“So if you weren’t the face for Banana Republic, my business wouldn’t be an issue? Am I right?”
“Probably wouldn’t even have come up. But now that we’re getting offers for endorsements overseas…fruit juice, cereal and all kinds of stuff, Adam wants to make sure there aren’t any skeletons in the closet that could hurt my image.”
“So now, all of a sudden, I’m a problem. I’m in the way. I hate Adam! Hated him on sight. Can Adam do what I do for you?” She gave Spydah a suspicious look. “Hmm. Maybe Adam can. Maybe that’s the problem.”
“Whatchu saying? Don’t even go there. That’s real foul, Misty. Why you always throwing that shit up in my face? What we get into behind closed doors wasn’t my idea. All of that freaky shit came from your mind, so don’t point the finger at me, like I’m on some homo shit. I’m one hundred percent all man!”
“I’m just saying, yo. Adam must want you for hisself. He keeps filling your head with a bunch of bullshit. Nigga’s on his grind, working overtime, trying to get me out of the picture.”
“It’s not even personal. He’s looking out for my best interest, that’s all. All I’m saying is…if me and you are going to be together, then you’re going to have to stop managing those hoes.”
“I don’t like being told what to do.”
“Stop making this harder than it has to be. Move in my new crib with me. I’ll take care of you. You won’t have to worry about where your next dollar is coming from.”
“What about marriage? I wouldn’t feel secure unless we were legally married,” Misty said, watching his face closely.
“Married? Man, I’m only twenty-one. I’m not ready for that.”
“Maybe we need a break from each other,” Misty suggested.
“Nah, I don’t want that.”
“Then I need a break, Spydah. We need a break. You’re asking a lot of me, but you’re not really giving anything in return. I have to think about whether I want to give up my life in Philly and move to Miami.”
Spydah’s face lit up. “You’re going to think about it?”
“Yes.”
“How long is it gon’ take?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped.
“Give me some idea.”
Spydah’s youth was really showing. And he was getting on Misty’s nerves.
“A week or two.”
He frowned. “After I handle the business with my house, I’m flying out to L.A.”
“For what?”
“Work on some new tracks.”
Good, working on music would take his mind off me. Give me some breathing room.
CHAPTER 40
Misty gasped and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She could feel the steam rising as she read that no-rappin’ bitch’s tweet again:
“Me and Spydah chillin’ at poolside. Having lunch. Discussing up-coming tour.”
Chillin’ at poolside? What the fuck! He’s supposed to be at the studio working on his album.
Spydah’s number was programmed on speed dial. She pushed a button. Her call went straight to voice mail. Oh! So, it’s like that, nigga?
Furious, she called Spydah’s main man, Larry. Larry’s phone rang and rang. He didn’t pick up either. Pissed, she poked “end call” as hard as she could, wishing she had a receiver to slam down.
Next, she called Spydah’s pompous manager. She got his ditzy secretary instead. She called the recording studio. Nobody knew where Spydah was or what time he was expected back.
She even called Spydah’s room at the Beverly Hills Hotel. No answer.
This is some real bullshit.
Misty was perspiring, heart beating fast. She needed to take some action…beat that hoe’s ass for tweeting about her man. Any fool could read between the lines. Baad B was insinuating that Spydah was eating her box out, munching on the lunch that she was serving between her legs.
Spydah deserved some major retaliation for putting her through this kind of anxiety. Enraged, she wanted to have her henchmen stomp Spydah’s ass. She wanted to take a used Maxi pad and bitch-smack that no-rappin’ hoe’s face.
Who else could she call? Misty paced. His bull, Tragic…nah, she refused to lower herself by calling any of the worthless leeches that hung around Spydah.
She decided to leave him a threatening message. “I saw your bitch’s tweet. You need to be tryna see about me. It’s seven forty-seven in Philly. You got ten minutes to return my call.”
Feeling like she’d accomplished something, Misty waited as time ticked by. At seven fifty-eight, she had no choice but to take action.
She picked up her phone, scrolled to a name. Stared at it. Took a deep breath and hit the call button. Pressing that number gave her a thrilling sensation that must be similar to detonating a bomb.
“Who dis?” he said gruffly.
“It’s Misty.” Her voice was a sweet melody.
“Lemme call you back,” he said in his gravelly voice that emanated power.
The line went dead. Misty’s heart dropped. That ego maniac bastard was playing mind games with her. But in order to hit Spydah where it really hurt, she would have to play along with Smash Hitz.
Her phone rang. But it wasn’t Smash. It was Spydah, finally returning her call.
She unleashed her wrath on him. “Working hard at the studio?” Her voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Oh, I ain’t go.”
“I know you didn’t. You too busy sitting at poolside fucking with that bitch,” she snarled.
“That wasn’t about nothing. Promotion move. You know the game.”
“That bitch is deliberately giving people the impression that you got your tongue imbedded in her funky twat,” she snarled at him.
“Come on with that, Misty. She’s only doing her part to boost ticket sales.”
“That ain’t her job. You got promoters that handle that aspect of the business.”
“She’s overly excited. First big tour—”
“Fuck you, Spydah. And tell that no-rappin’ bitch she’s lucky that I don’t smack the taste outta her dumb-ass mouth.”
“It’s not that serious.”
“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what’s serious. But you know what, Spydah…if you can’t control the behavior of the people on your tour, then you’re not man enough to be with me.”
“You had to take it there.”
Misty knew how to hurt Spydah. Any mention of his masculinity was a low blow to him. “I’m just saying…”
“Why you talking to me all grimy? Ain’t nothing going on between me and Baad B. Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell her to call you.”
“Fuck outta here. The damage is already done. You and that hoe deserve each other. Tell her I said she can call me if she wants some pointers on how to really keep you satisfied. Never mind, I’ll tweet it. Let the whole world know how you like to get down.”
“How I get down? You calling me out on some fag shit?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“That’s a fuckin’ lie!” Spydah shouted. “What about all that shit you was kicking about what goes on behind closed doors?”
“Whatever.”
“You dirty, Misty.”
“Fuck you, pussy.” Misty ended the call.
Spydah called back repeatedly, but she hit the IGNORE button on all of his calls.
CHAPTER 41
The next six months had gone from bad to worse. Baad B was always on Spydah’s arm. The tabloids had them linked as a couple and it was driving Misty insane.
Spydah claimed that their relationship was some hype…a fake romance that Adam had concocted. A publicity stunt.
But Misty really started getting nervous when the media publicized that Baad’s new Mercedes was a gift from Spydah. Of course, he denied it, claimed that Adam had bought the car.
Making matters worse, Baad’s new CD had dropped and, overnight, the trampy hooker had a tremendous teenage following.
With her own career taking o
ff, Baad B was getting out of control, tweeting all kinds of shit. Just this morning, Misty read something that made her eyes pop.
Baad B tweeted:
Forgot to take morning after pill. Guess I’ll have to piss on a stick. Will keep you posted. Might be nice to have a new addition inside the web. Oops. I meant…inside the crib.
Baad B was a fuckin’ attention-seeking, industry whore. Throwing hints to get people talking. Spydah’s fans knew that he always referred to his crib as his Spydah Web.
Baad B was putting it out there…insinuating that she was pregnant with Spydah’s little insect.
Sailor came into Misty’s bedroom slash office, giving her the daily report. His business update fell on deaf ears. Misty was too furious to concentrate on business.
“Stop fucking telling me everything, Sailor. What do I pay you for? Stop running in here every five minutes. You know what I like. Handle it the way I would. Damn! Can I get a fuckin’ break?”
“Okay…” Confused, Sailor began backing away.
Sailor had let his hair grow out over the past few months. His reddish curls were now so long, he kept his hair back in a man’s ponytail. He looked hot! But not hot enough to take make Misty melt. Maybe later, but definitely not right now.
After Sailor closed the door, Misty narrowed her eyes at the computer monitor. Read the tweet once again, as if perhaps it had changed. Fury caused her vision to blur. She regarded the female rapper’s tweet as a personal taunt.
I hate that bitch. I want her dead! Blacking out, Misty began knocking shit off of her desk. She shattered an antique desk lamp. Sent a crystal picture frame crashing into the wall.
Something had to be done. Spydah was putting her through all kinds of hell. Constantly lying about his relationship with that no-rappin’ bitch.
Swallowing her pride, she called Smash Hitz again. She got one of his assistants, and left a message.
Shockingly, a few minutes later, Smash Hitz called her back.
“You ready to stop cheering for the pee-wee league? You ready for the majors?” he said. She could imagine the smirk on his face.
She took a chance and released her feisty side. “You should be asking yourself if you’re ready to get misty.”
Smash Hitz chuckled. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot. According to your name and your reputation, you be leaving niggas weeping.”
“Oh, you heard about me, huh?”
“I know you had my artist, D.B. Spydah, sprung like a mufucka.”
Had him sprung? If Smash Hitz worded her relationship with Spydah in past tense, then Misty had to accept that Spydah had moved on…with that ugly-mug bitch.
“Weeping and sobbing is for suckas. I’ma big boy. And big boys don’t cry. So, bring it, pretty lil’ mamacita.”
Along with a collection of Louis Vuitton luggage, and a big bruiser named Horatio, Misty accepted Smash Hitz’ challenge…and she brought it!
Horatio was there for back-up. Smash had bank, but he also had serious mental issues. After his stunt in the Gold Room, Misty knew that the man was unstable. She brought a henchman of her own, in case Smash decided to try to get rough.
The first-class flight from Philly to Miami had been extremely pleasant. But she also realized that Smash enjoyed lulling his victims into a sense of security before showing his sinister side. If that bastard wasn’t worth billions, Misty wouldn’t even be wasting her time.
Inside Miami International Airport, as Misty and Horatio glided down the escalator, she mentally braced herself, wondering what annoying issues lay ahead. Anything could go wrong. Fooling with Smash Hitz was like playing Russian roulette.
Smash said he’d have a car waiting for her. Annoyed, she pulled out her cell, expecting to have to call one of his people to get information about her ride.
But downstairs, there was an assemblage of men wearing black caps holding signs with names on them…like that shit you see in the movies.
What a surprise when she noticed that one of the men was carrying a sign that read: Misty Delagardo.
Aiight, Smash. I’m impressed so far. Misty walked jauntily toward the older, Caucasian man. “I’m Misty Delagardo.”
A look of surprise glinted in his eyes. She supposed he had expected a blonde-haired, white woman from Spain.
Caucasians aren’t the only people with bank, you know.
The driver smiled, and then cut a glance at Horatio. “You’re a big guy…you play for the Dolphins?”
Here he go stereotyping us. Why Horatio gotta play football in order to have a limo waiting?
Well-trained by Misty, Horatio didn’t respond. He merely grunted, and then put on a mean, intimidating facial expression, refusing to appease the chauffeur’s curiosity.
Put in his place, the driver restrained himself from being overly friendly, and assumed a more professional demeanor. He straightened his shoulders and stood erect like he was paid to do. “Ma’am, do you have a lot of luggage?”
“Depends on what you consider to be a lot,” Misty responded.
The driver released a nervous chuckle. “There’s an awful lot of black suitcases spinning around.”
“Mine is Louis Vuitton. Four pieces.”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem. Your luggage will be easy to locate.”
As soon as Horatio’s single duffel bag came around, he grabbed it. In Horatio’s big hand, the bag looked like a little pocketbook.
The Louis Vuitton luggage appeared, and the driver began tussling, particularly with the trunk.
“Should I help him out?” Horatio asked.
“Yeah, go ahead. Otherwise, we’re going to be in this airport for the next three hours.”
CHAPTER 42
The driver was perspiring. His face was red. Misty didn’t blame him for waving over a skycap to push the heavy luggage. With his burden lifted, the driver led Misty and Horatio to a black Lincoln Town Car.
“Damn, it’s hot,” Horatio commented, pulling off his leather jacket.
“I told you not to wear that jacket with its thick-ass lining, but you wouldn’t listen.”
Misty had expected spring-like weather, but the temperature was unseasonably high, forcing her to come out of her lightweight denim shrug.
She hated Miami. Hot as a bitch. Too many different types of bugs. It wasn’t hurricane season, but you never knew when a killer hurricane would strike this area. But here she was stepping off a plane in Miami.
As soon as Misty slid into the back seat, she pulled out her cell and began texting Smash, letting him know that she had arrived safely and was on her way to the hotel.
Smash texted back: I’ll get at you later.
Cool, nigga. Ain’t nobody sweatin’ you. I’m good. She closed her eyes, trying to strategize. Smash Hitz wasn’t your average wealthy mufucka. He had game like nobody she’d ever dealt with before. Just because he had promised to treat her to a few days in the sun here in Miami, and then fly her out to Los Angeles for the Grammys didn’t mean a thing. He’d proven in New York that he’d flip on you in a second. Being his date for the Grammys…well, she’d believe it when it happened. Right now…she was taking it moment by moment.
As the Town Car traveled across the bridge into South Beach, Misty could feel the vibe change. There was a different type of energy. One side of the bridge was lined with million-dollar homes, white swaying yachts, and crisp aquamarine water that could be seen in every direction. On the other side of the bridge, there were enormous cruise ships and cargo boats.
“Wow. Look at all those yachts. That shit is crazy.” Horatio couldn’t contain his enthusiasm, which gave the talkative driver another opening.
“First time in Miami?”
“Yeah, I’ve been to Orlando, but not Miami,” Horatio blathered.
Misty shot Horatio the mean mug. Horatio kept his big mouth shut for the rest of the ride.
When the driver pulled up in front of the Ritz-Carlton on Lincoln Road, Misty whispered to Horatio, “Deal with the bag
gage and tip the driver.” She strutted to the front desk and waited to be checked in.
There were several bouquets of flowers on display…red and pink roses, compliments of Smash, Misty assumed. The décor was sophisticated and chic and with every modern convenience.
“This jawn is about as big as your apartment. How much something like this run?” Horatio asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure it costs a grip.”
“Smash got deep pockets; I wouldn’t be surprised if he paid a thousand a nut for this dip.”
Misty looked at Horatio. “This is living,” they both said at the same time and then fell out laughing.
“Yo, all I know is Smash understands how to treat a lady. This is some rich shit. I can get used to this.”
“Smash got us rolling first-class all the way,” Horatio added.
“The Grammy parties are going to be off the chain. I don’t know if we’re going to L.A. Reid’s or EMI’s after-party, but I have to be red carpet and paparazzi-ready.”
“We?” Horatio said.
“Not you. I’m talking about me and Smash. Damn, Horatio, fall back with your thirsty-ass self. You got a free trip to Miami. Ain’t that enough?”
“I’m just saying…”
Horatio had a lot of nerve to think he deserved the same perks she was getting. Rolling her eyes, she picked up the hotel phone and called the concierge desk.
Before she opened her mouth, she heard a pleasant-sounding male voice saying, “Hello, Ms. Delagardo, may I help you?”
“Uh. Yeah. Hi. Um… I need some information. I want to go shopping. Can you tell me…uh…where is the closest mall?”
“I’ll be happy to assist you. We’re very close to a Macy’s, and there are also a few boutiques nearby.”
Misty turned up her nose. “I don’t wanna go to Macy’s. I need to get to a high-end mall. Macy’s won’t work. I need some real fly gear. You know…designer wear. Something that someone who’s going to several Grammy after-parties would wear.” Misty winked at Horatio.
“Oh, I see. Yes, ma’am. I can certainly help you with that,” the concierge politely replied.
Uh-huh. You don’t know nothing about this.
Lipstick Hustla Page 18
