by Nikki Turner
For a second there was silence as Jay began to lustfully scrutinize me from head to toe like I was a piece of meat he was getting ready to sink his teeth into. Again, I repeated my question, because it was obvious that his mind was traveling to all the wrong places, like a typical man. “Do you think my music will do well in the eight p.m. mix?”
Jay immodestly smiled as he leaned closer toward me and turned the lock on the door. At that moment I was wondering what the hell was going on because the mood had suddenly shifted from professional to personal. “Yes, I agree with you one hundred percent, Melissa. You are certainly talented, and I for one want to be in your corner.”
Feeling a bit awkward and out of place, I tried to steer the conversation back to my music, hoping he was still on that subject, although my better judgment was telling me he wasn’t. “So here’s my CD.” I reached into my bag for it. “Tracks 1, 5, and 9 are my favorites because they really showcase my range and versatility.”
Jay took the CD, set it on the table behind me, and took the liberty of putting his hands on my thighs. At that moment I knew exactly what was up, but there was no way I was sleeping with this man. Who does he think he is to leave me sitting in this fucking office for hours waiting for him, just to have him bluntly make sexual gestures toward me?
“Maybe you don’t get what I’m trying to say to you. I heard about you, not your music. Fatz told me all about the good work you put in, and I really want to see if you’re as good as they all say you are.” Oh, my God, I thought. The moment he said Fatz’s name, I knew my secret was blown. No one knew what was going on behind closed doors at the studio but me and the family, but it’s apparent that Fatz couldn’t be a real nigga and keep his mouth shut. Still, I wasn’t going to let this fool put me down and, furthermore, he wasn’t going to insult my character like that.
“Excuse me,” I replied, as I pushed his grimy hands off me. “I came here for you to listen to my music and hopefully to get my songs played on the radio. I didn’t come in here to get insulted.”
Jay looked at me as if I was speaking Chinese. “Come on, FFB. You slept with the whole damn NBE label and you’re in here talking all proper and saying you didn’t come in here to get insulted? Did you feel insulted when you fucked Fatz in his truck five minutes after you met him?” FFB? What the hell does that mean? He started to laugh dead in my face as I sat stunned and quiet. “Now, that’s what you call an insult, a nigga blowing your back out in his truck. I, on the other hand, am simply asking you to provide me with some of your wonderful services. Maybe you can show me a little something right now. I heard you’re mad flexible.”
I wanted to sink into the ground and never show my face to anyone ever again. The way he labeled me as a first-class whore was inexcusable. Yes, I did sleep with the whole NBE label, and yes, I did have sex with Fatz as soon as I met him but that didn’t make me a freak. I was only doing what I had to do to survive at that moment. I was damn near homeless and starving when I first arrived in Atlanta. I needed some friends to have my back until I got on my feet. Every time I slept with someone, I always reminded myself that once I got my record deal, I would never degrade myself like that again. Jay Spinz didn’t know me from a can of paint, and he’d never understand where I was at. Mrs. Tarsha told me a long time ago that there’s nothing wrong with having sex to get a check. She said she did it and it landed her a rich lawyer husband, so I could only have faith that it would work out for me too.
Jay continued to proposition me, but I was in no mood to hear any more of his offensive proposals. “I thought you wanted to make it in this industry,” he said. “I heard you were serious about getting signed and becoming big and famous.”
“Yes, I want to make it, but I don’t have to sleep with you or anyone else to accomplish my dreams because I’ve got talent, and my CD speaks for itself.”
“Man, the only talent you got is sucking and riding a hell of a dick, from what I was told, so I thought you wanted to add me to the roster. But I see you’re not serious about your music career.” Jay then stood up, opened the door, and practically put me out of his office. “Now I feel insulted,” he said in a joking manner as he rubbed his hand across his face and looked in the mirror. “I know I look waaaay sexier than Fatz’s big ass, and you treated him like a king. I guess I’m not fat enough, is that it?” He lifted his Polo shirt to broadcast his washboard abs in hopes of me getting turned on, I guess. “Look, baby girl, come back when you get your head right. Remember this, though: If you want me to play, then you have to lay! Have a nice day, FFB.”
FFB? He said it again and I had no clue what those initials meant, but I was too ashamed to even stand there and argue with this jerk. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Worst of all, I couldn’t believe that Fatz had sold me out like that. I got down with him and his crew because I didn’t have any money to pay for production and studio time. Words couldn’t explain how ashamed I felt walking out of that radio station as Jay and the other disk jockeys pointed, laughed at me, and called me an FFB. Usually I would have stood up for myself, but how could I? I was foolish to believe that everything I did in-house would actually stay in-house.
That one embarrassing day led to many others like a domino effect as every door I knocked on was slammed in my face. Everyone wanted to use me to write and sing background for their artists, but no one wanted to work with me as a solo artist. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on. My CD was ten times better than a lot of garbage I heard playing on the radio, yet other female artists were getting the love and exposure I deserved.
Trying to switch things up a bit, I decided to change my stage name from Melissa James to “Mel-J.” I even began to sport a superlong weave down my back and bought a pair of grayish contact lenses to add some spice to my look. I tried every damn thing to give myself that extra push as I continued to grind in the streets every single day but it seemed as though I was blackballed.
I was at work one afternoon when a huge party came into the restaurant. I’d moved up to waiting tables and I prayed and prayed that the hostess wouldn’t seat those loud, obnoxious motherfuckers in my area, but as luck would have it, she did. I was in no mood to deal with this bullshit, especially with the messed-up week that I was experiencing. I was depressed, cranky, and irritable, which was a bad combination, especially when dealing with the public.
I walked over to Amanda and pleaded with her to cover that table for me. I knew that I was on the edge and one slipup could leave me unemployed or even worse, in jail. “Girl, if you do this big favor for me, I swear I’ll owe you one. I’m just not in the mood to smile and be nice to those motherfuckers, and I don’t want to say or do anything that might cost me my job.”
Amanda looked at me as if I were insane. “Melissa, don’t you know who that is over there? I thought you would be happy as fuck to wait on that table. Girl, that is Reggie, the CEO of Big Dream Records. That nigga right there can take your music to the next level. That’s one of the hottest local labels. You need to take your ass over there and leave a CD in his lap, but be sure not to let anyone see you, because you know the rule: absolutely no solicitation of customers.”
“I heard about Reggie, but I never actually met him in person. Everyone speaks highly of him and his label, and I always hear his name all over the radio. He just threw that big all-white party last week with Young Jeezy, right?”
“Yes, that’s him. Go fix yourself up in the bathroom real quick and get over there.”
I ran into the bathroom, reapplied my makeup, and hurriedly returned to wait on my table. But then my boss decided to move me from the area and put a more experienced waitress at the table since the party was so big, about fifteen people. Every time someone big comes into the restaurant they always send the same lame-ass people to wait on their table, knowing good and well that they would do anything to get big tips, including kissing ass. Damn, lately I can’t get a fucking break to save my life.
For about an hour, I wal
ked back and forth, watching everyone eating and enjoying their meals. I particularly kept a close eye on Reggie and prayed that he made eye contact with me at least one time but he never did. Furthermore, I was still on the clock and had my own damn tables to wait on, which kept me pretty busy and out of commission.
I walked toward the kitchen area to put in an order and realized that Reggie and his entire entourage were getting up from the table and proceeding to leave. I looked over at Amanda, who in return looked back at me like, girl, you better do something and fast. For about a minute or two I contemplated whether I should just walk over in front of everyone and hand this dude my CD. With the luck I’d been experiencing lately, he’d probably yell at me for interrupting his social time and make me feel worse than I already did.
I thought over what I should do as Reggie and his crew began to head my way. My heart began to race and my thoughts became flustered. Before I knew it, he walked directly past me and toward the door. It was like I was watching a golden opportunity pass me by, and at that moment I didn’t know what came over me, because out of the blue I screamed the nigga’s name as if my life depended on it.
“Reggie … Reggie, wait!” I screamed. Everyone turned around, including my co-workers. “I … I … I wanted to give you a copy of my CD.”
Reggie turned to his friends and began to smile. Instantly I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach. “You screamed my name like that just to hand me a CD. Girl, I thought you saw someone about to assassinate my ass.” Everyone began to laugh and I felt sick to my stomach. “What kind of CD is this, anyway? You’re a rapper?” I guess he figured I rap because of my edgy look on the CD cover.
“No, sir,” I replied, looking down at the ground and wishing I had kept my damn mouth shut. “I’m an R&B singer and songwriter. This is my first album. I wrote every song on there, so if you …”
“Okay … Okay. I get what you’re trying to say.” Reggie cut me off in the middle of my thought and once again I was utterly embarrassed. “My CD player is broke so if you want me to hear your song you have to sing live right now.”
“You want me to sing right here in front of everyone? Right now?” I nervously asked.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t want you to sing to me after I leave because that wouldn’t make much sense, now would it?” Some of his friends started to laugh. “Go ahead and sing the first song on this CD.”
Perfect, I thought. I absolutely loved the first song on my CD because it was a slow ballad called “Self-Destruction.” I began writing that song when I first arrived in Atlanta and was waiting in the car for Amanda to get off work. It practically tells my life story and my inner thoughts. I knew a million motherfuckers were looking at me and I could possibly make a fool out of myself. And even worse, I knew I was going to lose my job for creating such a scene, but this could be the break I needed, and I wasn’t going to let it slip away. So without giving it a second thought, I opened my mouth and sang like I never had before.
“I’ve been down so many times that I’ve found comfort in the ground. Running from my own shadow is what led me out of town. Finally I realized that it’s me and no one else. How can I defeat this enemy? Tell me, how do I protect me from myself? I need some protection from my own self-destruction.”
My eyes were closed and for that moment everyone else in the room disappeared in my mind. I let my soul flow free and got lost in the emotions of the song. Every note was on point, the melody was soothing, and I didn’t need anyone to tell me how great I sounded because I knew. It took me back to the days when I was singing in my father’s church choir. I was belting out from my diaphragm as if I were an opera singer at the peak of her aria. I didn’t know what it was, but this moment was real for me and I just couldn’t let it slip out of my hands.
Then Reggie cut in. “Whoa … Whoa,” he said, while shaking his head. Everyone in the room began clapping. “I haven’t heard anyone sing like that in a long time. When I told you my CD player was broke, I was really just testing you. I didn’t think you would actually sing in front of all these people, and on top of that, I didn’t expect such a powerful voice to come from that little body.”
“Thank you,” I answered, feeling my spirit soar. “So are you willing to bring me onto your label?” If you knew anything about me, you knew that I didn’t waste time because I was always racing the clock. I didn’t need to hear that I could sing because I already knew that. I needed to hear him say that he was going to work with me.
“Girl, as good as you sound, you should be picking, choosing, and refusing labels. Here’s my business card. Give me a call first thing in the morning and I just may have an amazing opportunity for you.” Reggie then made his way out of the restaurant as he simultaneously flipped over my CD to view the cover. “Melissa, be prepared to put in some hard work because we grind hard at our label.”
“Trust me, Reggie,” I replied. “I will grind harder than anyone you already have signed to that label. For one, I know that I’m hungrier than any other artist you’ve worked with past or present. And two, I live for this, so bring it on.” Instantly, I saw some of the people with him start to look me up and down like I had crossed the line with that remark. I knew I might have touched someone’s sensitive spot and already made a few enemies, but my goal at the moment was to impress Reggie and no one else.
“I like what I hear,” he stated as he turned and looked at a young lady who was standing not too far from him. As a matter of fact, she was one of the people who was giving me the evil eye. “Do you hear that, Shay? I hope you have that grind in you as well.” Let’s just say that the look Shay gave both of us answered his question loud and clear. She wanted to tell both of us to kiss her ass.
Once Reggie and his friends left the building, I was called to the manager’s office, which was expected because I had broken the rules. Amanda had drilled into my head that I must never let anyone see me promoting my CD on the job, and I had flat-out auditioned for Reggie like I was on stage at a talent show. It was okay to slide someone your CD or phone number on the down low and pray that no one ratted you out. But I took it to the next level and held a concert in this motherfucking restaurant.
I walked into the office employed and in less than fifteen minutes I walked back out unemployed. To make a long story short, I was jobless once again but I was cool with that. I could always find another job on any given day or night, but running into someone as prominent as Reggie was very rare.
That night when Amanda came home from work she had some words for me and I had some for her as well. My parents put my ass out years ago; I wasn’t confined to any rules and surely wasn’t going to let this wannabe-diva talk to me like I was her child.
“Why did you pull that stunt today?” she asked with an attitude. “Why would you do something that I told you would get you fired? I told you to hand over a CD, not sing a fucking song to the entire restaurant. We’ve got bills to pay and they’re not going to fucking disappear because you lost your job, and I’m certainly not going to cover your ass.”
“I did it because I had to do something before Reggie walked out that door. It’s been almost a year, and so far nothing has popped for me out here. Girl, I can get a job anywhere, so why are you tripping like it’s a big deal?”
“Because I put my neck out for you to get that job and you just don’t give a fuck about putting me in a bad position with the boss. Now they’re never going to take my word about anything because I highly recommended you and you basically shitted on me.”
“Look, Amanda, I apologize, okay? But I have to follow my heart, and my heart beats for music and you know that. Maybe you can put your dreams on the back burner and serve motherfuckers fried chicken and collard greens all night long, but I can’t do it.”
“Oh, my dreams are on the back burner now? If I’m not mistaken, I get paying gigs month after month while you’re out there begging motherfuckers to listen to your demo. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten this far, and yo
u want to sit in my house and talk like my life is pathetic.”
“I didn’t say that, but if the shoe fits, wear it,” I replied as I looked directly into her eyes so she knew I meant business.
“Oh, honey, the shoe is definitely five sizes off from my petite feet, but I think I have a perfect fit for you. Try this on for size. Get the fuck out of my house and go mooch off someone else.”
“With pleasure,” I snarled. “I was planning on leaving anyway; better sooner than later.”
“Get the fuck out of my house” were words that I’d gotten used to, so this time around I wasn’t fazed one bit. My parents were the first ones to tell me, then Mrs. Tarsha, and now Amanda. That shit was getting pretty redundant at this point in my life.
I packed up all my belongings, put them in my trunk like I’d done before, and drove around until I found a cheap hotel to lay my head for the night. I had to get some rest because I had a long day ahead of me. I had to find another job fast, before my savings ran out. I also had to give Reggie a call to see what was on his agenda for me. To be perfectly honest, working with him would be the highlight of my day.
I tried to lie down to get some rest but the stench and filth of the cheap-ass room I was in kept me up all night long. On top of that, the junkies shooting up and fucking like dogs in the next room were making so much noise it was impossible to sleep for even a millisecond.
The next morning, I was already up, dressed, and out of that hellhole before sunrise. There was no way in hell I would ever live my life like that. This was my wake-up call to get my shit in order because I had never laid my delicate head in such places.