by Mark Anthony
Much later that night, hours after I had confirmed things with Horse, I called Angela to tell her what had transpired. I purposely called her when it was nearing twelve midnight because I wanted to make it seem as if it had almost slipped my mind to tell her. Again, like I said, I didn’t want to ever appear too eager or too anxious.
Angela picked up her cell phone and I didn’t even acknowledge her hello with a hello of my own. I just got right to the point.
“Angie, listen … I totally forgot to call you back earlier. But I’m glad that I caught you before you went to sleep or something. Okay tomorrow at one P.M. I set up a meeting for you—and Angie, whatever you do, please be on time.”
“Jessica! I can’t fucking believe you!”
“Angie, I told you I would get it done. Now don’t make me look bad by not showing up.”
“Don’t fucking make you look bad? How are you gonna tell me at midnight that I have a meeting at one o’clock the next afternoon? I should be asking if you are trying to make me look bad. My goddamn hair isn’t done, I haven’t spoken to White Lines. And what am I going to wear, Jessica?” Angie asked, as she came across as the spoiled, obnoxious, foul-mouth power-obsessed brat that she was.
“Angela, do you wanna meet with him or not?”
“Of course I fucking wanna meet with him! That’s not the point, Jessica! The point is how you totally mishandled this!”
“My god, Angela!” I said with a lot of ghetto attitude that I managed to muster up, coming across as if I was getting deeply disgusted.
“Where am I meeting him at, Jessica? What’s the address?”
I proceeded to give Angie the Times Square address of Gun Clap Records, and I told her that I would escort her to the meeting. I also told her to dress sexy and to make sure that White Lines was prepared and on time. I made sure that I didn’t tell her that I had in fact told Horse that her father was Paulie Calvino because she would have absolutely blown her top and lost it.
* * *
Initially when all of the details regarding the White Chocolate undercover investigation were put into place I wasn’t given that much autonomy to act on my own. I had to strictly report every move I made to the lead field agent of the Organized Crime Task Force. But as I got closer to Horse I was given more and more flexibility and autonomy. But that autonomy was given to me not so I could abuse any type of privileges. Instead, it was given to me so that I could always come across as legit and not have the slightest inkling of a scent of law enforcement on me.
Therefore I had to personally make sure to file all of the necessary paperwork like payroll taxes and any other similar filing requirements associated with White Chocolate Modeling Agency, so just in case anyone checked we would always come across as a real company. I had to get real office space in Manhattan, I had to hire temporary workers to form a staff, I had to call the phone company and place an order for phone service, and among many other things, I had to open a corporate checking account and a Jessica Jackson personal checking account.
All of that had to be done without the assistance of the FBI. Of course the FBI funded my operation but it was not like it was an open checkbook with unlimited funds. Everything was budgeted out and I had to strictly stay within that budget.
So any money that I made from the modeling agency was funneled back into the business in order to help me stay under budget. When and if I were to go over budget or need approval for large ticket items, I would have to take that to my lead agent, who in turn would have to take that to his boss, who might have to take that to his boss at FBI headquarters. And the last thing that I or anyone else involved in the operation wanted was headquarters monitoring us or sticking their noses in our business. The unwritten rule was to stay out of sight and out of mind, and I knew that, so therefore I made sure to stay within my budget and never ask for anything unless I truly needed it.
Also included in my budget were my living expenses, which included money for housing, a car allowance, and entertainment funds. Being that I was half-black and half-white I knew that I could pretty much fit into any type of neighborhood. I had thought about trying to find a place close to Supreme or close to Horse but I didn’t want to bring suspicion to myself so I decided to rent an immaculate house located on 86th Street and 157th Avenue in Howard Beach, Queens. The predominantly Italian neighborhood of Howard Beach is as Italian as they come, with immaculately manicured lawns, sprawling houses that look like mini mansions with brickwork to die for, and a bustling and buzzing shopping and business district that runs right through Howard Beach’s major thoroughfare known as Cross Bay Blvd. Basically, Howard Beach is like bringing the best of the best that suburban life has to offer and placing it in the city. And part of its appeal is that in only ten to fifteen minutes after leaving Howard Beach, a person could be in either Brooklyn, Staten Island, Manhattan, or Long Island.
The urban/suburban contrast of Howard Beach is also one of the reasons that it is the neighborhood of choice for many of New York’s Mafia soldiers, captains, and bosses. And yes, it is also the home of Paulie Calvino.
Angela lived at home with her father, mother, and two of her brothers. They lived on 84th Street and 160th Avenue, which was less than a minute away from where I lived. I had made plans to meet Angela at her house at 11:30 in the morning. I made sure that I arrived on time in my silver 745 BMW.
Although I actually had access to Angela’s home telephone number, she had never personally given it to me so I called her on her cell phone.
“Hi, Angela, I’m just letting you know that I’m sitting outside in front of your house,” I said as I purposely wanted to be as cordial as possible.
“Okay, give me about five minutes.”
“Okay, no problem.”
I knew that women like Angela loved to be spoiled and catered to. They loved being the center of attention and being waited on. And one thing that they really love is being driven around in nice cars. They love to ride shotgun and have their best friend drive them as if their best friend is their chauffeur or something. So as soon as Angela stepped out of her front door I decided to cater to her ego.
I immediately exited my car and walked up to her and took the bag that she had in her hands and placed it inside the trunk of my car. After that I ran around to the front passenger door and I opened it for Angela and waited for her to get in before I closed it behind her.
“Angela, you look gorgeous. I love that skirt, and those shoes! I love those, what is that, Prada?”
“Yes, it’s Prada…” Angela nonchalantly replied without the slightest hint of a thank you, as she looked in the mirror that was located on the sun visor.
“So, what are you hinting at? That my hair doesn’t look nice?”
“No, I’m not hinting at that at all,” I replied.
“Well, for Christ’s sake, I get in your car and you don’t say nothing about my hair, my makeup, my nails, what am I supposed to think, Jessica?” Angela replied with all seriousness.
I was about to compliment her hair but as soon as I opened my mouth I was rudely interrupted.
“Look, just forget about it. We have to pick up White Lines, he lives on the other side.”
The other side referred to the other side of Jamaica Bay which also ran through Howard Beach. The other side was also known as Old Howard Beach, simply because that is where most of the older houses in the community were located.
Before long, we were outside White Lines’s house. His real name was Joseph Barone but everybody called him Joey. And as we prepared to pull up in front of his mom’s crib Angela called him on his phone.
“Hey hon, we’re right down the block … Are you ready? Okay come outside.”
Angela hung up the phone and before long, White Lines appeared. He had his hair cut short and as he locked the front door of his house he placed a dark blue Yankee fitted baseball cap over his head. He had on a white throwback jersey, dark blue jeans, and some tan construction Timberland boots that were loosely lac
ed.
As he made it to the car he walked around to Angela’s side of the car and reached his head in through the open window and gave her a kiss on the cheek. As he got in the backseat of the car, I noticed that he didn’t have the typical street Italian accent. If anything he sounded more like a homeboy from Harlem.
“Joey, did you ever meet Jessica?” Angela asked.
“Nah, I didn’t, my bad, how you doin’ ma’?” he asked. I wanted to burst out laughing because a picture of the comedian Jamie Kennedy doing an impression of a white boy rapper from California formed in my mind.
I actually bit my tongue to stop myself from laughing. And I reminded both Angela and Jessica that I had in fact met Joey at the club Spratz on the Water.
Joey couldn’t remember meeting me but as we maneuvered our way to Manhattan he quickly changed subjects and of course he complimented Angela on her hair and how good she looked.
“Thank you, Joey,” Angela emphatically said. “Can you believe Jessica had the nerve to say that I look like a piece of shit?” Angela asked, and I am convinced that she was convinced that I had in fact said that though I had never said such a thing.
“Aweee, Jessieee! Come on, this girl is fucking beautiful over here!” Joey replied, finally showing his Italian heritage.
I kept mute on the point and before I could speak, Joey spoke up again. “So Angela, I’m actually gonna spit for Horse? This is fucking unreal! Fucking unbelievable!”
Angela chimed in, “Just go in there and impress him, Joey. Do what you do best and I’ll take care of the rest. I know how to talk the same talk as people like Horse. I know that I can do a helluva better job than that asshole prick wannabe manager that you just fired … You did fire him, right? You did tell him that I was managing you now, right?”
This was news to me, as I quietly listened in.
“Oh Angie, fuggedaboutit! I just mentioned your name and he understood. You know what I mean? Bada-bing, there was no discussion. It was a done deal. It’s a beautiful thing!” Joey said as he brought his fingers to his mouth and gestured out a kiss.
Before long we had reached Times Square and I offered to let Angela and Joey out in front of the building while I was gonna go and park the car. To my surprise, Angela said that she would rather us all walk in together. So after parking in one of the most expensive parking garages in the world, we made our way to the large office building.
For the sake of Angela’s ego, I had never asked her to comment on how I looked. But I knew that I looked sexy as hell. Who wouldn’t love this job? I thought to myself as the three of us entered the lobby. I had to pinch myself and actually realize that I was getting paid a salary to do this job, and in a few minutes I would be sitting down with a multimillionaire discussing the possibility of signing a future rap star to a record deal.
We got our visitor passes from the security guard who was situated in the lobby of the building and we were allowed to get on the elevator, but that was only after he’d called up to the record company to verify that it was okay to let us come up to the label’s office.
As the doors of the elevator opened to our floor, we were greeted by the loud sound of rapid gunfire that literally scared the shit out of the three of us. Thank God the gunfire was not coming from a real gun, but instead from the blaring sound system that bounced off the walls in the receptionist’s area on the twentieth floor.
After realizing that we weren’t being shot at, we walked toward the large platinum Gun Clap Records logo that was hanging above the receptionist’s desk. I tried my best to yell over the loud music and explain to the receptionist that the three of us were there to see Horse.
“Hi … Hello! We have a one o’clock appointment with Horse…” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The receptionist, who didn’t look like a girl from the ghetto, but like she had the ability to create a bad attitude in an instant, just looked me right in my face and didn’t say a word.
“Hellooo?” I spoke even louder, this time with a sarcastic attitude in my voice. Thank God the loud music had finally been lowered to a human ingestible level.
“Hi, I don’t know if you heard me over the loud music but I was trying to tell you that we have a one o’clock appointment with Horse…” I said as I smiled, feeling a bit relieved.
Angela looked at me and shook her head. White Lines just looked around at the gold and platinum album plaques that were lined all along the walls.
“I heard what the fuck you said!” the pretty receptionist stated.
Her attitude caught all of us off guard, but she had definitely succeeded in getting our attention.
“Excuse me?” I questioned.
The receptionist stood up from her chair, and I wondered if this was the rude girl Tamika who I had spoken to when I called the office.
“You heard me! I wasn’t told nothing about no one o’clock appointment. So I suggest that you and your two white-bread-ass friends turn the fuck around and press that elevator button and get the hell up outta this muthafucka!”
The receptionist was clearly trying to intimidate us. Being who I was by nature I wasn’t easily intimidated. Neither was Angela.
“Look, I don’t know what your fuckin’ problem is,” Angela spoke up and barked, “but obviously you don’t know who the hell you’re talking to! Speak to me with disrespect like that one more time and I swear on my brother’s grave that I will come around that desk and beat the living shit out of your black ghetto ass!”
That was definitely not what the receptionist was expecting to hear. And she looked at us for about a minute straight with a deathly stare. No one spoke a word and then finally the receptionist picked up the phone and spoke into it very low so that we couldn’t hear what she said. She put the phone down and didn’t say anything to us at all. And I didn’t know what to think.
“Miss, are we going to see Horse? We really don’t have all day.”
As I was speaking my words, a tall heavyset man opened one of two doors that led from the office lobby into the main office quarters.
“Ya’ll can come wit’ me,” he said.
We followed right behind him without speaking. He took us into a large conference room and we sat down and waited.
“What the fuck was that black bitch’s problem?” Angela asked.
“Angie, listen to me. If you go into any hip-hop record company, you’ll be greeted and treated the exact same way. It’s fucking unreal the balls of the people at these companies,” White Lines stated as if he was speaking from experience.
Finally a well-dressed young lady came in and introduced herself as Horse’s assistant and told us unapologetically that we would not be able to meet with Horse but if we would like, we could speak with one of the senior A&R executives.
“Why can’t we meet with him? He personally gave me this appointment time yesterday,” I said, sounding kind of desperate and hoping that I wasn’t blowing my contact with Angela. I knew that I had to take control of the situation before Angela or White Lines spoke up. Especially considering that the assistant was not even attempting to answer my question.
“Look, I’m very busy so tell me what ya’ll wanna do,” the assistant said.
“Okay, we’ll meet with the A&R,” I said, hoping to salvage the trip to Manhattan. I was also desperately wondering what had happened to Horse and why he hadn’t at least called to tell me that he wasn’t going to be able to make it. I was very tempted to call him on his cell phone but I opted not to out of fear of coming across as anxious or overly eager.
So we followed Horse’s assistant through the surprisingly immaculately clean offices. All the while I was studiously taking in everything I saw and trying to pick up on anything that I could pick up on.
“G-Baby, they claim that they had a meeting with Horse, but I didn’t know anything about it. Can you hear them out and handle this for me?” the assistant asked.
“I gotchu ma’ ma’,” G-Baby replied.
While slightly
cocking his head and twisting his lips, G-Baby asked how he could help us.
“You know, Jessica, this is fucking bullshit! You told me that we were gonna meet with Horse, not some arrogant-ass flunky! Let’s get outta here. Take me home right now, Jessica!” Angela barked, as she had obviously lost her temper. Now I was really beginning to sweat.
“Okay hold on. G-Baby is it?”
“Yeah that’s my name, and yo, on the real, I’m doing y’all a favor so I don’t appreciate being called nobody’s flunky!”
“Listen, G-Baby, I’m sorry about that and I know you don’t have all day and neither do we. I just want you to hear this guy rhyme and after you hear him rhyme I want you to tell me if this is not only the best white rapper you have ever heard, but one of the best rappers that you’ve ever heard. Period!”
“Yeah a’ight. Go ahead, let me hear you spit something,” G-Baby reluctantly said.
Thank God that White Lines wasn’t shy and that he was prepared. As he recited his rhymes, I could see G-Baby actually sitting up and taking notice. And when White Lines had finished, G-Baby simply and calmly stated, “Kick another rhyme for me.”
When White Lines was done with that second rhyme, G-Baby said it again, “Kick another one for me.”
White Lines complied. “Kick it again, another rhyme.”
At this point, G-Baby was really into what he was hearing, and I know that this talented kid from Howard Beach was the last thing that he actually expected to hear.
“Spit some more shit!” G-Baby commanded.
As time went on, we realized that we had been in G-Baby’s office for close to forty-five minutes. And he definitely knew what he had in front of him. Whether he originally took us seriously or not, through his body language he let us know that he was definitely interested in what he was hearing and seeing.
