God Don't Like Haters 3

by Jordan Belcher

"Why not?"

  "Because I just got you back!"

  "Sundi, we've done long distance before."

  "But you were married then. We had to."

  "We have to now. This is what the circumstances call for."

  I held back tears. "So you're gonna buy a fucking mansion in Georgia? Why are you throwing away money like that? You could be putting that money into your artist."

  "I leased the mansion."

  "You already leased the—?" I couldn't even finish my sentence I was so infuriated. I bumped my bare chest against his, burying my nipples. "This isn't something you just decided to do. You already had this in place way before Eliyah fired me. You probably had this Atlanta move planned before you got out of prison. When were you gonna tell me?"

  "I told you when I first got out that I wouldn't be staying with you long."

  "But I thought you liked it here."

  “I do. And I’d stay if Eliyah didn’t know I was here. But he does. This move is necessary. I’m thinking long-term. I’m using my extrasensory perception.”

  “Using what?”

  He turned back around, dipping his head under the stream of water from the showerhead nozzle, rinsing. If he thought the water would drown me out, he was wrong.

  I screamed in his ear, "Am I in your long-term plan, nigga! Or am I just check one on your fucking prison release bucket list!"

  He ignored me.

  So I yelled louder. "LA'RENZ TAYLOR, you better ANSWER ME MUTHAFUCKER!"

  Not until I grabbed his balls from behind did I get his attention—but not in the way I had expected.

  He turned and grabbed me by the throat with lightning speed. Before I knew it the glass shower door shattered as he shoved me through it (I think accidentally). Slipping, I fell out onto the toilet and then hugged the lid to keep from falling all the way onto the floor with all the glass. Amazingly I wasn't bleeding or hurt. La'Renz stepped out of the shower and stood over me as if he were about to kill me.

  "Rule number one," he growled. "Don't ever grab my dick while I'm in the shower unless I tell you to."

  I felt like I was in prison now.

  "Rule number two—you don't ever question what the fuck I do. I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I'M DOING! And not you, Eliyah, or any of these other muthafuckas out here who got an opinion about La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor can tell me how to do this shit. I know how to win! I taught muthafuckas how to win! All you can do for me is fall in line. If not, then get the fuck on. Because I won't let my feelings for you get in the way this time. Not this time."

  I knew how to deal with the Buddy Rough side of La'Renz. Just shut up and be quiet, let him blow his steam off. Don't antagonize.

  Behind him, the showerhead continued to blast hot pressured water. And without a door it was spraying over the waterproof pan onto the floor. Puddles were already starting to form on my tile.

  "Can you cut the water off, please?" I asked him nicely.

  Chapter 7

  Kirbie Amor

  Hunts Point, Bronx

  I was dropped off at another studio in Hunts Point, an industrial neighborhood of the Bronx overran with train tracks and failed properties. La'Renz led me inside a graffiti-tagged building and up a flight of weak, unsteady steps with no hand rail. After a minute or so of walking I realized La'Renz didn't know where he was going, or at least it seemed that way by the constant craning of his neck around corners. But then a young Asian man with wireless headphones draped over his shoulders stuck his head out of a room and waved us over and I knew this was our producer.

  He introduced himself as DJ East and shook both of our hands excitedly. He had a dimpled smile and scruffy hair. It seemed as though La'Renz had just met this guy or barely knew him, and I didn't feel comfortable being left alone with him, especially after what happened between me and Timbuck. But I had been in more bad-vibe situations than this—way more—when I sold pills with Archie, so I would have to deal with my discomfort like a lady, just like I'd done in the past.

  About ten minutes into the session, after DJ East had let us listen to intros of several of his latest projects, my inner alarm system started to reach a calm. The music was growing on me. And I found myself tossing song themes around in my mind and mumbling lyrics that seemed to fit with the mood of the instruments.

  I must have looked like I felt safe because that's when La'Renz pulled me to the side and told me he was leaving.

  "I have to go but I want to make sure you're okay first," he said with his arm curled around my shoulder. He was starting to feel like a big brother. "Will you be okay?"

  I nodded. "I'm fine. I like his beats."

  "Cool."

  Then La'Renz handed me a small .22 Ruger with a three-inch barrel—a gun I didn't even know he had been carrying!—and made me tuck it in the rear of my pants without DJ East seeing.

  La'Renz lowered his voice even more. "If he gives you problems, shoot him. If you can make it out of here without putting a bullet in him, then do that. Because I don't know this nigga. I just met him in a club right after I got out of prison. But he's popular in the nightlife here and I want to get you established with a couple more DJs before we move south."

  South. The word held so much weight with me. I was just starting to get familiar with the Big Apple and now we were packing up and going to Atlanta. La'Renz had just told me the news last night and I hadn't had a chance to tell Coras yet.

  Or Archie, for that matter.

  "Don't be afraid to use it," La'Renz went on. "There's a hammer on the top of it, this rounded spur thing at the back. Just click it down, aim and—"

  "I know how to shoot," I said, cutting him off. It was times like this that I wished La'Renz knew me like some of my friends back home. Because he would have known that I was no stranger to revolvers or automatic pistols and assault rifles. The only weapon I had little experience with was a shotgun because they were big and short-ranged.

  I figured that La'Renz must have had me stereotyped as this helpless little Kansas City girl, just like those guys at Revolt had. La'Renz probably thought my lyrics were fake too.

  Hmph. No big deal.

  Over time, he'd learn.

  "Next time bring me a .380," I whispered. "That's what I used to carry."

  He smiled at me like I was lying, and then he patted me on the back and left.

  Me and DJ East recorded three unbelievably great songs. My phone had been buzzing the whole time but I ignored it. I was shooting for a fourth song, trying to impress La'Renz with my work ethic, but DJ East intercommed me and told me to come out of the booth.

  "Let's take a break," he said. "I can tell you're tired as hell."

  This was the same thing Timbuck said to me, I thought.

  I sat down near DJ East but far enough away to have time to react if he came at me. But for some reason I didn't think he would. He seemed more nervous than me.

  "Kirbie, I couldn't wait to meet you," he said with an excited tremor in his voice. "I love how you do what you do."

  "Thank you."

  "Your lyrics sound real. Never heard nothing like it. Normally all girls sing about is love. You sing about selling pills."

  I smiled politely. "Thanks. I write from experience."

  "It'd be nice to get Coras on a track with you too."

  My heart started beating fast, and I immediately got protective. "How the fuck do you know Coras?"

  DJ East looked offended. "Who doesn't know Coras? He's a very popular underground artist here in New York. I play his music in the club every night and the crowd loves it. And throughout the night, if the dancers ever start to lull, I'll re-play one of you guys' songs together to get 'em hype again."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. Every night, literally. That's how I met La'Renz. I played one of your songs one night and he rushed up to me at the DJ booth trying to figure out who you were."

  I was about to ask questions about La'Renz in connection to my music—because I was still confused about how he'd found my
information—but my phone rang again. It was Archie. I wasn't surprised. He'd been calling me nonstop the past few days.

  I excused myself from DJ East and stood in the corner of the room and answered my cell. "Hello?"

  "Harder to get in touch with than the president," Archie said bitterly.

  "I'm working. I'm in the studio right now so I can't talk long."

  "Don't have time for your fiancé?"

  "I do. Just not a lot. How are you?"

  "I saw you and Coras on The Site commenting back and forth under that picture with you and Timbuck. Do you think that's appropriate behavior for a female engaged to someone else?"

  "Archie, I was corresponding with a lot of other fans too."

  "Coras isn't a fan."

  "Neither is Gee Beats and he was commenting too. Is Gee a problem also?"

  "Just Coras. You know I don't like that bitch ass nigga. He's tryna fuck you. You may not see it, but I know how niggas think. And he's starting to comment on your posts more and more to make people think yall got something going on."

  "Archie, if you called to talk about The Site then we should schedule this another time. I'm on the clock. I don't want to spend La'Renz's studio money on the phone."

  "Speaking of money ..." Archie began, then he went quiet on me. A second later I heard a tiny buzzing sound similar to a hummingbird. His voice came back on: "Did you hear that?"

  "Yeah, what was it?"

  "That was the sound of me flipping through a hundred thousand dollars. Business is booming, Kirbie! You can quit that music shit and come on home to what you're good at."

  I almost cursed at him. For Archie to imply that I was only good at selling drugs and not singing really hurt coming from him. But that reinforced my determination to make this first mixtape as good as it could be. Because if I didn't, I would have to go back home and peddle cocaine—or whatever drug was currently in demand—with Archie for the rest of my life. I wanted something better for us.

  I told Archie I had to go and that I loved him, then I sat back down with DJ East.

  "Sorry about that," I said. "That was my fiancé."

  "Coras?" he asked.

  I let out a laugh. "No, I'm not engaged to Coras but ..." I patted my thighs impatiently. "Can we get back rolling? I'm ready to lay another song."

  "Okay. But I'd love to get you and Coras on a song together."

  "Great. We can email him the track."

  "Or he can come to New York and lay a song with you in the booth here in person. And then you guys can come down to the club and do a live show." His eyes lit up expectantly. "Can you make that happen? I'd be honored."

  I wasn't sure if Coras would come, but I really wanted to see him. Lately, I'd been needing somebody to talk to concerning music and my self-doubt about creating good songs. Coras knew me best in that department. We had talked and left each other inboxes since I left home, but there was nothing like sitting across from him as he took my hands in his and made me believe I had the best voice in the world, past and present.

  "I'll leave him a message after we finish recording," I said to DJ East, so as not to get his hopes up.

  ... Or my own.

  Kirbie Amor > Coras Bane: Hey, homie. How would you like to come to New York and step in the booth with me? :) I met a DJ here named DJ East who's a fan of yours and wants us to do a track together and perform at his club. If you can't fly out here, I understand. I'll still email you the track so you can get on it. Get at me, boy.

  Chapter 8

  Coras Bane

  outskirts of St. Joe, Missouri

  Me and Ashleigh were on a road trip back from St. Joe, Missouri, which was only an hour away from Kansas City and might not technically have been considered a road trip but it sure felt like it. I was ready to climb in bed and go to sleep.

  "Are you about to pass out on me?" Ashleigh asked from her spot behind the wheel. She had her seatbelt on, I didn't. "Did you get too high? Coras, wake up."

  "I'm awake."

  "I wanna celebrate when we get back home."

  "What's to celebrate?"

  "Are you kidding me? We got our biggest take-home pay yet!"

  She was right. I had just performed at Missouri Western State University in front of over three thousand students and walked away with seventy-five hundred dollars. A quarter of it came from merchandise—I sold out of cotton tees with my name printed on it, which Ashleigh had convinced me to do. It was a good night, definitely.

  But it was also a rare night, and I knew that the checks wouldn't always be this good. Before, I always had dope money to fall back on, a never-ending stream of street income that kept me afloat. But now I was at odds with my plug Milo Chavis, and therefore forced to depend on Ashleigh and rap money.

  And both were fluctuating.

  I was tempted to inbox Monifa and lay the dick on her in order to get back in good with Milo ... but I knew Gee would be beyond pissed. He took a bullet from one of Milo's goons and nearly lost his life.

  That episode was still fresh on my mind. I had been banned from the Sprint Center and subsequently blackballed from other venues in Kansas City, which was why I had to travel out to St. Joe for work. In a way it was a good thing. It was a stimulus to seek gigs out of town again, which Ashleigh was doing a good job of booking.

  Since Kirbie went to New York, Ashleigh had really been gung-ho.

  With the passenger seat reclined, I put my forearm over my eyes to invite sleep. But then my cell phone made a beeping noise that indicated I had a Site notification.

  I sat up slowly, using the Volvo's power seat controls.

  "Look who's waking up to check The Site," Ashleigh said sarcastically when she saw me pull out my phone. "I thought you were tired."

  I was still groggy as I thumbed my phone to open up the app. But when I saw I had a message from Kirbie I felt like I had been injected with a needle of hubba rock straight to the veins.

  Kirbie I fucking miss you and I don't even miss people, I thought with a deep desire to be near her again, or at least in range of her scent.

  I clicked on her message and began reading. It was a message inviting me to New York! I immediately started typing a reply and was surprised by how quickly she responded. I was happy and smiling like she was here in the car riding with us.

  Coras Bane: I'm there! When can I come???

  Kirbie Amor: As soon as you can get here

  Coras Bane: I'll book a flight tonight

  Kirbie Amor: Seriously?

  Coras Bane: Damn right. I need to get out of KC anyway.

  Kirbie Amor: Ashleigh won't let you LOL. She got you on a short leash

  Coras Bane: I know how to wiggle out of it though

  Kirbie Amor: LMAO!

  Coras Bane: I'll see you soon then

  Kirbie Amor: Okay. Call me when you have an idea when you'll land

  Ashleigh must have leaned over and seen a part of what I was texting because she said, "Land where? What is that bitch talking about?"

  I stuffed my phone in my pocket. "I need you to turn around."

  "For what?"

  "Airport. We're going to New York."

  She flipped. "No you are not! We're going home."

  "Kirbie just invited me out to New York. She said she got a show set up for me."

  "Since when did she become your manager?"

  "She's out there making moves and she wants me to be a part of it. This could be a big opportunity for me. La'Renz Taylor might see me perform and wanna sign me too."

  "No, if he was gonna sign you he would've did it already. He heard your mixtape. That's how he found Kirbie. I think Kirbie wants you to come out there just to shove it in your face that she's doing better than you. She's not doing shit special, but she thinks she is."

  "Kirbie doesn't get down like that. She's tryna get me some exposure."

  "You're blinded, Coras. She's not to be trusted. Forget about her. She walked out on us, remember? If she makes it, she's not gonna bring
you on with her."

  "Ashleigh, take me to the airport."

  "No." She had both hands on the wheel, focused on the road. "Who the fuck is she? You're not just dropping what you're doing and running to her whenever she calls. That's insane. She's not your woman. Only I have that privilege. You don't even have any clothes or luggage, a flight schedule ..."

  "We can figure that out when we get to KCI. We're closer to the airport than your house. It'll take forever going out to Olathe then back out this way. Fuck clothes; I can go shopping in New York."

  She shot me a look. "With Kirbie? Nigga please. If you go to New York I'm coming with you."

  "I don't need you holding my fucking hand."

  "If I can't go, then you're not going. And if you still try to go without me, then you better look for another place to stay when you get back. Because you won't be living with me. And how are you gonna go anyway with no money? The university deposited that check into my account, remember?"

  I couldn't believe that just came out of her mouth. She had just threatened me. If it wasn't for the college's stipulation of direct deposit to performers, I would've had that seventy-five-hundred dollar payment in cash and wouldn't have needed Ashleigh to put it in her account. Now she was hanging that over my head, as well as threatening to kick me out. It reminded me of the shit that Monifa used to pull. Monifa threw it in my face all the time that she could make Milo stop supplying me and thus cut off my means of survival.

  All these bitches are the same. They get leverage, then they get difficult.

  "We're going to Olathe and we're gonna pack our things," Ashleigh stated. "Then we're gonna find a flight. If all the flights going to New York are red-eyes, then we're waiting until the morning. No sense in pulling an all-nighter on a plane and limiting brain activity through sleep-deprivation just because Kirbie thinks it's important that you come now. She can wait, right?"

  I bit my tongue.

  Chapter 9