Arm Candy

by T. C. Littles

  “Don’t play, King. You’re not leaving this hotel without me.” She called my bluff, then leaped up, grabbing her purse.

  “I’m not playing with you, Samira. Don’t follow me out this fuckin’ door. Being around you and your smart-ass mouth ain’t for me right now. I’ll be at the studio.”

  Recognizing how serious I was, all she did was mumble something under her breath. She knew better than to keep testing me.

  “Good job,” I said then slammed the door.

  Samira

  “I know this nigga didn’t just walk out the door and leave me standing here looking dumb,” I growled in disbelief.

  I waited about five minutes then made my way to the parking lot to see if he’d really left or was playing with me. Egg was on my face when I realized another car parked where his truck once was. King was constantly playing me. He knew good and damn well I wasn’t trying to shade him maliciously. So that whole argument was a play for him to get from under me. I knew better. Things between us were notably different.

  Continuously calling him a few times, only getting his voicemail, I gave up, knowing he was invested in a game of hardball. He and I couldn’t get on the same page for shit.

  Ring, ring, ring!

  I jumped to answer my phone, thinking it was King proving me wrong, but it wasn’t. To my surprise it was Jamila. The way I was feeling, my tongue was gonna get to spitting some real shit, so I was hesitant about answering. What does this broad want anyway? I swear I’m not in the mood to play games or front with her fake ass.

  I was on my way to the spa the last time I’d spoken to her. She was all giddy and acting weird trying to get us to hook up. I don’t care how you spin it. Her knowing that both of us were fucking Johnie and not saying anything was questionable, to say the least. I didn’t care if her car ended up being ruined. There weren’t enough vengeful plots I could think of to make me feel justified.

  Ring. Ring. Ring!

  Before the call went to voicemail, I answered it dryly. “Hey, Jamila. What’s up?”

  “I was just calling to check on you. We haven’t talked for real in the last few days, and I missed my best friend.”

  Her fakeness made my skin crawl.

  “I’ve kinda had a lot going on. It’s been hard adjusting to King, Rayna, their new baby, and that I fucked Johnie.”

  I knew I already told her the night it happened, but I wanted to drive it home. Apparently, it worked. I heard Jamila suck in her breath. That’s exactly how I wanted her to feel: shocked, caught off guard, and uncomfortable that I’d brought it up again.

  “Yeah, that’s a big pill to swallow. I can’t believe you got freaky with your husband’s artist, but what’s done is done now. Ain’t no sense in crying over spilled milk. Everything will work out with you and K.P., Samira. It always does. That nigga might play in the streets with these bitches, but he’s not getting ready to leave home. Trust and believe that man is very much in love with you.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.

  I would’ve poured out my heart and all my business to Jamila, looking for her advice, had this been any other day. Matter of fact, I would’ve gotten her to pick me up to get out of this compact-ass room. Too bad the bond we shared was broken as far as I was concerned. It was only a matter of time before I called her out. Instead of leading the conversation with stories about me, I got her talking.

  “So, now that you’ve got me, let’s kick it.” I decided to see how far her charade was gonna go. “What’s been going on in your world?”

  “Slow motion as usual. I would say we should link up, but my car is in the shop. Ol’ Bessie died on me earlier and had me stranded on the side of the road,” she whined. “My ho-ass ex even hung up when I called asking for help. I was stuck tripping for almost an hour when a tow-truck driver generously stopped to assist.”

  “Aww, that’s fucked up.” I acted like I felt sorry for her. The truth was that her misfortune made me smile. “Wasn’t that nigga just at your house giving you long strokes and bubble gum? Damn, he played you scurvy for real.” I put her on blast with the lie she’d told me the other day about her ex randomly showing up.

  “I’m always gettin’ played. I swear I attract some of the lamest niggas. That’s why I want you and K.P. to work it out so bad. Ain’t shit out here, Samira. You better keep your nigga. All men fuck up, but not all men go home.”

  Jamila was giving me the pep talk I wanted to hear but hadn’t asked for. It was weird she was acting like King’s campaign manager when it came to preserving our relationship.

  Beep!

  My other line clicked in, and it was my parents calling. One of the neighbors probably called them trying to be nosy about the house and ratted me out. Despite me not wanting to, it was time for me to face the music.

  “Hey, Jamila, let me call you right back.” I clicked over without giving her a chance to respond.

  Jamila

  Samira was acting funny. It made me wonder if she knew about me and King fucking. I’d only called to see where her head was at and to low-key see if K.P. was around her booed up after our little escapade at the hotel, but I got shaded. She’d hung up before I found out anything.

  Now that I’d relaxed with a few glasses of wine in me, I was ready to face the world, at least a little bit. I was sitting on the porch, letting the warm breeze blow away the smoke from my blunt, while watching the young girls across the street being fast-tail for a group of boys. I reminisced about doing the same things back in the day and getting beaten by an extension cord when my momma caught me “being grown.” From that day on, I’d been a freak on the sneak tip.

  I opened a notebook I often scrabbled stuff in that I needed to remember, and then I called the mechanic shop to find out about my car. I was praying it didn’t cost an arm and a leg to get fixed because I simply didn’t have it. I wasn’t working, and the little money I did come up on was tied into the business Samira and I were starting. My dumb ass didn’t think about that when I ran to bang her husband. That whole venture would end up being a bust if the truth ever came out.

  “Gettin’ ’Em Back on the Road Automotive,” a woman with a hard, raspy voice answered.

  “Hi, yes, my name is Jamila. I’m calling about a 2005 Sebring that was towed in earlier. Was the diagnostic done yet?”

  “The mechanic just finished up. It looks like there was some type of fluid mixed in with your gas. The engine will need work but possibly a replacement. Your estimate is with me at the front desk, and I’ll be here all day. The mechanic can discuss anything further once you get here.” She ran down the speech, sucking the air from my lungs.

  “Oh, wow! How much am I looking at spending?”

  “It won’t be any less than about a thousand dollars, and we’ll take the sixty-dollar diagnostic fee off of that. But like I said, the mechanic will talk with you about all the details once you get here. He makes the final prices and will be able to give you a better idea.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  I hung up deflated. I didn’t have a grand sitting around to pay for an auto repair. Nor did I have anyone to call for a loan. Samira would’ve usually been my backup plan, but obviously, that was out of the question now. Something had to give ’cause I needed my car up and running. I poured another glass of wine and tried plotting on a scheme to come up.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  King

  Part of me started to go back to the hotel so me and Samira wouldn’t be on bad terms, but I wasn’t trying to be up under her. There was animosity between us for good reason, and I didn’t want things to get worse.

  Johnie still hadn’t answered the phone or called back, but I was done leaving messages. That nigga knew he was foul because he would’ve hit my line up by now any other time. But fuck that snake nigga. We’d have to meet sooner or later, so I’d save my energy regarding him until then. I still had a producing career to tend to along with a blackballing scheme to mastermind.

  There were a f
ew voicemails lingering over the last few days from both males and females following up with me from passing them my business card at Flood’s. I called each of them back, scheduled meetups, and then drove toward the studio to start flushing out beats. Since I was about to kick Johnie off my moneymaking roster, I needed an artist who was cold with their lyrics to fill his shoes. I had to come out on top somehow or another from this fucked-up situation.

  K.J. crossed my mind. I’d been so spent over Samira and Johnie that I hadn’t even focused on my son. I looked at one of the pictures Tiana sent me from the day he was born and thought twice about calling Rayna to check on him. He was supposed to be coming home in a couple of days, so I wanted to make sure he had everything he needed. I wished I weren’t caught between a rock and a hard place, ’cause I was serious as hell about putting her up in a nice crib within a decent neighborhood. It was a bad deal that shit was up in the air for all of us.

  Things between us would probably never be the same. I knew her bitter ass was the one who set my house on fire because there was no one else in the world who would bring that drama to either me or Samira. The only thing I knew for certain was that my li’l man couldn’t get caught up in the never-ending bullshit between me and his momma.

  I went straight into grind mode once my feet stepped into the studio. All the madness I’d been going through with the peeps closest to me must’ve been fueling my creative process ’cause beats were flowing off the top of my head with ease. Within two hours of me cutting the whole world off, I had five solid sounds and even a dope-ass hook. My adrenaline was pumping. I was in the groove and ready to work all night.

  The first artist I’d scheduled a meetup with came fifteen minutes early, prepped with his own USB drive full of songs. He was looking for someone to manage him and take to the top the career he’d been establishing for a few years on the solo tip. It was cool and all that he knew some of the ropes and how to hustle, but I didn’t need another cat like Johnie on my team. The joke had already been played on me for backing disloyal clowns. Ol’ boy might’ve not been an opportunist, but I wasn’t fucking with him either way. He got sent on his way with a handshake and the generic one-hitter-quitter line: “I’ll be in touch.”

  The two interviews after him were also a bust. One of the girls reminded me of Teyana Taylor, but her voice sounded like a hyena. And the third guy was barely subpar and probably wouldn’t make a lot of money. Even with two more meetups left, I’d given up on the search and started scrolling through my email on my phone, checking for a few more potential callbacks.

  That party created a lot of buzz, even by Johnie’s own admission, so I knew there’d be more inquiries than normal. I’d managed to jot down ten more people to call for meetings before the last two artists showed up. It was the third girl I interviewed, who went by the stage name of Lyric, who stole my attention.

  Lyric was cold both musically and physically. She came in admitting she didn’t have any experience but got major likes from her followers on Instagram when singing. I let her sing the hook over one of the beats I’d made today, and she floored it almost instantly. Li’l momma had singing skills, was looking to get molded, and had a sexy Dej Loaf swag with a little extra pizazz. The music media would eat it up. I was pissed at myself for not having a contract for her to sign right there on the spot, because she was just that hot.

  “Let’s say we meet up tomorrow and go over what I can offer you, what you can do for me, and how we can benefit one another in a partnership,” I smoothly kicked it to her.

  Leaning back into the chair, the playa in me was coming out. I felt like an imitation Stevie J. Although I was trying to keep it strictly business, I couldn’t help but stare at her curves. She was fine as hell with a flawless body that would entice any man. Chill out, King. You’ve got more than enough messy shit going on in your life. Don’t get caught up trying to dig out another pussy. Common sense was trying to win the battle, but I was thinking with my dick.

  “That sounds good, K.P. I’ve been dying to work with you. Your name has been getting dropped at almost every party me and my girls have been at. All you’ve gotta do is let me know the time, and I’m there. Just promise not to geek me up to let me down.” There were undertones of flirting in her voice.

  “Naw, baby girl. Trust when I tell you I’ll see you tomorrow. Working with you is my first priority. I’m already thinking of some major moves we can make if you’re down for real.”

  If I didn’t get myself under control fast, Lyric and I were gonna have some trouble straight out of the gate. Shifting back into business mode, I straightened my relaxed stance, making this move more about money and less about pussy.

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised to see just how down I am.” She smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  My dick thumped at the sight of her delicious-looking ass walking out of the room. I massaged it down and hit play on the verses she laid down a few minutes ago so my mind could refresh back to the hustle. Ol’ girl was destined to be a star. I was about to get paid.

  The last artist came in a little late but surprisingly had major flavor too. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind I wanted to sign him after listening to his first prerecorded track. This dude’s name was Fresh, and he was cold with his skills. He was born and raised in Detroit but had a Southern flare with controversial verses like Pac. Today was turning out to be a good look for me productively. Between this cat Fresh and li’l momma Lyric, my brand was gonna get more exposure than since I introduced it to the D. Fuck Johnie. He hadn’t stopped shit but his own career.

  “I’m digging your music, my dude. I can see us doing business and making major bills together.” I was up front with Fresh.

  “Dat’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Makin’ moves and gettin’ my bread up. I got kids, ya feel me? Let a nigga know where ta sign the line.” Fresh was straight hood, but it would sell.

  “Let’s meet up here tomorrow for all the paperwork. We can shake on it now then test this song out if you feel like it.”

  “No doubt. I’m here, playa.” He pulled out a blunt and lighter then looked at me for approval. When I nodded it was cool, he lit up quickly then passed it to me. “Let’s put in dis work, boss.”

  Fresh was a lyrical beast. I let him listen to the same track Johnie and I worked on the last time we were in the studio, and he came hard with a rhyme to accompany it without hesitation. The flow was so good I ended up recording it then told him to just chill back and freestyle. Fresh would have a mixtape in no time at the rate we were going.

  Fresh was spitting some real shit. The music was so loud and I was so caught up in his flows that I didn’t hear the door open. It was Fresh’s eyes looking up in question that made me turn around.

  “So, what up, nigga? Is this what you wanted me to see? You giving my beats away to a wannabe rapper?” Johnie’s voice sickened my stomach.

  “Don’t come up in my studio trying to front on me, ma’fucka. All you know is how I am when it comes to music. You have no idea what grim shit I’ll send ya way.” I bossed up, offended that he’d walked up in here like he owned the place.

  I might’ve cleaned up my swag and carried myself more like a professional rather than a hood nigga since I’d become a producer, but I was born into the struggle. I was a street nigga by nature. Samira found me looking scruffy on the corner, so ya better believe I knew how to put in work. It was in my roots.

  “Slow ya roll, King the Producer,” Johnie antagonized me. “I’m not really worried about none of this lame shit going down in ya little studio. I was just shooting a move through here ’cause you left so many messages. I take it you heard the interview and didn’t like me branching off doing my own thang? What’s the word? Holla at me.” Standing across from me, smirking, Johnie was smug and cocky.

  His demeanor made me more pissed. I was itching to rock his jaw for being brazen enough to bang my broad then step to my face man-to-man. Johnie must’ve taken me for a weak-ass pus
hover when he should’ve pegged me for a monster. While he was busy looking at me arrogantly, I was busy sizing him up so I could one-up him when we scrapped.

  “Yeah, I heard ya little whack-ass interview, bro. It was cool and all for you to branch out. What wasn’t cool was you fuckin’ Samira.” I put the shit on the table.

  “Yo’ messy ass left the opportunity open for her to be fucked.”

  Sliding my chair back, I stood up calmly then rushed across the room like a bull. Right before he could properly brace himself, my forearm struck his neck and knocked the wind from his lungs. Fresh rushed in right as Johnie hit the floor from me clotheslining him. I’d been so caught up in trying to take Johnie out that I’d forgotten all about my session with Fresh.

  “Yeah, ma’fucka! What’s all that shit you were just talking? I’ll put my size-twelve shoe up ya ass on the real.”

  “Fuck you, K.P., and that’s my word,” he spat, trying to get up to battle me.

  I wanted him to fight back, so I loosened my grip from around his neck. He came out swinging. He landed a quick two-piece to my jaw. Either the blows were soft like baby taps or my adrenaline was pumping too fast to feel them. Either way, we scrapped it out and tussled on the floor like madmen. He was able to get a few solid blows in, but I took over the fight and started molly-whopping him with no remorse. The thought of him sliding into Samira was gonna make me kill his ass.

  “You better stay the hell away from my wife and anything I linked you to in this music game, J. I swear to God we’re always gonna have motherfuckin’ problems.”

  “On my life, nigga, you’re gonna be the one with the problem.” He tried catching his breath. “You ain’t shit, and ya wife is community pussy.”