The LyricsTo His Song Page 2

  I looked at Mariah. Sean never told me anything. Sean liked to keep me out of his life when it came to the music industry. I had known Sean ever since I learned to tie my shoes. We’d been off and on since we were in junior high school. Sean was my first everything. First kiss. First touch. First taste. First dick. First love. And also the first boy to break my heart. He’d been mixing beats since that boy laid his hands on a keyboard in the second grade. When his older brother, Johnny, bought him that turntable and synthesizer in the seventh grade, oh it was on. You couldn’t keep Sean off of either one of them. Sean started making mix-tapes. It didn’t take long for his brother and cousins to realize that Sean had talent, that he could make money off of those tapes in the streets. The year before my car accident, a producer bought one of Sean’s tapes. I’d never forget; we were chillin’ at Popeye’s off of 175 in Hanover when this man, who looked vaguely familiar, sat across from us. Turned out that familiar face was Rocky Moses, executive of Guttah Records, based out of Washington, D.C. He worked with a lot of local artists, but he was just big enough to get Sean where he needed to be. Six months later, my boo landed a spot on Antwan “The Jeweler” Jared’s team, Instinctive Entertainment. And Sean hadn’t been the same since.

  Parties after parties. Tour after tour. Club after club. Bitches calling my house and hanging up at all hours of the night. Night sessions in the studio until around five or six in the morning, and you know that I was never allowed to go. I was stuck like glue to that boy. We’d broken up too many times to remember. And I took him back even more times than that. I couldn’t say he didn’t love me; but I couldn’t say that his eyes, hands, lips, and dick didn’t wander from time to time either. Yeah, I’d be the first to admit that I was dumb. Most of the girls that I knew who were dating celebrities at least lived with the muthafucka or he had her spoiled with all the material shit in the world that she was too busy being spoiled to realize that the nigga wasn’t ever around. I, on the other hand, still worked at Foot Locker. Still struggled to pay bills. And still suffered from a broken heart. You see, when I’d gotten into that car accident back in 2012, I was three-months pregnant. I’d lost his baby. Can you imagine, waking up from a coma after two months to find out the baby inside of you was gone? I was devastated, and Sean was too busy making music to be hurt by the situation. As a matter-of-fact, Mariah told me that Sean had only came to see me once the entire time that I was in the hospital recovering.

  “The nigga doesn’t want you having a life, Audrey. There’s no way you should be working here when your got-damn boyfriend, who you’ve known since you were a got-damn baby, is a fuckin’ superstar! The nigga has headphones, drum sets, shit, got-damn cell phones named after him! His name, Sean Lee, is about to be every got-damn where, and where are you?” Mariah scoffed. “Working at Arundel Mills Mall in whack ass Hanover, Maryland.”

  I sighed, not really feeling like hearing her making sense that afternoon. “Girl, I ain’t trying to hear this shit today. The new Jordan’s came in this morning. You wanted a size five and a half in boy’s, right?” I watched a smile form across my bish’s face.

  She threw her arms around me. “Girl, why you gotta be so sweet? Ugh! He doesn’t deserve you. You’re too good for him. Let’s get fly, push these C-cups up, and twerk our way into The Rhymes tonight.” Mariah watched me roll my eyes.

  Before I could respond back to her, my bestie and assistant manager, Elle, came racing through the entrance, screaming.

  “The fuck is wrong with you?” Mariah watched Elle jumping up and down at the counter, titties bouncing up and down. She wore a tight tank top, baggy gray sweats, and fresh gray Jordan’s. Elle was Filipino and cute as a button but loud and ghetto as hell.

  “Girlllll, ooooohhhh! You will never believe who is about to roll up in here in about twenty seconds!” Elle screamed, just as a crew of four or five men dressed in all black made their way through the entrance of my store. They looked like someone’s bodyguards.

  Before I could even ask what the hell was going on, in came about six other men, dressed in white and purple urban apparel. They grinned at the three of us staring at them as they walked through the store. And just when I thought why the fuck did these guys need bodyguards, in strolled sexy ass Antwan Jared. Mariah’s mouth dropped open. She damn near passed out at the sight of the dude; she had to brace herself up against me.

  I shook my head to myself, standing up from the stool, eyes trailing Antwan as he made his way over to us. He was dressed in black Nike Sweats, a white tank top, black and white Jordan’s, and a black baseball cap that read ‘The Hood Raised Me’. I tried not to stare, but I found myself reading each and every one of the tattoos that decorated his shoulders, biceps, triceps, neck, and sideburns. He was sexy, in a you-don’t-need-to-be-drooling-over-this-guy-because-you-have-a-crazy-ass-boyfriend kind of way. I wasn’t quite as star struck as my girls were. My sister was a dancer, and my boyfriend produced music for superstars. I wasn’t quite a part of their world, but I was affected by it. I was left out of so much of what was going on with either of their lives that I saw no fascination in it. My life hadn’t changed one bit since either of them entered into fame. I resented fame. And at that moment, I pretty much resented Antwan. I bet the muthafucka didn’t even recognize me or realize who I was. Not only was I the recipient of his mother’s heart, but I was girlfriend of a man who produced the majority of his music.

  I watched as the bodyguards, without my got-damn permission, let down the gates to the entrance of my store. Then, I looked back at Antwan’s little entourage as they walked along the walls, looking at our selection.

  Antwan looked at the three of us.

  By that time, Elle was behind me, squealing under her breath. And Mariah was on the stool that I once sat on, grabbing onto my arm, digging her nails into my wrist. I sighed, shaking my head at Antwan, who chuckled at their thirst.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jared, can we help you?” I watched as at least twenty people stood outside of the gate of Foot Locker, peeping in at Antwan. It didn’t take but a few seconds for the crowd to realize who he was and start going crazy. I looked back at Antwan, who was grinning, platinum braces entrapping his teeth. This guy was the only dude I knew who could make braces look cool.

  And I rolled my eyes. “It would have been nice if you would have had your agent or your manager warn us about you coming here. It’s 10:00 on a Friday morning, the Friday morning before Valentine’s Day to be exact. Most college students are out of school today. We make a lot of money the last few days before holidays, hun, so closing the store down while you and your little friends walk around, looking at shit really isn’t making me any money.”

  Elle gasped.

  Mariah looked up at me like I had lost my mind.

  And Antwan grinned, shaking his head at me. I think the guy was pretty amazed that I wasn’t falling all over him. There Mariah and Elle were, motionless, speechless, breathless over this dude. And all I could see when I saw Antwan was a troubled soul. All he rapped about was madness, murder, and mayhem, something that was foreign to me, the child of two middle-class parents who were from Florida.

  Antwan looked down at the nametag on my shirt and then back up into my face. “Audrey, hey, what’s up? How are you? Can me and my crew check out’cha shoes? We’re hittin’ up the club tonight. Not tryin’ to roll up in there with my Giuseppe’s when nigga’s in Baltimore be with that bullshit. All we wanna do is buy about three or four pair of shoes each. There’s twelve of us, so that’s forty-eight pair of shoes. Most of your Nikes and Jordan’s run about $160, with them new J’s being about $250. So, we’re at least gonna spend a good,” Antwan counted in his head for a few seconds, “$7700 within the next thirty minutes or so. When is the last time this store made that much in less than an hour, shawty?”

  I sighed, nodding, agreeing with his reasoning. “Ladies, could you help these men find whatever size for whatever shoe they’re interested in?”

  Elle and Mariah wer
e enjoying their time talking and trippin’ with Antwan’s crew. I was just chillin’ behind the counter, trying to ignore the phone, which was ringing off the hook. I already knew that my neighboring stores were calling to complain about the crowd that was forming outside of my store, taking business away from them.

  Antwan’s song, Pop it for a G, played over the stereo system. I giggled to myself, watching Mariah bend over and twerk for the crew. You know them niggas were lovin’ watching Mariah work her hips and clap that booty. She was just having fun, but all men think about when they see ass is getting in that ass. Little did they know, dick was the furthest thing from Mariah’s mind. I’d known Mariah since second grade, and she’d always liked girls. There was nothing about a man that Mariah found appealing. The day that Mariah’s father left her mother on her deathbed was the day that Mariah swore off men altogether. Her mother was dying, and the worse part was her father was sleeping with the oncologist that was treating his wife. Mariah watched her mother die of cancer alone. And a few months after her mother’s funeral, her father moved the doctor into his home. From that day on out, Mariah was like, the hell with men. I saw her reasoning. Men be with that bullshit… but the dick is just so good. And if I wanted to play with pussy, I’d play with my own. I was just sayin’.

  “So, you gonna give us a discount or what?” I heard Antwan’s raspy voice coming from my left. I looked up to see Antwan strolling over to me, placing two boxes of Nikes and two boxes of Jordan’s on the countertop.

  I watched as Antwan pulled the price tag from the white shirt with black swooshes sprinkled over it that he held in his hands. I watched him pull it over his head, sliding his arms through the long sleeves.

  I laughed to myself, watching Antwan put his baseball cap back on his head, adjusting it to his liking. “Ummm, and what do you call yourself doing?”

  “Trying on the shirt that you’re about to buy for me. Ya know, as my apology gift.” Antwan grinned.

  “Apology gift? Apologize for what?” I looked his flawless face over.

  “For not saying a word to me the whole time I’ve been in this store. I know you’ve seen a nigga staring at you.” Antwan’s light brown eyes searched my face.

  “I’m sorry. I was just distracted by the two hundred people standing outside of my store, waiting to get in to not buy shoes but to get your autograph.” I rolled my eyes, trying my best to ignore his flirtation. “Mall security has called several times. I hope y’all plan on paying mall management for this commotion. They only welcome superstars when they get their cut, too.”

  Antwan looked at me for a minute, squinting his eyes as if to get a closer look at me.

  “Wait, I know you, don’t I?” Antwan tried remembering where he’d seen me.

  I just looked at him. At the time that I was introduced to him, Antwan was going through a lot. The media had just exposed the fact that his mother was the Mayor of Baltimore, who practically disowned the man and his twin brother. Rumor had it, his father, who he’d never met, showed up to the funeral. His father turned out to be A.J. Miller, founder of Relentless Entertainment, a record label known for taking what they wanted by any means necessary. The company stayed in competition with Instinctive, often stealing artists from the company. Antwan and his twin brother, Apollo, were raised in public housing, in a community called Meade Village. Two boys who were supposed to be rich grew up in the hood, a place they had no business being. Antwan was angry, and it reflected in his music.

  Antwan still remembered my face, and it surprised me. When I met him three years earlier, he was high as a kite and barely looked at me. Sean didn’t have the heart to tell him that I carried his mother’s heart around with me, but his manager thought him knowing that his mother was still alive and beating inside of someone would help Antwan’s situation. It didn’t. Antwan couldn’t even look me in the face. That was the only time that Sean had ever brought me around his circle of people, and even then, I don’t even think he introduced me as his girlfriend.

  “No, we don’t know each other.” I shook my head, entering my manager ID into the register before scanning Antwan’s shoes into the system. I didn’t want him associating me with my sister, who danced for him, or Sean, who produced half the songs on his album. Brandie swore up and down that Antwan Jared was feelin’ her. I didn’t care what Antwan rapped about, every female thought his song had something to do with her. Whenever you’d see Antwan rapping on stage, Brandie was right there, front and center of the dancers. On Antwan’s videos, there Brandie was, all over him. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew I didn’t want any part of it.

  “You sure? You look real familiar. I never forget a face. Especially not a face like yours.” Antwan’s eyes searched my face as he pulled out his wallet, taking out his American Express Black Card.

  I shook my head, changing the subject. “No charge.” I slid his shoes into two plastic bags.

  Antwan looked at me, watching me sliding the shoes over to him. “What’cha mean, shawty? Your manager is gonna fire your ass.”

  “I am the manager, sweetie.” I tightened the strings on the bags, holding them up so he can grab the strings. “Take ‘em. They’re my ‘apology gifts’, remember? And you can have the shirt, too, since you just threw it on like the shit was yours.”

  Antwan chuckled, taking the bags from me, his fingers grazing against mine. “That’s what’s up, Audrey.” Antwan looked back at his people, who were still picking out shoes and flirting with my girls, and then he looked back at me. “Aye, what’cha getting into tonight? You got plans?”

  I nodded. “You can say that. My boyfriend is just coming back in town after being gone for a while. We’re gonna spend some much needed quality time together tonight.”

  Antwan’s eyebrows lowered. He actually looked disappointed that I had a man, but he shook his feelings off real quick. “What’cha doin’ workin’ when your man needs to be takin’ care of you, Audrey? Some nigga you’ve got.” Antwan shook his head. “Sorry muthafucka.”

  I sighed, thinking the same thing myself.

  “So, this is what you do? Manage shoes and shit?” Antwan grinned, braces sparkling.

  I watched him lick his lips, and then I looked back into his eyes. “Ummm,” I stuttered, speechless for a few seconds. His lips were so fuckin’ juicy. “I write music. I mean, not professionally, but I play around with a few lyrics every now and then.” I entered my discount into the system before taking my debit card from my pocket to pay for the shoes.

  Antwan watched me paying for his shoes. “So,” he hesitated for a few seconds, probably stunned that someone was buying him something for once. “You’re beautiful, work at Foot Locker, have a man, you write music, and you don’t mind spoiling ya nigga. Do you ever do anything with your skills?”

  “What do you mean?” My eyes searched his face.

  “Just what I said, shawty. Do you ever put your skills to the test?” Antwan’s eyes searched my face, too.

  I hesitated. “Not often. My girls are always trying to get me to spit rhymes on stage. I do every once in a while, when I’m drunk, just for fun.”

  Antwan nodded. “That’s what’s up, Lyric.”

  I looked up at him. He had me from the word ‘beautiful’ but giving me a nickname really struck my heart. “Lyric?” I whispered.

  Antwan grinned, “We’re gonna be at The Rhymes tonight around 9:30. You know, the spot that my brutha and cousin manage downtown. My man, Trap, just gave ya girl three tickets to get in. Everything is on us. The drinks, the food, the transportation, everything. I’ll even have my driver come scoop you and your girls in my ride.”

  I shook my head. Sean wasn’t having that shit.

  Antwan sighed, frustrated a little. “Or, if you don’t want me to know where you stay, you can come on your own. C’mon, why don’t you roll through? Spend some time with ya nigga in V.I.P. Afterwards, we’re going over my man’s crib for the after party.”

  I hesitated, looking over at
my girls, who were looking back at me talking to Antwan. I looked back into his face.

  Antwan still tried to convince me to go. “I’m sure you heard about the talent contest tonight. Whoever wins will get an interview with Karen Black, the CEO of my squad, shawty. You could earn a chance to work with my team. You just said that you write music. That you have skills. I bet you’re pretty good, Lyric. Show me what’cha got.”

  I sighed as the receipt printed for his shoes. I tore the receipt from the feeder and then handed him the receipt. “If you have any issues with these shoes, let me know, okay? I’m here at least six days a week. If I’m not here, my assistant manager, Elle, is here.”

  Antwan smiled. “You are cute as a muthafucka.” He watched me blush, something I didn’t do too often. “And you’ve got the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Does your man tell you how pretty you are?”

  I looked up at Antwan, shaking my head, being honest with him. “He’s too busy to tell me much of anything these days. I appreciate the compliment, Antwan, but I’m sure you tell all the girls they’re pretty. Don’t scuff the new Jordan’s, okay? I’m sure we’ll be sold out of size tens by tonight.”

  Antwan grinned, shaking his head at me.

  “Aye, Jeweler!” One of Antwan’s crew members, who I recognized from one of his videos, called out to him. “We’re good. I think we have enough shoes. Let’s pay shawty and roll, so we can hit the streets. We gotta get the rest of the crew from the airport.”

  “A’ight, Rhandy.” Antwan answered him, looking at me. “That accent of yours is sexy as a muthafucka. Bet you would have the crowd hype as a muthafucka. Just think about it.”

  I looked at him, watching him looking me over a little before turning around and walking away from the counter and over to his crew. Alright, heart, calm down, wrong person, I tried telling myself.

  ***

  I sat at my dining room table that night, tapping my fingernails against the cherry wood surface. There it was, around eight that night, and I still hadn’t seen Sean’s ass. We were supposed to meet at six that night so that we could go out to eat and then to a movie. Sean hadn’t so much as called me once that evening to explain why he was late. I sat there, looking cute, curly hair braided into a curly Mohawk. I was dressed in my white crop top, tight, high-waist jeans, and the knee-high, gray Jordan boots that Sean had custom-made for me a few months earlier. They were one of the many I’m-sorry-for-fuckin’-up-again presents. I loved that muthafucka with everything I had, but a person wasn’t going to keep being dumb forever. I was tired of being kept out of his life. I was tired of being placed in the background. I knew at least five girls who were dating celebrities, and every last one of them went to at least two of their man’s award ceremonies. They had at least been on tour with their man once. They had at least met their man’s boss. They had at least been in one photo in one magazine with their man. My man had been working with Antwan Jared for five years, and I’d only met the crew once. And even that was only because Karen Black wanted Antwan to see that his mother’s heart was still beating. But even then, I was only introduced as the recipient of his mother’s heart and not as Sean’s girlfriend. Sean and I were getting nowhere.