by Kenya Wright
I grinned. “Tell Candy I said hi.”
“Naw, she needs to focus on my nails. Anytime she hears your name, she’s fucking blushing and shit.”
I’d never been in his office with him alone. Some beautiful woman was always doing something to him in there—giving him a shave or pedicure, massaging his back, or feeding him grapes. He relished in the attention and the feeling of being adored like royalty.
“Anyway,” Midnight said, “I’m glad you’re doing good, baby. Kings should live like kings.”
I shook my head. “What’s up?”
“Heard the tracks from the new chick. Simone’s her name, right?”
“Yeah.”
“We’re going to make money, baby.”
“Yeah.”
“Which ones are you going to use?” Midnight asked.
“Probably all three.”
“This will be a hot album. Very grown and sexy. Something you would have to smoke a fine blunt to and sip on brown liquor. High-end, of course.”
“Of course.”
And then Midnight did his thing that Jason used to call the pimp pep talk.
“Gio baby, I expect nothing but greatness from you, and you repay me with greatness. While these other guys are bopping around half-naked on videos, we’re doing the money dance. This album will add diamonds and rubies to your throne.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Leaning back in my chair, I lifted my feet and placed them on my desk, waiting for the inevitable question to come. “Just go ahead and say it.”
“Motherfucker, when are you going to record this album with her? Why is she still in New York and you in Utah? Either you should be there, or she should be in those damn white mountains.”
Closing my eyes, I rubbed my head. “We’re still building that connection.”
“Building a connection?” Midnight snorted. “She already wrote three hits. You need to replace Jason. That’s a sad fact. I know it hurts, but God has given you a replacement. Get her on the team.”
“I’m not ready to have her in the studio yet.”
“Look, she might not be Jason. He was Picasso with the lyrics and layering of sound. But give her a chance.”
“No, it’s not that. I agree. She’s just as talented as Jason. Maybe even more. She could be a legend.”
“Then, when’s she’s coming out?”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “We’re still building a connection.”
Silence came next.
“What, Midnight?” I asked. “Just fucking say it?”
“Building a connection? I don’t understand one word you’re saying. What’s up? Are you okay, man? I know Jason’s death hit you hard—”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you need me to come up there?”
“No.”
“Maybe, you should wait a while before making this album or—”
“I’m fine.”
“Then, what’s the hold up, baby? Fly her up, get her in the studio, lay these tracks, let’s make this money, and reshape the world. Have you been meditating?”
“Of course.”
“Your head’s good?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Listen. Kill the spirit and the body dies. Kill the body and the spirit creates other bodies.”
“Thank you, ghetto guru.” I laughed. “I said I’m fine. It’s not Jason’s death. I’m not having any more nightmares. I’m at peace. Really.”
“Something is up. I can feel it. What’s the hold up, baby?”
“Why are you pushing me on having Simone come out here?”
“I need that money, baby. My wife needs a pink private jet to match my blue one, baby. My mistress been begging daddy for a Patek Philippe watch. You know that motherfucker cost 1.3 million? Apparently, she can’t tell time unless the numbers are surrounded by diamonds.”
I shook my head. “And what does your side chick want?”
“A side chick doesn’t want for things. She’s just happy to be on the team.”
My next words dripped with sarcasm. “I don’t know why I never get you to write my love songs. You’re such a romantic guy.”
“My love songs would be too real. They wouldn’t make us any money. People like to lie to themselves. But, stop getting off the topic. What’s up?”
I let out an exasperated breath. Midnight had been a second dad to Jason and me. There wasn’t much we could keep from him.
You better not laugh, Midnight.
I told him the truth. “I’m scared that if she comes here, I’m going to have sex with her.”
Of course, he laughed for several seconds. “You’re afraid to fuck her?! G-fucking-O, the cock star of the decade is afraid to have sex with someone.”
He coughed and laughed some more.
“Thanks, Midnight. I knew you would be a soothing ear in my time of need.”
“Baby?! What’s the problem? Just fuck her and then record these hits.”
“I think she’ll be a distraction.”
“She’ll only be one if you allow it. And since...well...since you’ve moved to Utah, you’ve been fucking disciplined. I can’t believe you’ve been there for so long. What the fuck is in Utah but white people and snow?”
“I am white, and I do like snow.”
Both of my parents were Italian. I had an olive brown tint to my skin, black hair, and blue eyes. When I’d entered the rhythm and blues genre, everyone tried to talk me out of it, figuring I would do better with pop.
Midnight had laughed, when Jason and I had come to his office with our demo.
“What do two rich white boys know about rhythm and blues?”
“Music isn’t a color,” I’d told him.
“Shit. Music is a color, baby, and it’s green. Don’t you ever forget that.” Midnight laughed again and picked up our demo. “I’ll listen and if I see green, then we’ll be cool in the gang.”
Ten years and three hundred million dollars later, Midnight was eager to make more money. “You need to bring your ass back to LA and bring that fine ass Simone with you.”
My heart skipped a beat. I cleared my throat. “She’s fine?”
Midnight ignored me and continued his rant about my new state. “I didn’t even know that fucking Utah existed until I went to high school and had to take a test on it. Before, it was just one of those boring ass states between Cali and New York.”
“It’s peaceful out here and you didn’t answer the question. Is she beautiful?”
“Look. You’ll be fine with her around. I met her twice, when she was with her other band. I almost signed them, but the leader was a jerkoff. I think they were dating at the time.”
“What was the band’s name?”
“Can’t remember. One hit wonders. The name was something stupid. Didn’t know she had talent at the time.”
I let out an exasperated breath. “But, is she beautiful?”
“You haven’t seen her?”
“No.”
“What the fuck is going on with you, Gio? There’s no internet in Utah?”
“I’m just in a weird space. I barely go online.”
“She’s a beauty. Mocha skin. Big pretty brown eyes. Long curly hair and hips that would probably make you spend a good million on her. Too much ass for you though.” He chuckled. “You wouldn’t know what to do with all that ass. And sisters won’t help you out when you get back there. You better know what you are doing, or they will clown you.”
“Okay. I got the picture.”
“And it’s all hers too. Ass, hair, all of it.” When Midnight bragged about someone’s looks and talent, it was worth noting. He had over the top standards, loved his women plastic and structured like stiff Barbie dolls. But he always picked out the stars before anyone knew they would become one.
Fuck. She’s beautiful.
Hunger rose in my chest.
Midnight continued, “She should’ve been the leader of the band but again, the guy in charge was a jerk off. I had no
time for it, so I didn’t sign them. But I’m glad she remained dedicated to her music. These tracks are fire.”
I sighed.
“Just have her come up,” he said.
I frowned.
“I bet she would be hard to fuck anyway. Ru is her manager. He’s a slave driver, extra possessive of his artists, and only picks the ones that keep their heads in their music and nothing else.”
“I’m going to think about it.”
“Don’t think too hard. You’re killing me and making the GioKnights wait forever. The four-year anniversary for Cruel Heart is in two weeks, and you’re already trending on Twitter and Facebook.”
“Great. Thanks for that.” I frowned. “That definitely doesn’t stress me out even more.”
“I’m just saying. The world is waiting. Stop tripping over your own dick and take a step out on faith. Fly her up. Do the album. And do not become tempted by the booty because it’s too much ass for you.”
“I’m getting there with having her come up.”
“Consider getting there sooner, baby.”
“Alright. Alright.”
We hung up and more emotions battled through me—lust for Simone and excitement to make new music, fear of being distracted by her, and anger for not having her at my house already.
I checked my computer. Simone’s email sat in my inbox. I pressed on it and delivered the tracks to my phone. Once they downloaded, I plugged in my headphones, left the studio, and went into my secret world that not many knew about.
Cool air rose on the third level of my house. I’d knocked down all the walls and created this massive little model train world that expanded thirty feet. I entered and shut on the lights, illuminating the tiny world I’d been building the whole year.
When Jason died, we were all shocked to discover he’d had a detailed will as if he’d known he would go before thirty. Meanwhile, Jason had left me all his money—around twenty-six million. His parents tried to fight the decision, but lost. And because Jason knew me so well, he’d written two guidelines with the spending. The first was that I couldn’t donate no more than fifty percent of his money to charities.
You knew I would’ve given it all away. Didn’t you, Jason?
With half of his money, I’d started a foundation for people struggling with drug and alcohol addiction. Over a hundred facilities were being built for those who couldn’t afford treatment centers and counselors. They also assisted the family members that tended to be victims of their loved one’s drug abuse with housing, job assistance, and food for their kids.
Jason’s second guideline was that I do something that only made me happy with the rest of the money. He was so serious about it, he’d hired a board to oversee all my spending.
Many wondered what I did with the left over thirteen million. I’d already had mega mansions and luxury cars. I’d traveled more than anyone due to my parents taking me everywhere when I was young and then all my touring later.
So, I ended up doing the one thing I’d always wanted to, but thought it would be too stupid to do. I created the world’s most expensive model train set ever.
Thirteen million dollars of a tiny United States covered a massive room—harbors and airports, roads and buildings that spanned over the little country. Real water filled the ponds and lakes. It was over eight miles of track, four thousand buildings, and even two hundred thousand LED lights and figurines. The set-up utilized sophisticated software to control and direct the movement of trucks, cars, planes, and boats.
I pressed play on Simone’s first song and began moving my favorite train around.
“Naked, she begged, please. Naked, she begged, please.”
Walking over to the other side of the room, I moved the train toward the tiny model of New York, wondering what Simone was doing now.
“So close, so wet, and so hot, naked, she begged, please.”
As the train approached New York, the entire state lit up. The Statue of Liberty glowed green. The Empire State building illuminated white, red, and blue.
“I’ll give you want you want, he said, I’ll give you what you need.”
The tiny model of Times Square came alive. Billboards glowed and moved around.
“With your legs open, spread wide, just moan for it, one more time.”
The train rounded Central Park and chirping sounds filled the air. Tiny fireworks shot above that area of the model and sparkled.
“So, naked, she begged please.”
There was a beauty to her talent. Her lyrics reminded me of Jason’s. They both did sense-bound writing. Their lyrics stimulated the senses and allowed the listener to draw the song’s images from their own experiences. Therefore, the observer shifted into the participant.
But unlike Jason, I felt her voice in my heart. Some voices stopped at my ears, but there were those few singers that could pierce my chest and capture every heartbeat.
Fuck this. I’m flying her up. I can focus with her here. It’ll be fine.
I stopped the train, shut off the music, and closed my eyes, thinking about what she’d said on the phone.
“But what if she loves to beg? What if it turns her on?”
Groaning, I whispered to myself, “Then, she can have whatever she’s begging for, as long as she wants it.”
I must get her here…for the music. Nothing else.
I turned her song back on, reached my hand down the front of my jeans, and stroked my hard cock to sweet Simone.
“Naked, she begged please.”
Chapter 3
Simone
Music is the mediator between
the spiritual and the sensual life.
~Ludwig van Beethoven
On a typical day, I woke up around eight, grabbed a huge cup of coffee, and checked my emails. The songwriting came next.
This morning turned out to be different. So close to the holidays, every relative and close friend called to check up on me. I spent most of the morning on the phone, sipping coffee and munching on junk food.
“How are you?” Aunt Benita asked. “How’s Manhattan?”
“I’m fine. Uh...but, I don’t actually live in Manhattan. I’m in Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn, huh? Well, you should check out Manhattan. I saw this great movie and it was all these beautiful buildings.”
“Hmmm. Interesting.”
Unlike the rest of my family, Aunt Benita had never left South Carolina. Therefore, most of her knowledge of places came from movies. And being that most NY films focused on filming in Manhattan, she pretty much figured it stretched across the state. Other times, I’d explained that New York City was not just Manhattan. I’d even told her about Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and Staten Island, but I’d given up explaining this months ago.
Aunt Benita whistled. “Christmas in Manhattan. You must try it. You have to visit the tree in Rockefeller center.”
“I sure will. I’ll put it on my to-do list.”
“Love ya, baby.”
“I love you too, Auntie.”
Mom and Dad called next.
“You don’t take the subway, right?” Dad asked.
“Uh, no. Of course not.” I hoped he wouldn’t catch my little lie.
“Good,” he said. “Taxies should be the safest.”
Mom jumped on the phone. “How’s your dating?”
“Really, Mom? Not Merry Christmas or Happy New Year?”
“I would love a grandson.”
“You have five granddaughters.”
“Which is why I would love at least one grandson.” She slipped into Geechee. “Milk ain’t dry off e mout yet.”
“I know I’m young.”
She pushed the topic further. “You should date. Have you met any nice men?”
My father grumbled in the background, hating this topic.
I sighed. “Oh yes. I’ve met tons of men. So many. Every night, I’m on the arm of a prince or supermodel.”
“Joke, if you will. But you are not the
Mother Mary and Jesus will not be your son.”
Confused, I said, “O-kay.”
“In other words, you will need a man to give me a grandson.”
“Awww. I see.” I nodded my head. “However, Mom, maybe we shouldn’t rule out immaculate conception just yet.”
My sisters kept their phone calls short. One complained about her husband. The other whined about her kids. Both thought I was living this fabulous life, attending movie premieres and industry events. Neither believed me, no matter how much I told them their lives were more exciting than mine.
The last call came from my best friend, Yvonne. My battery was low. I had to sit on the floor while my phone was plugged into the socket.
Yvonne was my rode dog, sister from another mother, and all-time bestie in the universe. We’d grown up together, next door neighbors as kids. Now, she was in California at Stanford Medical School, working hard at becoming a doctor.
At least with my bff, she didn’t ask the usual questions. She went right into making me laugh.
“Girl, I had a brother over last night,” Yvonne said. “His muscles were so big. He was tall, well over six feet. Girl, I’m talking Chocolate-Mandingo-Warrior-Lion-King-Simba-brother. Like take me back to Africa brother. Like mama say, mama sa, mama kusa, brother.”
“Oh shit.” I giggled. “Tell me more. This year, you know I’m living vicariously through you.”
“Girl! This Coming-to-America-brother had a wallet that would make Bill Gates blush.”
“Stop it.” I munched on some popcorn which served as my breakfast. “You know that brother didn’t have money like that.”
“I’m for real.”
“Stop it.” I laughed.
“Well, it doesn’t matter because I took his behind to my house thinking I was going to get turned out. I just knew that with his dick, I would not only experience the Motherland, but Rafiki himself would appear in my bedroom, crack his coconut, and declare that this brother was the truth.”
I quirked my eyebrows. “Who the hell is Rafiki?”
“How do you not remember Rafiki? He was the baboon from The Lion King.”
“Girl, if you’re going to talk about the continent of Africa, let’s at least check out some more movies.”
