by Deja King
After my short-lived but memorable encounter with T-Roc, I decided to focus on school and my pursuit of stardom. I also worked additional hours at my part-time job when I could. It was basically for clothes. I decided after my brief introduction to the glamorous life that I had to invest in some new designer outfits. I also went on a couple of auditions, but I wasn’t being consistent with the grind work necessary to get any sort of break.
Early one morning my agent called about an audition for a music video for a hot up-and-coming R&B group. He assured me it wasn’t one of those typical music videos with every girl running around naked, so I said, “Okay, why not give it a try?” I got the lead, playing the waitress girlfriend of one of the group’s members. The next day we started shooting, and it was inspiring sitting in the chair having professional people do my hair and makeup, and styling me. This could be the beginning of better gigs to come, I thought.
Both the owner, who was also a rap star named Tah Tah, and Mark, the CEO and co-owner, were at the shoot. Tah Tah, coming off his fourth multiplatinum CD, seemed to be a real gentleman, and Mark was charming in his own way. But he definitely had an overinflated ego. The shoot wrapped for the day, but they summoned me to be back early the next morning, and so I yearned to go home and crawl into bed. The moment I stepped outside on the pavement, however, Mark was standing in front of his white Benz with an “I’ve been waiting for you” demeanor.
“Hi, can I talk to you for a minute?” Mark gestured for me to come over.
“What’s your name again?” Mark asked as I made my way to his car.
“Tyler Blake,” I said. I didn’t want to be bothered with the egotistical record honcho, but he was the CEO and was overseeing the music video.
“What do you do besides music videos?”
“Actually I don’t do videos. I’m an actress, but my agent thought this would be easy work, and it pays decent money. I also attend NYU; my major is journalism.” I didn’t like Mark’s attitude, and I decided to make it clear I wasn’t some dumb, desperate industry ho whose greatest ambition was sucking his dick for a part in a video. When I slept with T-Roc I did it because I was attracted to him and wanted to. To have sex with Mark would be more like a job then an adventure.
“That’s cool, but have you ever thought about getting into the music business?”
“The music business?” I paused. “In what capacity?”
“A rapper.”
I burst out laughing. “I can’t rhyme.”
“Never say can’t. Female rappers are big shit right now. Look at Lil’ Kim, Foxy Brown, and Eve. We’re trying to find a badass chick right now to be the first lady of our label. You fit the look perfectly. With your face and that body you’ll be the hottest chick out there.”
“I don’t think you heard me. I can’t rap.”
“Baby, I got this. You have an excellent tone to your voice, and you speak well. I can have Tah Tah or one of our other rappers write your rhymes. All you would have to do is make a sellable delivery. You think all those female rappers out there is writing their own shit? Hell, no! You know how many niggas got Jay-Z on their payroll as their ghostwriter?”
I was listening to Mark, wondering if he was serious. Or was this some type of over-the-top ploy to get me in bed? But then again there were at least ten pretty girls on the video set who would have willingly dropped their panties for him, so all this gassing wasn’t necessary if he wanted some pussy. But me as a rapper? That was a stretch. I finally said, “I don’t know, Mark. I never really envisioned myself as a female MC.”
“Think about it tonight, and we’ll talk further in the morning.” I agreed to do that and headed home. On my way I stopped by a newsstand and picked up Source,Vibe, and XXL. I sat on my bed flipping through the magazines to see who the hottest female rapper was and what music producers were lacing their tracks. When I saw Lil’ Kim being ghetto fabulous with the Christian Dior and the bling bling, I thought being a female rap superstar might not be all that bad.
“Did you think about what we discussed last night?” Mark asked as soon as I arrived on the video set.
“Actually I did. I’m curious to hear what your game plan is.”
“We’re wrapping up early today, so how ’bout coming with me to the office so we can iron out a few things?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I shot my last scene around two o’clock in the afternoon and was dressed and ready to leave with Mark within twenty minutes. When we got to his office, there were platinum plaques everywhere and the setup was immaculate. I sat down on a plush red couch as he went through some papers while handling a business call. Obviously LaFamilia Records was on top of its game, and Mark knew it.
“My head A and R is going to join us so we can throw some ideas around.” The next minute a tall skinny guy walked in.
“What’s up, Mark?”
“What’s going on, Cassidy? This is Tyler, the female rapper I was telling you about.” Cassidy checked me out and nodded his head in approval.
“Yeah, she’s hot. We can do big things with her. What’s the name looking like?”
“I wanted you to help me come up with a couple of ideas— something hot and sexy like the artist herself.” The two of them kept going back and forth like I wasn’t even in the room. Not once did Cassidy ask to hear me rhyme—or even if I could. Their only concern was image and packaging.
“Yo, I got it!” Cassidy practically belted, as if he just had a brilliant idea. “Her name should be Citrus. You know, like the fruit.”
“A fruit,” I retorted, put off by the name. They two men scanned me in unison, as though they had forgotten I was in the room; then without hesitation they disregarded my statement.
“That’s hot,” Mark said, nodding his head in agreement. “Citrus, Citrus, Citrus. Sweet, juicy, and sexy; that’s it, Cassidy.”
“I hate it,” I said, a serrated edge to my voice.
“Tyler, baby, let us handle the business side; we’re pros at this. All you have to do is stay looking beautiful and keep that body tight. You do what I ask, and everything will be copastetic.”
“Copastetic? Is that even a word?” I said, examining him with confusion.
“Yeah, it’s my word.”
“What the hell does it mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know what the dictionary definition is, but in the Markionary it means everything will go smoothly. So remember that,” he warned after winking his eye.
After my unsettling meeting with Mark and Cassidy, I called Ella.
“Hi, Ella; it’s me, Tyler.”
“I know my own sister’s voice,” Ella snapped with a slight attitude. We’d both been so busy that I hadn’t talked to her in a while. I was only giving her a friendly reminder.
“Sorry, but check this out: while I was doing a music video I met the owner of LaFamilia Records, and he wants to make me into a rap superstar.”
“What? Did I hear you correctly? A rapper? You can’t be serious, Tyler.”
“Actually I’m very serious.”
“What happened to your acting career?”
“I can still pursue that after I get my first platinum CD.”
“You sound crazy; did you tell Mother about your new career?”
“We keep playing phone tag.”
“I guess that means you don’t know about the separation or the fact that Daddy has basically gone broke.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, surprised. Daddy made an excellent living as an investment banker. How could he be broke?
“Mother said he claims he made some bad investments and is broke. She believes that because she wants a divorce he is trying to keep all the money to himself. No money, no alimony.”
Before I left for New York, I hardly ever saw Daddy. He stayed away so long on business trips that I secretly wondered if he’d set up house with his mistress. When I moved, it seemed all communication between us ceased to exist. Then the few times I did get Mother on the ph
one, the conversation lasted all of five minutes. Once she knew I was physically fine and had no emergencies she’d tell me she was busy and would call me back later. Of course that call would never come. During our brief talks, not once did Mother mention she wanted a divorce, so I was surprised by what Ella was telling me.
After I got off the phone with Ella, I called Mother, but there was no answer. I left a message asking her to call me ASAP. I began to get worried, but then I remembered this was Mother. She probably already had a new husband lined up.
Early the next morning the phone rang, shaking me from a deep sleep, “Hello,” I uttered, not quite awake.
“Yo, Citrus, wake up!” the voice screamed. I realized it was Mark. His comment made me alert because I simply detested the name he had given me.
“What’s up, Mark? Can I call you back in a couple of hours? I’m still asleep.” I glanced over at my clock. It was eight thirty in the morning. It was Wednesday, and I always slept late on Wednesday because I had no classes.
“Can’t do that; you’ve got work to do. Meet me at my office in an hour. Don’t be late.” I heard the phone click, and I put the pillow over my face, not believing Mark was summoning me to his office so early in the morning. I was under the impression that music cats slept all day and worked all night.
I managed to get out of bed, take a quick hot shower, and head out the door. I stopped by Starbucks and got a caramel frappuccino to wake me up. By the time I reached Mark’s office, I was wide awake and bright-eyed.
“Very good,” Mark said as he eyed his watch, realizing I was on time. “We have a lot to do today. Cassidy is taking you over to the studio so you can listen to Tah Tah lay down some vocals. I want you to pay attention to his delivery and his breathing. Those two elements are key: your flow has to be tight, and you have to control your breathing.”
“Okay, I think I can manage that.”
“I’ve also brought a stylist and a fitness trainer on board. I want you to be perfect at all times. Once we announce you’re the first lady of LaFamilia, you’re going to be under a microscope. They’ll be inspecting everything from what hairstyle you’re rocking to what color polish you use for your pedicure. You have to be on point because when you make your grand entrance you’re bodying all these other bitches.”
“Mark, you’re not a little bit skeptical about all of this? I have no experience as a female rapper. What if I suck?”
“That’s a possibility, but you have the hardest quality there is to find.”
“What’s that?”
“That X factor. It’s what I call true star quality. When you first walked on the set for the music video, I knew it immediately. It’s the same quality I saw in Tah Tah. It is rare. Many people have talent and good looks, and they even have successful careers. But very few entertainers have the aura to be a superstar. If you follow my lead, I promise you will be huge. Whether it is TV, movies, or whatever, it’s all yours.”
I nodded my head, imagining life as a superstar. I definitely wanted it, but I was still trying to swallow the whole Citrus rapstress thing.
Cassidy walked in, interrupting my thoughts. “What’s good this morning, Citrus?”
“Cassidy, can you please call me Tyler?”
“No,” he said firmly. “You have to be in Citrus mode at all times. That’s your life until you go to sleep at night. But first thing in the morning when you wake up, it’s back to Citrus, so get used to it.” Cassidy turned to Mark and handed him a folder full of pictures.
“These are a few fashion ideas the stylist came up with.” Mark was examining each picture, tossing some to the side and putting others in a neat pile.
“These work right here.”
“Yeah, those are the same ones I like too,” Cassidy chimed in.
“Who were you thinking about as far as producers go?”
“Maybe Money-B; he just blessed Tah Tah with a blazing track.”
“Okay, that’s cool. Who else?”
“What about Trackmasters, Timbaland, and maybe Dr. Dre? You know all the hot producers,” I interrupted, wanting some say-so.
“Damn, baby, you talking about big names, which means big budgets.”
“You said we’re doing superstar status. Well, then I need superstar producers, right?”
“No doubt.” There was a slight pause. “By the way, do you have an attorney?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry about it; I’ll hook you up with one I’m familiar with. He’s excellent.”
Cassidy and I left Mark’s office and headed over to Right Track Studio. I’d never been in a music studio, and it was cool to watch Tah Tah in the vocal booth, spitting his rhymes. His lyrics were sick, and his delivery was crazy. Everybody compared his sarcasm to Jay-Z, his poetic lyrics to Nas, and his lyrical gift to the late great Biggie. He was like damn all across the board. When Tah Tah stepped out of the booth, he headed straight toward me and introduced himself.
“So you’re the first lady of LaFamilia,” he said with a smile. “I’m Tah Tah and welcome to the family.” He gave me a hug like we’d known each other forever. A couple of weeks ago I was taking English exams and waiting tables; now here I was in the studio hugging one of the biggest rappers in the business.
For the next few weeks I practically lived in the studio. I was either studying Tah Tah or practicing my flow and delivery. I was constantly trying to mimic Tah Tah and make my voice a little deeper. He’d get frustrated and scream at me and say, “Rap in your natural tone; stop trying to imitate me, and tighten your own shit up.”
That was easier said than done. Developing my own style was not as simple as I thought it would be. I wasn’t an authentic rapper; I was a packaged product that Mark was creating. If I wasn’t in the studio, then I was meeting with the stylist selecting clothes that would be ideal for Citrus, or I was in the gym trying to get my body perfectly tight. But I wasn’t enjoying any of it and was having second thoughts about the whole concept. My cell phone rang, disrupting my reverie, and I noticed Mark’s name. I picked up, dreading to hear the itinerary for the rest of my day.
“Hi, Mark,” I said, trying to sound cheerful although I was becoming increasingly miserable.
“Listen, baby, I know you’ve been working hard and might be feeling stressed.” That’s an understatement, I said to myself.
“I’m taking you to dinner tonight, so you can relax and we can discuss the plans I have laid out for your future. I’ll pick you up at eight.” Dinner sounded nice, but I would’ve preferred an all-day spa pass. Sitting with Mark discussing my future as a rap star wasn’t exactly appealing to me. Maybe tonight I would explain that to Mark. I hadn’t signed anything, and the lawyers were still working out the terms of my contract for the label. It all seemed suspect to me. When Mark introduced me to the attorney he hooked me up with, he was rushing me to sign the papers without explaining shit to me. I opted instead to go with an attorney Ella was dating, and he told me the deal was garbage and I would be signing away my life and my firstborn. I heard Mark’s specialty was fucked-up contracts, and I told him to forget it. He tried to pacify me, so my attorney and the label’s attorney had been in negotiations ever since.
Mark picked me up right on time, which pleased me because it meant I could make our dinner short and be back home in a couple of hours.
“You look beautiful tonight, Tyler.” I was happy to hear him call me by my given name and not that ridiculous Citrus, although I was somewhat dressed like a citrus. I was wearing an orange chiffon baby doll dress that the stylist picked up from Versace. She’d decided that my wardrobe needed to reflect the whole Citrus idea, and I was going to look like a fruit all year round. The whole concept was ludicrous.
“Thanks, Mark. Have you decided where we’re going for dinner?”
“I had my chef prepare an intimate dinner at my place. There we can have privacy and talk about your future with LaFamilia.” That sounded good to me. Maybe I wouldn’t be home in a couple
of hours like I planned, but at least I wouldn’t have to be in a restaurant around a bunch of people. Plus I wanted some privacy when I broke the news to Mark that I no longer wanted to pursue the female rapper profession.
We pulled up to Mark’s elaborate house in New Jersey. I had never been there before, but I’d heard how beautiful it was. When we walked inside, I saw that it was undeniably stunning, but I had lived in and been around houses like this since I was a little girl. It was going to take more than this to impress me. We walked to the dining room, where the table was perfectly prepared. Mark poured me a glass of champagne as the chef fixed our plates. After finishing up the delicious gourmet meal, Mark and I stayed at the table making small talk. After an hour, Mark excused the chef and his two helpers, telling them he would see them tomorrow. I was also ready to leave, but I hadn’t yet discussed my plans to end my brand-new profession. Mark came back to the table after seeing the chef and his helpers to the door and making sure it was locked.
“Tyler, we finally have the house to ourselves,” Mark said in a mac daddy voice. I gave him a bewildering stare because I wasn’t yet sure if his tone was purposeful. When he swaggered over to my chair and caressed his fingers through the loose curls in my hair, I instantly became uncomfortable.
“What are you doing, Mark?” I asked. I shifted my head to let him know his behavior was inappropriate.
“What do you think I’m doing, Tyler?”
“I don’t know, but you’re making me very uncomfortable, so please stop.”
“That’s what I love about you, Tyler; you have entitlement issues. You truly believe that you have a right to do and say whatever you want. I’m going to enjoy teaching you otherwise. Once I break you down, our working relationship will be so much easier.”
“Excuse me!”
“I didn’t stutter. It’s time to introduce you to the real world and get you out of that fantasy princess shit you live in.”
