With the album flying off the shelves especially on the first day of release due to the $5.00 CD sale, it sold out nationwide, but it isn’t just that. I haven’t gotten one bad review from the major music critics and that’s HUGE. Besides people being confused about the name change, the album is the most talked about on social media. Thanks, Beyoncè for putting me on to this brilliant marketing strategy. Word of mouth really is the best; free publicity, and when the first video dropped, and the announcement was made that I am doing the half-time show, shit hit the fan with Heather B and her trolls as they try to blast me on Twitter.
@therealheatherb… Awww…Little Miss Sunshine has been getn azz shots
Was the first shade tweet from Heather herself but one of my fans clapped back for me.
@brighteyes_smize…nah boo itz prolly ya man givn her dat good D, hitn it from the bck
@therealheatherb…So now she goes by Aneesah????
@therealheatherb…she’s as confused as her silly lil fans who 03thinks she has talent
@tatsyone…errr…ummm…bruh. didnt she write & produce ur whole 1st solo album? U kno, ur 1 & only album dat went dble plat
@tastyone…might I add that ur albums been straight trash since. Chk yo nbrs boo
OH…SHIT. SHOTS FIRED. You know I had to immediately retweet tasty one’s response.
The Twitter beef between Heather B, her fans and my fans is non-stop which is fine by me because all it’s doing is helping to generate my numbers.
***
It’s Super Bowl night and I am about to reintroduce myself to the world. I’m back stage with my team who have become more like my babies.
“Nervous?” I smile at them. I look into their faces with some of them looking as if they are going to pass out.
“Remember, someone from the B or C team will take your spot,” I remind them, fueling their fire.
“What up, girl?” Vic says coming up to me giving me a hug, wearing a platinum iced out chain, a pair of red Gucci sneakers, dark aviator glasses, distressed jeans and a leather jacket with spikes all over it. His ears are gleaming, and the black and white Phillies hat sets his outfit off.
“You ready?” I ask him.
“Are you ready? I know you haven’t done this in a while,” he replies as the music cues. Fuck no I ain’t ready. I’m nervous as hell for the both of us, I think. With the hype that Vic has been getting in the media, I have no idea how the crowd and sponsors are going to receive him.
I hit the stage and am in my zone doing my thing. Fireworks, fire, streamers and smoke, help set off my performance. Now, am I going to bring the house down and make the lights go out like B? That’s my goal. I need to make this performance memorable. I need to make this a performance that goes down in the books. Vic hits the stage and starts spitting his lyrics with aggression. I can hear both the cheers and the lame ass boos coming from the audience. I keep singing and dancing, but my heart is silently breaking for him. I get close enough to him and whisper away from the mic.
“Fuck them. You got this,” I tell him dancing around him. He starts to spit fire out of his mouth, going off script, throwing my dancers and band off slightly but Dave, my stage manager urges them to keep going. Vic has been getting dragged by the media and I know he needs this moment. He takes off his sunglasses. There is this wild uncaring look in his eyes. I keep going, singing along with him and moving my body. Vic is in a zone.
“…and to all you mothafucka’s that gotta a problem with me, fuck you too beyond the powers that my eyes can see…skeletons in my closet I’m about to unleash the beast, not caring who no longer is tryin’ to fuck wit’ me…” He stops abruptly and stares out into the crowd, putting the microphone up to his mouth and yells:
“FUCK IT, I’M GAY,” drops the mic and storms off stage. I hurry and close my mouth and try to fix the shocked look on my face. I finish my set and walk off the stage, running towards Vic’s trailer. I try to open the door, but he has it locked. I can hear him yelling and throwing things around.
“Victor, it’s me,” I knock.
“GO AWAY, ANEESAH,” he yells.
Estelle runs up to me, bringing me my phone and robe.
“Wow,” she says with her eyes bugged out.
“I’ll be right here. Just give me a minute,” I tell her sliding on my robe and sitting down at the door.
“I’m here, Vic. I’m not going anywhere so whenever you decide to open this door, I’m here,” I tell him. I take a selfie sitting outside Vic’s door and post it to Twitter, hash tagging #ISTANDWITHVIC. It takes less than a minute for it to go viral. I scroll through the feed and see Heather’s lame ass still talking shit.
@therealheatherb…Aneesah’s half-time performance #yawn
But her little tweet gets immediately overshadowed by Vic and his confession as I sit at his door reading, laughing, and getting mad at some of the ignorance. I must have sat at Vic’s door for a full forty minutes before he decides to unlock it. He’s sitting by the window with a blunt in his hand and tears in his eyes when I walk in.
“It’s over,” he cries. “My career, it’s over.”
“No, it’s not. Look,” I tell him showing him all the post of support he is getting.
“Doesn’t matter. You will always have assholes like this,” he says showing me a negative post. “And those fuckin’ memes,” he says showing me a meme of my shocked face on stage with the caption reading “The look your girl makes when she tells you she’s pregnant, but you tell her you’re gay.” I want to laugh, and it is taking everything in me to hold it in.
“Stop worrying about those negative people.”
He shakes his head.
“I can’t go back out there. They’re waiting for me,” he says referring to the press.
“They are but both of our security teams are keeping them at bay. That’s how I was able to sit outside your door without being bothered.”
“Thanks, Aneesah,” he says looking like he’s about to start crying again. “It’s over,” he whispers. He looks up at me. “Do you mind leaving me alone for a little please?”
“You’re not going to slit your wrist or anything like that, are you?”
“Nah. I ain’t you,” he chuckles.
“You bitch,” I laugh. “I just wanted to go to sleep.”
“Yeah, the final sleep,” he laughs.
“Whatever. Call me if you need me and of course when you’re ready, let’s create magic in the studio once more.”
“Thanks,” he smiles, standing to give me a hug. “We just made history again. You can thank me later,” he chuckles in my ear. I break away from his embrace, kiss him on the cheek and walk out of his trailer.
The media hype and attention surrounding Vic doesn’t calm down. Our Super Bowl performance is the most talked about but only because Vic had chosen that platform to come out of the closet. What works in my favor is that people where so engrossed with his confession that Heather B and her little fans are overshadowed when they try to come at me for taking her shine. My social media manager simply tweets; “It was nothing personal, just business” which it was but that didn’t stop her Hot Tamale fan club from battling against my Wolf Pack.
The night of the Grammy’s is finally here, and I arrive on the red carpet early since I am the opening act. I am in one of Morgan’s gowns and Dontay masterfully styles my hair.
“Aneesah, how do you feel about Vic’s confession?” One of the reporters asks.
“I stand with Vic,” I smile, posing for the camera.
“But did you know? You knew he was gay, right? Rumors have been circulating for years. That’s why your relationship with him didn’t last.”
I smile politely and keep moving up the carpet. I am giving my little interview when I feel someone gently grab my hand.
“You can’t ignore me forever,” Tron smiles interrupting my interview. I snatch my hand away.
“Will you guys be making music together?” The reporter asks.
“
I’m trying to. She ain’t tryin’ to hear me though,” he winks while tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. This is the first time I am seeing him face-to-face and I admit, he definitely looks way better in person than he does in his music videos and magazines.
His ears are blinging with diamond studs and his cinnamon toned skin is dipped in loose fitting white jeans and a long sleeved white shirt with a simple diamond and gold chain resting on his chest, popping the gold in his black Giuseppe Zanotti crocodile high-top sneakers. His jet-black hair that he wears in a Mohawk with black boy curls lies nicely on the top of his head and his dark beard and goatee beautifully outlines his boyish face, making his complexion pop. I ain’t gonna lie, this little mothafucka is sexy as hell. He has a grown man yet boyish swag about him. You know, it’s all fun in games until he gets serious and snaps on yo’ ass.
Tron or Tarron is not that tall. About 5’10 compared to my 5’8 height but tonight, I’m 5’10 myself with my heels on, so currently, we are eye to eye.
He smiles at me and for whatever reason I feel a tingle in my loins.
“Are you coming to the after party?” He asks with a smooth boyish smile.
“Won’t it be past your bedtime little boy?” I toy with him as the reporter laughs.
“Only if you’re tucking me in,” he cracks a smile. I smile politely, thank the reporter and proceed up the carpet.
I open the show in this grand theatrical performance taking the viewers at home and my “co-workers” in the audience to the ballet. Dressed in all white in my corset leotard with diamond crystals on the bodice and dramatic flowing tutu, I look like an angel sent from the heavens above and am wearing my hair in a high bun with feathers. The blue and white up lighting creating an image like we are dancing for God himself. This well thought out performance that I fought so hard for because it is a dedication to my daughter, releases an energy within me that I can’t quite describe but all I know is that by the end of my performance, I am getting a standing ovation. I am in tears as I stare up at the illuminated sign surrounded by smoke, reading Angel-Skyy looking like it’s floating on a bed of clouds.
The stage manager nods his head letting me know that the TV cameras are off, and it is safe for me and my crew to exist the stage.
“Wow, that was beautiful,” Estelle says handing me a towel.
“Thank you,” I smile. I shower and change into another Morgan Iman design. A sheer black flowing gown with a nude bodice underneath. It has a high split up the middle, legs completely out when I walk as the dress glides to the back with my movements, almost draping like a cape.
I scroll twitter while Dontay fixes my hair and my makeup artist Nore, does her thing.
@therealheatherb…now the bitch thinks shes a f’n ballerina
You know what you little hater? I’m not even gonna let you steal my joy right now, I think as I put my phone away, not even bothering to read my fans clap back. I finish beautifying myself and am escorted back to my seat in the front row to watch the rest of the show feeling good with a smile of pure joy and happiness gracing my face. I sit and watch the many accolades given out and the performances. The next performance is Tron doing his hit single “Things Ima Do” that is currently blazing up the charts. The song is a panty dropper. He definitely knows what he’s doing by appealing to the ladies. The song has a 90’s vibe to it, toying with the hook and beat of the Gina Thompson song, “The things that you do”.
The beat starts, and Tron’s sexy, raspy voice speaks into the microphone.
You got me feelin’ like I belong here
Pretty eyes with your soft skin and your long hair
You got me feeling like…
He jumps off the stage speaking into the mic, repeating his lyrics as he slowly walks towards me.
You got me feelin’ like I belong here
Pretty eyes with your soft skin and your long hair
You got me feeling like…
“You know I wrote this thinking about you,” he says grabbing my hand, still talking while the cameras are all up in our face and the audience cheers us on. Shit, you little fucker, I think as I’m sitting, eating this shit up. He smiles at me wickedly and attempts to pull me out of my seat. When I don’t budge, he softly kisses my hand, gets in my face, and gets into character:
Chorus
It’s the things ima do to you
Fuck you with the lights on
Fuck you ‘til the nights gone
Girl, you fuckin’ wit’ the right one… he smiles, winking his eye.
It’s the things ima do to you
Grab a drink, go and light one
Come back before the nights done
Girl, you fuckin’ wit’ the right one…
At this point, my panties are wet, and I finally surrender, allowing him to pull me out my chair and am now face to face with him as he grabs the small of my back, pulling me close. My legs are fully out for the world to see as they bend comfortably in between his legs as he holds me, causing tingles to go up and down my spine. Getting all in my face with the microphone in his hand, he starts spitting his bars while looking directly into my eyes.
You look better than anyone from my past
Mad class, good skin, fat ass… he rhymes, grabbing a handful of my booty like it belongs to him.
Plus I like the fact that you got a mind of your own
No need to shop around I got that good shit at home
I’ve been workin’ all day but I’m tryin’ to make it home to you
Tryin’ to give you everything that is owed to you
And you’ll be beggin’ all night
Hit you wit’ the Kevin Hart alright, alright, alright
As soon as I touch down, bust through that door and give you a rub down…he spits, squatting low and feeling up on my legs. Fucker has the nerve to kiss my thigh with his soft ass lips.
Tell me what you want now
I got you wet as can be…he cracks a smile.
They say the best offense is good D and I’m on that
Ohh girl you all that
Tell them other dudes they can fall back
You love it when I’m locked in a zone
It’s 90’s love girl all night long...Sing
Chorus
I am now on stage with this little mothafucker, letting him serenade me as the world looks on and I follow his lead, allowing him to dance up on me, and my fresh ass is moving right along with him.
Round two, who ready for round two?
Need more energy every time that I’m around you
If it’s gonna be goin’ down, I’m going down too…he quickly flicks his tongue at me and winks his eye.
Neighbors wishing these walls were soundproof
I ain’t got no shame in it
Scratch marks all on my back
Going deep enough to write my name in it
Girl you gonna know whose best with the skillz
Until you tired and then it’s Netflix and chill…I zone the fuck out, no longer hearing the cheers and laughter from the audience; just lost allowing this young-boi to grind up on me and my nutty-ass is steady throwing my ass back at him like some hormonal teenager.
And then we fly out—first class—PJ’s
Your ex-man calls fuck what he says
Last night was history in the books girl and tonight it’s on replay
Tape decks no C-D…
Put it in my face and feed me…he drops to his knees putting “my girl” right in his face and has the nerve to fuckin’ breathe his hot breath on her.
Make it seem E-Z
I’m locked in a zone…I’m locked in a zone
It’s 90’s love girl all night long…Sing…he says standing to his feet and softly kissing me on my cheek.
Chorus
His DJ plays the instrumental as we are face to face, nose touching, sweat glistening all over his body and I am probably wearing the cheesiest fuckin’ smile plastered on my face. Applause from the audience as t
he lights go out for the viewers at home. I push him away from me and turn to walk backstage as directed.
“Wait,” he yells behind me.
“Not cool, kid,” I say with a straight face even though inside, I am totally smitten.
“Kid?” He questions.
“Yes…Kid…I am six years older than you.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t handle you though,” he says with a cocky look on his face.
“Enjoy your night,” I tell him walking away.
Since the Grammy’s, the internet has been in a frenzy about me and Tron’s little performance. Between that and my ballet performance, the free publicity is non-stop as my ticket sales for my concert tour increases, slowly selling out at venues across the globe.
***
Estelle, Dontay, and I are at my house in Jersey finishing up packing before we hit the road later tonight. Estelle is currently on a food run and Dontay is upstairs in his room taking a nap.
“Honey, I’m home,” I hear Dani’s voice echoing through my halls.
“What’s up?” I tell her, greeting her at the door.
“Nothing supa-star. Congratulations,” she says giving me a hug. She takes a look at all the bags scattered around my foyer.
“Going somewhere?” She asks.
“Uh, about to leave for tour,” I answer.
“When?”
“Tonight. I’m just waiting for Serge, Charlie, and Rock to get her with the buses,” I reply referring to the men on my security team.
“Can I come?”
“I can’t have you around those kids if you’re going to get high, Dani.”
She sticks her nose up in the air.
“Say no more,” she says walking inside the grand room and plopping down on the couch.
“What are your plans?” I ask sitting next to her.
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