by Kenya Wright
She chuckled. “None of that don’t matter because Rafiki did not appear.”
“Why not?”
“This brother had the smallest penis in the world. All that muscle and no monster.”
Laughing, I shook my head. “Not the smallest penis in the world.”
“In…the…world.”
“Come on, Yvonne. If I’m going to live vicariously through you, I’m going to need you to hook up with bigger penises.”
“I’m working on it, girl. And how’s your new client?”
I held in all my excitement. I’d signed a nondisclosure agreement and couldn’t talk about Gio. “It’s going...really good.”
“Girl, I’m so proud of you. You’ve got this. Just keep at it. You’ll make it.”
“Thanks. I think you’re right.”
Afternoon arrived, and I worked on catching up from the time I’d lost on the phone with loved ones. I had a structured songwriting process; I listened to the music first, searching for ideas. Soon, the melody would flow to me and then the hook. The main lyrics came last. Most started with the lyrics first because they knew what they wanted to say. I always liked the music to inspire the message.
I can do it no matter what.
To be a writer was to be a shapeshifter. Two people inhabited the body. Every writer dealt with this problem—from songwriters to poets, novelists to bloggers. All people who relished in the flavor of words, existed with two beings living inside of them. One being controlled the body and regular life. While the creative beast—fueled by insane passion—clawed and roared inside of the chest.
Okay. Let’s write Gio a new song. You’ve got this.
Gio had delivered a different tune that had my mind at a blank. Before, he’d sent lush, sexy music, dripping in hunger and need. This tune had a syncopated rhythm. Unexpected, there were many off-beat patterns and disturbances in the flow. Dance music tended to use syncopation, and had all these uneven movements from bar to bar that somehow tied the whole song together.
Damn. Is this a test or something?
This just seemed so strategic, like he was either testing me for some purpose or at least trying to make me challenge myself.
Okay. I can do this. You want to see if I can write to this? Bring it.
I grabbed a box of Girl Scout cookies and poured a good bit of milk into my coffee, dumping in some sugar and twirling it around.
I pressed play and listened to more of the track.
Okay. What are we going to do with you?
This tune was nothing like his usual songs from his past albums. He sang love ballads to the brokenhearted and made women’s panties wet with his sexy soulful grooves. This track was for the nightclubs.
After the third cookie, I replayed the song again and realized that I would be eating the whole box of cookies that afternoon, and no one would freaking stop me.
Merry Christmas to my tummy!
The song played a third time as I crunched on chocolate and coconut, melting with each yummy taste. Words started coming to me as I focused on the upbeat tempo. A complex, harmonic structure rose in my head.
I finished the box of cookies, grabbed my keyboard, and began mimicking the tune, mumbling words with each press of the key. “Die for me baby...die for me...cry...cry for me...you’re mine.”
I turned the track on and played along with my keyboard, pretending to be Gio.
What would Gio probably say to her? This girl that’s dancing with him. It’s hot. No one’s there, but them. They’re at a club. No, a party. Maybe, the party is outside, and the stars are above and she’s looking in his eyes, thinking that it could be love. What would he say to her?
“Shit.” I held my hands above the keyboard. “I think I’ve got something.”
I jumped up from my chair, almost knocked everything over, rushed for my notebook, and wrote tons of sentences down. An hour later, I continued to toy with that idea.
“I’m dying to be inside of you.” I started messing around with the bass line as I sang. “Give it to me, baby, I would melt with you, I would burn for you.”
I tapped my feet, pictured him with no shirt on dancing with me under the stars, and made a note to play with some of the wording. “Take me to the sky, I would fly with you, get high with you.”
My heart beat faster. Sweat beaded around my forehead as I swayed with the tune, making it my own. “Tear open my soul, lose control with you, let it go with you.”
In my mind, he captured my lips and shattered me with pleasure. “Break me. Hurt me. Fuck me. I would lie for you, homicide for you.”
Knocking came at my door.
Fucking asshole of severed, decaying balls!! Who? The? Fuck? Is? It?
Anger raged over my face. I barely ever lost my temper and almost never got into an argument. But when I was interrupted with creating, I was ready to kill someone.
I froze at the keyboard, hoping the person would leave. Being that I’d been singing loudly, they must’ve known I was there.
The knocking came again.
Annoyance dotted each word. “Who is it?”
My manager, Ru’s voice came next. “It’s me, Simone.”
I sucked my teeth, rose from the keyboard, stomped over to the door, and opened it.
“Really?”
“Merry Christmas to you too.” He closed the door behind him and held a large box wrapped in purple paper with a huge pink bow sitting on top. In his other hand, he held a fresh bouquet of flowers.
Ru towered over me in a designer suit, sleek and expensive. If one didn’t know him, they’d think he was in his twenties. His chestnut hair was in a contemporary pompadour, something Elvis Presley would’ve rocked if he’d come out in the 2000s. Surprisingly, it finished off his whole classic style, polishing him from head to toe. He had the face of a male model and the soul of the devil. The latter made him one of the top-earning managers in the industry. He’d been in the entertainment industry since he was a kid, starting off as a child actor for Disney’s Mickey Mouse club. Once puberty came and his voice lowered, he left the performance side and focused on the business of music.
Now in his thirties, he had a hot list of clients. I was blessed he’d given me a chance.
“Let’s try this again.” Ru targeted me with that wicked green gaze. “Merry Christmas, Simmy.”
“Merry Christmas.” I smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get you anything.”
He handed the gift over to me. “Of course not. I bet you haven’t gotten yourself anything either.”
“I’m writing.”
“Good.” He went over to my forgotten vase where he’d placed roses two weeks ago. Now they’d rotted, the stems molded sludge in the dark bottom of the vase. Brown petals were scattered on the table. He tidied the area up and scanned my small apartment. I immediately felt self-conscious. Dishes were piled in the sink. Magazines were stacked on top of the pasta machine I never used.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No worries.” Ru took the vase into the kitchen. “I like to spoil you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your manager and most of all, because I’m a gentleman.”
Ru was many things. Some would say gentleman, but most would call him an impeccably dressed and sweet-tongued womanizer.
Although he showered me monthly with flowers and gifts for whatever holiday that came, I happened to know that he had two women waiting for him right now—his wife in Lennox Hill and his devoted mistress in the Bronx.
Both women spent their days waiting. It hurt me to even imagine that sort of life; waiting for his attention, waiting for him to call, waiting for him to say he loved them. So much waiting. And they were as patient as sheep, longing to hear the click in the doorknob and the dangling of his keys, wagging their tails like those fluffy poodles of the rich, when their master came home.
Both had come by my apartment at separate times, wondering if he’d been with me working on a song. Neither wanted to consider
that the night he missed being with them, he was with some third woman.
They’d visited at different times. His wife appeared at my door first, blonde hair and blue eyes, drowning in diamonds and neglect. She talked in a whisper as if her heart was empty and echoing the sound. His mistress showed up months later, red curls to her behind, talking about the new purse she’d bought with the platinum card Ru had given her. I’d thought she was the happiest of the two, but after ten minutes, she’d shifted into a tsunami of sadness—wailing about how she was aging, crying about Ru not wanting her to have kids, and spilling out all her resentment of not becoming a singer herself.
I should’ve told Ru that they’d come by, but I didn’t. For one thing, besides him and my vocal coach, those two had been my only visitors. And secondly, they provided the inspiration to many of my songs. They helped me tap into the deep emotion of love and desperation.
Ru threw away the old flowers. “Are you hanging with any friends tonight?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because I would need friends here to hang with them.”
He stared at me with a frown.
“Don’t worry. I’m working on it, Ru.”
“Life changes fast in your twenties. Don’t let it all slip away.” He took the moldy vase to my sink and cleaned it out. “I’ll be forty in several years. That shit is freaking me out.”
“I’m sure there are fun times in your thirties, forties, and so on.”
“Yes, but many spend those years catching up to the ones that did it in their twenties.”
“Did what?”
“Lived.” He grabbed some paper towel and dried the inside of the vase. “You have to get out more. Date. There’s a new act playing around the corner tonight. A group of rappers. I heard they’re hot.”
“I’m not dating rappers. I’ve heard enough about them.”
“No. I want you to come with me. It would be good for you to go out.”
“I’m chilling and its cold outside. You’re a city boy. My southern blood can’t deal with this snow.”
Pausing from the vase, he gave me a fake pout and did a Ru signature look with his eyes. “You’re going to let me go there by myself and sit in that club all alone? All by myself?”
“You have people that you can call.”
Two women in fact.
Done with cleaning the vase, he stacked the fresh bouquet of roses into the vase and set it on my table. “It’s just ten minutes to the club. We go, we listen to some music, have some drinks. I’ll have you home by ten.”
“No, thank you.” I realized that his visit was going to be longer than usual, so I yanked the sheets, comforter, and pillow off my couch so he could sit down.
He arched his eyebrows. “You’re still sleeping in your living room?”
“My couch is comfortable.” I dropped the pillows and comforter in a pile next to my bookshelf. “What’s up? Why did you come by?”
He sat down on the couch. “I’m checking up on you and wanted to bring the present.”
“Again, I’m so sorry I didn’t get you one.”
“That’s fine. I doubt you’ve left this apartment this fall.”
I grabbed some of the scattered sheets of music and formed it in a pile. I was sure Ru thought I was on the verge of a breakdown with the disorganization in here. “I did leave a few times. I have to get my mail and all my Amazon products.”
“Are you ordering everything now?”
“You can get damn near anything delivered to your door these days.”
He frowned. “You should have someone here with you.”
I picked up some of the couch pillows off the floor and placed them on the couch. “A roommate?”
“No.”
“A boyfriend?” I rolled my eyes.
“The right boyfriend.” He drank my image in. “Someone who understands your music and passion, but knows how to take care of you.”
“I have it covered, Ru, but thanks for the love advice.” No matter what relationship I was in, I’d always lived alone and hadn’t met a man since who could tempt me to change that. Regardless of whatever crap or good times a relationship brought me, my home served as my sacred place. My solitude.
“So...you’re dating someone?” Ru asked like he always did.
“Nope. I realized this sad fact last week that I will probably always be alone.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s not really that depressing, if you really love to be alone. And I love myself. I have fun with myself.”
A wicked smile spread across his face. “I bet you do.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “So, is that the only thing you came to say?”
“No, I’m worried.”
“What?”
“You tend to overwork yourself. You’re the only one out of all my clients that needs to be told to enjoy themselves. Everyone else I have to yank out of the strip clubs and hire adult babysitters to take care of them.”
Jesus. Get on with it. Why are you really here?
“I’m focused.” I stood near the door, hoping to open it and send him on his way. “This over-working is temporary.”
“Until what?”
I winked at him. “Until, I get that Grammy.”
“Well...” He sighed and leaned back into the couch. “That Grammy may be coming faster than you think.”
My curiosity peaked. “What do you mean?”
“Giovanni Ferraro wants you to fly up to Utah and record the album with him.”
I leaned against the wall. “W-what?”
“Sit down so you don’t pass out.”
I slid down to the carpeted floor. “What?”
“Apparently, he’s hoping you’ll replace Jason Beals’s position.”
“He wants me to be his sole songwriter?” Excitement rushed through me. “Are you sure? Are you joking? This isn’t a joke, right?”
Ru kept that frown on his face. “He wants you.”
“Why are you looking like that?”
“These are all expressed wants from his manager, but there has been no official contract. Sure, he sent a massive retainer. You keep the money whether it works out or not, but he has you on a sixty-day probationary period. No signed contract yet.”
“O-kay.”
“Midnight didn’t say what was up with that, but he hinted that Gio wants to see if you could work out.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Why are you saying it that way?”
“Because the way he said it sounded suspicious.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Ferraro has power. This is the entertainment industry. Big guys like him see a sweet thing and they go after her, promising her dreams.”
“Oh my God!” I laughed and held my chest. “You think he’s doing all of this to sleep with me?”
Ru nodded.
“In all fairness, Gio doesn’t have to do all of that to sleep with me. He would just need to say please.”
Ru’s frown deepened. “Gio is not the man you should be messing with right now. You’re almost there and working hard. You don’t need to get into bed with a man like Gio.”
“Relax, Ru. You just said I needed a boyfriend and I work too hard. Now you’re saying—”
“To stay away from Gio on a romantic level. Yes. That’s what I’m saying. Work and write for him. If he tries anything, I’ll deal with him.”
“Listen. It’s not that serious.” I gestured to my pillows and comforter on the floor. “As you can see, I don’t get into my own bed, so there should be no worry of my getting into his.”
“Good.” He rose and straightened his jacket. “He wants you at his house whenever it’s convenient.”
“Shoot. I can be there tonight.” I jumped up from the floor.
“No. I told him that it would have to be next week.”
“What? No way. I can go now.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Simmy.”
>
“I have a calendar. I know what day it is.”
“You should be with your family.”
“I want to work.”
Silence sat between us. I didn’t know what Ru’s problem was. People called him a slave driver, but with me, it seemed he couldn’t keep up.
He worries about me too much.
“Ru, please let him know that I will be there.”
“Simmy—”
“I am not a fragile doll. I won’t break.”
“I don’t want him to dangle Jason’s job over your head so that you could eventually give him your panties.”
“It’s not happening.”
“I know it won’t.” He stepped close to me. “Because I’m coming with you.”
“O-kay. You don’t think that’s weird?”
“I told your parents I would protect and keep you safe.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
“And I have twenty-five years in entertainment. It’s a wicked world. Trust me.”
I thought about that and nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll show up after Christmas. I’ve got my kids this year.” He’d had children with several women.
“Okay.”
“Maybe you want to wait until after the holidays?” he asked
“No way. It’s freaking Gio. What’s a better way to spend Christmas?”
He rolled his eyes. “Jason and Gio were considered two of the biggest dogs in the industry. Women were toys to them and drugs were their path to fun. Keep it business only and if he tries anything funny, call me immediately.”
“I will.”
“I’ll make arrangements for you to get to his place.”
“I can do it.” Knowing Ru, he would have his assistant “mess up” and have me arriving weeks later.
“It’s my job.”
“I can do it.” I guided him to the door. “Thanks for the gift and have a Merry Christmas.”
Holy shit!!
Once Ru left, I rushed to my bedroom and threw several bags of luggage together. It barely took me half an hour. I pretty much slung everything into each bag without trying to organize outfits or think too much. This wasn’t a fashion event. It was work and lots of amazing life-changing music.
He wants me to take Jason’s place. Can I even do that? I mean...fuck! Jason was a legend!
