sir."

  La'Renz cracked his knuckles. It seemed like this was his way of intimidating me. But what he didn't know was that I had been the only girl in a room full of killers before. La'Renz was but one. I wasn't scared, not even a little bit. Maybe his dead wife Jazzmine Short was afraid to speak her mind, but I wasn't. And if he tried to drag me out the window onto the balcony and attempt to throw me off, then unlike Jazzmine he was coming with me.

  Plus, I still had the .22 Ruger he gave me in my purse, which was sitting on the dresser.

  Unzipped.

  One long lean and I'd have it in my grasp.

  Try me, nigga, I said to La'Renz with my eyes.

  "You see that building across the street?" he asked me, pointing at the window he'd just come from. "There lies the fucking devil that sent me to prison for seven years. All I'm trying to do here is put forth the best possible product for me to shove in that muthafucka's face. It's selfish of me, Kirbie, I know, but that works in your favor. You know without a hair of a doubt that I want this mixtape to be the best that it can be. I'm not denying your rapper friend a spot on this disc because I don't like him or I think he can't rap. It's not personal against him. It's just that I have decades of experience, insight, and analytical data about this music business that no one else has. I know how to put together a piece that millions of people will buy."

  I said, "That's understandable. And I feel where you're coming from. But you have to hear me out too. Coras is an asset to the project. He has his own fan base."

  "I've never heard of him until today, Kirbie."

  "So what? You're old."

  He winced. "But I know who the rising stars are."

  "Obviously you don't."

  I grabbed my phone and stood next to him so he could see my screen with me. I showed him Coras's social media pages and the number of followers he had. I fingered through a few of his videos so La'Renz could see the viewcount—over a hundred thousand people had clicked to see and hear Coras perform. My phone started to lag as I searched for more proof, and I felt that La'Renz was losing patience, but I ended up finding photos of Coras's latest performance in St. Joe, Missouri. The faces in the crowd were predominantly white.

  "He hustles harder than any rapper I know," I confessed.

  La'Renz crossed his arms, sighing. He finally relented. "I'll let him on one song."

  "Two songs," I pushed. "One is already produced by DJ East and the other has to be produced by my friend Gee Beats."

  "One song, Kirbie."

  "Two songs." I wasn't budging.

  To further sell myself, I tapped play on one of the videos. It showcased Coras without a shirt, muscles glistening in sweat, holding his microphone out to a crowd of hundreds that sang his lyrics word for word with cult-like accuracy.

  I saw a hint of a smile appear on La'Renz's face.

  "So can we get two songs?" I asked him again.

  He sighed for a second time, his arms still crossed, then looked down at his Italian black crocodile loafers as he rocked back and forth on his heels, contemplating an answer.

  After a moment, he looked back at the video of Coras streaming on my phone and said, "Text that link to me." Then he started to head out of the hotel room. "I'm going to get a beer."

  I smiled.

  I take that as a yes!

  Chapter 11

  Coras Bane

  Manhattan, New York

  With a web-based notebook resting on my lap and the internet synced to the hotel's Wi-Fi, I typed in the website address to the nightclub me and Kirbie were supposed to be performing at tonight.

  Ashleigh, who was leaning on my shoulder as we lay in the bed together, sucked her teeth when the club's homepage appeared on the screen. "It's not even a two-tiered club," she said, finding any fault she could. "What kind of shithole venue does Kirbie got us going to?"

  I cut my eyes at her. "Why does it have to be two-tier?"

  "The best clubs have multiple levels."

  "But this is still a popular club. It says right here on their site that they have the number four biggest capacity in New York."

  "Number four isn't number one."

  I smacked my lips. "Why are you hating?"

  "I'm not. I'm trying to figure out how Kirbie can get an interview on Revolt, which is reserved for celebrities only, but when it comes time to book a show for us she picks the number four club. Bitch, can we at least get number two? I know what she's doing. She's giving us the scraps. She doesn't want you performing at the bigger clubs because she doesn't want you outshining her."

  "If she didn't want me outshining her, she wouldn't have invited me."

  "She only invited you because she knew you'd bring me. She wants me to see how good she's doing but she ain't doing shit. I got a house out in Olathe, my own car, my own business and a fully-funded individual retirement account. She got a lot of catching up to do."

  "Why are you competing with her?"

  "I'm not. She's competing with me. She wants my life and she wants my man. She only wants you because you're with me. And that's fact, because she doesn't care about your rap career. She proved that today by booting you off the mixtape and kicking us out of the studio."

  "That wasn't her doing. That was La'Renz's call."

  "That's what she wants us to think. But she's just getting you back from the time you kicked her out of the studio. Remember?"

  I would never forget the day Monifa stormed down into Gee's studio with a pistol in her purse, trying to shoot Kirbie with it after she caught us kissing. In the chaos, I made Kirbie leave instead of Monifa. It was a stupid choice.

  But I still knew that incident had nothing to do with what happened at DJ East's studio today.

  "Ashleigh, you got a fucked up way of thinking."

  "No, my way of thinking is right on point. I have a way of seeing through people, seeing through the fake smiles and bullshit hospitality and discovering the master manipulator on the other side. Kirbie hates that I got that gift."

  There was a knock on the door.

  I gave Ashleigh my laptop and then I got up to answer it. When I turned the knob and opened it up, I was looking at a smiling Kirbie Amor.

  "Hi, Coras," she said.

  "Hey, wussup?"

  "I got some good new
s." Her smile widened, and the first thing that popped in my mind was, What, you left Archie and now you’re here to give yourself to me?

  I said, "I love good news."

  "Well ..." She paused for effect, trapping the tip of her tongue between her teeth. It was one of the sexiest gestures I'd ever seen her make. "I talked La'Renz into letting you back on the mixtape!"

  My eyes got wide and I beamed a huge smile, giving her a little hug. I couldn't wait to show Ashleigh how wrong she was about Kirbie, so I invited her into our room.

  "She got me back on the mixtape," I said to Ashleigh, who was still on the laptop checking out the night club.

  She set the computer aside. "Why did she have to come in here for you to tell me that? I'm not even dressed."

  Ashleigh had on a white hotel robe and red house shoes. She was technically dressed but she was presentable.

  Kirbie said, "You're his manager so I wanted to make sure it was okay if Coras was featured on two songs."

  "Two?" I said, impressed.

  "Yep. Deuce."

  Ashleigh said, "Can we get that in writing?"

  "It's a mixtape," I said.

  "And?" Ashleigh sat up some. "The music business is still a business. And I like to do business right."

  "I don't have anything for you to sign," Kirbie said, still in good spirits. She wasn't letting Ashleigh get to her. "I can ask La’Renz if you want me to."

  "Do that," said Ashleigh. "Don't come back making promises until you do."

  Kirbie's politeness started to slip. I could see it in her eyes, in the way her back straightened.

  Damn.

  "Are you kicking me out of a hotel I paid for?" Kirbie said.

  Ashleigh shot to her feet. "Honey, I can afford my own. If I would've paid for a room in this hotel, we'd be in a suite. Because I cash checks; I don't rely on drug money. So don't act like you're doing us a favor. Coras, get her."

  "Ashleigh, chill out," I said.

  "That's her smart ass, talking about this hotel like it's a five star. We should kick her ass out, just like they did us at that dingy ass studio. I've never had to cross train tracks to go to a studio. Have you, Coras? We need to be talking to La'Renz directly anyway. She's just a messenger."