"I already handled Archie, Daddy. He won't be hitting me no more."
Benjamin looked at me worriedly. He knew I sold drugs and carried a gun. I had even sold pills to some of his old buddies. I could tell by looking in his eyes that he wanted to say more to me, but he felt like he couldn't tell me what to do anymore because he'd lost his privileges as a father. He'd treated me worse than any man ever had and probably ever would.
"I'll put it up," he said, and I gave him the shotgun back. "Just promise me you won't go back to him."
"I don't know what I'm gonna do yet."
"What about Coras? I thought you liked him."
"He's taken."
"I can find you a nice young man at the church—"
"Daddy, I'm fine. I'll figure it out. If I have to be alone, I'll be alone."
"I just don't want you to end up lonely like me."
I gave him a hug. "Go put the shotgun back, Daddy."
He held me for a moment longer, kissing me on my forehead. Then he went into his room and closed the door. I heard him turn on some music by his favorite artist—rhythm and blues by the incomparable Caylene Hope.
My phone rang.
"Hello?" I answered. I went back in my room and sat down on the bed.
"Where you at?" Coras asked.
"At my daddy's house? How's Monifa doing?"
"What?"
I decided not to even get into it with him over his childish comment on The Site. I was going to be the bigger person.
This time.
"Are you ready to be an adult?" he asked me.
I sucked my teeth. "Coras, you act like I'm late to the studio all the—"
"Answer my question. Are you ready to be an adult? I didn't ask for backtalk."
Everybody wanted to be my daddy, it seemed—Archie, my real daddy, and especially this drill sergeant on the other end of the line.
"Kirbie, you can't just be a good singer in this industry," Coras continued. "You might assume that because you got a voice that you're special, but thinking that way will hinder you. You gotta work, girl. Yeah, you're not scared to hustle; yeah, you're not scared to shoot a gun; yeah, you can turn all of that into hot music—but all of that falls to the wayside if you can't be a responsible business woman on top of that."
I was very close to hanging up on him.
"Are you ready to woman-up? I would say act ya age but you're only 18. I need you to act my age."
This nigga ... bruh ...
"I'm ready," I said.
"Are you?"
"Yes, Coras."
"You're always talking about people hating on you. You need to stop hating on yo'self and take this music seriously. We need to get my mixtape done so I can get it mastered and we can start working it and sending it out to these major labels. I'm ready to get rich."
"Me too."
"Well get yo ass down here to the studio then. And put some pep in ya step."
CHAPTER 8
La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor
My first day out of prison I had just enough money to get me a hotel in downtown Manhattan, New York. It was a fancy suite; I wouldn't settle for nothing less. I stayed up all night standing at the window, looking down at the Mount Eliyah ENT headquarters, owned and operated by my nemesis Eliyah Golomb.
"I did seven years in prison because of you, Eliyah. Oh, you're gonna pay for that, my old friend. Just wait and see."
That night in the hotel, I spent the last of my prison money on a ham sandwich that was undeniably the best thing I ever tasted in nearly a decade.
By the middle of the next morning, I had over a hundred thousand dollars in cash, secured from industry associates that owed me money. First, I bought the finest suit I could find in stores—a navy blue Armani suit tailored to my needs. Then I bought a Hublo watch with diamonds.
As I was exiting the jewelry store, someone took a picture of me on their camera phone. It was a young Black girl with short hair, cute but not cute enough, dressed in a revealing white blouse that draped over gothic leather pants. Her wrists were accessorized with costume jewelry.
Bohemian, I assumed.
"Are you La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor?" she asked with a smile.
New Yorkers were bustling past us. No one else had noticed me yet. She snapped another picture, wide angle this time.
"Yes, I am," I said.
"Can I take a picture with you, please?"
"No," I said, then climbed into the back of my awaiting cab.
I had no time to waste.
My next stop was Mount Eliyah ENT. I was dressed the way I imagined I would be dressed the first time I saw Eliyah. I was dressed like the man I was before prison. I wanted him to see that confinement hadn't changed me.
"Thank you, sir, right here," I said to the cab driver. He stopped, I tipped him and climbed out of the cab.
I fixed my tie before I walked into my old partner's establishment.
I was recognized immediately by the front desk security. It was two of them. I could tell by their wide eyes that they knew I was La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor. I kept walking past their desk.
The bigger of the two spoke up. "Sir, you have to check in first."
I was at the elevators when the big one decided to get up and come after me. The last time I'd been here I shattered a window by throwing a hiphop award through glass in Eliyah's office. The trophy landed somewhere on the street below. I had been irate because the award belonged to an artist I discovered, a rapper named Yayo Love. Eliyah stole him like he tried to steal my late wife Jazzmine Short. I would've thrown Eliyah out of that same window but security escorted me out. Ever since then I had been on high-alert by Mount Eliyah security.
Apparently, after doing seven years in prison, I was still on high-alert.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. I stepped on.
"Mr. Taylor, you're not allowed in this building," said the hefty security guard, slamming his hand against the elevator frame and stopping the door from closing. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises immediately."
"Why?" I asked.
"I wasn't told why. I just need you to leave."
"What's your name?"
"Bryan."
"Bryan, I need you to move your hand out of the way so I can head on upstairs. I have some business with your boss I need to attend to. And in doing so, I'll consider you for a potential job in working for me when I crush this company."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Taylor. I need you to leave. You're only allowed in the building by appointment only."
I sighed, rolling my eyes. "I'm sorry to have to do this to you, Bryan."
I reached into my suit jacket as if I had a gun. Bryan had quick reflexes for a man of his size—he had backed away from the elevator at least six feet in half of a second. I smiled at him as the doors slid closed.
I didn't have a gun.
Not yet anyway.
CHAPTER 9
Kirbie Amor Capelton
I felt more focused than I ever had in my life. I was working on my first solo mixtape!
Coras had already finished his mixtape a couple weeks ago and sent it out to all the major labels, including Mount Eliyah ENT. He hadn't gotten any responses yet, but the song we did with Slim Eight was being played on Kansas City's local radio station, Hot 103 Jamz. People had been calling in and requesting the song.
Me and Gee Beats were the only ones in the studio this morning. He was scanning through instrumentals he'd produced.
"Just tell me when you hear one you like," Gee said.
We found what I thought was the perfect beat, so I sat down on the couch with my pen and pad and started my creativity process. I decided to name the song, "Touch Me Again." This was going to be a fight song, not a sex song. It was going to be about Archie, of course. Chock full of revenge, murder and trash talk.
I was halfway through my first verse when Coras walked in the studio with his side chick—ahem, our manager—Ashleigh Hedgman. As
hleigh was dressed casually in a turquoise button up, black slacks, and wedge sandals. She was pretty, I couldn't hate. I couldn't hate on Coras either; he had on a muscle-hugging black V-neck with a luxurious gold Cuban link chain around his neck.
"Cut the music," Coras said to Gee Beats. "We have an announcement to make."
Gee leaned into his workstation and cut all of the levels down. Then he took a swig of his Hennessey and spun in his chair to face Coras and Ashleigh. I set my pen and pad down on my lap.
I was actually doing a good job of not showing my panic. An announcement? Is this bitch pregnant?!
"Ashleigh, go ahead," said Coras.
Ashleigh smiled. "Big news. I've managed to book us a spot opening up for Yayo Love at the Sprint Center."
Wow! That was good news. And a relief at the same time. It was almost impossible getting booked at the Sprint Center, which was the largest venue in Kansas City for aspiring artists like us. Local artists rarely got to perform there.
"What songs are we doing?" I asked.
"Four songs," Ashleigh said. "And we only have time to perform the first three minutes of each. The songs are: Killa City, Convenient For Me, Murder Rate Up, and No Bull."
I frowned at the song choices. Two of the tracks she mentioned I wasn't even featured on. And one of the ones I was featured on, I sung last so if we only had time to do the first three minutes on each, that meant I was only performing once. For the other three songs I'd just be on stage looking pretty.
Ashleigh loved to hate on me.
"Who picked the songs?" I asked.
"I did," she said. "Randomly."
"I bet."
Coras said, "After the Sprint Center, we're gonna hit the road and start working my mixtape. Convenient For Me featuring Slim Eight has been a success for us so far and we have to keep spreading it across the states that support Kansas City artists. Texas, North Carolina, Denver—"
"What about my mixtape?" I cut in. "How am I gonna work on it if we're on the road?"
"You're mixtape is up next, Kirbie," said Coras. "We just gotta give mines the biggest push while it's hot."
"Let all things be done decently and in order," Ashleigh added with a smile, quoting the Corinthians verse from the Bible.
This was the second time my mixtape was going to be pushed to the backburner.
Coras looked at me, reading my disappointment. He sounded like a politician when he said, "You can always write on the road. Have Gee Beats download some instrumentals onto your cellphone. By the time we get back, you should have half of your mixtape ready. And before I forget, I just wanted to say I'm proud of you, Kirbie. You've been making it to the studio on time and making music a priority."
Gee Beats turned the music back on and I tried to get back in writer mode. But I couldn't. I had too much on my mind.
Sighing, I picked my phone up and logged into The Site, something I always did when I had writer's block. I made a status update about being excited to perform at the Sprint Center—I tagged Coras and Gee Beats in the post, like always—and then I went to Archie's profile page. His latest update was ten minutes ago:
ArchieGotSkittles36: Missing my woman :(
This post was typical of Archie. We'd argue and break-up, he'd make a status about being glad I was gone to rack up Likes from the single-woman Site users, and then days or weeks later he'd post a stat about how much he missed me.
There was one factor that seemed to always pull us back together though. And that was those Purple Gorilla pills. We made a good hustling team, me and Archie. And when we did have our separations, it was like we were still together because I'd still sell my share of pills and travel with him to re-cop. Sometimes we rode in silence and sometimes we rekindled our relationship on those out-of-town trips. Last night I went to our storage unit and found him hobbling around inside on crutches. I grabbed a bag of pills out of the unit and didn't say barely two words to him.
My phone rang. It was Archie.
For a moment I wondered if I should even answer. Did I really want to jump right back into the same situation, knowing I was going to be single again as soon as we got into another argument? This last time it was basically my fault, getting caught fingering myself to Coras's verse, but who's fault would it be next time? Because there would be a next time.
There always was.
I looked across the basement and saw Coras talking to Ashleigh in the corner of the room. It seemed like they were having some kind of heated debate because Ashleigh looked close to tears. She was probably complaining to him about playing second-fiddle to Monifa. I watched him take his finger and lift her chin gently, edging his lips close to hers.
She turned away.
I asked myself: Kirbie, is that the man you're waiting for to sweep you off of your feet? You need to come back down to reality, boo-boo.
Listening to my phone ring, I finally put it up to my ear. Archie was all I had.
"Hello?" I answered.
CHAPTER 10
La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor
I was sure the security guard called the police, so I didn't have a lot of time. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I walked out onto the top floor and stalked across the room. I kept an important pace and didn't even turn to look at the workers as they began to notice who I was. Some of them started standing up at their desks, gawking and whispering.
"Is that La’Renz Taylor?"
"That is La'Renz. That's Buddy Rough."
"He killed his wife. Jazzmine was so young."
"I can't believe they only gave him seven years."
I kept walking to where I remembered Eliyah's grand office to be. Then I opened the door without knocking.
"Yes, we need to broaden our distribution—"
It was Thomas Dyer in the executive's chair, not Eliyah. He looked stunned by my presence. I was bothered by his.
"Let me call you back," he said into the phone, then hung up and set it on his desk. "What the hell are you doing in my office? How'd you get past security?"
"Is that any way to talk to your boss?" I said.
"You're not my boss. I'm CEO here at Mount Eliyah ENT now."
"I can't believe you, Thomas. You let that white boy convince you to work for him?"
"This is the biggest hiphop company in the world, La'Renz. When you went to prison, no one wanted anything to do with Taylor Music Group. What was I supposed to do? Starve?"
Before prison, I had hired Thomas Dyer as an A&R for Taylor Music Group. He scouted talent, and he had a knack for it. I remembered sitting in my office smoking Cuban cigars with him as we laughed about Eliyah leaving the TMG family to start his own label. We never guessed the no-rhythm Jewish bitch would build a rival company in just a few years' time.
Thomas was young back then. He had a goatee and kept a swirl part in his head. Now the goatee was gone and he was balding. He looked older than me.
"Why are you here?" Thomas asked me.
"I just wanted to look Eliyah in the face and tell him that I'm dedicating my life to shutting Mount Eliyah ENT down. Taylor Music Group is going to rebuild. Success is gonna be my revenge."
Thomas sighed, as he leaned back in his office chair and scratched his head. "Eliyah is rarely ever here, La'Renz. He just bought a pro basketball team and an advertising company. He's too busy to be here. That's why he hired me."
"Come back to Taylor Music Group, Thomas. That's where your loyalty is at."
"La'Renz, are you crazy? I don't wanna have anything to do with you. You killed your wife."
I charged toward Thomas and he sprang up out of his seat. He snatched his letter opener off of his desk and put his back against the wall, the sharp end of the letter opener pointed at me.
I paused. He was trembling.
"You know I didn't kill Jazzmine," I snarled.
"You pled guilty, La'Renz."
"Because I had to! Eliyah set me up! I would still be in prison if I went to trial. He knew the prosecuting attorney on the ca
se. Hell, I didn't trust my own lawyer because he was buddies with almost every defense attorney in New York and probably still is. He's Jewish, Thomas. He came from wealth and political power. He had my wife killed and he framed me!"
Thomas was still trembling with the letter opener. I knew I could disarm him in three moves and have my knee on his neck all within 15 seconds, but I didn't want to risk fucking up my new suit.
"Please-please ... leave," he stuttered.
"You made your choice then," I said, as I turned and walked out of the office buttoning my suit jacket. "You're the enemy now."
***
I took the stairs instead of the elevator. I didn't know if the police were in the building yet, and I had one more stop to make.
I hurried down just two flights, stopping on the second floor. Last time I was here the submissions department was on this level. In the stairwell, I pulled open the second floor door in an attempt to be discreet, then I went in.
Music was playing on this floor. Rap music. I looked and saw most of the employees all grouped to one side of the room, crowding around a young kid with a microphone. This was some kind of listening party or audition.
Good, I thought.
I was able to walk into the submissions area unseen. Atop several desks were stacks of envelopes and packages containing CDs and digital files from aspiring musicians from all over the United States. I knew that all of the top talent in the country would be submitting here, and I was going to steal some. Simple as that. Just like Eliyah had done to me. I would need fresh, undiscovered talent if I wanted the new Taylor Music Group to be a success.
I grabbed a nearby trash can and dumped all of the junk in it onto the floor. I started stuffing submissions into the trash bag, one after another.
"La'Renz?"
I turned and saw a face I hadn't seen in years—seven to be exact. It was Sundi Ashworth, the woman who I had cheated on my dead wife with. Many nights I stayed up at night laying on my bunk, hands crossed behind my head, wondering if I should have ever slept with her ... wondering if she should be on my fuck-you list too.
God Don't Like Haters Page 4