by Nikki Carter
Gia scrunches her eyebrows together. “Tell me more ...”
“Mystique told me that I’ve been invited to perform at the American Music Awards, and I want you and Ricky to lead the backup dancers. What do you think?”
Gia comes running toward me like a freight train with her arms outstretched. Hugging time. I guess that’s a yes, then.
“This is going to be so incredible,” Gia gushes. “I need the music, like immediately.”
“Yes, I’ll have it for you this week. How long do you think it will take you to choreograph something?”
“Is it fast or slow?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Yeah. I’m better at fast songs, but I can do both.”
“More than likely it’ll be fast, but I meet with Mystique today. I’ll know for sure tomorrow.”
“Cool. So your cousin got nominated too?”
“Yeah, it’s tripped out. Dreya, Truth, and I are all nominated for the T-Mobile Breakthrough Artist. Sam and I are also nominated for Song of the Year, because we wrote Mystique’s hit record.”
“Y’all wrote that?”
“Yep. That’s what got Mystique interested in me. It’s the reason she gave me a record deal.”
“Ricky and I are definitely up for the choreography job. Is it okay that I don’t have any formal dance training?”
“Nobody trained me to be a singer or a songwriter. Some things you’re born with, I guess.”
Gia gathers a stack of papers from her desk. “After I get done with the job search, I’m going to study with Piper. We’ve got a science test on Friday. How’d you do on your essay for Composition?”
“I did okay, got a B, but if I’d had more time, I know I could’ve gotten an A.”
“Hmmm ... well, let me know when you get back from Zac’s house, so I can know what I’m working with.”
“Okay.”
Gia hugs me again (enough with the hugs!) and walks out of our room with those gladiator sandals clicking the tiled floor. I didn’t miss her pause when I told her my grade. I know she got an A on her paper. I should’ve too. Would’ve, had it not been for a late-night session with Bethany. She couldn’t get the bridge right on one of her songs, and Big D called me for an emergency session. I ended up turning in the first draft of my paper. It had typos and everything. The only thing that saved me was that it was well thought out, and I’d done my research.
But I was not satisfied with the B. I won’t get into a good law school with B’s. I need to pull all A’s in my courses. Have to.
I don’t want to end up one of these artists who have a few hits and make a few dollars, and then you hear about them five years later, losing their houses and cars, and starring on jacked-up reality shows. That’s not going to be me or Sam.
I drive to Zac’s house with all of this on my mind, and the stuff that Regina told me about Mystique. It had a ring of truth to it, especially the part about Mystique not being ready to give up her throne. But with her eight American Music Award nominations, she’s clearly still the queen and all the other people in the music industry are her subjects.
There are lots of cars in Zac’s driveway as I pull in. I thought this was a meeting, but it looks more like a party. It sounds like a party too. I can hear the music from the street. I wish I’d just stayed at the dorm and studied if we’re not having a conference.
Mystique’s bodyguard, Benji, meets me at my car and opens the door. His long wavy hair is hanging loose, but his tailored suit lets me know that he’s all business.
“Sunday! It took you long enough, princess. The party is under way.”
“I thought this was a meeting.”
“Yeah, y’all are meeting in Zac’s boardroom in about an hour. Some of the Epsilon executives are here from New York.”
They flew in from New York City? This must be an important meeting then. What could this be about? Not to mention that I’m totally underdressed in my jeans, baby tee, and flip-flops—my campus uniform.
I follow Benji into the house and he walks me to Zac’s VIP lounge. It’s tripped-out when you have so many guests that you have to have a VIP section in your house.
A big grin spreads across my face when I see Sam leaned back on the couch smiling from ear to ear. I should’ve known he’d be here if people were flying in from New York.
He jumps up and hugs me. I give him a playful poke in the stomach (which is rock hard, by the way. He’s been working out).
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I ask.
“I wanted to surprise you. Are you surprised?”
I nod. “Congratulations, Songwriter of the Year.”
He tosses his head back and laughs. “Wouldn’t that be sick if we win?”
“OMG! It would be ridiculous if we win.”
Mystique comes in the room. She’s wearing a new weave. It’s blonde and pin straight and it comes to her waist in the back, but it’s layered in the front. The whole look is finished off with a feathery bang. She’s wearing a one-piece shorts set that barely covers her entire booty. Her long legs look even longer with her four-inch heels.
She looks downright intimidating. And I think that was the plan.
Mystique glides (yes, glides) over to me and air kisses me. She’d have to bend down to actually kiss my face because with the heels she towers over me.
“Congratulations on your nominations,” I say.
“You too, sweetie. The heads of Epsilon Records are so proud of you.”
Sam leads me over to the couch as Mystique goes to join Zac at the bar.
“Did you see Drama when you got here?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. Not in the mood for Dreya today. “No. She’s here? Is Bethany here too?”
“Yes, unfortunately for Dilly, she’s here.”
I chuckle. “He told you about them? Where’s he?”
“Probably somewhere hiding from Bethany. He told me she was basically stalking him.”
“Yeah, pretty much. He tried to break up with her, but he doesn’t think it worked.”
I hope Bethany finds another guy to obsess over soon. That’s all it will take, really, for her to get over Dilly. She’s not really the type to chase down a guy who doesn’t want her. He’s got to be showing some interest.
Dilly walks into the room wearing his jeans and his signature button-down shirt and sweater. That’s his thing now. He calls it “pretty nerd swag”. I think it’s crazy, but rappers have to have something that sets them apart.
He’s let his hair grow in thicker, and his sideburns and edges are lined up to perfection. The contrast of his dark hair and sun-kissed light skin are very hot. I see why he’s not checking for Bethany anymore. He could have his choice of girls.
He leans over to hug me and kiss my cheek. “Hey, Sunday! Congrats!”
“Thank you, Dilly! You look hot! If I wasn’t with Sam ...”
“But she is with me,” Sam interjects, “so don’t even think about it.”
Dilly laughs out loud. “All right, big dog! I remember what you did to Truth. Trust, I don’t want none of that. But I did ask Sunday to be my prom date if I don’t have anyone else to go with.”
Sam frowns. “Nah, chief. You gonna have to find yourself a young cutie. You should be able to after your single comes out.”
My eyes light up! “You’re finally getting a single out there? Get the heck outta here! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to! I just wanted to do it in person, and you act like you can’t come up for air once you start hitting those books.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t been hitting them hard enough. I got a B that should’ve been an A. I shouldn’t even be here right now. I need to be back in my room studying. I’ve got some reading to finish for my history class.”
“See, that’s why I went ahead and dropped my classes for this semester,” Sam says. “There’s too much work to be done, and this is my time to strike. I can go to school when I’m ri
ch.”
My mouth flies open and my eyes widen to capacity. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Sam dropped out of school? Why didn’t he tell me this before now?
“Are you back in Atlanta then?” Dilly asks.
“Nah, I’m still in New York. Zac wants me there more than here, so I’m keeping my apartment there. Zac says I can just crash here when I’m in Atlanta.”
Big D walks into the VIP area with Dreya on his arm. Somebody told them there was going to be a party. Dreya has on a black shorts jumpsuit that’s sheer at the top, and she’s wearing a red lace bra underneath. Her red heels look like they hurt, but they are no doubt the business. She’s got in a new weave too, but hers is a gigantic, red curly afro that’s pinned up on the sides. Her fire-engine-red lipstick is exactly the same shade as the hair.
She is dressed to impress. I feel like I need to go and change.
“Hey, Sunday. I would congratulate you on your nomination, but since we’re competing for the same award, I’m just gonna say good luck.”
I smile. “Well, I’m gonna be gracious and congratulate you, cousin. May the best chick win.”
Dreya laughs out loud. “All right, Sunday. I see you.”
Big D gives Sam a fist bump that turns into a hug and he kisses me on the cheek. “Y’all both are a sight for sore eyes. Sunday, you been ghost for a few days. We been missing you down at the studio.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “I was just there a couple of nights ago.”
“It’s getting to be that we could use you there every day. Your touch is on just about everyone’s album coming out of this camp.”
“It is, but I’ve got school, so I can’t be there every day. You know that, D!”
Big D gives me a look that I can’t decipher. It’s a mixture of puzzlement and irritation.
“You are still cool with me being in college, right? Seems like everybody is tripping on me being at Spelman all of a sudden.”
“Nah, I ain’t tripping,” Big D says. “But everybody’s money is riding on you.”
Mystique interjects, as she air kisses Big D. “Everyone’s money is not riding on Sunday, Darius. We talked about this. Epsilon likes the fact that she’s in school. It’s positive publicity for the label.”
Bethany comes into the VIP suite, and she looks totally different from the last time I saw her. She looks like she’s aged five years. Her long hair is flat-ironed pin straight, and she’s got a tattoo of some pattern going all the way down her arm to her hand. She’s also lost weight—at least twenty pounds. That badonkadonk she used to have has totally disappeared.
“Hey, everybody. Congratulations, everybody,” she says before sliding onto one of the couches. She seems totally out of it as she stares at Dilly. He fidgets uncomfortably, but doesn’t make an effort to go anywhere near Bethany.
Zac’s assistant comes into the VIP suite and announces, “The Epsilon executives are ready to meet now.”
We all file out of the room as if we’re on our way to see the President of the United States or something. I wonder if it’s going to be a good meeting. If the smile plastered on Mystique’s face is any indicator, I’m thinking we should be straight.
There are two men and a woman already seated at the boardroom table when we walk in. I notice that the black guy with the crisp gray suit, pink tie, and huge diamond-encrusted watch is sitting at the head of the table. The power seat.
Neither man stands up from the table as we enter, and I don’t care who they are, I think this is pretty rude. They must’ve been raised up north, because no Southern man would stay seated when women enter the room.
“Look at Epsilon’s rising stars!” the guy with the diamond watch says. “Y’all so bright, I should’ve worn my Chanel shades. UV rays popping off y’all like crazy.”
Zac says as everyone sits, “Allow me to introduce y’all to Evan Wilborn, Caterina Schmidt, and Lawrence Cohen, the heads of Epsilon Records. They already know who you are.”
Evan, the one wearing all the bling, says, “Yes, we know, and congratulations on your success thus far. Big D, you and Mystique have accomplished some wonderful things with this crew, almost by accident.”
“Completely by accident,” Lawrence says. “We’ve hardly put any marketing behind these projects and still they manage to get number ones. We have no doubt that Dilly’s single featuring Drama, and Drama’s single featuring Dilly, will reach the same status.”
Caterina nods, but says nothing. She doesn’t have to, because Evan seems to like the sound of his voice.
He continues, “Now, it’s time to put our money where our mouths are at Epsilon Records. We’re putting the marketing machine, and the money behind each of these projects. I want this crew to come out in force and take over the rap game, the R & B game and the pop game. We’ve got all the talent we need in this room, and you’re all so young.”
“You’ve got plenty of time to reign supreme,” Caterina says.
Lawrence says, “Getting straight to the point, we’re going to combine all of your efforts. Big D in the A Records, Mystical Sounds and Zillionaire Records will be combined under one huge conglomerate called Reign Records. You will be the kings and queens of the industry.”
Big D says, “I didn’t know that I put Big D in the A Records up for sale. I’ve never been a part of Epsilon. I’ve discovered some great artists that you’ve compensated me handsomely for, but I am an independent.”
“And what exactly have you accomplished as an independent?” Evan asks. “You were barely afloat until Sunday came along. And then who did you have? Truth? He was a headache from day one. Talented but troubled, and everybody knew it. Not one major label wanted to fool with him.”
“Truth just needs some guidance,” Big D says. “He’s one of the best rappers in the industry right now.”
“But he’ll never have any longevity,” Caterina says. “Not with his history of violence.”
“We’re talking about making Reign Records a force to be reckoned with,” Lawrence says. “We’ve already got major endorsements lined up. A movie deal in the works for Sunday. Television appearances for Drama. This is the beginning of a hostile takeover of the industry.”
Somehow, I feel like we’re being suckered and bamboozled, like there’s something they’re not saying. Everything sounds good. Too good.
“Why do you want to do this for us?” I ask. “I mean, you can find any talented artists, and put money behind them and make them blow up. It just takes some hot songs and some intense marketing.”
“I’m glad you asked that,” Evan says. “We’re about creating a legacy. We could find any artists and make millions, but your talent—especially you, Sunday—is unique. This could mean a legacy for all of us. Not just a financial legacy, but an artistic one. Do you understand what I mean by that, Sunday?”
“Yes, I do. You want to leave something behind for the next generation.”
Evan nods and smiles. “Exactly! I want them to sample our music. I want Epsilon Records to be the success that everyone wants to duplicate. We can do it, you know. With just the people in the room, we can change the game.”
“We’re game changers,” Mystique says. “We’ve already changed the game. Never have there been three Epsilon Records artists vying for T-Mobile Breakthrough Artist. Everyone is watching to see what will happen with us.”
“Does the person who wins get some extra shine? How’s that going to work?” Dreya asks.
“You’ve got to stop thinking about just yourself,” Evan says. “Don’t you see that whichever of you wins, it is a win for Reign Records? Shoot, you all go on stage together and accept the award.”
“As a matter of fact,” Mystique says, “for every award that anyone from our camp wins, we all go on stage. Every one of us. We make a statement at the AMAs. We are a family, and there’s no competition here.”
I find it funny to hear Mystique give this speech, after what Regina told me. But who knows? Maybe Regina was wrong,
and maybe Mystique is drinking the Reign Records Kool-Aid. I don’t care what label we’re on, as long as they keep signing my checks. That’s the most important part for me. I can’t finish school if the money stops rolling in.
Sam speaks up, “So will I be producing on every Reign Records album?”
“You’ll be one of the executive producers for these albums, along with Mystique and Sunday on their individual records and with Big D and Zac on everyone else’s,” Evan says.
“This all sounds like a dream come true,” Bethany says. “Where do I sign? Let’s get this party started!”
Evan jumps up and hands Bethany a jewelry box. “That’s what I’m talking about, honey. I love your enthusiasm.”
Bethany stares down at the box in her hand. “Go ahead and open it,” Evan says.
Inside the box is a beautiful diamond pendant with a crown on it. Evan takes it from Bethany’s hands and clasps it around her neck.
“This crown is the Reign Records trademark,” Caterina says. “We’ve had one custom made for each of you.”
How did they know we’d say yes?
“Is everybody down?” Zac asks. “Does anyone have any objections?”
“I can’t sign anything without my sister being here,” Dilly says, “but I have absolutely no objections, whatsoever.”
Evan says, “We’re taking over BET for spring break. All of their programming will be about us. Every show will be hosted by us. Either on location at the beach or from a studio in Atlanta or New York.”
“I have a question,” I ask. “How is this hostile takeover of the industry going to affect me and my education? I’m serious about becoming an entertainment lawyer. It’s what I plan to fall back on when all of this is over.”
“Don’t you see, Sunday?” Evan says. “If we do this correctly, you will never be broke again. Never, sweetie. You’ll be buried in a platinum casket if you want. Game changers don’t have to worry about day jobs.”
“That all sounds good, but it’s still a theory for now,” I say. “I believe in everything we’re planning to do, but I have to work around my school schedule. That’s the only way I can be on board.”
Evan looks exasperated. Guess what? I don’t care.
