by Ca$H
The DJ is playing one of Sparkles…umm…Kayundra’s songs. The song is nice, but none of her records are on the charts anymore. The bitch was hot for a minute, then she got back on the pipe and fell off the map.
I’m thinking that maybe I should just tell Nard, now, that I’m going back to CJ. He’ll be hurt, but at least it won’t catch him by surprise when Eric and ’em return with all of the things Nard has bought me, including the Mustang. Perhaps Nard will choose to leave, to avoid the drama; I hope as we return to our booth.
Hours later, the DJ spins a Lil Wayne song and the VIP room gets crunk. Nard has his arm around my shoulder. I lean so that I can whisper to Nard. “Nard, I need to tell you some—”
I stop in mid-sentence; CJ, Eric, Snoop, Premo, Flip, and the other Little Bricks niggaz has just returned!
Nard hops up in a hurry when they approach our booth. His hand goes to his waist, Eric and ’em reach for their waists, too.
CJ says to Nard, “It don’t have to go there, my dude. I just came to claim mine.”
By now, Man Dog, Big Nasty, Quentine, and a few others on Nard’s team are pushing through the bodies that surround the booth.
“I just came for my woman. Trust, y’all niggaz don’t wanna take it there,” says CJ, unflinchingly.
“She ain’t your woman no more,” retorts Nard with confidence.
“Ask her. Maddafact, c’mere, Mika,” CJ opens his arms; I stand up and walk right into them.
“Oh, it’s like dat?” Nard stares at me with pure hate.
“Tell that nigga what the deal is, boo,” prods CJ.
“Nard, I’m sorry. I’m going back to CJ.”
“What’s up with my seed you’re carrying?” Nard growls.
I don’t reply.
“Answer the nigga,” says CJ.
“I’m not going to have the baby,” I mutter, with my head down.
“Mika, look that nigga in the face and tell him. Fuck you scared of?”
“Nothing,” I say. Then, I repeat, “I’m not going to have the baby,” looking into Nard’s eyes. They are two balls of fire.
“Go get the bags,” CJ instructs his mans without speaking to anyone in particular.
“They right by the door,” says Eric, and he nods to several other members of the clique who are posted outside the VIP room door. They drag a dozen, or so, plastic bags over to the booth, and dump all of the contents out on the floor, in one big pile. One huge mound of designer clothes, shoes, and bags. A small pile of jewelry.
“I bought some of that stuff before I met Nard,” I whisper to CJ, holding on to his arm.
“Fuck dat! I’ma buy you all brand new shit.”
“CJ, a lot of that stuff you bought.”
“I said fuck it! didn’t I?”
I nod meekly.
CJ sneers at Nard, “Nigga, that’s all the shit you bought her; she’s givin’ it all back, so she don’t owe you shit.”
Eric dumps the $200,000.00 at Nard’s feet.
“And the whip you bought her is outside in the lot,” intones Flip, tossing the keys to the Mustang on top of the pile of money.
No music is playing; mad faces are pressed against the glass, peering in at us.
“Take off that ring; the necklace and the earrings too!” barks CJ.
“Baby, Mama bought me—”
“I said take it off, Mika,” he repeats sternly.
I do as he instructed, dropping the jewelry onto the growing pile of things.
“Did he buy that dress you rockin’, and the shoes?”
I nod, reluctantly.
“Take that shit off!”
Eric hands me a robe that belongs to Mama, then he and four others make a circle around me. I slither out of the dress, after kicking off the stilettos. Now I’m barefoot in only a robe and thong.
Nard and his people stare at me with pure hate.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth, but I don’t think he catches it.
“Now, she don’t owe you shit, so don’t let me catch you in her space!” CJ threatens Nard. “Mika, tell this wannabe me ass nigga, goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Nard,” I utter softly, yet my words seem to boom out in the silence.
“Whud up, Nard? Tell me something, dawg.” That’s Big Nasty speaking, bouncing from foot to foot.
“Fuck you want to be up? We can spark this bitch up; all you gotta do is get stupid, and I’ll get stupider!” Eric exclaims, pulling out a burner.
“Bitch, you’re the cause of all this!” Nard’s mother says to me.
Mama butts in on my behalf, “Don’t call my daughter out of her name!” Taking off her earrings.
Nard steps between both of our mothers.
“Everybody just chill! We ain’t gotta kill each other; Tamika chose who she wants. Now, they can get the fuck on, and I can finish enjoying my birthday party. DJ! Pump the music back up!”
Whew!
On the way out of the club I pass by Nee Nee. She looks at me and shakes her head in disgust.
“Fuck you! You’re just a hater; you would sell your soul to be me, bitch!” I clown her.
“Ya ugly ass mama a bitch!” she replies, and it takes two burly bouncers to hold Mama off that ass.
I take one last look over my shoulder as our entourage leaves the club; Nard is staring death threats at me.
THIRTY-FIVE
SPARKLE
I’ve tried so very hard to leave drugs alone and get my life back together after, again, hitting rock bottom. Forget the singing career; it’s hell just to make it through a normal day without all the pressures of being in the spotlight. Nobody around me seem to understand that the success or the music didn’t mean a thing to me once I lost the person whom I wanted to share it with most. Without Raheem in my life, what good is a hit song?
When Raheem broke up with me, I lost my will to write; my desire to perform in concert. Raheem was my inspiration; the wind beneath my wings. Without him in my life, when I sit down and attempt to write a song, my pen holds no magic, only ink. In the studio, my voice could still carry a note, but it was lifeless. So, I didn’t want to record. All I wanted to do was hide out from the world and smoke crack. I loathed myself.
I skipped one studio session after the next. I ignored every obligation associated with my record label. Preston and Mama would try their best to track me down, but I was hid out well. My only company was crack.
After my third arrest for attempting to purchase crack, Preston released me from my contract with Platinum. Now he’s suing me for everything under the sun. Mama went to court and got a judge to put her in charge of my finances, because obviously, I was not responsible enough to look out for my own welfare. I had pawned everything of value that I owned to crack dealers.
I fell so low; I ended up serving sixty days in jail for shoplifting. That’s when I began to bounce back. The president of Universal Records visited me in jail and promised to help me, if I was willing to help myself.
I had sunk as low as I could go, so I made him that promise. He made all of my pending drug charges disappear. After my jail stint, I checked into a world-renowed drug rehab center and got myself together. After rehab, I went straight into the studio to work on a new album on the Universal label.
Now I’m in New York backstage at the Apollo, preparing to perform the first single from my new CD, which is titled “Back Where I Belong”.
I’m alone inside my plush dressing room. I’m thinking of all that I’ve gone through in my life; the years before this singing thing, and the years since: My relationship with my mother, which remains strained, at best. My lost relationship with Raheem.
I love and miss him so much!
It’s very hard to go on without him.
I flip through a photo album full of wonderful moments with my honey. My tears stain the pages as I weep. The makeup technician has to hurry and work wonders when I’m called to the stage.
My performance is aired live on BET.
“Hello, New
York!” I say into the mic “It’s so good to be joined by you tonight. I guess most of you know my story; it’s not a pretty one, but—”
“That’s okay, girl, we still love you!” a voice from the audience shouts.
I hear other shouts of endearment joined by loud applause.
“I’m supposed to sing a new song of mine tonight, New York!” I say. But I don’t want to sing that song.”
“Sing anything, Sparkle!” someone yells enthusiastically.
“Oh, I’m going to sing something. How many of you ladies out there know what it is to lose the man you love?”
Women scream and raise their arms in the air.
“I imagine a few of you fellas know what it is to love and lose, and can’t get back,” I continue.
“That’s right, Ma!”
“I’ll take you, Sparkle!”
“Sing for us, baby!”
I smile to the crowd. “I’m going to try to sing a classic of the late great Miss Minnie Riperton. Some of y’all might be too young to recognize this song, but that’s okay. See, I got to sing it to Raheem, the one I love but lost, because it’s his favorite song. So, if you’re somewhere listening, Raheem…baby, this is for you.”
I begin acapella, since the band is caught off guard.
I stumbled on this photograph…it kinda made me laugh…it took me way back…back down memory lane…
The band joins in.
…why did I have to find this photograph…I thought I had forgot the past…now I’m slippin’ fast…back down memory lane…
The audience rears its approval, as if they collectively feel my pain. I sing on, from the depths of my very soul, tears flowing with each line.
…the way you hold me, no one could tell me…that love would dieeeee!!!!!
I collapse to my knees in heartache, and can’t even finish the song.
I don’t remember how I got off stage; all I know is that I’m again alone inside my dressing room, dripping tears on the photos in my album.
“Raheem, baby, I need you,” I sob.
THIRTY-SIX
RAHEEM
I’m at the crib working on my manuscript. I’m taking some time off from managing the night clubs; in fact, I’m thinking about selling my interest in them. That type of business seems to be in conflict with the principles of Islam, causing me to fall off my deen.
My cell phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you busy?” ask LaKeesha.
“Not really, sis. Sup?” I shut off my laptop.
“Turn to BET, your girl is about to perform.”
“A’ight.” I hang up and go turn on the television in the den.
By the time I turn the television back off, tears wet my shirt. I’m not soft, by no means, but that shit touched me. The pain in Kayundra’s voice, and the way that she broke down on stage, in front of the whole world, has me hurting for her. Real talk.
LaKeesha calls back to ask if I saw it.
“Yeah,” I say solemnly.
“Rah, she really misses you. That was so sad, I cried.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You should give her another chance.”
“I don’t know, LaKeesha. It would be hard to trust her,” I say.
“You could try.”
“Maybe,” I allow.
It’s not easy to see the woman you love hurting so bad. I stay up all night thinking about my Sparkle. When I do fall asleep, at the break of dawn, I’m awakened by the ringing of my cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Rah, do you have the radio on?” It’s LaKeesha once again. Why is she calling me so early?
“No, wassup?”
“Well, I’m in Jersey but I’m sure it’s on all the stations in ATL too,” she says, as if I don’t know where she is.
“LaKeesha, what are you talking about?”
“I better let you hear it for yourself, bruh. Turn on the radio.”
I sat my cell phone down and lean over and turn on the radio on my nightstand just in time to hear; “Once again, I have some sad news from the music industry. R&B singer Sparkle is dead.”
My head drops and the tears began to fall.
THIRTY-SEVEN
TAMIKA
I’m at the house chillin’ with Mama and Danyelle. We’re at the kitchen table drinking spiked smoothies, and discussing Sparkle’s death.
“I still can’t believe she slashed her wrists,” says Danyelle.
“That’s a shame. But you could tell that she was in so much pain over breaking up with Raheem; the way she sobbed about it on BET last night. I feel so bad for her mother,” Mama adds.
“It is sad,” I agree.
“I know Raheem is probably tore up,” guesses Mama.
“Mmmhmm.” That’s Danyelle.
“Isnt it kinda his fault?” I wonder out loud.
“Don’t say that!” Mama admonishes me.
A loud crash interrupts our conversation. I hear footsteps run through the house. Police raid! I think.
Danyelle screams. I do, too, when I see Nard and Big Nasty walk into the kitchen, burners pointed at us.
“Everybody shut the fuck up! Scream again and I’m bodying all three of y’all bitches!” Nard barks, smiling at me menacingly.
“Please, Nard!” I cry. My plead is met with a slap across the face. I fall out of the chair, onto the floor.
“Don’t cry now, bitch!”
Mama tries to help me up, but Big Nasty kicks her so violently in the side, she collapses to the floor next to me.
“Move again, you die!”
My head is still spinning from the vicious slap; my ears are ringing, too. My heart is trying to jump right out of my chest. I know we’re in trouble. Mama is holding her side, moaning in pain, while Danyelle is frightened stiff.
Man Dog, Quentin, and Zakee come into the kitchen, all three of them holding assault rifles. Lord have mercy!
“We checked the whole house; that bitch nigga ain’t here,” says Man Dog.
“Quent, go watch the front of the house,” Nard instructs his young goon.
“Tamika, you know you gotta pay for clowning a nigga, and for killin’ my seed, right?” Nard cocks one in the chamber.
“I haven’t gotten the abortion yet.” I lie for my life, and probably Mama’s and Danyelle as well.
“What? You lyin’, fake ass bitch!” Nard grits, but I can tell that he’s unsure, so I play on instinct.
“Oh, so now I’m a bitch, huh? What happened to the respect you used to have for me?” A scrowl etches across Nard’s face. I fucked up!
He points the gun at my head. “Don’t talk to me ’bout respect, bitch! Not after the way you disrespected me for that nigga. I oughta shoot you in ya mafuckin’ mouth, just for uttering the word respect!”
“Nod that punk ho!” says Man Dog.
“Nard, baby, please let me explain,” I cry, and when he doesn’t shut me up, I lie for all I’m worth. “CJ made me clown you, baby. He was going to kill me if I didn’t; Nard he’s crazy. I swear, I don’t want CJ. I love you. Take me away from here, please.”
“So you saying you chose that nigga over me that night because he was gon’ kill you?”
“Yes, baby. I swear,” I sob.
“She’s not lying, Nard,” co-signs Mama. If we can just play our way out of this, I’ma make sure that CJ buries each one of these niggaz.
“Why haven’t you called?” Nard asks.
“I was waiting for CJ to go out of town, then I was gonna pack my things and come back to you, baby.”
“What do you know or care about a baby?” Nard snaps. “I’ma ask you only one time, and you bet’ not lie. Did you kill my seed?” His eyes study my face for the slightest sign of dishonesty.
“No, I haven’t gotten no abortion. I swear on everything that I love.” Nard’s face goes expressionless.
He says to Man Dog, “Bruh, see how easily lying comes to this bitch.”
“I’m not
lying, baby.”
“Is your daughter lying?” he questions Mama.
“No,” Mama lies to protect me.
“Danyelle, keep it one hunnid…is she lying?”
“I don’t know, Nard; we haven’t talked about it,” she answers truthfully. Then she pleads to Man Dog, who has always been cool with her. “Man Dog, I know y’all can find a better way to handle this.”
Man Dog ignores her.
“You and yo’ mama some lyin’, deceitful-ass hos!” Nard angrily intones. “I’ve been watching you every day since the party. I saw CJ take you to the abortion clinic, Tamika. Fuck you gon’ lie? You lie ’bout dat, yo’ ass lyin’ ’bout everything else.” He points the gun down at me.
“Wait!” I scream.
“Tell the truth, bitch! I already know it; if you keep denying that you killed my seed, I’ma do all three of y’all!”
I break down and admit that I’ve had the abortion, since he already knows.
“I don’t know why I lied about it,” I conclude in tears.
“You lied because you’re fake. Yo mama is fake, too. Plus you a dumb ass ho! Ain’t nobody been following yo’ ass. See how I played ya stupid ass into admitting the truth? Big Nasty, go get Lil Nasty out the car.”
“Nard, what are you about to do?” I ask in a quivering voice. “Baby, remember it was me who saw potential in you, and helped you to come up. Whatever disrespect I’ve shown towards you, don’t all of the good things I’ve done balance it out?”
“Man Dog, shoot that bitch in the face if she says another word, fam!”
I’m on mute.
When Big Nasty returns with his pit, a feeling of terror envelopes me. I wanna plead for mercy but I don’t want Man Dog to shoot me.
They take us into the living room, where Quentin is watching the street from the window.
“Get naked, ho!” Nard commands me. “Since you a dog bitch, I’ma let a dog fuck you. You get naked, too!” he says to Mama.
“No! Go ahead and kill me,” says Mama bravely.
“Man Dog, go in the kitchen and bring me a knife.”
