King Reece

by Shaun Sinclair

  “Mama, don’t he look like my daddy?”

  “That’s because he is your daddy,” Destiny said. She unlocked the glass door to let Reece in. Reece stepped over the threshold and scooped Prince in his arms.

  “What’s up, li’l man?” Reece nuzzled Prince on the neck. Prince wailed out in a mixture of confusion and fear. Who was this man that resembled him so much? “Calm down, li’l man. I’m your daddy; I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have love for your daddy?”

  Prince stopped kicking and screaming long enough to examine Reece more closely. “You said you’re my daddy?”

  “Yeah! I’m your daddy.”

  Just saying the words filled Reece with pride. A daddy . . . I have a son . . . The moment was surreal for Reece. It was one thing to see his child through photos. This was different, this was . . . real. He was actually holding an heir to his throne.

  “Mama, is he my daddy?” Despite the uncanny resemblance, Prince still wasn’t convinced.

  Destiny nodded with tears in her eyes. “Yes, son, this is your daddy.” She dived in and hugged them both, while Reece still held his son. “My god! I love you so much,” Destiny whispered into Reece’s ear. Seeing Reece with their son opened the floodgates to her feelings. She could no longer bottle up what she felt inside.

  A part of Reece wanted to take Destiny and make passionate love to her right there on the spot—with Prince watching if need be. He still held a tremendous amount of feeling for her inside. Only thing he felt more was the stinging bite of betrayal embedded deep in his soul. It was that very ache of burning that kept him focused. Kept him from reciprocating the same sentiment Destiny issued him. Kept his eye on the prize.

  Destiny pried herself away from Reece and Prince long enough to offer him something to eat. Reece accepted, and they went into the kitchen to eat.

  While Destiny set the table and took the roasted fish from the oven, Reece sized Destiny up. She had gotten a little thicker in all the right places. Her skin was just as smooth as ever. And she possessed a glow that would not be denied. When Destiny set the food on the table, Reece noticed her nipples harden, threatening to puncture her tank top. Destiny noticed Reece watching and blushed. She scurried back to the stove to retrieve the potatoes, shrimp, and salad. When she returned and sat at the table, Reece had stopped recklessly eyeballing her body and gazed intently into her eyes.

  “So, what’s on your mind Reece? What have you been doing with yourself these past few weeks?”

  Reece sat little Prince on his lap and let his leg bounce reflexively. “Well, like I told you before, I’m catching up with things at the label. We gon’ sign Niya. You know her, right?”

  “Do I know her?” Destiny asked rhetorically. “R and B Niya? Of course! But isn’t she signed to your parent label?”

  Reece smiled. “Qwess’s former parent label. We are independent again. I invested a little change to get things started off the right way.”

  Destiny sighed deeply, shaking her head. “Somehow I thought things would change,” she said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “How you going to mix drug money with legal money? And how are you going to bring your drama in with Qwess and them? He has made a full transition and is doing so well for himself.”

  Reece shook his head. “See, you don’t know the new me. I am no longer King Reece; I’m simply Reece, a man trying to put the pieces of his life back together after being betrayed.”

  Destiny caught the dig. “I’m just saying, you can’t live a double life and expect things to go your way,” she stated. “Sooner or later you’ll be caught.”

  “Now ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black, Destiny, or should I say Katrina.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah . . . ouch.”

  Silence descended upon them. Their attention fell upon the one thing they did right. Prince. They watched him as he watched them.

  “I don’t want to do this in front of him,” Reece said. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I thought about meeting my son.”

  Destiny dropped her head. “You’re right. I apologize. Look, umm, you and Prince catch up on things. I have to run to the store real quick.”

  “Nah, chill out. It’s all good. No worries. I understand what you were trying to tell me, and you’re correct,” Reece admitted. “I wouldn’t do that to my brother, though. He’s been through enough. I’m committed to doing things right.”

  Reece’s cell phone rang, interrupting the mood. Reece recognized Qwess’s number and answered it.

  “Peace.”

  Qwess returned the greeting. Reece listened.

  “What?” Reece exclaimed when Qwess told him the result of the meeting. Reece listened some more, got details, and hung up.

  He turned to Destiny. “See what I mean? They need me already. I gotta go,” he said suddenly.

  “What? What happened?”

  “Nothing serious. Just business.” Reece stood from the table and gathered his things. “Look, I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Reece, wait.” Destiny grabbed his arm. “When will I see you again? We need to talk, like, seriously.”

  Reece nodded. “Yeah I know. I’ll be back real soon.”

  “Okay.” Destiny hugged Reece tight, as if she didn’t want to let him go. “Reece?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you hate Destiny. Hell, I hate her, too. But my name is Katrina. Could you please try to give Katrina a chance?”

  Reece thought for a moment, then said, “We’ll see.”

  In reality, Reece was playing sheep. He had plans for Destiny or Katrina or whoever the hell she was. Big plans. If she could survive his plot, then maybe—just maybe he would forgive her.

  Chapter 11

  Amin, Qwess, Hulk, and Doe all sat in the conference room of ABP’s studio Crescent Cuts. The studio was initially one office building located adjacent to Beauty Palace, Qwess’s sister’s hair salon. However, when Qwess purchased the property about five years ago, he eventually gutted and redid the whole property. Now, Beauty Palace was the most exquisite salon in town, and Crescent Cuts studios now boasted the actual recording studio, a game room containing pool tables, a seventy-inch TV screen equipped with a game console plastered on the wall, and two chess sets with gold and platinum pieces for one, and ivory and oak for the other. In addition to this, Crescent Studios also contained a huge conference room with cream-and-green marble floors, and an emerald and ivory conference table with matching chairs. The interior decorations of the studio cost more than the construction itself.

  Qwess and company were waiting for Reece to arrive to begin their meeting to discuss a solution for the problem with Niya. Niya being with ABP was absolutely imperative for ABP to start back off on the right foot as an independent. Niya was guaranteed to go at least double-platinum. Qwess had produced the majority of her last album, so the music wouldn’t take any dramatic changes. Niya’s fans would still be pleased. Niya was already an accepted and established artist so ABP wouldn’t have to engage in an extensive, costly promotional campaign like they would have to with their other acts. So far to date, Qwess had been ABP’s top-selling artist, but he was officially retired. Both Flame and Saigon were expected to sell, but together they couldn’t sell more records than Niya with the right formula. If Niya were on an independent, she could put out more edgy music, because she wouldn’t be restricted to the ideals of the corporate entity that black music had become. All in all, ABP needed Niya desperately, but AMG refused to budge.

  Doe was flipping through the pages of the premier hip-hop magazine while waiting on Reece. His heart was heavy because when he dropped Niya off at home, he promised her that he would do everything in his power to ensure her transition from label to label. Doe and Niya were experiencing their first major marital problems. She claimed he wasn’t giving her any attention. He tried to explain to her the reason he had been so busy lately, but Niya pressed on. If he could swing this coup,
then things would be lovely. ABP would truly be a family affair.

  “Yo, is that Qwess on that cover?” Hulk asked Doe.

  “Yeah.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to it yet. Oh, here it is right here. ‘The Dirty’s Last Stand,’” Doe read aloud ceremoniously. Then he proceeded to read all three pages aloud.

  He hadn’t gotten to the third paragraph before Qwess started wincing. Apparently the reporter had decided to highlight the contradictions between Qwess’s real life and his purported life on wax.

  Doe was enjoying seeing Qwess squirm in his chair. Both he and Amin had warned Qwess about his indiscretions with his stable of beauties.

  “Listen to this.” Doe laughed. “‘When asked about his rumored romances with the actress Melinda Wolf and model Allysin, Qwess avoided the question like a seasoned boxer does a jab. However, he made sure to point out that he was not married and thus committed to no one.’ ”

  “Qwess, she got you pegged, brother!” Amin laughed. Doe continued reading aloud.

  “Ooh! Check this: ‘For Qwess to be the self-proclaimed spokesman for the disenfranchised, he sure is not one of them. The Mercedes Maybach in this photo belongs to him. And we didn’t begin to touch his car fleet in North Carolina.’ Damn, you must’ve pissed her off,” Doe said. Doe read on a little further.

  “Well, it’s not all bad. Listen to this: ‘Qwess did prove true to his ethos about preventing black-on-black crime. While at a celebrity basketball tournament, Maserati, Qwess’s rival, practically begged him to fight. However, Qwess graciously bowed out like a true gentleman.’ ”

  “A true gentleman!? She making me sound like a bitch! Is this already on stands?”

  “No. It’s an advance copy. Alysia got it in the mail today. They want to know if we have any rebuttal,” Amin answered.

  “Hell, yeah. Tell Alysia to get them on the phone right now.” Amin left to tell the assistant Qwess’s demands.

  “Well, it’s not too bad. They made some valid points. It shouldn’t hurt your sales on the album,” Doe surmised once he completed the article.

  “Um-hmm. Where is this brother at?” wondered Qwess, looking at his Jacob timepiece.

  “Who knows?” Hulk quipped. “I’m still shocked he fucking with that bitch Destiny. I want to wring her fucking neck! Is that where he at?”

  “I don’t know.” Qwess’s mind was already elsewhere.

  “Oh, shit! You got Quotable of the Month!” Doe exclaimed loudly.

  “Word?” Qwess perked up at the mention of that. This was the ultimate confirmation for any rap artist.

  “Well, actually not you, but it’s your song ‘Look in the Mirror.’ It’s Mysterio’s part. Damn, this is hot.” Doe began to read the verse:

  “You think it’s a game wait ’til those tempers blow,

  You got cats in here ain’t never going home no mo’,

  So be lucky they ain’t bucking every chance they get

  While you runnin’ round talking ’bout some count-time shit.

  And be lucky that you allowed to see yo’ kids every day,

  ’cause kids in here would love to see your blood spray.

  So you say that we in prison cause of crimes of greed,

  Got you on your way to work just to turn some keys,

  Check your pedigree

  ’Cause you look just like me,

  In the eyes of the law we ALL guilty.

  ’Cause the law seem to see your odor as your crime

  Be lucky that your ass ain’t doing no time

  And count your blessings instead of looking down yo’ nose

  When you see a brother lusting off a new Black Gold

  We some grown men snatched in the midst of our prime

  How else we gonna deal wit’ a high sex drive

  What you think everybody back here is a punk?

  Man killas don’t come to prison just to turn into chumps.

  When Doe finished reading the verse, the room fell silent. The implications were clear. Everyone was thinking the same thing, but no one wanted to say it.

  Finally, Hulk spoke up. “Yo, the way they digging Mysterio, we could break him first.”

  It was merely a thought, because Hulk and everyone in the room knew exactly who Mysterio was, and they all knew he wanted nothing to do with the industry as an artist.

  No one answered, still lost in deep thought. Doe continued to flip through the magazine. Amin returned with news. “Alysia is still trying to get through. She said she’d buzz us when she got through.”

  “Good. I’d like to tell them a thing or two,” Qwess said.

  “Oh, shittt!” Doe exclaimed suddenly. “Yo, Ock, check this out right here. Isn’t this ole girl Lisa, the one you ran into in Cali?” He held the picture up for Qwess to view.

  “Yeah. Let me see.” Qwess reached to grab the book, but Doe held it from him.

  “Nah, hold up. Damn, sis look good in this bikini.”

  Lisa was in the coveted Dime Time section, a section that put the most beautiful women in the industry on display. She was the featured model this month.

  Doe continued to openly lust at the picture.

  “Damn, is it blazing or what, brother?” Doe asked Qwess.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “What you mean, you don’t know? You ain’t smash it yet?”

  Qwess shook his head.

  Doe smacked his head. “Aw, man! You been spending all this time with the broad, and you ain’t hit. Hell, you even stayed out in Cali by yourself. Sent us back alone. What’s up? You don’t like chocolate, or sucking toes?”

  “What you talking about?” Qwess was becoming agitated. He was a bona fide swordsman. Just the thought of someone questioning his status was an insult. Furthermore, he was still perturbed that he hadn’t hit.

  Doe clarified his question. “Well, it says right here that she likes her toes sucked, chocolate baths, and whatnot.

  “Man, would you give me the book!” Qwess finally managed to wrestle the book from Doe’s clutches. “You married anyway,” he added.

  “You might as well be. You can’t hit nothing,” Doe retorted.

  Qwess observed the picture, scrutinizing it closely. All he could think about was smashing it. He couldn’t recall the last time he was this smitten with a woman.

  Qwess and Lisa Ivory had spent a considerable amount of time together compared to his other conquests. Thus far he had only gotten to second base: kissing, and meaningful fondling. He was eager to go further, but she was on some other shit.

  “Damn, she is fine,” Qwess admitted. “What would you do with that, brother?” he asked Hulk, showing him the picture.

  “Nothing,” he simply stated.

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, you know, some women are like fine art.”

  “Fine art? Fuck you talking about? I’m married and I would hit it,” Doe interjected.

  Hulk clarified, “Some women are like fine art: They’re nice to look at, but you wouldn’t want to smash it.”

  “Ooh,” commented Amin. Just then their administrative assistant, Alysia, buzzed through. Qwess retrieved the phone out of the holder integrated into the table. Alysia put the call through.

  Qwess immediately started telling Qima off. While he was talking, Reece sauntered through the door, greeted everyone, and took his seat at the table. He snatched the magazine up and began to flip through it until Qwess put down the phone.

  “What’s up, brah?” Reece spoke.

  “A lot,” answered Qwess. “I had to put this little chick in place about my article. She tried to make me look like a sucka.”

  “Word? What she say?” Reece asked.

  “Nothing much. Talking ’bout she did it, so she could make sure she talk to me again.”

  “Who?” Doe asked. He wasn’t paying attention to the conversation.

  “Qima, the reporter from the magazine.”

  Doe chuckl
ed. “Damn, she got good jokes.”

  “True, true. Let’s get down to business now. We’ve been waiting long enough,” Qwess ordered, looking at his watch, then shooting Reece a scathing glance.

  Everyone took bathroom, water, and smoke—weed—breaks respectively then resettled at the opulent table to render a solution to their problem.

  Qwess reiterated a complete rundown of the meeting to Reece. Reece sat thoughtfully for a moment then commented, “How bad do we need her to turn a profit immediately?”

  “Bad.” That was Amin.

  “How could we turn a profit without her?”

  “A miracle.”

  “Come on, Amin. I don’t get down with the pie-in-the-sky bullshit. I deal with the actual factual. You a numbers man. Crunch numbers, nigga!” Reece chastised.

  “How many times I told this brother about calling me a nigga?”

  “Well, quit acting like one.”

  “What?!”

  “Only niggas wait on pie in the sky.”

  “You a nigga!”

  “I’m a god.”

  “You a nigga!”

  “I’m a god—”

  “Come on, brothers, chill out. We ain’t get nowhere like this. Peace it out,” Hulk ordered. He didn’t talk much, but when he did he was obeyed.

  “Word, word,” Qwess cosigned. “Here’s the real deal, a’ight. Flame and Saigon expected to go platinum, but AMG still own some percentages off their work. I could have another album out in six months—if necessary. If we can get Niya out of her contract, and signed with us, we’d clear out. Or . . .” Qwess looked directly at Reece.

  “Or what?” Reece snapped.

  “Or Mysterio could cut an album. Turn to page one forty-two. He got Quotable of the Month.”

  “Anyway,” Reece dismissed. “So, you saying Niya is the equalizer?”

  “Pretty much,” admitted Qwess.

  “What about the two bitches you was telling me about?”

  Amin sighed heavily.