“So, you live in North Philly?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“So, you’re not used to having nice shit? Do I have to worry about you stealing from me?”
“I beg your pardon?” She asks with an eyebrow raised.
“Forget it.”
She stares at me, still standing looking like she is going to pop off at the mouth any moment.
“I’m just surprised that you’re not working on baby daddy number three,” I tell her picking up her resume. I only got to read that she is a Temple University graduate, School of Communications before she snatches the resume out of my hands.
“You are not a nice person. I am so mad that I could call you out of your name, but I won’t. I have class, unlike you. I’m sorry that I wasted my time or even admired a person like you. Brotha,” she says turning to Kyle. “Don’t let her mistreat you like this. Just because she has money doesn’t give her the right to mistreat us,” she snaps looking at me as I display a mega-watt smile. Finally.
“And by the way, you have something in your fuckin’ teeth,” she snaps heading for the door.
“Estelle, you’re hired,” I yell behind her. She slowly turns around. “Please have a seat.” She looks at me cautiously. “I’m Aneesah so please call me by my name. Here are documents that you need to look over. You can take them to any lawyer to have them looked over if you wish. There is a confidentiality clause in there that you will need to sign, and we will have it notarized. You will be responsible to hire your own staff of assistants. Three total but I will primarily be dealing with you and you can delegate the work accordingly. Do you have a passport and visa?” Estelle slowly shakes her head no.
“Once you sign the paperwork, I will give you the money to get your passport and visa. You will be on the road with me, seeing the world. Here is my “handbook” so to speak. Please read it and try to memorize it. Know my likes and dislikes. I am going to be leaning on you a lot. When I’m working, when I’m wrapped in my head, I can be an asshole. I don’t mean it. Just stressed so please don’t take it personally. I drink a lot of Essentia water. You or one of the assistants you hire is responsible for taking off the labels. They’re not cutting me a check, so I can’t be seen advertising their brand. That goes for all my little snacks and the Gatorade’s I drink during performances.
“Position starts at $650.00 a week, plus all your travel expenses are paid for. Depending how well you do, there is always room for an increase and you can wear whatever you like. You don’t have to dress in business attire.
“You don’t get to rest until I do. You may struggle to keep up and sometimes you may be off for weeks at a time. I hope that is alright. As of right now, look over the legal documents. If you decide to take on the job, read my little handbook, and if you don’t have any questions, I will see you next week,” I smile.
Estelle’s ass is still sitting in the chair looking lost and confused.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes…yes…thank you,” she says jumping up.
“Oh, and Estelle, I really do love your hair. You don’t have to change it,” I wink at her.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” she says rushing out the door like I am going to change my mind. I look at Kyle. He smiles.
“I get it,” he laughs.
“Good,” I tell him, happy to finally be going home.
The next couple of weeks consists of nothing but dance rehearsals with Deana. I squeeze in my kickboxing and practice meditating when I can and as predicted, the weight that I gained falls off and I am back to my normal size six; however, my ass refuses to go anywhere.
I’ve selected my background singers, my band, and my DJ, which was the easy part. The kids really were impressive. Dave, my engineer and stage manager has selected the additional engineers and stage crew because I don’t know anything about that. I just know what I want, Dave sees the vision and executes. The only thing that I was unable to get from the kids who went to the school is the pyroglyphics because you need a license and let’s face it, I need people with experience if I am trusting them with fire.
***
It’s November and I walk inside the dance studio of the school for the auditions. Deana has been working with the kids so they all know the routine. I’m simply dressed in black tights, a black sports bra underneath one of my crop top tour sweatshirts and a pair of black Jordan’s. Kyle is off in the corner already filming when I take a seat at the table with Deana, Estelle, and Dave.
“Okay, first group, hit it,” Deana says as the music cues. I watch the students go hard on the routine and notice a few girls wearing red flannels, black tights, their required heels, and sequenced hats. What catches my attention about the group is that they all have red bandannas tied around their faces, so I can only see their eyes. I like how they banded together but only one has the potential I’m looking for. Actually, she’s so damn good that she might give both Deana and myself a run for our money.
I spend the afternoon judging and watching. The one bandanna girl that I had my eye on makes it through the last round while her other homies were eliminated early on.
“Stop the track,” I yell putting my hand up. Okay bandanna girl. Let me see you work, I think as I rise from the table. I kick my sneakers off and throw on my heels, taking off my shirt. If she works it, I just found my dance co-captain.
“Number 33, please stay on the floor. The rest of you please line up against the wall,” I tell them walking over to the girl. I plant myself next to her. She is shorter than I am. Probably about 5’6 and her caramel skin is glistening with sweat. Her long thick hair cascades down her back under her hat. As hot as it is, she stayed professional, keeping her hat and bandanna on. She tenses up a little while I stare at her. Only her chestnut brown eyes are visible and when I peer into them, it throws me off a bit because there is something familiar about them and it slightly creeps me out. I dismiss the feeling thinking that I either used her on a tour prior or taught her myself when I used to teach classes.
“Play “Bodies in Motion”, I tell Estelle. “Bodies in Motion” is the hardest, over sexualized dance routine I have and if this girl can twerk and move better than I can, I have to give her, her props.
Estelle cues the music and we begin. The girl is keeping up with me as I watch her in the mirror, twerking and moving her body in sync to mine. We are straight in a battle and I am twerking and moving my hips so hard, I hope my old ass doesn’t throw my back out. I’m going to need a fuckin’ massage later.
Shit! I miss a noticeable step, but the girl keeps going. I don’t exist. She’s in a zone all by herself and somehow the role has switched, and I am trying to keep up with her. The routine ends, and the music stops. The room echoes with applause as I humbly bow my head to her, throwing my hands up in defeat. I watch the other students run out to the floor and hug her because they know she had me. I walk over to the table and chug down a bottle of water.
“Number 33, you want to remove your bandanna and hat, so I can put a face to the girl who just whooped my ass during my own routine?” I ask with laughter in my voice. She slowly walks over to me and stares. The eyes, her eyes; she’s family. She lets out a breath and slowly removes her bandanna and hat as my mouth hangs in a perfect O.
“Destiny?” I exhale staring at Nyce’s niece.
“Hey Aunt Aneesah,” she smiles. I frown at her. She’s not supposed to be here. Destiny is only sixteen and has not graduated from high school yet.
I force myself to turn away from her.
“Monday morning, if you made it on the A team, your name will be posted outside the Director’s office. Congratulations to you all for making it this far and enjoy your weekend,” I dismiss them. Destiny slowly turns from me and walks out the door.
“What was that about?” Estelle asks.
“She wasn’t supposed to be auditioning,” I sigh.
“She was fantastic though.”
“Yeah, I know but she’s still in high school and she’s
a minor,” I tell her, scratching Number 33 off my list.
When Monday rolls around, no sooner than I walk inside the school, I see the kids intensely pacing outside the Director’s office. They look at me with hopeful eyes and though I have the lists for the A, B, and C teams, I know that the only one that matters to them is the A team; the team that is guaranteed to be on stage and in music videos. No dancer ever wants to be an alternate.
They anxiously but patiently wait until I’ve tacked up all three lists. I take about five-foot steps away from the bulletin board before I hear the pitter patter of their feet running to the wall. I hurry and walk inside the office because this is the part I hate. Somebody’s dream is about to be crushed and I can’t stand to see that look on their face.
I am sitting at one of the desks responding to Larry’s email, asking him about the Super Bowl when there is a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I yell. Destiny steps into the office shutting the door behind her.
“You broke the rules, Dest,” I tell her before she starts to plead her case.
“I know, I know, but hear me out. I am a senior. I skipped the fourth grade and I am technically done school in January. I am finishing up my last two classes. I’ll be done high school in January, Aneesah.”
“The rules are you must be 18 and have already completed high school. What about the rest of the kids that didn’t get a chance to audition? It’s not fair to them.”
“What are you talking about? Almost the whole school auditioned. We all snuck in there to audition. I am the only one who made it past all the cuts.”
“Your mom?”
“Is fine with it. She already okayed it. You can call her if you don’t believe me,” she says, taking her cell phone out her backpack.
“You would miss prom and graduating with your class. Those are pivotal milestones that you will never get back.”
“And so is this. I may never get this opportunity again. I can postpone college and go when the tour is over. There will be other graduations for me to attend and prom? Well, I’m okay with missing my prom. I’m fine with missing my prom. Please Aneesah?” She stares at me with pleading eyes, those Hennessey eyes, the same eyes her Uncle has.
“Don’t look at me like that, Destiny,” I tell her with a straight face even though this moment of me telling her no is truly breaking my heart.
“Please Aneesah,” she begs as tears accidentally escapes her eyes. She quickly wipes them off.
“I understand,” she whispers before hurriedly walking out the door.
That night I repeatedly watch the tape of me and Destiny’s dance off. Our bodies are 100% in sync with each other. If she wasn’t sixteen, I would choose her, no questions asked but she’s a child and I have to be fair to the other students.
“Ugh,” I exhale. Against my better judgement, against the rules that I put in place, I text Destiny I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow. It’s 3:30 in the morning on a school night so I know that she is asleep. I walk out the theater room with Biggie in tow, climbing up the stairs to go to bed.
I crack my eyes open at 7:30 in the morning; not wanting to really get up but I have to get my day started. I grab my cell off my nightstand and look at my messages.
CHINK: Tron???????
ME: Leave me alone Chink (mad face emoji)
DESTINY: Thank you, thank you, thank you sooooo much. I promise you won’t regret it. (hearts)
ME: (smiley face)
VIOLA: Thank u for putting our past differences aside and allowing Destiny to be a part of this. She woke me up this morning about the news. Now Aneesah, u kno this is my baby so please take care of her. I’m trusting you (smiley face emoji)
ME: I promise I will always keep a watchful eye on her. I’m Aunt Aneesah (smiley face emoji)
I jump out of bed and change into my workout gear, ready for my kickboxing session with Enzo.
***
It’s a bitter day in December and I’m at the school with the kids finishing up dance rehearsal. For a while now, I notice that Kyle seems to concentrate on Destiny a little too hard but today, today is different because she is actually entertaining it and slyly flirts with him. Oh, hell naw. When we finish up the rehearsal, I call Kyle over to me.
“Hey. I got some excellent footage today. Would you like to see?” He asks.
“No, not at the moment. Have you ever seen that movie Taken, Kyle?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Great movie.”
“So, you know that we will be going overseas soon, and people get kidnapped all the time.” Kyle looks at me with caution.
“Keep messing with my niece and I’ll make your ass disappear,” I threaten, walking out the studio.
“We got it,” Larry says when I answer my phone as I’m walking to my car. I squeal in delight, elated that he has landed me the Super Bowl. It took months of us fighting for the half-time show and I am very surprised that it took them up until now to finalize an act. Because I dropped Anì and am simply going by Aneesah, when they make the announcement to endorsers, I’m sure they’re going to be like “Who?”
“Your budget is $600,000.00 for the performance but you will get $10 million with the endorsements and advertisements. Just be aware that we started a war with Heather B’s people.”
“Does she know that I’m the one who took it from her?” I ask.
“No, but when she sees the performance she will.”
“Cool. My action movie, Larry?”
“I’m working on it.”
“You’ve been saying that since I was 20,” I remind him.
“Don’t start,” he says annoyed as I giggle in the phone. I know that me not getting an action movie has more to do with me than him. Me getting arrested and me briefly retiring being key reasons.
“I’m working on it. You have to have patience. You are asking for a Blockbuster and you just got back in the game.”
“Make it happen,” I tell him firmly with laughter in my voice, so he knows I’m playing but I’m also serious.
I hang up with Larry and send out an email to Deana and my dancers. We have been rehearsing for the Super Bowl performance even though it hasn’t been officially locked in until now. My first performance; my first public appearance in three years and I can’t believe that the Grammy’s are right after and I will be performing Angel-Skyy, making it a theatrical ballet.
I struggled like shit in the beginning with the ballet performance, forgetting how harsh and painful pointe can be on your feet. I have bled, and my feet have swelled because I was so out of practice but when I nail this, when I make my presence known in the industry again, all of this hard work, sleepless nights, long ass video and photo shoots, getting cussed out by my dancers and musicians alike due to them being overworked; all of this, will be worth it.
***
We are at the end of January 2016 and two-weeks shy from the Super Bowl. My album is supposed to drop next Thursday at 12 am and I negotiated with Target to do a one-day sale for $5.00 that Friday.
I’m currently chilling at home channel surfing, trying to find something to watch when I stumble on TMZ. Normally I would keep flicking through the channels because I hate TMZ, but my friend, rap artist, Vic, is the topic of discussion. Apparently, someone is squealing about him being an undercover gay and has some concrete evidence. When a photo flashes across the screen of Vic kissing on some cute Puerto Rican dude, my mouth drops. There is no denying that the photos are of Vic but what I catch, what I notice is that Vic looks happy. A smile that I’ve never seen before graces his face.
I never apologized to Vic for threatening to out him years ago that day at the club. I guess now will be that time. Picking up my phone and scrolling to his number, I press the call button.
“WHAT?” He yells into the phone.
“Hi. It’s Anee…”
“I know who you are. What the fuck do you want?” He snaps.
“No need to be rude. I’m sorry for…”
“Fuck you
, Aneesah,” he hangs up. I immediately call him back.
“Come on, now. I’m trying to apologize,” I whine into the phone when he answers.
“Are you clean?”
“Yes. A little weed here and there but yes,” I giggle.
“Fuck, man,” he exhales in frustration.
“Come do Super Bowl with me.”
“Oh, so you’re the one who took that shit from Heather?”
“I didn’t take it, it was offered,” I lie.
“Yeah, right,” he pauses. “I fucked up, yo. My career is over.” I can hear the hurt and pain in his voice.
“It’s not over, Vic. Come do Super Bowl with me. It’s too late to say you love me…It’s much too late to say you care…It’s too late to say what I mean to you…You treated me so unfair,” I sing the hook to one out of the many songs we have together.
“Make them niggahs remember the talent you possess and the bars you can spit,” I tell him. He lets out a heavy breath.
“Okay,” he mumbles not sounding sure of himself. “Welcome back. The album is fire,” he offers before hanging up. Not sure how he heard the album but whatever. Everyone is about to hear it anyway.
I feel bad for Vic. The media attention and his fans and trolls are tearing his ass up on social media as more and more stories and photos surface. My attention on Vic diverts when my album finally drops, and I break another fuckin’ record BUT I am livid when I realize that instead of the 21 songs that we all agreed on, my album has 22. Mr. J’s fuckin’ ass included “Forever”, talking about it was an executive decision. What further pisses me off is that the radio stations ignore “Howl at the Moon” which is what I wanted to lead the album and straight has my love-struck ballad on rotation, hitting number one in less than a week.
I send Chink a bunch of mad face emoji’s when he congratulates me on the song.
CHINK: Don’t b like that.
ME: (middle finger emoji)
CHINK: Just to let u kno, Tron is #2 on the boards too
ME: (mad face emoji…rolls eyes)
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