by Ni-Ni Simone
“Uhmmmm…I don’t know, Elite. I think maybe you should’ve just told him the truth. Either that or go all the way with the lie. You shoulda told him you were Reverend Run’s love child—”
“What? Okay, that’s enough.”
“Or you shoulda told him that Kimora Lee Simmons was yo’ mama who gave you up for adoption, and that you were raised by wolves.”
“Please shut up. Leave it to you to go too far. Now look, we can’t stay all night.”
“We’ll stay for two hours and then bounce.”
“Two hours only.”
“Ai’ight. So let’s get this on and crackin’.”
As the light turned red and the car stopped, we heard someone calling our names. “Elite and Naja!” It was Samantha and Mecca. “Where y’all goin’?” they said as they walked up the block toward the traffic light.
“A party,” Naja blurted out. “With Haneef.”
My eyes bulged out of my head. I could’ve choked this chick. She knew we didn’t get down with them like that.
“Oh, my God, please let us come,” Mecca begged, folding her hands in a prayer position. “Puleeeeeeze.”
“Y’all not even dressed,” I said, hoping they would take the hint.
“It’ll only take me a minute to get dressed. Please.” Mecca shook her folded hands.
“Y’all can’t go without me!” Samantha spat. “And I’m always fly so I’m going just like this.” I looked over at Samantha, who wore a pair of tight black jeans, a black and rhinestone studded tee, and a pair of stilettos.
“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe you can get over with that. But I’m not sure if they’ll let you in the club.”
“So what you saying?” Mecca asked. “You don’t want us to go?”
“No,” Naja shook her head. “She’s not saying that. Y’all can come.” She elbowed me on the sly.
This was a hot ass mess. Stevie Wonder could see this was a bad idea. We didn’t do these birds close enough to be partying with them, let alone partying with them in New York—and with a stolen car at that. But I decided I wasn’t gon’ even stress. Whatever.
The party leeches got in the backseat and Naja drove to Mecca’s house.
“Loosen up,” Naja mumbled under her breath.
I didn’t even respond.
“And don’t be too long,” Naja said as we pulled in front of Mecca’s house. “We have to hurry up.”
A few minutes later Mecca returned, dressed in a pair of glued-on jeans, a super tight tank top, and stilettos. All I could think of was one hot ass mess. I was already embarrassed. And when I looked her over again, I realized she had her oldest sister, Tamara, in tow.
Mecca ducked her head through the passenger window and looked toward Naja. “Tamara wanna know if she can come?” She pointed back to Tamara, and Tamara smiled.
“I wanna chill wit’ y’all,” Tamara said, sounding pathetic. I knew right then that everything I’d ever heard about this pigeon had to be true. Why else would she wanna hang out with a group of seventeen-year-olds when she was twenty-two? Or was it just me?
“It’s not enough room,” I said. “Maybe next time.”
“She can squeeze between us,” Samantha put her two cents in.
“Yeah, I guess,” Naja said, sounding reluctant.
The car was extra tight and extra amped as we drove to New York. I was trying to loosen up, but I was nervous going to meet Haneef. And it wasn’t because he was a celebrity. It was more than that. It was like the way you feel when you first meet a dude you realize you not only have a crush on, but he might have a bigger one on you. As a matter of fact, it felt better than that.
My stomach did flips as we zoomed through the Holland Tunnel and passed the sign that read, “Welcome to New York.”
Once we found the club, we parked on a dark side street.
“Okay,” I said, turning around in my seat. “How do I look?”
“You look fly,” Naja said, and the rest of the girls agreed. “Just put on a little more lipstick.”
“Oh, okay.”
“And how do I look?” Naja looked in the rearview mirror and fixed her hair.
“Cute,” Samantha told her. “You know, we all look fly.”
“For real, though,” Tamara said.
“Oh,” Mecca whispered. “Y’all know what I meant to tell you?”
“What?” Naja whispered.
“And why are y’all whispering?” Samantha asked.
“Oh, my fault,” Mecca said. “I know you and Charise cool and all.”
“Who’s cool with Charise?” Naja rolled her eyes. “I mean she ai’ight, but she ain’t my girl.”
“Well that’s good to hear,” Mecca twisted her lips. “Cause she was talkin’ ’bout you two like a dog.”
“Excuse me?” I batted my eyes.
“Uhmm hmmm,” Samantha chimed in. “I do remember hearing something about her sayin’ y’all was hos.”
“Yup, remember that?” Tamara said. “And she said that when she was sitting on our porch.”
“Fa’sho.” Mecca snapped her neck from side to side. “She said y’all wasn’t nothin’ but a buncha groupies.”
“And liars.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe it.
“No, she didn’t,” Naja said in disbelief.
“Yes, she did,” Tamara added.
“But you know I got yo’ back,” Mecca said. “And I told her she needed to shut up, cause she didn’t know what she was running her mouth about.”
“You know she a hater,” Samantha snapped.
“Wait ’til I see her ass,” Naja said.
“She can forget about saying anything else to me,” I added.
“Hmph. She’s the one that encouraged Ciera to go after Jahaad,” Samantha pointed her finger.
“She did what?!” I screeched.
“What you care? You got like…” Mecca said, “the black president, sweatin’ you.”
“So,” Naja interrupted. “That was still her boo.”
“True. So now you know not to even fool with that trick.” Tamara opened her car door. “Now that that’s settled, can we bounce?”
“Yeah, forget her,” Samantha seconded the motion. “We gotta party to attend.”
And we stepped like five top models down the Paris runway as we walked toward the club, only to see that the entrance line was wrapped around the block.
“What in the…” I said as my mouth dropped open.
“Dang, this line is gon’ take forever.”
“Line? I thought you had an in with Haneef!” Mecca spat. “Why we gotta wait in line?”
“She does have an in,” Naja snapped while looking at me like I was crazy. “We ain’t waitin’ in line. Let’s go.” She ushered us toward the front of the club.
“Excuse y’all,” one of the bouncers said, lifting the red velvet rope and letting a group of teens in. “The line is back there.”
“Okay, but—” I said.
“No buts,” he interrupted and pointed. “Now hear what I’m telling you—to the back of line.”
“We’re here for Haneef,” Naja snapped.
“And so is everybody else. Now move along.” He pointed toward the end of the line.
“Oh no, he didn’t,” Mecca said.
Naja turned toward Mecca and Samantha. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Bozo is new here and doesn’t recognize us from the red carpet.” She turned back and looked at the bouncer. “I believe you have it twisted. We’re not low-life groupies lying to get inside. We are here to see Haneef, understand? Now stop clownin’ and let us through.”
The bouncer cracked up laughing, and so did everybody else standing here. “Move!” the bouncer said as he pushed Naja to the side, causing her to stumble. Catching her balance, she looked at him and smiled. “So what does that mean? You not lettin’ us in?”
“Excuse me,” I said, taking over. Apparently Naja didn’t know how to handle this. I batted my eyes at the bouncer.<
br />
“Sweetie, can you go get James? He’s in Haneef’s security.”
“Look, y’all wearin’ my nerves now. I said stand ya li’l groupie behinds at the end of the line, ’cause in two seconds you’re not getting in here period!”
“Groupie?!” Samantha said, taken aback. “Did he call us groupies?”
“I hope y’all didn’t bring us all the way over here,” Mecca snapped, “to get played.”
“Would you shut up?!” I said. I promise you, I wanted to cop this whack ass crew and this bouncer dude in their faces. Punk azzes! I flipped open my cell phone and hoped like heck Haneef picked up his line. After three rings, he answered. “Where you at?” he spat.
Immediately I blushed at him having my number programmed. “Outside, but this line is crazy long. And Debo over here patrolling the door is straight buggin’.”
“Debo?” Haneef asked, surprised. “You mean the bouncer?”
“Exactly.”
“Ai’ight, hol’ up a minute. I’ma send James outside to get you.” And he clicked off.
“He said,” I looked at the bouncer and smirked, “hol’ up a minute.”
Naja shot the bouncer a snide grin. “That’s what I thought.”
“That’s more like it,” Mecca chimed.
“Uhm hmm,” Samantha and Tamara backed her up.
A tall and bald-headed muscular man walked outside the club and looked around. We waved at him and he smiled and walked over to us. “Are you Elite?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, come with me, please.”
We walked in the club and the place was beautiful. I felt like I had stepped into an ultra-modern showroom. The lower level had black-and-white leather couches placed sporadically around the room. Every corner, crevice, and spot on the floor was like something from MTV Cribs. The place was jam-packed from the bottom floor to the rooftop terrace where James led us to.
The place spoke volumes of class, and with each step I felt like I’d arrived. Once we stepped off the glass elevator, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Everybody who was anybody was there. It was crazy. Our mouths gaped open as the likes of Rihanna, 50 Cent, Young Buck, Young Berg, Lil Wayne, and on it went jammed past us.
“One second,” James said as we stood amazed. “Let me retrieve Haneef.”
“Okay…” I said in awe, feeling as if I was walking on a cloud. The city lights made the night sky illuminate with hues of red and gold. I understood why the line was so long; it was obvious that this was definitely the place to be.
White-gloved butlers were serving caviar and champagne. One stopped before us. “Would you like—”
And before he could finish, Samantha, Tamara, and Mecca all said, “Sho’ would.” They lifted the champagne and took the caviar, which was on a wheat cracker bed.
As the waiter walked away, I said, “I can’t believe y’all are drinking alcohol. And Naja, you know better.”
“Ill?” Mecca frowned. “And what is your deal?”
“You’re only seventeen,” I said, tight-lipped.
“And what are you, a walking afterschool special?” Samantha gulped down her drink.
“No—”
“Well then, be quiet,” Naja said as she sipped.
“Please,” Naja said, as she took a drink from another waiter. “Chill. And besides, I’m only gon’ have one.”
“All I know is that it better be one because I am not down with the drinking and driving.”
“You buggin’.” She rolled her eyes at me.
“Anyway,” Tamara said, “I’m twenty-two. So I can hold my liquor.”
“Elite,” James said as he walked back over to me. “Come with me, please.”
I walked behind him and just as I stopped short to let Evan Ross pass, Naja and the whack crew almost fell on top of me. “Dang, can you back up? And excuse you,” I barked at them. “He said Elite.”
“Oh no, you didn’t just get brand new?” Naja spat.
“What…ever,” I said, too through with them.
“You’re lucky I just spotted 55 Cent staring at me,” Naja said.
“It’s 50 Cent,” Tamara corrected her as they headed in his direction.
“Oh, my God, wait!” Naja screamed at the top of her lungs. “I just spotted R. Kelly! Party on the playground!”
Thankfully, James led me into an area where more celebrities were partying inside a glass room. Haneef was standing beside P-Fifty, one of the hottest hip-hop producers in the business. I took a deep breath and did my best to tame my nervousness, and the butterflies flipping around in my stomach.
Haneef was so fine, it didn’t make sense. I pushed my hair behind my shoulders, sucked in my stomach, and walked over to him. I tapped him on the shoulder and he smiled.
“Somebody said,” I said as I stood leaning from one leg to the next, while placing my hand on my hip, “that you were looking for this chick.”
“I was,” he said looking me up and down. “But now that I see you, I’m like forget that chick, what’s your name?”
“Li’l Ma,” I smiled.
He laughed. “Li’l Ma, ai’ight.” He pulled me to his chest for a hug. “Damn, you smell good, girl.”
I hoped he couldn’t feel my heart racing in my chest.
“Congrats on making platinum,” I said as we embraced.
“Thanks. Let me introduce you to P-Fifty.”
P-Fifty extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Before I could respond, Haneef’s publicist cut us off. “Haneef, you’re needed on stage.” His publicist looked at me. “Hi, and you are?”
“Elite—”
“You remember, she won the radio contest—” Haneef said.
“Oh, great work. Be sure one of the reporters takes a picture, Haneef, and I’ll make sure the headline reads how you go the extra mile for your fans.”
Fan? What did she just say?
“Anyway,” his publicist continued, “it’s time for you to give your performance.”
Haneef turned toward me and kissed me on the forehead. “Just give me a minute,” he said as he walked onto the makeshift stage.
I laid back in the cut, but I could see Naja, Tamara, Samantha, and Mecca blowing kisses, sipping champagne, and waving at celebrities as if they were all good friends. I looked at Naja, and when she took another drink from the butler’s tray I walked over to her.
“What are you doing?” I took the drink from her hand.
“What?”
“Why are you drinking?!” I asked in a forceful whisper.
“What, I drank before, girl? Why you buggin?”
“No, you buggin’. You know you’re the only one who can drive! And did you forget that you stole your father’s car.”
“Borrowed.”
“Whatever,” I pointed at her. “You better get your ass sober before you go home, because if you’re too drunk to drive, I’ma be so pissed with you.”
“Just watch the performance and stop sweatin’ me,” Naja said as she walked away.
“Naja,” I called behind her but she continued on. I turned back toward the stage, and Haneef winked at me and blew me a kiss. I melted instantly.
Haneef danced and sang the same way he did the first night I saw him in concert. This was fiyah, and the crowd was screaming beyond belief.
After three songs, Haneef walked back and forth across the stage and said, “Ai’ight y’all, before we wrap this up, I wanna sing a special song and I wanna invite Elite”—he looked directly at me—“to sing it with me.”
I stood there stunned.
“Elite,” Haneef called.
Naja pushed me on the shoulder. “You better go ’head. She’s right here!” she pointed.
I tipped out into the crowd and onto the makeshift stage.
At first I was shy, but once I looked into the crowd, I felt the same way I did when Haneef and I first sang together. The feeling in my stomach was crazy and after a few seconds I started to get as psyched as the
crowd. Before long, Haneef and I were singing the same duet we’d sung before. This was heaven!
When I was done, everybody was cheering and taking pictures. Imagine that, a crowd filled with celebrities and they were taking pictures of me. For the first time in my life, I felt like my mother had named me the right name…Elite.
Haneef grabbed my hand and we took a bow. I stepped offstage and immediately Naja pulled at me, jumping up and down and hugging me. “If you keep this up, we won’t have to try out for American Idol!”
“American Idol?” Immediately that calmed me down because I can’t stand Paula. I looked around for Haneef and spotted him talking to Deidra, a Beyoncé type girl with a string of number one hits. A few months back she was rumored to be Haneef’s girlfriend. And since he hadn’t exactly come out and called me anything other than a fan, I wasn’t sure if she was or wasn’t.
“Is that Deidra?” Naja asked.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well I’m ’bout to handle this.”
“Handle it?” I asked, surprised. “Handle what?”
“I’ma go tell that ho,” Naja pointed, “that Haneef is yo’ boo—”
“No, don’t do that.”
“What? Puleeze—” she proceeded to walk toward them.
“No,” I snatched her back. “I’m not playing. Don’t do that.”
For real-for real—this wasn’t school; he wasn’t Jahaad and she wasn’t Ciera. So…true story, there was no way I could compete with a chick like Deidra.
Not that she was flyer than me or anything, but still…Deidra was a hot superstar and I was a pretty regular around-the-way chick with a buncha drunk friends from the block standing behind me.
“I don’t believe this.” Naja sucked her teeth.
Deidra was practically standing in Haneef’s chest, and she was cheesin’ extra hard and long.
“We got a situation?” Tamara said, reeking of alcohol.
“Yeah, and too bad you’re too drunk to know what it is,” I snapped.
“What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Nothing,” I said, hating that I felt shy about walking over to Haneef and interrupting the conversation he was having with Deidra.
“And besides,” I spat at Naja as I did my best to fake the funk, “what I care? He ain’t my man.”
