by Nikki Turner
The valet guy had the plum-colored Lexus truck dead in front of the club, so they didn't have to walk far to get in.
Once they had got to his house, Fabiola took her boots off while G.P. slipped on some sweats.
As Fabiola went to drop her overnight bag off in his room, G.P. realized that he hadn't taken the steaks out of the freezer earlier that day. While G.P. was waiting for the steaks to defrost, he tried his hand at seducing Fabiola, but she shut him down.
“A deal is a deal.” She was as cold to that idea as the meat on the counter.
“Come on, baby.”
“I'm still hungry. I'm starving,” she said.
“A'ight, Boo, so let's make the compromise.”
“Here we go.” She sucked her teeth. “I'ma tell you right now, I am not going to eat no daggone peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
“I wouldn't do that to my boo. Not my superstar. My songbird.” He leaned in and kissed her. “I got something better than that.”
“What?”
“How about I'll run down the street and get some Chinese food and you freshen up so that I can have you fo dessert.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said as she batted her long eyelashes at him.
He extended his pinky finger and she did the same, so that they could seal the deal. “Bet.”
He put on his sneakers and got in his car to head to the Chinese restaurant. Before he reached the corner, he was ringing her cell phone.
“Hey, Boo,” she answered when she saw it was G.P. calling. “I'm trying to clean the bathtub out. When the last time you took a bath in this thing?”
“I'm a man—I take showers. Baths is for broads.”
“Oh, whatever!”
“So, how about a little phone sex? Give me a preview and convince me to hurry up and come back.”
“You gone come back anyway, right?”
“You know that.”
“Well, I could hit you off with a little sumthin', sumthin' now, I suppose,” Fabiola purred as she got up to head back into the bedroom.
G.P. started to undo his pants, causing him to swerve and almost hit another car that was speeding in the opposite direction. “Shit, motherfuckers niggas,” he spat.
“What's wrong, baby?” Fabiola asked.
“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” he said. “The only thing you need to be worrying about right now is me. Now, wassup?”
“Wassup is I'm touching myself right now and I want you to do the same,” Fabiola said as she put her hands under her shirt and began to cup her breasts, rubbing her fingers over her hardening nipples. “Stroke yourself for me, baby. Pretend like it's me touching you. Does that feel good?”
“Shit, girl, you're gonna make me have an accident.” G.P started to sweat as he moved his hand up and down his shaft.
“Naw, baby. Keep yourself in one piece, 'cause I'ma tear you up when you get home,” she whispered seductively. Just then she heard something downstairs. The door squeaked like it did earlier when they came in. “Damn, that didn't make you come back home, did it?”
“What? What you mean? I told you that I was going to get the food, right?”
“Isn't that you downstairs? Because there's somebody down there.”
“Hell naw, that ain't me,” G.P. said, alarmed. “But I know what time it is though.” The car that he had almost swerved into looked out of place when he first saw it, but he let his little head override his big head so he didn't pay it any attention. Now he knew what was going down.
He busted an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street. “Hide, or better yet get out the best way you can. Niggas want to come up in my shit, niggas gone die up in my shit. I'm on my way back.”
“Huh? What?” G.P.'s words weren't registering in Fabiola's head quick enough, but her survival instincts kicked in and she was fast enough to lock the bedroom door and cut off the light.
“Man, I'ma hit you back. I need to call my niggas.”
“G.P., I'm scared,” she whispered as she looked around for a place to hide.
“You gotta fend for yo' self until I can get there baby. Hide or something. Hold that shit down 'til I get there. I'm on my way.” He hung up.
Before she could get another word out, she heard the line go dead. Fabiola realized that she was on her own.
She heard the footsteps of what sounded like more than one person on the stairs, so she slid under the bed. Once she was under there, she felt like a sitting duck. Her life seemed to be flashing in front of her and she felt at any moment they would come in and duct-tape her, rape her, or maybe even kill her.
I am not going to die without a motherfucking fight, Fabiola thought as she made up her mind to take her life in her own hands and not put it in the hands of some thugged-out stick-up kid. There was no time for tears or waiting for a nigga to kick the door in and kill her. No—survival was the only option. Fabiola jumped up and opened the window. She threw her boots out the window before following and taking the two-story plunge.
She landed in some bushes that were below the window, then fell on the ground. She got up, picked up her boots, and began running for her life. She looked back and saw a guy coming from the front of the house toward her. She pretended to be Lynda Carter and ran like Wonder Woman. She knew her life depended on it. She ran off into the woods that were on the side of G.P.'s house and hid there until she heard G.P.'s tires skidding when he pulled up to the house. She continued to go deeper into the woods, scared to death and not even taking a moment to think or catch her breath or consider how wet her socks must be.
She heard gunshots and then a car speed away. A few seconds later, she pulled out her cell phone and called G.P.
“Yeah, Boo, where you at?” G.P. answered as if nothing had happened.
“Hiding in the woods,” she whispered.
“Come out. I'm gonna to be waiting for you.”
“Okay,” she said to him with tears in her eyes as she made her way to the edge of the woods. G.P. was sitting in the truck waiting on her.
Once she got into the car and before she could shut the door, G.P. began rambling. “Shit is crazier than a motherfucker. Dem niggas was surprised as shit when they seen me.” He spoke excitedly, as if he was enjoying the situation at hand.
She let out a long sigh and then noticed a pistol resting on the seat. As he pulled off and was driving away from the house, she pulled her wet socks off and put her boots back on.
“Yeah, I only wished I could have been there when those niggas came up in there. I wish you had gone to get the Chinese food instead of me. I would gave dem niggas the surprise of their fucking lives.” G.P. was amped.
“Hello.” She waved her hand in front of his face. “What happened to ‘Hey, Boo, how are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? How did you get out?’ Just nothing, huh?”
“You alive, ain't you? Shit, niggas could have merked you.”
“I know.” Fabiola leaned back and closed her eyes and put her hand over her heart. “I was so close to losing my life.”
“Yeah, but you didn't.” He said, “I know it was probably one of them hating-ass niggas from the club. Mafuckers followed us to the house and shit.”
“How they get keys to your house? Because they had a key. They did come through the front door.”
He thought about it for a minute. “Shit, I don't know. Could have been dem motherfucking niggas in valet. I gave them my keys and they could have dubbed them.” He picked up his cell phone and called somebody. “Dre, meet me on Third Avenue. We need to try to put our heads together and figure this shit out. Oh yeah, and call Jon.”
Not Li'l John from the club. That dude ain't been home two days yet and he about to get caught up into some real live gunplay shit. This shit gets crazier by the minute.
Fabiola just listened, praying that he would hurry up and get her home.
He slowed up as they were approaching a stoplight. “Dre, see you in twenty, gotta handle my bizness.” He hung
up the cell phone as he ran a stoplight and then picked up speed.
“That light was red, Boo.”
He ignored her. “Get down, Boo. Get the fuck down now,” he demanded and reached for his gun. Before she knew it, G.P was shooting out the passenger window at the car beside them. It all happened so quick, it was almost like she was in a movie.
Blahka! Blahka! Blahka … He let off six rounds from his Glock .40 caliber and caught the other car by surprise. The other car sped off and G.P. followed closely. Fabiola was balled up on the floor of the truck in a fetal position. She looked up and saw the fire that came from the gun as he shot out of the window and thought that she saw a bullet fly over her head.
The car in front of them swerved and G.P. tried to stay with it. He pressed on the accelerator and then slammed on the brakes, running dead into the back of the car. He pushed the car about a half block down the road while Fabiola screamed at the top of her lungs. Relentless, G.P. would not stop until the car in front of him winged a quick sharp right at the last second, making G.P. miss the turn. He didn't continue the pursuit, because he heard sirens coming from the direction the other car was headed. He decided to settle for a fast getaway.
“Nigga, drop me the fuuuuck off! Let me out of this gotdamn car! I'll fucking walk!” Fabiola yelled.
“Calm down, Boo.”
“Calm down my ass. Let me out!” she screamed at him.
“I'm going to drop you at your mother's,” he calmly told her.
For the rest of the ride G.P. was on the phone rounding up the troops to meet him around his hood. Before the car could come to a complete stop in front of her mother's house, Fabiola jumped out of the car and slammed the door.
G.P. rolled the window down and said so casually, “Look, I'ma call you after I get these niggas. A'ight?”
“Ain't no need, for real.”
Fabiola stood on the sidewalk shaking her head in disbelief.
Why the hell am I going through this type of shit? Drive-bys, jumping out the window, running through the woods with no shoes on, dealing with this deranged trigger-happy nigga AND … I am still fucking hungry!!! I must be crazy my gotdamn self! What the hell am I thinking about? I could have jeopardized everything I've been working toward. Hell no! Something is majorly wrong with this picture!
TRACK 6
Music Royalty
abiola was up all night and most of the morning applying ice to her ankle, which she had sprained jumping from G.P.'s window. The events of last night kept running through her mind like a scene from a DVD on repeat, only it was not created under the watchful eye of a seasoned movie producer. It was real, too real. If Fabiola hadn't escaped, no telling what could have happened to her. And to top it off, G.P. had the nerve to act like it was just another day at the office. He actually told her, “Shit happens.”
Nigga please, Fabiola had thought to herself. Not to me it doesn't. And if she could help it, it would never happen again. Fabiola's mind was made up: She was done with G.P. and all the rest of the young knuckleheads who were trying to pass themselves off as men these days.
While Fabiola struggled not to get her ankle bandages wet in the shower, she heard her phone ring. She knew there was no way she would have been able to get to it in time, so she let it go to voice mail. After her shower, she dried off, slipped on some lounge clothes, and climbed back into bed. She reached for her phone and checked her messages to find one from her mother, who was calling her from work. Although Fab wanted to rest, she had to meet her mother for their weekly lunch date, and canceling was not an option. Viola had left precise instructions. “Girl, I hope you ain't in bed; it's ten o'clock in the morning.”
Fabiola shifted her foot, which was propped up with a quart-sized bag of ice lying on her ankle. “Well, whatever you're doing,” the message went on to say, “I want you to meet me at the Applebee's on Laburnum at twelve-fifteen. Adora may not be there, so don't make me wait there alone. See you then.”
Fabiola had held the phone out and looked while rolling her eyes. “No ‘Not if you're busy’ or ‘If you don't have anything planned,’ but ‘See you then,’” she said out loud before closing her phone. Regardless of her mother's delivery, she knew she had to get up and get moving. Viola had been on top of her business all of her daughters' lives. There was no denying that she loved her girls and wanted better for her daughters than what she had growing up. She loved her son, Ocean, too, but it was different with the girls.
After getting out of bed and dressed, Fabiola drove over to the restaurant and found a spot next to her mother's Honda. She eased her vintage Mercedes into the open space. As she flipped the mirror down on the visor to check her makeup, she realized that besides some slight bags under her eyes from not getting any sleep last night, she looked fabulous. She was wearing a brown velour sweatsuit and brown-on-brown Gucci sneakers. She put her fake Gucci sunglasses over her eyes and strolled into the restaurant.
“Are you eating alone, ma'am?” a skinny waitress standing at the seating station asked. She was wearing a pair of black pants that sagged at her butt, and a burgundy pullover polo shirt with the restaurant's name stitched on it.
“No,” Fabiola responded. “I'm meeting my mother and sister. At least one of them should already be here.” Fabiola gave the place a quick scan while she spoke.
“I do believe a member of your party has arrived. Follow me, please.” The waitress led her halfway around the curved aisle, and Fabiola spotted her mother sitting at a table in the corner sipping on a glass of water with a lemon wedge on the rim.
Viola looked up and saw her daughter. Fabiola never could sneak up on her. None of her kids could. She always knew when one of them was around.
“Hello, Mother,” Fabiola said, taking a seat. “Have you been here long?”
“No, only a few minutes.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Where's Adora?” Fabiola asked.
“She's a bit under the weather.”
“Ahlll, I gotta call her.”
“You should.” Viola changed the subject. “But Johnny Wiz said he loved your photos.” Viola was too excited to answer her daughter's question. “I e-mailed the shots to his office yesterday, and his assistant got back to me this morning. How great is that?”
Johnny Wiz was the CEO of The Wizard Entertainment Group and was considered music royalty in the entertainment world. His father was one of the first black rock stars and his mother was an iconic Creole jazz singer. Together, his parents started the label. According to the media, from the time Johnny was old enough to be potty-trained, his second home was at The Wizard. He'd been doing odd jobs at the company ever since he was six. When he graduated from Harvard University, where he completed graduate programs in both business and law, he transformed what was a small independent family label into a major one.
With his father having long ago passed away and his mother's decision to officially retire ten years ago—at seventy—Johnny had been running the family's business. Despite a team of top-notch lawyers, advisers, and staff, though, his mother still wanted to have some say, so in the business the final word always came from the mouth of The Wizard. Having his mother in it drove him crazy, but what he could he do? Either roll with the punches or pick another career.
Fabiola had seen many TV specials on him and remembered that the walls of his office held more platinum plaques than he could keep count of. Fabiola always imagined that one day her name would be on one of them.
“Johnny the Wizard!” Fabiola squealed. “Momma, why didn't you tell me that you were in touch with The Wizard? The Wizard Entertainment Group is where I've always wanted to be.”
“I did tell you that there were other people checking for you and that I wouldn't stop until we had a deal, right?”
“But The Wizard isn't just other people. He's … The Wizard.” Fabiola was so excited she could hardly think straight. “Ever since I can remember it has been my dream to sign a contract with them.”
“Are yo
u ready to order yet, ma'am, or can I get you something to drink while you decide?” a waitress popped up out of nowhere to inquire.
“Hot tea, please—with two teaspoons of honey.” Fabiola had read somewhere that hot tea and honey were good for overworked vocal chords and had been drinking the mixture ever since.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
“No, but thank you,” Fabiola said.
After the waitress was gone, her mother confided, “It was always a dream of mine growing up, too, to be a famous singer on The Wizard, living the life, with a ton of Grammys under my belt.”
“I'm going to make it happen for both of us,” Fabiola said. “Mark my words: Johnny Wiz is going to love me.”
“What is there not to love, baby?” her mother boasted. “You have the voice of an angel, and you're gorgeous. You get your good looks from me.” Viola struck one of her best glamour-girl poses.
“When I get the money from my first hit”—Fabiola was already thinking abut the future—“I'm going to buy us all a big house.”
“That will be a blessing for sure,” Viola said. Fabiola didn't respond. Viola could tell from the expression on her face that she was somewhere else. “A penny for your thoughts?”
“It's nothing.”
“Tell that lie to somebody who didn't carry you for nine months.”
“It's just that I feel this is the ultimate test.”
“Why do you say that?” Viola wasn't sure where her daughter was coming from.
“Because Johnny Wiz is the best of the best. He is music.”
“That's why he's going to love your stuff. The great always recognize the great!” Viola assured her daughter. “I know you are going to make me proud.”
“I just want him to love me the way Hot Soundz loved me.”
“Trust me: They would love to have you at The Wizard Entertainment Group, especially after the ordeal over at Hot Soundz. I heard that before Hot Soundz closed they had been engaged in a less-than-friendly rivalry with The Wizard since Johnny took over the reins from his mother.” Viola had indeed done her homework.