Well, now it was New Year’s Eve and we were about to jump off this New Year’s party without my nigga Cee, and that shit was stressing me the fuck out. Everybody that I started this shit with wasn’t going to be with me when I thought it was my highest point. I felt like I was peaking, and it seemed like everyone that I loved wouldn’t be able to enjoy it with me. Everybody that I once trusted with my life from the beginning of all of this shit wasn’t with me, and I hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with that. In any event, the show had to go on, so I had to adjust really fast.
When the time was finally near for the most anticipated bash of the year, there was a huge buzz on the street. With all of the rumors already in heavy rotation, we just knew that we would have to dead all of the gossip and blow everybody’s expectations out of the water. Until the flyers hit the street to promote the festivities, no one could’ve imagined in a million years what the night would hold. Niggas got really hype when they found out the location and concept.
These dudes out here wouldn’t have imagined where this shit was going to jump off. When niggas found out that it was poppin’ off in the Times Square area of Manhattan, they said, “That’s serious!” When they found out it was happening in the Marriott Marquis Hotel, they was like, “And these niggas is not playin’!” But when they heard that it was going down in The View, the rotating restaurant located at the very top of the hotel, all they could say was, “Whoa!”
Aside from the bangin’ location, the whole theme of the party is what really made the shit live. I figured that the hottest shit in the world would be to have the dirtiest niggas in New York, in the middle of Times Square, at the top of the Marriott Marquis, looking the cleanest they’ve ever looked. So, I decided that this would be a White on White event. When the invitations got sent out, the heading read:
“Pure and Uncut”
The Time Bombs Presents, “I’m Dreamin’ of a White New Year’s”
In order for you to enter the bash of the century, to end the century, you would be required to be dipped head to toe in pure white clothing. It didn’t matter if you wore a full-length mink or a pair of shell-top Adidas, as long as it was clean, and as long as it was as white as a brick of uncut Colombian.
It was now 4 p.m., and I was on my way to meet up with Don P. to make sure that everything was going according to plans over at the spot. I told Don P. to meet me there just to make certain that I didn’t forget anything, but this nigga Ponch was getting on my fuckin’ nerves about Cee. They would just assume to think that shit was sweet, and I wasn’t feelin’ that at all. But, when it came down to it, all of that was neither here nor there. I had to focus on the situation at hand.
When I got to 1535 Broadway, I saw that El Don and Poncho had beaten me there. I parked in the front of the hotel and they greeted my arrival with pounds and hugs. As we were about to enter the building, Poncho, already seeing that I was a little troubled, attempted to apologize for the comments he’d made earlier, but I cut him off and told him to forget about it. I shrugged off the entire incident. I could understand, to some degree, Poncho’s stance, but he didn’t know Cee as long as I did. With that, he had to understand my position. If it were El that we heard was stealing from us, he would go to war against the Family just to have his brother’s back. That’s the way I felt about Ceelow.
Until we reached the top floor of the hotel, I felt a rumbling in my stomach. So much had happened that would’ve normally determined a negative outcome of this entire situation but now I had a “fuck it” attitude about the whole thing. At this point, I was expecting the worst to happen—if it hadn’t already. When the elevator doors opened, we stepped out and what we saw put me and Don P. at complete ease. I could finally inhale deeply and breathe easy. Everything was exactly as I pictured it—for a change.
Immediately out of the elevator, which was located directly in the center of the building, there was a podium set up for checking invitations. It stood in the middle of the restaurant, in an area that was stationary, while the rest of the floor spun slowly around this section. There were also elevators along the side of the building that were used for floors below this one, but all of our guests would be entering through this area. Next to the podium was a case of stairs that led up into the lounge area. The rest of the restaurant floor was transformed from an elegant eating establishment to a Hip-Hop nightclub. We’d completely “hooded it out.” The floor was kept clear of tables and chairs to be used as a dance floor. There were a total of three bars located throughout the space. There was one small bar in the lounge area and two large ones on the restaurant floor. Behind both bars on the dance floor I’d had them build small stages for some exotic dancers—nothing too crazy; they wouldn’t even be topless. In addition, there were two small cages that I had built to hang from the ceiling of the dance floor that would also house exotic dancers throughout the night. On top of that, there would also be exotic dancers on the floor to keep niggas from holding up the wall. We had everything covered.
Upstairs, the lounge area was reserved for VIP access. This section was also stationary and you could view the rotating portion of the dance floor over a side rail. There would be lounge chairs, tables and sofas sporadically placed throughout the floor. It seemed to encompass enough space for all of our VIP invites. They could either relax up there all night and drink the complementary champagne and mingle among themselves, or go down to the dance floor and go crazy with the party people. When we were completely satisfied with how everything was set up for the biggest night of the century, we were off to get everything else ready.
After we made sure that everything was properly set up at the spot, me, Don and P. had our own separate responsibilities to take care of before we could actually go to the crib to get ready. I would be handling our security measures. I had to make sure that we had an appropriate amount of “thick-necks” to hold us down, so that we could feel comfortable in not having to buss our shit the whole night.
El Don was going to make sure that our chefs were properly equipped for the night. We had a split menu for our VIP invites that gave them a choice of Southern or Jamaican dishes. There was also a small menu of appetizers for whomever occupied the bar on the main floor.
As for Poncho, he would make sure that all of our dancers would be able to make it to the spot properly prepared for the evening and on time. He set it up for them to be picked up and brought to the party, twice throughout the night like a one-two punch. They would arrive in a convoy of Escalades in groups of ten. Their first drop-off would be early while everyone was still lined up to get in. When niggas saw them in couples hoppin’ out of five pearly white Cadillac trucks, they would be even more hyped to get in. The next drop would be when the line was already moving as it neared midnight, and that would be the knockout blow. Niggas could mingle with the ladies as they came in to make them feel a little bit more comfortable and confident to have the best time possible throughout the rest of the night. That shit would be perfect.
It was now a little past seven o’clock and everything was going according to plans. It was time for us to head in our separate ways to get ourselves ready for later. Don P. would be by my crib to pick me up by 10:00 p.m., so I had more than enough time to get myself prepared. I had a stop-over on Allerton Avenue before I went all the way back home to finish getting ready.
When I reached home, I immediately got into the shower to try and wash away all of the anguish I had been feeling from earlier in the day. My early-afternoon pressures had been relieved and now I would need to be prepared for my late-night pressures. This event had been one my oldest childhood dreams and it was finally about to come true.
Even with this situation with Ceelow still fucking with my subconscious, I hadn’t begun to imagine the worst. All I did was put any negative thoughts in the back of my head, and tell myself that he would be showing up at the spot that night like nothing had ever happened. It was nothing until I made it something. In any case, this single event would seal
the nineties—and all of its complications—and mark a new beginning.
When I got out of the shower, I hurriedly went straight to the closet where I had my outfit for the night already prepared. I had the perfect garments put together for the party. I would be looking extremely crisp, and I could hardly wait. When I finally had it all laid out on the bed, I couldn’t help but to gaze in appreciation. When I was fully dressed, I made two phone calls. The first was to the manager at the hotel to make sure he waited until there was a healthy line accumulating outside before opening the doors. He assured me that the line was even healthier than we had anticipated, and that they’d already opened the doors promptly at 9:00 p.m. By the time we got there, it would already be pretty thick on the main floor, but I didn’t expect any VIP invites until after ten or eleven o’clock. The next call I made was to El Don to make sure that everything was going according to schedule. Again, I was left to relax and wait for their arrival, which would be in no more than twenty minutes. When I hung up the phone with El, I posted up in front of the wall mirror in my bedroom for a minute to make sure everything was just right.
From top to bottom, I had on a white Dobbs “Godfather” hat with a white ribbon, and matching feather. Under that, I wore a crispy white durag—just to thug it out a bit. I had on a white Dolce & Gabbana vest with white pinstripes, and a silk Gabbana button-up to match. On my feet, I appropriately wore a pair of Gabbana slide-in loafers, and topped it off with a pair of rimless rectangular D&G sunglasses. From my neck hung twenty carats of diamonds in the shape of our TB logo, and on my wrist I had an Oyster Perpetual Rolex with a diamond-flooded bezel and band. You could say I was just about ready.
El Don and Poncho were at my house to pick me up at approximately 9:10 p.m., and when the doorbell rang, I was nervous with anticipation. When I got to my front door, we exchanged pounds and hugs. They both had on white cashmere V-neck sweaters with white leather pants and matching white three-quarter jackets. They also each had on white Kangol golf caps and white on white Air Force Ones. When we were done complimenting each other’s garments, they parted to show me what we would be pulling up to the spot in. when I saw the big-boy, bright-white Hummer H1 four-door wagon sitting by the curb looking simply remarkable, it was a wrap.
It wasn’t until we were already halfway to the spot before I realized that we were in fact missing one more person. This nigga Little Jay was supposed to be riding with us to the hotel. “Yo,” I called to Poncho over the loud-playing music. “What happened to this nigga, Jay?”
“Oh,” he said, remembering that he was supposed to give me a message. “I forgot all about that shit. He told me that he wasn’t gonna roll through with us tonight.”
“So, he gonna meet us there, or somethin’?” I asked.
“Nah, dog,” he answered. “I don’t think that nigga’s coming at all.”
“What?” I said confusingly. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he responded. “He gave me this number for you to call so that he could explain all that shit.”
Poncho handed me a cell phone number on a ripped brown paper bag and I called it immediately to see what was up with my little man. If anything, I wanted him to roll in with us, just to write it in stone that he was on top of the world with us. I wondered what could’ve kept him from that.
“Hello?” said the person that answered the phone.
“Yeah,” I said. “Who’s this?”
“You called me, nigga!” the voice on the other end of the receiver replied. “Who the fuck is this?”
Noticing the sound of the voice a bit gave me an idea of who it was. “Pookie?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Spits, nigga!” I said as my temper rose a bit. “Where the fuck is Jay?”
“Oh,” he said in a low tone as the thugness in his voice no longer existed. “My bad, Spits. Jay’s right here. Hold on a second.”
Little Jay got on the phone. “Yo, what up, my nigga Spits? Happy New Year, dog.” He was acting as if nothing was wrong.
“Yeah, Happy New Year,” I said, not yet understanding what was going on. “Anyway, what’s good, fam? Why ain’t you comin’ through the spot? We ’bout to jump off the ultimate New Year’s bash.”
“Oh, my bad, dog,” he said. “I’m not going to be able to make it, son. I would if I could, but I can’t do it.”
“Why?” I asked. “What’s so important that it can’t wait until later?”
“Well,” he said slowly, easing his way. “The thing is . . .I’m on my way to Philly right now. Me and Pookie about to jump off our own thing down there. It’s not like I wasn’t eating or nothin’ like that. It’s just . . .lately, I been feelin’ like I need to have my own shit, you know?”
“What you mean by that?” I asked.
“I just been feelin’ like I want to run my own enterprise. Something that I could call mines,” he answered. “Me and Pookie been talkin’ about makin’ this move for the longest, and . . .I figure ain’t no time better than now . . . with tomorrow being the first of the month and all. These be the times when niggas get the most lax, you know, so it’ll be perfect.”
As Little Jay went on and on about his ideas for his own drug enterprise, he reminded me of myself a few years back. He had everything that he needed to be successful in this life. Although I would’ve wanted more time with him to mold him into a real “G,” it was time for him to assume his own position behind the supervisor’s desk. I should’ve known it would happen eventually. I couldn’t have imagined myself working for someone else for too long either, before I would’ve wanted my own thing. I didn’t have anything negative to say as I was positive that he already had everything worked. It seemed as though he’d put a lot of thought into this power move. He even had his own connection, and the price he was paying for weight wasn’t that bad. When we finally hung up, I wished him all the luck in the world. I told him that he was a good protégé and that I hoped to hear from him soon. We would soon find out that we would be speaking to each other again quicker than we both could’ve expected.
CHAPTER 23
When Spits, Don and P. pulled up to the spot, it was looked like pure anarchy in the streets. The line to get in was still all the way around the corner, and it didn’t look as if anybody was planning on giving up any time soon. Of course, the red carpet was extended to the curb when the gleaming white Hummer pulled up, and everybody knew exactly who it was. First, Spits jumped out the back seat, then Don and P. With Don and P. moving closely behind Spits, they literally had to push through all the girls that attempted to rush them on their way in. When they finally got to the elevator, it was about 10:20 p.m. They went straight upstairs to the VIP section and sat at the booth that was reserved for their party.
“This shit is jumpin’,” Poncho said, referring to the liveliness of the party.
“Hell yeah,” Spits agreed. “These mu’fuckas is goin’ nuts. You seen the way them bitches was actin’ in the front, son?”
“For real, though,” El added. “I ain’t think it would be packed like this, and niggas is still tryin’ to get in.”
After they went through numerous toasts to, “Dom P.’s and palm trees,” and they guzzled uncountable bottles of bubbly, time started moving by real quickly. As they saw the midnight hour nearing, they fled to the center of the dance floor with bottles of champagne in hand. Before they knew it, there were only fifteen minutes left until twelve o’clock. As the tension grew, and the excitement reached the highest level, Spits began to anticipate the night’s climax. Just then, he got a call on his cell.
“Hello!” he tried to yell over the sound of a few thousand people, all screaming at the same time.
“Hello,” said the voice on the other end. “Can you hear me?”
“Huh?” he yelled. “Who is this?”
Before they got a chance to respond, the connection was lost and Spits shrugged it off and continued partying. It took ten minutes, b
ut the resourcefulness of the caller finally paid off. His cell phone rang twice more before he heard it and answered.
“Hello!” he said even louder than the first time. “Who is this?”
“It’s Gin,” she said, now yelling also.
“Oh, what’s up, baby? How’s Florida?”
“It’s all right, baby. It’s just raining a whole lot. But I miss my baby . . .even more than I thought I would. But anyway, how is the party, honey?”
“Oh, it’s i-ight,” he answered. “But I miss you, too.”
“What?!” she yelled. “I can’t hear you!”
“I said that I missed you!” Spits repeated in a louder tone.
“I still can’t really hear you, baby!” she screamed. “You’re fading in and out!”
“I said . . .wait, let me find somewhere that’s a little less noisy,” he said, leaving the dance floor as he headed toward the back away from the party. He made his way through the crowd and felt an uplifting energy just from being on the phone with Ginger. It was just what he needed. So much that he didn’t even give it a second thought to leave the party as it was about to climax. “Can you hear me now?” he asked as he entered a staircase in the back.
“Yeah, that’s much better,” she said. “Now, what were you saying?”
“I was saying that I miss you, too, sweetie,” he said, with a grin forming in his facial expression.
Cracked Dreams Page 20
