by Nako
“What does it feel like, East?” she only asked because she didn’t know if his question was a complaint or a praise.
His eyes fluttered open and she reached down to kiss her fine ass man.
He moved his hips in a salsa move that almost took her out.
“Bae, this pussy is home. You feel like home.”
Seven
Don’t waste my time trying to prove that I’m something to see – Kehlani
Minor setback. Major comeback.
Those four words were his mantra.
He said it so much that the first thing he did once he made it back to his home, that he was able to keep was record it everywhere.
He wrote the affirmation down and plastered it against the wall.
Minor setback. Major comeback.
No matter what he felt like he was facing, he would and could get through it no matter what.
Nehemiah was strong.
Mentally.
Spiritually.
Physically.
He never thought he would see the day where he was actually grateful for jail time. He’d been in and out of cells his whole life, and when that metal gate granted him his freedom yesterday, he promised himself he was never going back. He even put it on his big brother which meant that his word was bond.
Prison this time around was an experience. A series of life-altering moments that had shaped him into the man he was today.
As he stood in the mirror looking like a more rugged version of J. Cole, he felt and looked good.
His mood shifted rather quickly.
In less than an hour to be exact.
Neezy paced the floor of Juice’s office, spit foaming out of his mouth.
“Fuck you mean I look terrifying?” he screeched so loudly that the plaques on the wall threatened to fall.
All of that Zen shit quickly went out of the window. It wasn’t a sage stick or blunt that could calm him down right now.
He hated to be offended.
Especially, when he thought he was looking like a snack.
“Why did you get all them damn tattoos?” Juice questioned, he kept shaking his head and adding a, “Hmm hmm,” sounding like someone’s auntie.
His interns were fearful, and it was visible all over their faces.
“I’m a rapper, fuck does it matter? You acting like this is a Christian label. Fuck outta here Joe,” he was enraged. Neezy woke up this morning thinking that today was the first day of the rest of his life.
He chilled out yesterday. Took a good bath, dipping in that Florida water, smoked him a few blunts and fattened himself up on all his favorite foods.
He slept good and was now ready to get to work.
His EP did numbers.
No tour. Not one show. No radio appearance and yet, he managed to have four number one hits. From a jail cell.
The EP was still in heavy rotation a year later.
Neezy had fans.
Shit was crazy.
Him being imprisoned actually worked out in his favor.
“Clear the room,” he commanded loudly.
His team quickly dispersed.
Nehemiah leaned against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.
“You’re not like my other artists—"
He smacked his lips; Juice was about to try to lay some game on him.
Suge Knight ass nigga.
He didn’t want to hear this shit.
“Is this the part where you tell me that you’re going to make me a millionaire if I follow and trust your vision?” he asked him, sarcastically.
Juice now realized that he had his work cut out for him.
He shook his head, “Ignorance is bliss.”
Little did Neezy know…he was already a millionaire.
Juice went behind his desk and opened the third drawer and tugged out a manila folder, it was under all kinds of shit.
“I do my job and I do it well. As soon as you went in, we ran an intense marketing campaign with a ten-thousand-dollar budget monthly. You knew that the songs hit number one, I told you that already. But you wasn’t aware that you made the XXL Freshman list, top ten artists on Rap Radar and the list goes on. Did you get any of the letters from your fans?”
He nodded his head but left it at that. He never wanted to seem ungrateful for any of the unwavering support that he’d received during his brief stint.
Neezy didn’t read them, most of the letters were people praising his brother and wishing that he was still alive. For his sanity, he stopped opening the envelopes.
His brother was dead, he’d finally accepted it after having a life-changing conversation with one of the greatest men to ever do this shit.
“Open it,” Juice instructed him after he saw Neezy staring at it.
Yeah, it was the golden ticket that Willy Wonka handed only a few chosen kids. This was the best part of his job; watching his artists open their first seven figure check.
Nehemiah had money before, so Juice wasn’t expecting the water works that mostly came with this part.
However, street money couldn’t compare to real money.
Money that you worked for, honest.
This didn’t come from serving a got damn thing.
This check didn’t come from stealing, killing, and robbing.
He didn’t have to commit a sin to get these blue racks.
Neezy told Juice, “Back up nigga.”
He turned around and opened the envelope in private.
One point three.
Ain’t no mother fucking way.
He looked over his shoulder and saw the genuine smile on Juice’s face, “How?” he wanted to know.
Juice held his arms out, “I’m good at what I do. It’s more where that came from. We’re going to get you in the studio ASAP and record everything you’ve written then we’ll choose what goes on the second E.P. then an album. Tour will come after that—"
Neezy’s knees gave out on him and he fell to the floor.
Juice went to help him up, but he shook his head.
He needed a second to himself.
Just a minute to take it all in.
This shit was really happening.
“I want you to record a first day out record, can you do that like now?” Juice kept going.
There was work to be done.
Neezy wiped the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes.
“Yeah, already wrote it.”
“Okay, we gon’ film you doing it and drop it. Gotta get you on social media ASAP,” he let him know.
Juice’s brain was running rapidly with ideas and shit that needed to be done like yesterday.
He walked outside and returned with his team, “Impromptu meeting. Take notes fast.” He eyed the small group of ambitious humans, “I’m not repeating myself.”
Time was of the essence.
“Y’all have the opportunity to be a part of his greatness. You see him over there…looking like…a lion,” he shook his head.
“He is the next Jay-Z. The next J. Cole….he’s the next Nash. Y’all remember how hard Nash was when he first dropped?” he expected an answer.
He continued, “Okay put all them together and you got Neezy. You…get his accounts up ASAP. Nia has a contact to get him verified. I don’t want him following no one but me.”
“You…clear the studio. Call Munch.”
Neezy stared at the check, tuning out of the conversation. He would let Juice handle all this shit. He only wanted to record.
“I’m going to see how far away Carmen is.”
“You need a haircut. Let me call my barber,” he finally directed something to Neezy.
“I like my hair,” he wasn’t cutting shit off.
“Nah, we’re trying to get sponsorship for the tour. You gotta let that go,” he told him, shaking his head.
It wasn’t up for debate.
“Clean fade with the waves. Trust me.”
He walked out of the room with his phone
in his hand and air pods in his ears.
Neezy tucked the check in his back pocket.
He couldn’t wait to deposit that ma’fucka.
η
New York hadn’t changed and she was okay with that. She kept her eyes to the window. On the jet home, she slept the majority of the time whereas Porter never stopped working. A driver was on the runway, waiting for them. P was on the phone the whole time. He finally ended the ever-lasting call and she asked him, “Do you ever tell yourself you need a break?”
He chuckled, “I took a few years off when Mahogany first blew up, remember?”
She did.
“Why did you go back to work?”
He knew he could keep it funky with his sister.
“Being home made me think about everything that I’d lost, and I felt myself becoming depressed.”
She knew the feeling.
“What happens when you run of out things to do? You can’t run forever, P.”
“Is that why you went to Phoenix?” he flipped it back on her.
She nodded her head.
He patted her thigh, “I’m here for you. You don’t have to go through life alone.”
“I want my momma back,” she appreciated him, but no one could replace or fulfill the role that her mother played. A mother’s love couldn’t be duplicated, at least not hers.
He nodded his head, “She was a lovely woman and for the sake of her, I want you to get your shit together. It’s little girls out there counting on you.”
Carmen snorted, “Who?” she wasn’t like her other friends. She was talented.
She was pretty.
She was creative.
But she wasn’t no Nia Hudson.
She wasn’t famous like Mahogany.
She wasn’t confident like Narie.
Carmen had been sleeping on her damn self for years.
She was comfortable playing the background.
Right when she thought she had finally tapped into her purpose and broke out of her shell and right when The Showroom got put on front street, look what happened.
She’d did the work.
Hired a publicist.
Became more active on social media.
She’d became more fluent in her field and then her mother died.
What was God trying to teach her about life?
Carmen wanted to know was she chasing after the wrong thing?
Did God have another plan for her?
Were her intentions pure?
Did she really know her purpose?
Was The Showroom meant for her?
Did He not intend for her to be famous?
The thing about a setback is that it would literally make you question everything you’d been doing for a while.
It would make you feel insecure about everything.
You’ll begin to doubt every little move you made.
Carmen was triggered. She couldn’t figure out why this had happened to her.
Was it not her season to reap what she’d sown? And, if it wasn’t…then when would it be? That was all she really wanted to know.
Carmen didn’t feel as if she took her eyes off Him.
She’d been faithful.
Although, she moved to California she flew back home often to attend the church that she was a member of.
She didn’t know where she went wrong or the mistake she made to cause her to lose her mother.
However, her death sent her down a dark hole of misery and depression.
She lost her faith and her willpower to keep pressing forward.
“You don’t think you’re a role model?” Porter was shocked.
Carmen knew that he did this for a living. Made people into believers.
“Porter, stop it okay.”
She didn’t like to be toyed with.
“I’m serious right now, Carm. Do you know what you survived?”
She took a deep breath, “Listen, I’m here. Okay. I’m home. I’m back. You made it happen, don’t lie to me. Don’t make me feel like I’m someone I’m not,” she snapped. He could keep the pacifying. It wasn’t necessary.
Yeah, she survived but look at what all she’d lost since. Her son didn’t speak to her. There had been many nights where she questioned herself.
Was she really that miserable in her marriage that she felt the need to leave?
Could she had made the ultimate sacrifice of staying in her marriage for the sake of family?
Every single time she thought about the decision she made, she quickly reminded herself that she was mentally free. That alone couldn’t be bought. Carmen was no longer living in turmoil.
Porter didn’t know this side of her.
This insecure being.
She was amazing.
“I wish you saw what I saw when I looked at you, Carmen.”
Carmen shook her head, “What do you really see? Because last time I checked I was your little sister and nothing more.”
Porter knew exactly what the hell she was talking about.
He couldn’t recover from her question.
“I’m going to drop you off at Nia’s. She has a whole day planned for you.”
She wiped her tears away, “Let me out right here.”
“Huh?”
Carmen removed her seatbelt. All she needed for now was her purse, she would retrieve her luggage and stuff later. The place she was staying in Phoenix was a rented Air BnB. Once she got settled she would email the owner and let him know that she was gone.
“Carmen, no.”
She wasn’t stunting shit he was saying.
She hopped out.
“FUCK YOU!”
He didn’t do anything to her, but she had to direct her anger towards someone.
Her momma was dead. Daddy gone.
Brother in rehab. Son wanted nothing to do with her. She was alone.
Her friends would pity her for a few hours then go back to their happy lives.
Carmen had to find her own way back to the light.
She walked for an hour, which was something she would never do had she been in her right mind. Being in the midst of the traffic made her feel a calmness that she couldn’t explain.
The first hotel her eyes spotted was the one she walked into and booked a room.
After a bath, lunch from room service and a quick prayer for peace, Carmen was out like a light.
The next morning, she woke up naked and went in search for a robe. After tying it around her body, she ordered a cup of coffee and breakfast to fill her stomach. The view from the Crowne Plaza was magnificent. Carmen fished out a small notebook that she kept in her purse for those random gems that she would either come up with herself or see while out or watching television.
She found irony in everything. That was the beauty of life.
Gratitude.
This morning, for some reason her spirit was at ease.
“God, let me find out you finally heard one of my prayers,” she side-eyed heaven.
Carmen took a deep breath and exhaled.
Everything was going to work itself out.
She mentally convinced herself that things were going to get better.
It was something about that breath that she’d let go.
It felt as if she’d been holding it in since her mother died.
A knock at the door was the notification that she needed to know her breakfast had arrived.
She tipped the bellhop and returned to the stunning view.
Carmen picked up her coffee and it wasn’t piping hot, so she took a sip.
Lord, knows in a million years she didn’t think her momma wouldn’t be here.
“I’m okay baby…”
She looked around the room, to make sure she wasn’t tripping.
That was her mother’s voice.
Carmen heard it, loud and clear.
A sign.
She had asked God for a sign.
She went to sip her coffee again and ended up spitting it
out as a cry erupted from the empty hollowness of her heart.
Carmen dropped the mug and screamed, she held her stomach.
“Thank you God,” she hadn’t showed him any real love in so long.
The breath that she’d respired was a sign of surrender.
Carmen was placing all the things that she couldn’t change or control at His feet.
She dropped on the floor and wept.
“God, thank you. Thank you for your grace. Thank you for your favor. Thank you for your mercy, God. I praise you. I lift your name on high,” she opened up the heavens with a songs of thanksgiving. You had to show your gratitude before you went demanding Him to do this or that.
As she spoke in a language that she assumed she’d forgotten, her spirit, mind, and heart was being renewed, refilled and refreshed.
All would be well.
She came off the floor and wiped her dampened face. God was real.
Carmen would never doubt Him again. She repented for even thinking that He’d forgotten her because He hadn’t. Carmen hadn’t missed anything. God’s people didn’t lack any good thing. She was thankful for everything that had taken place in her life. She trusted the timing of every loss and encounter. Carmen put yesterday’s clothes back on and checked out of the room. This was when she was happy, she wasn’t considered hella famous because she looked a mess. A maintenance day needed to be added to her schedule. Carmen hadn’t had lashes in a year or a wax. She called an Uber and headed to Porter’s house; from there she would figure out the first few steps to redirecting her path. Carmen was home and she was here to stay. There was a lot to do and she was more determined than ever. She knew that the first task on her list was to get in touch with her former in-laws. It was mandatory that she repaired the broken relationship with her son. Along with getting back in therapy, returning to church and last but certainly not least, she needed to buy back The Showroom from Nia Hudson.
η
Neezy didn’t just record any ole’ first day out freestyle but he slaughtered Tee Grizzly’s beat. Neezy wrote something but didn’t even pick up the pad. Once the beat dropped, he found a vibe, sparked up something sticky and went off the dome for almost six minutes.
When he finally snatched the headphones off and guzzled down a bottle of water, everyone in the studio was speechless.
