The LyricsTo His Song Page 18

“You can’t quit. Apollo wouldn’t want you to quit.” I tried to convince him.

  Antwan scoffed. “The fuck you know about what Apollo wouldn’t want me to do? He wanted me to stay rapping underground and not take my shit to any of these fucked up ass labels, but I wouldn’t listen. He knew it was all bullshit. I just found out that Sean is gonna be A.J’s partner, that this nigga is about to basically own my ass. I thought he was just working for A.J., but his bitch-ass mama was right—the nigga is gonna own every right to everything that I’ve ever sung underneath Instinctive.”

  I nodded. “I know. If I marry him, I’ll take part ownership in your music. I’ll have access to royalties for your songs. He can’t reproduce or sell your songs without my permission since I’ll own your songs, too.”

  Antwan’s facial expression softened a little as he looked my face over. “You—” He wasn’t quite sure what to say. “You’re marrying this nigga so—so that I won’t lose it all, huh?”

  I hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “Why are you doing this for me, Lyric?” Antwan asked. “Why did you stay behind and wait for me to make it out of that club? Why did you stay with me at the hospital? Why did you have to know the lyrics to my mother’s songs in that book that nobody knows about? Why do you care so much?”

  “Everybody needs someone, Antwan.” I didn’t know what else to tell him.

  Antwan shook his head. “You don’t belong to me regardless. Don’t ruin your life with this nigga to save mine, shawty. It ain’t that deep. You and I can write more music together. Get away from this nigga before it’s too late.”

  “How long have you been rapping? What, since you were like fifteen? You’ve made a lot of hit records, hun.” I watched the ‘fuck it’ expression on Antwan’s face. I sighed. “I can’t let you lose it all just because you wanna be puffed up with pride.”

  “Why do you even care?” Antwan shook his head at me.

  “Shit, why don’t you care? You can’t give it all to A.J. Miller when you said he was responsible for Apollo’s death!” I shoved Antwan. “What made you wanna rap? Think about whatever it was that drove you to do this before you think about throwing it all away.”

  Antwan looked at me, shrugging. “I mean, it's the only way I could get out the way that I feel inside without actually acting it out. My mama was the Mayor of Baltimore, and no one knew that shit until she died. When I met her at that group home and I found out that she was my mom, I kept that shit to myself. I didn’t even wanna talk about it. Being abandoned just drove me harder to get out the ghetto. I grew up in the hood, being raised by my uncle, who used to beat the shit out of us every day. I just saw my brother get killed just because he had no issues killing any muthafucka who crossed him! Me and my brother weren't supposed to be in the hood when we had two parents who were rich, shit. My brother didn't have to die the way he did. I’m angry, got damn it! I went through hell getting into this got-damn industry. I had to do shit you wouldn’t believe to make it as far as I have! I ain’t got nothing to sing about. All these muthafuckas wanna do is change who I am. Want a nigga to sing ballads and shit. You can keep that let-me-sing-a-love-song-to-you shit. I ain’t no soft-ass nigga. I’m not gonna let these niggas chance my image. My fans love me the way I am. I don’t need a broader audience. Once I break away from Instinctive, I’m doing me—gangsta-rappin’ to the day I die, Lyric.”

  “Well, by the looks of the way you’re life is going, it seems like death is knocking right at your front door.” I sighed.

  “Well, then, let it come; I’m ready.” Antwan shot back.

  “I just met you, Antwan. I wanna keep you around for a little while,” I admitted.

  Antwan still wasn’t backing down. “People in hell want A.C. and ice water. What’s your point?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Would you stop being so fuckin’ difficult? I’m trying to save you!”

  Antwan laughed out loud. “Save me? You can’t even save yourself! This nigga’s got you trapped.”

  “I chose to take this ring, Antwan. Sean didn’t force it on my finger.” I tried to tell myself.

  “Yeah, he kind of did when he announced the shit live on the radio before he even told you to your face.” Antwan had to remind me.

  “Look, I can handle my own problems, okay?” I watched Antwan smirking.

  “Yeah, I see.” Antwan grinned a little. “Good job, Mrs. Lee.”

  “And we’re not talking about me; we’re talking about you. You can’t give this up, Antwan. You worked too hard.” I let him know.

  “The fuck do you care? You gonna let Sean run your life. Looks to me like death is knocking at your muthafuckin’ door, too. Therapy my ass. How long you think that rehab shit is gonna last? One month? Two?” Antwan watched me stand from my seat.

  “Are you coming or what, Antwan? I’ve never been to Miami.” I told him. “We were supposed to go to Miami Beach the week my brother died. After he died, I never went back. I know you’re hurting, but please just do this one thing for me, and I swear I won’t ask you to do anything else.”

  Antwan stood from the chair, looking down into my face. He took a deep breath. “What time does the flight leave?

  ***

  We all arrived in Miami that night around 11:00. Since I had canceled my hotel reservation, I had to book my reservation at another hotel. Mariah was coming in on a later flight with the rest of the dance team. I flew in with Antwan and his crew on his private jet, since Antwan had canceled the flight that Karen booked him. The crew was staying at the Biltmore, and I had Antwan’s bodyguards get me to the Marriott so that I could get a room far away from anyone else. I had no idea where Antwan was staying, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t have time for Sean’s speculating ass. It was bad enough I couldn’t be in the man’s presence without Sean trippin’. He wasn’t as irrational as he might have been on the cocktail of drugs that he’d been on the day he came back from being on tour with Antwan’s crew. But he still smoked week laced with some sort of drug, just to take the edge off of weaning off of whatever drugs he had in his system. Rehab was just a few weeks away, and it was apparent Sean wasn’t going to get off of drugs on his own. I had to keep my distance from Antwan to keep that boy from flying off the handle.

  I was glad that I canceled my reservation at the Biltmore. I didn’t want to stay in the hotel with the rest of the team, knowing some shit was going to pop up in the company. Tensions were brewing. Antwan was pissed. He knew his father was the reason why Apollo was dead; at the same time, Antwan knew Apollo should have thought before he killed his brother over a girl who didn’t give a fuck about him.

  “Booked?” I exclaimed at the front desk of the Marriott hotel. “How the fuck are you booked?”

  The front desk agent, Nancy, shrugged. “Sorry, ma’am, we’re booked because of the new club opening just a few blocks from here. Not to mention, Antwan Jared is in town and will be appearing at the club.”

  I was so frustrated. “Well, tell me the nearest hotel to this one please. I am supposed to be at that club in thirty minutes!”

  I saw Nancy’s eyes widen as she looked over my shoulder before looking back at me.

  “She can stay with me.” I heard Antwan’s voice behind me.

  I shook my head frantically as Antwan approached my side. “No, Nancy—no!”

  “What’s up, Nancy?” Antwan grinned at Nancy. “Yeah, two room keys, please. Shawty’s staying with me. Have someone carry her luggage to our room, a’ight?” He winked his eye at Nancy before taking the room keys from her and grabbing me by the hand.

  “You’ve got some nerve, Antwan. Why do you have so be so fuckin’ bold?” I asked Antwan, watching him open the door to the hotel room.

  “Thank you.” Antwan tipped the bellhop as he placed our bags inside of the room. Antwan eyed me as the bellhop left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “You know we shouldn’t be staying in a room together, Antwan! How does this shit look?” I exclaimed.

&nbs
p; “Nobody knows we’re staying here together. I paid the front desk attendant enough for her to reserve the room in ‘Billy Sunday’s’ name.” Antwan grinned.

  I made a face. “Who is that?”

  “Exactly.” Antwan replied.

  I rolled my eyes. “Someone is going to see us. When Sean gets here, I’m pretty much screwed.”

  “Lyric, you’re the only thing keeping a nigga calm right now. You have no idea the thoughts running through my mind. Can I just—” Antwan didn’t want to sound like he was begging. “Can I just have my calm until the storm hits?”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I didn’t. “I need to get dressed and get to this meet and greet. Are you coming?” I watched Antwan shaking his head, taking off his jacket. “Why? Come on. Don’t make me go by myself. Mariah’s flight hasn’t made it yet. I really don’t feel like being there with Karen. I feel like she’s trying to sell me whenever I’m around her.”

  Antwan laughed, walking past me. “Yeah, she’ll put a price tag on your ass and sell you to the highest bidder if you let her. She’s always looking to make a profit off of someone. My publicist, agent, and a few record executives from Beat the Block are going to be at that club. Not to mention, By Any Means is going to be in the spot, too. They’re both trying to steal a nigga from Instinctive. Everyone wants your music, shawty. They didn’t know it was your music until Sean admitted that you wrote the songs that he claimed that he wrote for me. All these years, it’s been you.” Antwan shook his head, taking off the blue baseball cap that Apollo was wearing the day that he died. Antwan went by the club the day after the shootout to help clean up and found the hat on the floor.

  I ended up going to the meet and greet alone that night. The weather was horrible. Sean sent a text, saying that there was a storm in Maryland that was going to delay his flight until early the next morning. Mariah and the dancer’s flight was delayed as well. I was alone. I didn’t feel right going back to the room with Antwan, even though every inch of my body wanted to. I sat by myself at Club Venture, listening to Antwan and his brother’s songs playing over the speakers. The club was filled with record executives and club owners. The club was opening to the public the next day at nine o’clock. Antwan was going to perform in front of about twelve hundred people, and I knew his head wasn’t really in it. The songs that he recorded with Apollo were ruthless as a muthafucka, telling tales of what they got into while living in the hood. The twins showed no mercy to their enemies. If there was any truth to the lyrics that Antwan and Apollo sung, they had done things to keep muthafuckas after them for years to come. Killing McKaylah and Wale was the least of the crimes that was committed. Karen wanted to soften Antwan’s music to take attention away from the album that Antwan recorded with his brother. She wanted to show a different side of Antwan. She wanted to show that Antwan Jared was more than a thug. That he had a heart.

  I didn’t stay at the meet and greet very long. Around two o’clock, I went back to the hotel room to find Antwan sitting in a chair facing the window, watching the rain splattering against the glass. Beats By Dre earphones covered his ears. Tears slid down his face. I walked over to him, sitting in a chair alongside his. His hand gripped the arm of the chair as if he was holding onto the chair to keep him from getting up and leaving that hotel to do something crazy. His nostrils were flaring, and his eyebrows were tightly knitted together. I placed my hand on his. Antwan’s facial expression softened a little as he loosened his grip on the chair to grab ahold of my hand.

  There was only one king-sized bed in the room. I refused to let Antwan sleep in a got-damn chair when it was his room. So, we both decided to sleep on opposite ends of the bed. At least, that was how it started out. I hardly got any sleep that night. I had nightmare after nightmare of Denise giving birth to the twins. Apollo didn’t make a sound his first few minutes of life. Denise gave birth to both boys, no C-section, no drugs. She was already in labor when she was rushed to the hospital. She was young, probably about seventeen years old. She was wearing a private school outfit in my dream, so I assumed she was in high school. When she pushed Antwan out, the doctors immediately took him. When she pushed Apollo out, they took minutes to revive him before taking him to the NICU. A dark figure stood in the room the night of her delivery, telling Denise, “This is for the best.” I must’ve had the same dream at least ten times that night. I felt each and every twinge of pain that Denise felt while giving birth to those boys. I woke up screaming halfway through each dream. Antwan crawled his way to my end of the bed, holding me, soothing me through each dream. He didn’t know what I was dreaming about, but he knew that I needed him.

  I took a nice long shower that morning to drown out the thoughts of the twins’ mother. I got out of the shower, stepping out onto the carpet that was spread out in front of the bathtub. I had no idea of what I was going to wear. I used to get dolled up everyday; you would never catch me in sneakers, a t-shirt, or sweats. But Sean’s jealousy had gotten out of control. I didn’t have time to hear that nigga asking me where the fuck I was going if I had on something that was too tight or too short or wasn’t being worn around him. I was lucky he let me rock crop tops or skinny jeans. All I had in my luggage were jeans, tank tops, and capris. I was going to have to wear one of Mariah’s outfits because there was no way I was going to wear anything in my sister’s suitcase. Mariah’s flight came in that morning at around 10:30. She wanted me to go with her to rehearsal. Like I said before, I wasn’t a part of this performance. I was just on the road with Antwan, so I could write music, and we could rehearse the songs. Karen had studio connections in every major city, so recording the songs between performances wasn’t going to be a problem.

  I stood in the mirror, adjusting my bra, when Antwan came into the bathroom, walking past me and over to the toilet like I wasn’t standing there. I scoffed. “Really, Antwan?”

  Antwan made a “you know you’ve seen a dick before” face at me before standing over the toilet, which was right next to the sink that I was standing in front of. And he just whipped it out in front of me. I couldn’t help but glance at it after seeing something shiny flickering from the corner of my eye. He wasn’t hard, but the dick had to be about six inches in girth, maybe about eight inches long. And when he wiped that monster out of his sweatpants, I saw three steel barbells climbing down his dick, at least an inch between the three of them.

  I gasped, looking back into his face.

  Antwan grinned, looking down at his dick as he peed. “Frenum Ladder—that’s what it’s called.”

  I shook my head at him. “What the fuck made you wanna get some shit like that, Antwan?” I grabbed my tank top, throwing it on.

  “This crazy ass white girl I used to fuck with had all sorts of body piercing. She told me it would be fun, so I went with shawty to get it done. It wasn’t so bad. So I got another one. And then another one. You’re lookin’ at a nigga like I’m crazy, but the ladies love to climb this ladder. I’m telling you.” Antwan watched me roll my eyes as he shook his dick before sticking it back through his boxers.

  “Oh, please,” I muttered, though I was sure they did. I looked at Antwan as I grabbed my shorts from the countertop and slid into them. He didn’t look dressed to go rehearsal. He was dressed in black sweats and a wife beater. “Umm, Antwan, are you going with me to rehearsal? I mean, we’d have to leave at different times, so they won’t suspect anything, but are you—”

  Antwan cut me off, standing alongside the sink, eyeing his handsome relection in the mirror as he washed his hands. “What the fuck is the point of going to rehearsal when I’m not going to perform, Lyric? I can’t even think of performing. All I have on my mind is revenge, and all Karen is thinking about is money. Fuck her. Fuck that performance. I’m not doing the shit.”

  And he didn’t. Club Venture was packed that night, beyond capacity. The owners were prepared for at least twelve hundred people to show up, but instead, almost two thousand people crowded around the club that
night to get in to see Antwan. The cops surrounded the club within a three-mile diameter. The stage was set. The dancers were in place. Mariah was nervous but was looking cute as ever. They practiced for five hours straight that day. And Antwan was difficult through the entire rehearsal.

  Our first appearance was at the opening of that nightclub. Everyone was in town to see Antwan perform, but his heart wasn’t in it. The crowd was hype, cheering him on without him saying one word. His very presence was captivating. There he was, dressed like he was about to go play ball—wife beater, gray sweats, gray Jordan’s, black baseball cap—and you would’ve thought by the way the women screamed over him that he was dressed in Alexander Wang. Antwan told me that he wasn’t going to perform that day, but I didn’t actually believe him. It wasn’t that he was being stubborn or that he was being defiant, he actually couldn’t perform. When the beat to Apollo’s The Right One dropped, Antwan broke down. He sat on the stool in the middle of the stage and didn’t say a thing. He lowered his head, tears sliding down his face.

  “Oh my God.” Sheena stood to my left.

  I sighed, Queen standing to my right, watching Antwan breaking down from backstage. No one knew what to do. The crowd gave Apollo a moment of silence and watched as Antwan shed tears for his dead brother.

  “Awe, look at my lil cuz.” Queen Gates choked back tears, placing her hand over her heart.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I heard Karen’s voice over my shoulder as she came up behind us.

  I sighed, rolling my eyes, pointing out to the audience. “This is what’s going on, Karen. You got the boy performing his brother’s song when his brother just died a week ago. The crowd knows he needs time; it’s sad someone who’s known him since he was a young teenager doesn’t realize what he needs.” I glared at Karen before looking back at Antwan.

  The music filled the air around us. We should have felt excitement, but all we felt was pain.

  “We love you, Antwan!” Fans screamed.

  “Rest in peace, Apollo!” Others chanted, crying with Antwan.