All I Want is Everything

by Daaimah S. Poole

  “Man, forget what Marcus says. He don’t want to see you grow. I can be your manager. I can read some books. I know how to read a contract. You got to go live your life and not sit back and live it for anyone else. Especially not for Marcus. He ain’t right.”

  “What are you talking about, John?”

  “I’m talking about Marcus, man. You fire he is water. Water puts fire out. He just wants to sit back and be in charge. He’s used to you needing him. And when you don’t need him he be hurting because he don’t know how it is for you not to need him. He used to y’all being fucked up. And when you wasn’t he didn’t know how to act. And it’s not your fault, ’cause you tried to stick it out with him. You need to leave him in that house. I mean, soon as you stop messing with him what’s he go do? Get a dirty chick with nowhere to live pregnant. I’m not going to watch you forget about your dreams to make him happy.”

  Everything John was saying made sense. But why was he telling me all this now?

  “Stop. You’re about to make me cry,” I said.

  “Kendra, I want you to start packing and leave him.”

  “Who is going to pay the bills?”

  “The bills are going to get paid. Forget about them for once in your life think about you.”

  “I am thinking about me.”

  “No, you are not. You really need to think about what I’m saying. I will quit my job to help you succeed if I have to. Life is not a joke. When you’re trying to get to the next level, everybody can’t go with you. Sometimes you got to leave somebody behind. There is no such thing as luck, only preparation and opportunity meeting at the same time. It’s not over, it’s not too late. It’s not over until you’re dead and in your coffin,” John said as he rambled off every inspirational cliché he ever heard.

  “Shut up,” I said as I laughed and wiped my eyes. He was started to sound like a bootleg inspirational speaker. What John was saying made sense, but when do you give up on your dream and say, “Fuck it, let me get a real job?”

  “Think about what I’m saying.”

  I thought about it a little then. I went to Marcus’s house to tell him about me quitting. I had to see if what John was telling me was true. I did want to go back to New York and try singing again, but I didn’t want to lose Marcus again. I knew he would support me this time. I went in his house and told him to sit.

  “What’s going on Kendra? I have to go and pick Taylor up from daycare.”

  “I’m going to make it Marcus,” I said as I paced back and forth in the living room. “I quit my job today.”

  “You did what? How are you going to pay your bills?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” I paused. “And I think I’m going to sing again.”

  “You tried that before. It didn’t work out.”

  “Well, I’m going to try it again.”

  “For what? You getting too old to be trying to hold on to a dream. We already talked about that.”

  “Who says so? If I start back singing, will you support me? I need to know Marcus,” I said, waiting for his reaction.

  “No, I won’t support you. You just need to stop dreaming. You better call and see if you can get your job back. That was a good job. You complain that you don’t have any money? Now you really not going to have any money. Why would you quit?”

  “I’m not sitting in the office. I want to sing. Marcus I was talking to John and since I have been home I have been miserable.”

  “You need to stop tripping. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You can have a good regular life, but you want to be Miss Famous and it’s not going to happen for you.”

  Marcus’s words enraged me. How could he say I wasn’t going to make it? I was his woman. John was right, he was supposed to be supporting my dreams, not tearing them down.

  “Marcus, how could you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. You not going to make it, so you need to stop even trying. That’s your problem—dreaming. Reality check—it ain’t going to happen,” he shouted.

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I got up and walked toward the door, tears flowing down my cheeks.

  He tried to hold me back, but I pushed him away from me and said, “No, Marcus. The problem isn’t me having dreams. The problem is I need to stop dealing with your dream-killing hating ass. I must be crazy trying to make it work with you. I can’t take you anymore.”

  “If you leave me again I’m not going to be here when you get back,” he said as I turned the knob to walk out the door. “Go ahead and get hurt and get played again.”

  “Fuck you, and I mean it. I’m never coming back to you,” I yelled back at him. I left Marcus for good.

  Yeah, I took a chance and messed up before. I made some mistakes, but no one has ever come up by sitting still. You got to go out there and make something happen. This can’t be it for me. I am going to be great. It is going to happen for me. Marcus was trying to discourage me but all he did was pump me up even more.

  “Hey, Beazie. This Kendra.”

  “What up, baby? I miss you. You straight?”

  “Yeah. Listen, I wanted to thank you for calling me.”

  “So you did get all one hundred of my messages?”

  “Yeah, I did. I appreciate you calling. Matter fact you was the only dude that called me. You know, I haven’t even heard from Corey or Shelly.”

  “Yeah, I be seeing Dude. Forget him, he ain’t about nothing. So what’s up, Ma?”

  “Well, I had a couple of months off and I was thinking about trying to get on again.”

  “I think you should. A lot has changed. I’m not even doing any recording with Touchlight. And I moved to another studio. And I got an artist I’m producing. I’m trying to get him a deal now. So when a label come to me they going to come to me correct. Come to the city and let’s talk.”

  “I just got to find a place and I don’t really have any money.”

  “Kendra, don’t waste your talent. You had your vacation, now come back and grind it out. Come and get yours.”

  John was right. Beazie was right. It was now or never. I went home and started packing. I sat my mom and Bilal down and told them I was leaving. It was all about me, Kendra Michelle Thomas. My dreams, my goals, my life. I was really out and I meant it. There was nothing here for me.

  Chapter 37

  “Go hard or go home” was my new motto. I was back in New York and I wasn’t going home. It was freezing cold outside but I was warmed by the city’s promise and opportunity. This time I had to take advantage of it. But first I had to find a place to live. All I needed was a room with a bathroom.

  I went and met Beazie at Premier Recording Studio. He looked a little different. He had cut his dreds.

  “When did you do that?”

  “You didn’t know I cut my hair,” he said as he reached out and gave me a hug. “This is my artist, Authentic.” I said hello.

  He was a short, dark brown–skinned guy with all these muscles. He was wearing a sweat shirt, leather jacket and jeans. He had a tattooed teardrop under his eye. Underneath the tattoo he had in scripted letters FATHER FORGIVE ME. He looked intimidating, but when he spoke he was very nice. I took a seat and asked what was going on with him.

  “Basically, I’m hating this game right now. I’m anti-industry. People like me and you going to come up. We are going to get ours. We going to do this from the bottom up I promise you.” Beazie said.

  “So where is Davis?

  “He is gone. He is doing him. Did you find a place to stay?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “You can just stay with me, until you find a place.”

  After our session was over we got in his black Denali truck and drove over to his apartment in New Jersey. You could see the entire apartment from the front door—the small kitchen was to the left; the living room, bedroom and bathroom were on your right. He had a black cotton low-to-the-ground IKEA sofa. The place was small but welcoming. I put my bag down on the floor.<
br />
  “You can take my room and I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he said.

  “No, I can’t do that. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  He didn’t argue with me. He threw me a tan pillow and a blanket. He went in his room and shut the door. Even though I was on his sofa I was happy I was back.

  I was spending eighteen hours of twenty-four-hour days in the studio. I was writing my ass off. I had no choice actually because Beazie was my ride in and out the city. But I didn’t mind because it was my passion. “I want you to write,” he told me. “Write about how you feel. About everybody not believing in you. Write about how you going to tell these motherfuckers to kiss your ass when you make it. Write about your life.”

  I wrote about how everybody else was coming up around me and I still was in the same place. I wrote a song for Marcus called “Didn’t I Tell You?” I just started writing songs and more songs. Every emotion I had trapped inside of me, I let it out. I was writing a freestyle about my life called “All I Want.” It was the story of my life.

  Being in the studio with Beazie was all good, but I still needed money. He was feeding me and providing my transportation. I tried paying him back by singing the hooks on Authentic’s songs for free and he was selling them all over the country. Me and Beazie have been working on a bunch of songs for me too!

  Chapter 38

  I was making food runs, cleaning Beazie’s house. I just wanted to earn my keep. He couldn’t even bring his dates home cause I had my butt on his sofa. No one was believing that I was his little sister and he was just helping me out.

  I had just left the studio. I was making a food run to go get pizza for all of us when Beazie called me on my cell.

  “What’s up? You forgot to order your cheese fries?”

  “Miss Kendra Michelle I need a big favor from you. Go to Tashay’s party with me,” Beazie said.

  “Hell no, why would I go?”

  “Because there is going to be some influential people there. I need you to do this for me. I need to put Authentic’s demo in somebody hands.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Yes, you do. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I can’t go.”

  “You have to. There’s going to be so many people there you need to meet.”

  “So what about the food?”

  “Forget it. Yeah. Go find something to wear, get nice and meet me at Marquee.”

  I had sixty-two dollars on me, and what could I find to wear for that little bit of money? I went to H&M and found a black dress on the clearance rack marked down to twenty-four dollars. I tried it on. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do. I had a dress, and now I needed shoes. I bought black Payless pumps for twenty-three dollars. I had enough money left over to buy a slice of pizza and a soda, and a tube of lipstick that doubled as eye shadow.

  I pushed my hair up in the front and pinned it up and wore it long in the back. You never knew who would be at the party.

  I walked in and instantly I felt like I was back on the scene. People were finger-waving me like I’d never left. There was many “hey how yo doin’,” “where yo been hiding,” a lot of fakery but I smiled and accepted business cards. I met Ryan Marcell, an A&R at Def Jam. That was so major. He told me to call him. Then I was speaking to this girl from Koch, an independent distributor. I made a lot of good connects.

  I was trying to avoid Tashay. I didn’t want to see her. Right now she was everything that I was supposed to be but wasn’t a big star.

  I was heading for the bathroom when I bumped into Miss Princess Tashay. She acted like we were girls.

  “Hey, girl,” she said, giving me a fake industry hug. “How you doing? How’s it going?”

  “Good,” I said.

  “And you know I’m doing good. I’m kind of like a big deal,” she bragged as she pointed to herself and winked at me.

  “What have you been doing with yourself?”

  “I just got back in town, actually.”

  “Oh, okay. Working on anything new?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, do you have another deal?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Well I need a backup singer for my tour. Are you available?”

  “A backup singer,” I said, as I almost choked on my own saliva.

  “Yeah, I think you would sound great behind me. Think about it and give me a call.” Yeah, okay, I thought as she proceeded to give me her cell phone number.

  “K.I.T.,” she said as she floated around the party meeting and greeting. She looked even more polished than when I’d first met her, and just like she belonged. She really was a star and I still wasn’t. I went to the restroom and checked my make-up. I put all the business cards I collected in my wallet. I took a deep breath and walked back in the party. Exiting the restroom, Beazie grabbed my arm and said, “I made some connects. How about you?”

  “Yeah? Me too!” We walked to his truck and I said, “You want to hear something funny? Tashay asked me to be her backup singer.”

  “So what did you tell her?” he asked.

  “I didn’t tell her anything. How I look like being her backup singer when I can sing rings around her? I almost laughed in her face.”

  “That’s true, but Tashay is the hottest thing out now.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but why don’t you at least try it out and see what happens? Sometimes you have to let go of your ego and fund the dream or continue to be a starving artist. I think you should do it. It’s exposure. We are going to make it work.”

  “How could singing backup for Tashay help me?”

  “I think you going on tour with Tashay is going to open so many doors for you.”

  Beazie was right. The more I thought about it the more I had to think of reasons why I wouldn’t. I didn’t have any money coming in, and I could make money and meet people working with her. It definitely couldn’t hurt.

  I reluctantly called Tashay.

  “Hey, girl,” I said. I hated being fake, but it was necessary.

  “Who is this?” she asked.

  “It’s Kendra.”

  “Oh, hey, Kendra. What’s up?” she asked like how did I get her number and what did I want.

  I told her I was calling about her backup singing position. She told me she was busy but to call her manager and that he would give me the details. She said it all in a rush like she was important. What-the-fuck-ever, I thought. I called her manager Gil’s number.

  “Who gave you this number?” he questioned.

  “Tashay.”

  “I told her to stop giving people this number. Yeah, just meet us on Saturday.”

  “When does the tour begin?”

  “In a month, but we are recording some remixes and have to practice the choreography. See you there.”

  Chapter 39

  When I met up with Tashay at Demand Practice Studio she was still looking red-carpet pretty. She was pushing her Louis Vuitton doggie stroller. It looked just like a baby stroller but smaller, and she had her little doggy dressed up with shoes on and pink sweats. She started rehearsal and singing. She was steadily flapping her arms again. This time I didn’t laugh. I just went along with the charade. Whatever pays the bills. She was untalented, I knew that, but she did something in her past life, because God was looking out for her. Some people just get all the luck.

  She was in the front of the studio trying to get me and the other two background singers to follow her directions.

  “Okay, I’m going to sing You want me. But you can’t have me. I’m taken. My man is home waiting. So stop asking me for my number. Then I want you to come behind me and sing Yeah yeah yeah stop asking my girl for her number.”

  Tashay had sold almost seven hundred thousand copies of her album, but her people said she was platinum, building the hype. We were doing spot dates all across the country. We went to Hartford, Columbia, South Carolina, Orlando and a bunch of o
ther places. Promoters were bringing her in at thirty thousand a show. However, Tashay’s star was somewhat dimming. There were petitions all over the Internet saying they wished she’d shut the fuck up and stop trying to sing and go back to being a video girl. She didn’t care—she was selling albums. She wasn’t even nice to the people who bought her records.

  We were backstage when a guy approached and said, “Could you please sign this? I’m a really big fan.” He was a tall, skinny young guy with bad acne, around seventeen.

  Tashay looked at him and said, “No, not right now.”

  The guy said, “Please? I’m your biggest fan, Tashay. Come on, I took off of work to come and see you. Can I get a picture?”

  “Huh,” she said as she got in the picture with her fan. Even though she was dissing him right in his face, he was still so happy to have her attention.

  “You are the best,” he said as he scurried away in awe.

  The only way I was able to put up with her is because as soon as we were done with each show I left. I knew there was a bigger picture. I didn’t hang out, I just went back to my room and wrote songs and tried to remain focused.

  Chapter 40

  Beazie had just gotten Authentic a mid six figure deal with Universal Records. He said I was up next and just to hang in there, but first he had to get my name to ring. Buzz is what got Authentic signed. We put ten songs on a CD. I was going to sell it on the streets, and I had a five-song snippet CD I was giving out for free.

  “Kendra, first we’re going to get our street team to give out your posters and CDs everywhere in NYC. We are going to run this like a campaign like you’re running for president,” Beazie said.

  Tashay was paying for me to go from city to city, and Beazie told me to take full advantage of it. Every night after the show I went and found the afterparty and gave the deejays my CD. Bubbles became my online PR machine, hyping me up all over the Internet. She got a guy at school who liked her to set up a Web site and a Myspace page. I had twenty thousand friends in a matter of weeks.