“Man, I ain’t a damn twelve-year-old. I just said she’s cool. Cooler than I expected her to be,” I admitted honestly.
Still, that wasn’t enough to convince Grayson as he brushed me off to say, “She flower-crowned you and you don’t even like Snapchat. You must really have a crush on her.”
“What does a damn filter have to do with anything? It was just a silly picture,” I told him, once again trying to play it down.
But I didn’t stand a chance once he reminded me, “Yeah, a silly picture that had the whole internet asking who you were.”
It was honestly a little insane that one feature on Zalayah’s Snapchat had the public going crazy with questions and assumptions.
What does she mean by “studio vibes”?
Is that code for something else?
Is he some new, exclusive rapper she was collaborating with?
Is that her new man?
It took less than twenty-four hours for the internet to create a whole profile on me, from the high school I attended thanks to old classmates who recognized me to my day job at the community center which linked me to my boss Reagan. And being linked to Reagan automatically meant being linked to her husband G. Griffey, bringing my alleged ties to the music industry full circle.
“So it hit a couple gossip blogs cause they didn’t have shit else to talk about. What’s new?” I asked with a shrug.
But my nonchalance only seemed to amp Grayson up when he replied, “What’s new is you acting all cool and casual about the biggest opportunity of your life! You did not one, but two songs with Zalayah. That’s a producer’s dream come true.”
“But I don’t have producer dreams, Gray. I was just… doing her a favor, doing you a favor,” I reminded him, knowing his request had played at least a small role in my decision even if I had turned down Zalayah’s offer to include him on the song.
While he didn’t know all of those exact details, my response seemed to chill him out as he finally took my word enough to reply, “Whatever you say, nigga. Just know, you’re probably gonna have a lot of industry cats hot that you snuck in and stole an opportunity from up under them.”
“They had their opportunity. Zalayah just wasn’t feeling it. She was feeling me,” I said, not even realizing the weight of my words until I watched the silly little smirk grow on Grayson’s face.
“Oh, so now she was feeling you? Is that the ‘something more’ you were talking about?”
“Nah. I mean, we maybe flirted a little bit, and she asked a lot of questions. But that was really it.”
Once again, I had tried my best to play it down. And once again, my efforts proved themselves useless as Grayson shouted, “Nigga! You got the finest chick in the game tryna get to know you and you’re here at the crib playing video games with me? Man, you’re trippin’!”
“It wasn’t even like that. She was just… curious. Hella curious. Asked about moms and shit,” I explained, though I hadn’t really taken the time to think through it all myself.
I mean, I suppose her questioning could’ve been tied to her genuine interest in me. Or she could’ve just been happy as hell to be quizzing somebody on their shit instead of always being on the other side of the table. Either way, I didn’t dwell on it long as Grayson’s focus switched to ask, “You tell her the truth?”
“As much as I could, yeah. She’s actually a fan believe it or not.”
It still tripped me out that someone as big, and as young, as Zalayah could be a fan of the music my mother had made long before I even existed. But it made me feel good to hear someone speak so complimentary of her compared to all the nasty stories that still lingered surrounding my mother’s downfall. To them, she was just the typical artist gone wrong; the drugs and the fast life catching up to her before she could really bloom. They’d still play her music, they’d still sing along, but they had no respect for the shit she had gone through after the fact; the shit she had survived after the fact.
“Yo, you should bring her to meet Moms. I’m sure it would really lift her spirits,” Grayson suggested as he followed me into the kitchen where I grabbed a can of soda for myself before tossing one his way.
And as I cracked mine open, I told him, “Maybe one day. Depends on how this meeting goes.”
Truth be told, it was about more than just the meeting going well. Bringing a woman to meet my mom, even under the guise of her being a fan, was bound to create some level of hype that I wasn’t quite ready to deal with. And while I loved my mother to death, she wasn’t exactly the most reasonable person when it came to her requests for grandchildren.
“My baby boys are too grown for me now. I need some replacements,” was the way she usually phrased it. But I knew she really meant, “Give me a child to spoil rotten,” regardless of the fact that my bank account wasn’t even in a place to spoil my damn self. And if there were two things I had sworn off, it was bringing a child into the world with the wrong person and bringing a child into the world without being financially stable enough to provide for it. Though depending on how well Zalayah’s meeting went, I knew I could be looking at a paycheck worth ten times more than the already impressive one I had just received.
So instead of letting the uncertainty linger, I grabbed my phone to shoot her a text.
“How’d it go, Rose? Good news?” - Gabe
I didn’t expect a reply to come soon since she was such a busy woman. But to my surprise, I could see she was already typing before I even got a chance to put my phone down.
“Eh… not really. Nothing to worry about though. It’s already handled.” - Rose
“It’s already handled?” I thought to myself as my fingers hovered over the screen, trying to decide which part of the text I wanted to address.
Why wasn’t there good news?
What happened?
How is it handled?
Are you alright?
Before I could ask any of those questions, I was distracted by Grayson saying, “Yo, is this the song y’all did together? This beat is fuckin’ fire, G!”
I snapped my head his way, my ears immediately recognizing the faint sounds of one of the songs Zalayah and I had made together coming from the speaker on his phone. And while I was glad to have his instant approval, I was also concerned because, “How the hell did you get that?”
He shrugged, walking my way to show me his screen as he replied, “Shits all over Twitter. Somebody must’ve gotten ahold of the file and leaked it.”
I immediately noticed Zalayah, both song titles, and SoundCloud were the top trending topics, blowing my mind but also trippin’ me out considering there was no way someone should’ve been able to access the songs.
Unless…
I grabbed his phone to take a closer look at the SoundCloud link and realized the profile had the same top secret screenname Zalayah used for her YouTube channel.
FlowerChild347
“I know exactly how this got out,” I told him, releasing a sigh of relief as I continued to skim through the tweets of Zalayah’s fans already claiming them as their favorite songs by her and sharing their favorite one-liners.
@KelWats: Zalayah went IN on these new tracks. Can’t wait to play ‘em at The Max.
@TianaTheBarber: Zalayah’s always been my girl. This new music though… *creep emoji eyes*
@NovaScopedYa: “Got me actin’ up, like I don’t really give a fuck,” is my mood for Summer ‘17.
@LaynasWorld: My edges are GONE, y’all. Thanks a lot, Zalayah.
@EliWorldWide: Zalayah’s out here tryna ruin y’all summer with an unplanned pregnancy from this new music. #StayWoke
I couldn’t help but shake my head with a laugh as I handed Grayson his phone back to grab my own so that I could finally send her a reply.
“So now you’re a SoundCloud artist? What’s that all about?” - Gabe
For all the fussing we had done about using the platform, it was ironic as hell that she had decided to release her music on it. Then again,
it made complete sense once I read her response.
“Sometimes you gotta make ‘em hear you, even when they don’t wanna listen.” - Rose
Even through text, I could feel her energy, could feel how serious she was about taking this next step in her career. And I honestly couldn’t have been happier for her, though I wasn’t exactly sure what her releasing the tracks on her own really meant. I also didn’t imagine her label being very happy about it.
“So now that you’ve pissed them off, are you going independent or what?” - Gabe
“Nigga. I’m about to get so much pussy off this song. Tell Zalayah to let me get on the remix,” Grayson announced as he pressed repeat on the slower track we had done together. The track that I had to physically… coach her through, though now that it was mixed and mastered it sounded even more perfect.
So why wasn’t there good news?
Instead of responding to Grayson, I only shook my head at him as I read Zalayah’s latest text.
“Nah, I don’t have to. Once they see the reaction I’m already getting online, they’ll be all over it. They may be stupid, but they aren’t THAT stupid.” - Rose
Yet another reason why I wasn’t very fond of the industry.
Instead of following the real talent and focusing on the growth and longevity of the artists they already had signed, it was all about the money, all about what they could market, all about cashing in on the latest hype, the next best thing. A&Rs were constantly signing people just to make money off one hot single and then dropping the artist before they even got a chance to release a full album. And while it was truly a disgusting practice, it was clear that instead of falling victim to the usual, Zalayah was blazing her own trail and proving that she was there to stay.
“Proud of you, superstar.” - Gabe
“How proud? Celebration proud? With pecan pie? ;)” - Rose
I smiled to myself, trying not to be too flattered by her invitation, especially under the watchful eye of Grayson. The last thing I needed was to give him more ammunition for his little theories. So I kept my expression as neutral as I could when I sent a reply.
“You’re definitely too busy for regular ass niggas like me now.” - Gabe
“No such thing. I’ll send a car for you in an hour. Cool?” - Rose
I pulled the corner of my lip between my teeth, weighing my options though there was really only one that made sense. And while I knew I’d be doing some explaining to Grayson whenever the car arrived, that wasn’t enough to stop me from accepting the offer.
&
“Gabe! Hey. Welcome to my crib.”
I tried my best not to look as in awe as I felt when I stepped into the foyer of the home Zalayah could’ve housed a whole football team in. It was huge as hell - ridiculously big - especially since I could pretty much assume she was the only one who lived there. And while my first concern was for her safety, the property massive enough to have someone living clear on the other side without her even noticing, the fact that I could feel Big X lurking without seeing him let me know she was in good hands.
When the driver had announced it as the destination instead of the barbecue spot with the bomb ass pecan pie like I expected it to be, I almost wanted to tell him to take me back home. Going to her house was very… personal, intimate, the exact space I should’ve been avoiding being stuck in. But now it was too late as I took a closer look at the collection of blown-up magazine covers and pictures that covered the walls, all from different phases of her career.
There were pictures from her days as a cute commercial kid, pictures of her as the kid-spokesperson for different food companies, pictures from when she first came onto the scene as a teenage popstar, and then more recent pictures of her physically transforming into an adult while still being presented as “young”; the mold she was currently trying to break out of.
“This one is my favorite. It was the last time I actually got to style myself,” she said as she pointed out a picture I hadn’t made it to yet.
But now that I was taking a closer look, I realized, “Zalayah, you’re like thirteen in this picture. You haven’t dressed yourself since?”
She giggled, crossing her arms over her chest as she replied, “Dressed? Yes. Styled for a photoshoot? No. But I’ve already been thinking about the aesthetic I want for my album cover, and that’ll be all me.”
I wasn’t surprised at all to hear that as I followed her into the living room that was decked in all-white, making me shake my head in disbelief as I teased, “So you’re really ballin’ like this, huh? Splurging on all-white cause you got the money to replace shit when it gets stained up?”
“Gotta spend those checks somewhere, right?” she tossed over her shoulder as she continued past the living room into the kitchen that was just as modern and pristine as everything else. Then she made herself busy digging in the fridge as she asked, “You hungry?”
“Not for salad and fish,” I muttered as I made myself comfortable on one of the barstools at the center island, cautious about even resting my elbows on it since it was so shiny and clean.
Her face was relaxed into an easy smile when she turned around to say, “I actually ordered a pizza. Can you believe it?”
“Damn, what happened to the nutrition goody two shoes? Turned you out with a little barbecue and now you goin' all out?” I asked with a smirk as she climbed onto the stool next to mine.
Then she rested her elbow comfortably on the island, putting her head against the fist she had created when she replied, “Celebrations call for exceptions.”
I hated how quickly I got caught up in just… staring at her, appreciating how good she looked in her Ivy Park sweatshirt with the sweatpants to match and her hair pulled into a bun at the top of her head. But to me, this was Zalayah at her best, free of the heavy makeup that only enhanced how fine she was naturally and the heels that I knew had to be killing her feet. In fact, she wasn’t wearing any shoes at all, her toenails perfectly polished in white as they dangled just above the ground.
And I wasn’t the only one staring, Zalayah’s lips just slightly parted as she studied my face like it was some sacred work of art. Or maybe she wasn’t staring, instead seeing right through me beyond the layers she had already managed to pull back without even realizing it. The soft R&B playing from the speakers throughout the house in the background probably had us looking straight out of a black cinema movie scene. But since that was far from the case - at least, it was supposed to be far from the case - I decided to break the moment when I said, “So tell me more about this meeting.”
The mention made Zalayah’s expression twist with annoyance when she sat up straight to gush, “Oh my God, Gabe. It was so fuckin’ awkward. I played song one, the slower one, and the room was dead silent. Then I played song two, the party track, and you would’ve thought I was playing the soundtrack of Hell the way they reacted. ‘You can’t sing about things like this. We can’t market this. You’re gonna commit career suicide with this song’. Going on and on about everything that was wrong with it. Nigel, the CEO of the label, he didn’t even say anything. He just got up and left the room.”
“Of course Nigel was the one to disapprove,” I thought to myself as I told her, “Wow. That’s… that’s crazy.”
“Tell me about it. So on the way to another meeting I said fuck it and decided I was going to release the songs anyway. You know, make them understand. And I mean, gatekeepers are overrated as hell to be honest. But I made my little SoundCloud account, uploaded the songs, anonymously emailed the links to a few music blogs and that was all it took,” she explained, glancing at her fingernails with a proud arrogance.
And I couldn’t help but hype her up when I muttered, “Bad ass.”
“It’s not my fault they didn’t want to listen. So now I’ll be renegotiating the terms for this album since they wanted to play tough. Make them pay for their idiotic mistake of thinking they knew best.”
I nodded, finding her need to stick it to th
e record label attractive as hell when I told her, “Boss shit. I feel you, superstar.”
“I’ll make sure you get paid well too when we do the album. Might as well milk them for every penny since they do the same thing to my talent,” she insisted as she abandoned her seat to answer the ringing doorbell.
Though she didn’t make it very far when X came out of nowhere, his baritone Barry White-deep when he said, “I got it, Z. Not tryna have to strangle the pizza man for coming at you crazy.”
“O… kay,” she replied with a little laugh, spinning on her heels to come back to her seat. Then she leaned into the island top to ask, “What were we talking about again?”
“My pay. But uh… about your album…”
“What about it?” she asked eagerly, her eyes brimmed with an excitement that I hated to ruin.
But there was no better time than the present to tell her, “I’ve actually decided that... I’m good on that industry shit. They’re a little too faulty for me.”
I had never liked the music business, had never liked the record label, had never been a fan of Nigel in particular. And after hearing about how her meeting had gone, hearing the way they had come at her as if she wasn’t their star - their cash cow - I knew working with them would be like working with the devil himself. Thankfully Zalayah knew how to checkmate them, but there was no way in hell I could sign myself over to do an album under their label. There was no way in hell I could make them money, even if it meant sacrificing my own.
I could tell when my words had finally hit her, her face softening with a hint of sadness when she said, “Wait. So you’re not going to do my album now?”
“I don’t hang where I’m not wanted. And it’s obvious your label wants nothing to do with this new movement you’re tryna have me be a part of,” I explained as best as I could without completely outing myself. And I was grateful for X breaking the weight of the moment when he slipped into the kitchen to drop the pizzas on the counter.
But once he was gone, it was as if Zalayah knew exactly how to tug at my heartstrings when she stammered, “I… I can’t do it without you, Gabe.”
Heated Harmonies Page 8
