Niya

by Fabiola Joseph

  I got a family tree

  That don’t got enough leaves.

  A bunch of dark souls birthed from rotten seeds.

  Thank God for my granny, a woman at war,

  Fighting to win these battles galore.

  I got a family tree that may not be like yours,

  But I could never hate them, so for them I will soar.

  See, my family is much different than yours.

  If it wasn’t for my granny, I would be rotten to the

  core.

  Thank you, Lucinda, for all that you’ve done.

  Even as I leave you, our hearts beat as one.

  No matter how near or how far you’ll be to me,

  Your love has set the bar so tall, from the ceiling to the

  floor.

  Because of you,

  I’ll always live free and be a star.

  For Granny Lucinda Ramirez

  As the car surged toward the New York state line, I looked over at Niya and wanted to ask her the same question that I had asked just a few hours before.

  “You know what? With you by my side, I know that I’m ready. How about you?”

  She took my hand and simply answered back, “As long as I got you, I’m ready for anything.”

  We took our time to take it all in before it all became just a memory.

  Chapter 70

  Niya

  Three months later . . .

  I was sitting in the Santino Hill recording studio and couldn’t believe the shit that was coming out of the speakers.

  “Man, I ain’t rapping over this bubble gum shit. I have told you time and time again that I need some dope beats,” I groused.

  Santino Hill was the boss at Hill Top Records and also the man that I liked to call Suit and Tie. I had been in Atlanta for three months already, yet nothing had progressed. The only thing that was poppin’ off was one fight after the other. He was always trying to get me to go mainstream, while I wanted just to be me.

  “Look, Niya, I let you have this whole thugged-out stud shit that you’re on, but you need to go a little softer with the songs. We need balance just until the public gets to know you.”

  “Thugged-out stud shit? This is who I am, and I’m not changing for anyone.”

  Santino took in a deep breath and tried to intimidate me with his stare. It was not working.

  “I am not trying to change you. That whole ‘you need to put on a dress’ shit is played out. This ain’t the year nineteen ninety-nine, so I’m not asking you to change that. After I asked you once, I never brought that back up again. I ain’t on that wack shit. What I do need you to understand is that because your look is so hard, we have to find a way to slide you in without them thinking of how you look. I ain’t asking you to put on a damn dress. I just want you to lighten up on the songs.”

  I looked at him and gave him an honest answer. “Hell no. I’m not rappin’ over this wack shit.”

  “What in the hell you mean, no?”

  I could tell that I had just pissed him off, and I didn’t give a damn.

  “When I first came here, you said that I had free range to do me. Now you tryin’a pull this ‘You need to soften up’ bullshit on me. My look, my sound, that’s all me. So either you take it or leave it.”

  Santino started to laugh. “I want you how I want you. I pay you. I got a contract with your name on it. If you don’t like how I want to run my shit, I’ll just sit your ass on the shelf until your contract is up. How about that?”

  By then, I was standing up, with my backpack in my hand. I looked at him up and down, sucked my teeth, grabbed my crotch, and said, “Shelf me, then, ’cause I ain’t with that ‘New Age, naked female rapper out here tryin’a push sex’ bullshit. I’m street, I’m a lesbian, and I can only be me.”

  I headed for the door, his words following me.

  “I’ll give you a few days to think about this. I know you got a hot head, so I’ll wait for you to come crawling back.”

  * * *

  I was heated, and the first person I called was Jamilla. She was the only person I had to vent to. I told her to meet me at the café on Peachtree Street, and within twenty minutes, we were in the restaurant and seated. As I went over what had happened at the studio, she seemed distracted by the loud group of girls who sat at the table behind me.

  “Hello? Are you listening to me?” I asked as my temper grew even hotter. Moving to Atlanta wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, or maybe it was just my mood. I did love the city and the beautiful Georgia peaches with phat asses, but I had thought I would be on the fast track out here. The only time I really smiled and was truly happy was when I saw headlines on the news about two cops being killed in New York and having their dicks mailed to their precinct.

  “I’m so sorry, Niya, but I am freaking out right now. The Brazilian Barbies are right behind you.”

  I gave a quick glance at the annoying girls behind me and rolled my eyes. “Well, how about you go and sit at their damn table, then?” I knew that I was being a brat, but I needed her ear.

  “Okay. I’m sorry, boo. I was listening. So what are you going to do? This has been going on since we got here. I know he’s paying our rent and giving you seven hundred dollars a week, but you don’t really need his money. What are you waiting around for?”

  “The contract, Jamilla. I signed the contract.”

  As she opened her mouth to reply, the DJ turned up the music in the ultrahip café, and it took me a second to realize that my voice was coming out of the speakers.

  “Oh my God, Niya. That’s ‘Team Take Yo’ Bitch.’”

  I was in shock. I didn’t think that anyone knew about my music in the A.

  As Jamilla and I sat there in shock, one of the girls who was sitting behind me got out of her seat and started to dance to the music.

  “Girl, that’s my shit, and I ain’t even gay,” another girl said.

  A third girl asked, “Who in the hell is it?”

  Jamilla leaned over the table and told me to tell them that it was me, but I couldn’t move. I just sat there listening to my song and watching the girl dance.

  “Fuck it. If you won’t say nothing, I will.”

  Before I could stop her, Jamilla was on her feet and heading to the DJ booth. The music was loud, but it really wasn’t loud enough to require Jamilla to yell at the DJ. It was obvious—well, at least to me—that she wanted the girls to hear her yelling, “That’s Niya over there. The song you’re playing, that’s her.”

  It was as if I was standing outside of myself, watching everything go down. I was able to catch the reaction of everyone who was within earshot. The first to turn to me was the DJ. He smiled and nodded for me to come over to him. Second to turn to me was the girl who was dancing to the song. Her mouth was open, and I could tell that she was surprised. Last to look my way were the girls who were with her. They didn’t look too impressed, but I could tell they were curious nonetheless. When Jamilla started waving for me to come over to her, I got up and prayed that my legs wouldn’t give out.

  “Hey. Niya, right?” the DJ asked.

  I nodded my head up and down, unable to say a word.

  “Damn. It’s really nice to meet you. As soon as you walked in, I thought that I had seen you somewhere, not even realizing that it was from your YouTube videos. I listen to your songs every chance I get.”

  I shook the hand he had extended and thanked him. He went on about the club he DJ’d for at night and mentioned how crazy the crowd got when he played my underground shit. I programmed his number in my phone and promised him that I would come through and check the club out.

  “See, Niya? They like your shit,” Jamilla said as we headed back to our table.

  “You are something else. You know that?” I replied.

  She was beaming from ear to ear, and I had to give it to her. I would have still been sitting at that table if it weren’t for her.

  “Umm, excuse me. Did I hear her right?” said the
girl who had been dancing before as she stepped right in front of me. I hadn’t noticed before, but with her in my face, I was floored at how beautiful she was.

  “What did you hear?” I asked with a smile. If only she knew that smile was hiding sweaty palms.

  She swiped her hair off her shoulders, and with a curl of her lips, she asked, “Did I hear her say that you’re Niya? I mean, you do look just like the girl from the video.”

  “You’re Brazil, from the Brazilian Barbies, right?” Jamilla asked. She was smiling from ear to ear. She had been listening to their latest CD day and night and was a big fan.

  Shit. That was when it hit me.

  “Yeah, that’s me. I mean, yeah, we are the Brazilian Barbies.” Her answer was quick, as if she was in a rush to get back to me. “You know, I’m a big fan. I love your songs and videos. You’re dope as fuck.”

  I did a quick overview of the chick standing in front of me, and as much as I hated to say it, she took the place of the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Plus, her telling me that she was a fan only made me smile a little harder.

  “Picture that. The lead singer in the biggest girl group is a fan of mine? Damn. This must be my lucky day,” I replied.

  “Nah, I’m the lucky one. Who are you signed to?” she said as she looked me over. I could almost feel her eyes burning through my body.

  “Well, I’m signed with Hill Top Records . . . I think.”

  She smiled and asked what I meant by “I think.” I asked her if she had time, and she said yes and invited Jamilla and me back to her table. Thirty minutes later, I had poured my guts out and laid it all on the table. To this day I still didn’t know why, but fate was at work.

  “Man, fuck that dude. That label is wack as fuck, anyway. We worked with him as a favor to my stepdad, and it was hell,” Brazil revealed.

  “Yeah, well, as I said, I’m not even sure if I still have a deal after walking out, so I guess he really doesn’t even matter.”

  Brazil barked for her phone, and an assistant came running over with it in hand.

  “You damn right he doesn’t matter. Are you looking for another deal? I mean, it doesn’t sound like you’re doing much over there, and that’s crazy. You are wasting your time, and in this music game . . . that’s like death.”

  “I know, but I signed a contract with him, and he said that he would shelve my ass until the five years on it was up.”

  Miss Brazilian Barbie jumped up and threw her hands on her curvy hips. “He said what? Man, fuck that lame. You tryin’a do some business or what? I know a star when I see one, and, baby, you’re it. Just let me know, and shit could change for you overnight.”

  Goddamn. My head was spinning, but I was smart enough to say, “Hell yes.”

  We exchanged numbers, and she told me that she would be calling me later on that day.

  * * *

  Jamilla and I went back to our table. We watched them leave as we sat there in a euphoric trance. I went through my phone, searching for her number, as if seeing it would prove that all that had just happened was real. When I came to it, I read her name over and over to myself. Brazil Noelle, Brazil Noelle, Brazil Noelle.

  “Oh my God, we just had a conversation with Brazil Noelle. Do you think she’s really going to put you on? Did you see her outfit? She was hot, right? They were right to make her the lead. She outshines the other two girls. I think one of them is her sister or half sister. Wow. She was everything you think a star will be when you meet them.”

  I had to cut Jamilla off, or she would have gone on and on. “Damn, Milla boo. Calm down, baby,” I said with a laugh. Truth was, I was just as excited inside too.

  “Man, this is it, Niya, I just know it. Fuck Santino. She is the real deal.”

  I looked at Jamilla and told her that I really hoped so.

  * * *

  By the time midnight rolled around, I had lost all hope. My phone hadn’t left my hand since I left the restaurant, but Brazil hadn’t called. I thought about calling her but didn’t want to turn her off and seem too pressed. I was about to lose my mind, so I got out of the chair I was sitting in, peeked into Jamilla’s room, and asked if I could come in. She was on her laptop but put it down and to the side.

  “Did she call yet?”

  I guessed my frustration was written all over my face. I didn’t answer her. I just slid in her bed, lay down beside her, and pulled her close. I took in a deep breath and smiled when her sweet scent filled my nostrils.

  “You always smell so good, Milla boo. I miss this. I miss you.”

  The three months had slipped by, and we were seeing less and less of each other. I was always in the studio, listening to those wack-ass beats. She would come with me sometimes, but not enough times to keep me from missing her.

  “I miss you too, Niya. I really do,” she said as she melted into my arms.

  “So what’s keeping us from each other? Even when we’re home, we are in two different worlds half the time. I just miss what we had. I miss the closeness. So tell me, how is the book thing going?”

  She perked up and smiled when I asked about her book. She always did.

  “Things are going well. I have joined a whole bunch of Facebook groups, and two want to discuss the book.”

  “Facebook has reading groups?”

  She laughed at my ignorance. “Yes, Niya boo. The two that want to read my book are called My Urban Books Club and Don’t Read Me, Read A Book. I cannot wait to have these discussions, but I am also so nervous.”

  I smiled and hugged her even tighter. “Don’t worry, boo. You’re gonna rock that shit.”

  As she went on about her book and all the new authors she’d been talking to, my phone started to vibrate. At first, I just looked down at my pocket. I would have missed the call if Jamilla hadn’t yelled for me to answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Niya. This is Brazil Noelle.”

  “What’s up?” I asked, sounding a little down. I also wondered if it was a Hollywood thing she was doing when she used her whole name.

  “Don’t tell me you’re in bed already. It’s not even one yet.”

  I sat up and tried to sound more alive. “Oh, nah, not at all. I was just chillin’ with Jamilla.”

  “Good. Give me your address. I’ll be there to pick you up in about an hour or so.”

  Damn. Just like that, I guessed. I laughed and loved how bold she was. She didn’t ask. . . . She told me she was coming to get me.

  “I’ll be ready.”

  I gave her the address, and before she hung up, she added one more thing.

  “Just you. This is a private meeting.”

  After hanging up the phone, I sat on Jamilla’s bed while my head spun.

  “So . . . what did she say?”

  I stood up and headed for Jamilla’s bedroom door. “She said she wants to meet up with me in an hour. Guess that means I have to jump in the shower and get dressed.” I stopped once I reached the door and turned to her. “This is all because of you, boo. All you.”

  Chapter 71

  Jamilla

  Yeah, it was all me, and I was happy for her. I really was. I had a feeling that this was the right move for her and that it was all happening for a reason, but . . . I couldn’t shake the feeling of jealousy. I saw it in Niya’s eyes as we spoke to Brazil, and there was something in Brazil’s eyes too. Niya looked at her like she looked at me. I told myself that Niya was starstruck, just as I was, but . . . I was just hoping that this was the case.

  I waited for Niya to come out of the shower and went to her room to “help” her get ready, but the truth was, I just wanted to ask more questions. As I sat on her bed and watched her dress, I probed a little more.

  “Why would she want to meet up with you so late? Do you think that she really wants to talk business at this time?”

  Niya was so wrapped up in picking out what to wear that I hoped she didn’t pick up on my attitude.

  “I mean, that’s w
hat she said. What do you think of these shoes with these jeans? Too loud?”

  I glanced at the Lanvin sneakers she held in her hand but didn’t even bother looking at the jeans. “Yeah, they look cool. So, do you think she will get you a deal? I’m sure what she’s offering will be much better than the deal you have now.”

  Niya glanced at me with a big grin on her face. “She sure does look like she has a lot to offer, huh? Did you see that ass?”

  I knew she was playing, but I was in no mood to hear about Brazil’s ass. I sucked my teeth and stood up to leave.

  “Aww, come on, Milla boo. You know that body was out of fuckin’ control. Yes, Lawd!”

  She was laughing as she searched through her closet and couldn’t see my face, thank God.

  “All right. Well, I hope everything goes okay. Can’t wait to hear about it.”

  I left her room and stayed in my room until she came in to say that Brazil was outside. I walked her to the door and couldn’t believe that this girl had come to pick Niya up in a Rolls-Royce. She didn’t even bother to get out and greet Niya. The chauffeur opened the car door for Niya, and all I could see were those long honey-colored legs that belonged to Brazil Noelle.

  * * *

  I didn’t have much to do after she left. I ate ice cream, commented on a few posts on Facebook, and listened to a blog show. After that, I was left twiddling my thumbs. I looked at my phone and thought about calling Niya and asking her how things were going, but I went against that thought. I didn’t want to seem like the nagging friend who wasn’t invited. So I went through the contacts in my phone. His name came up, and it made me miss him. I pushed CALL next to Rodney’s name and waited for him to pick up.

  “Hey, baby. What’s up?”

  I smiled at the sound of his voice. “Nothing. Wishing you were here. What are you doing?” I got in bed, turned down the lights, and got comfortable.

  “Working on some beats. I—”

  “Oh, sorry. I can call you some other time.” I was disappointed that he was busy and was about to be a total bitch.