GHETTO SUPERSTAR

by Nikki Turner

  “What?” Fabiola was caught off guard.

  “You heard me, you fake wanna-be-me-ass bitch. You stole my song, and now you trying to steal my place and my sound. You are trying so hard to be me, but you don't want to FUCK wit me.”

  “Honey, I don't know who you are but it sounds like you have some issues of your own, because I don't do karaoke.” Fabiola chuckled a bit. She figured out who it was and she had no intentions of letting any one punk her, especially a disgruntled industry hoe. Besides, controversy sold.

  “You little thieving bitch, you.”

  “Excuse me, I've never been one to steal and I sure wasn't the one that stole that cheap wig of yours.” Fabiola dug back at her.

  “Oh bitch, you want to go there? Don't fuck with me—I'm from the Bronx.”

  “And?”

  “And bitch, you don't want to fuck with me, I will—”

  “Don't talk about it, be about it,” Fabiola cut her off.

  Charming had no idea that Royce was going to call in, but she loved every minute of it. This show was going to send the ratings off the Richter scale, and that's what Charming lived for. This was what her show was about.

  “You only got your break because of me. If I had sung the song your name would be Fabiola Who.”

  “If, if, if! The only sure thing on if is … if you snooze, you lose. And at the end of the day, they chose me and not you to do the song. Besides, I made it a hit. I'd be mad, too if I was you.”

  “Mad for what? I got a platinum album—do you? I'm signed to a major—are you?” Not allowing Fabiola to get a word in, Royce sneered, “What reason could I possibly have to be mad?”

  “If you're not mad, then why are you calling the radio talking ignorant like some project chick? Pointing, accusing, whining, crying, kicking, and screaming, like a little girl. Answer that?” Fabiola laughed a bit. “Come on, sweets, the people of New York City want to hear your answer. Darling, inquiring minds all over the homes, streets, and offices of New York City want to know,” Fabiola said in an exaggerated Southern drawl.

  “Because I want the people to know that you stole my song,” Royce snapped. “That you are an imposter.”

  “Is that really the reason why, or is it because nobody will give you an interview of your own? Are you mad at the entire world because you can't grow hair and you wear stocking caps with holes under your bootleg wigs? Chello, is that why?” Fabiola didn't give Royce a second to get in a word before she continued, “I kind of understand, I'd probably be upset, too, and like Lil' Kim would say, ‘If I were you I'd hate me, too.’”

  “Bitch, it's on. When I see you, it's gon be on and poppin'. Believe what I tell you: I am going to make your walk in this industry a living hell.”

  “Baby girl, I've been there. I'm a warrior built for this type of weather, so if you feel like this is how you want to carry it, then so be it.”

  “Yeah, you ain't seen war. You might have heard of hip-hop war but homegirl you ain't seen R & B war yet.”

  Charming was getting a little peeved that she couldn't get a word in to further flame the inferno.

  “You know I really feel sorry for you now,” Fabiola said. “It's sad that you should say that, because as a black woman you should know it's hard enough to make it as it is, and you want to spend your time trying to tear another black woman down. That's really sad.”

  “Whatever, bitch. Fuck a sisterhood. I'm trying to make sure I'm okay.”

  “I feel sorry for you, I really do,” Fabiola said as sympathetically as she could.

  “Wait a minute, Royce.” Charming Ching-a-Ling finally got her chance. “Did you say ‘fuck a sisterhood’?”

  “That's what I said. At the end of the day it's about me.” Royce held her ground.

  “Well, not that I am taking sides, but you just contradicted yourself. All of your songs are about love, friends, and having fun.”

  “Listen, Charming, if you want me on your show you schedule a fucking interview. And as far as you are concerned, Fake-ola,” she mocked, “you better get out of NYC, because when I see you, it's on. You country thieving bitch.” Royce exhaled.

  “Don't let the accent fool you!”

  “On that note, since this really isn't your interview and you don't care about being on the Ching-a-Ling show, see you and I wouldn't want to be you!” Charming disconnected the line on Royce and laughed.

  “So, we understand that Royce is really angry because of the wig incident and because you are exceptionally talented. Not only do you do what it takes to go to the top, you have what's most important: the right attitude. I know your interview was scheduled to be up a while ago but I would love for you to stick around and hear what callers have to say about you and Royce's conversation.”

  “I would love to, because at the end of the day it's about the fans, the listeners, sisterhood, and having great friends and supporters.”

  They took a commercial break, and while they were off the air, Charming told Fabiola, “After this interview every single radio show is going to want you, so get ready for a ride and don't forget about little old me who gave you your first interview.”

  TRACK 22

  Touch Me

  t was a little after nine in the morning. Fabiola was hugging the pillow in the presidential suite when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, baby. You okay?” Casino had been concerned about Fabiola ever since the Charming Ching-a-Ling interview. He wanted to fly back to New York to be by her side, so she wouldn't have to go through the drama alone, but Fabiola was having none of it. She said she was a big girl and could take care of herself. He needed to take care of whatever it was that made him have to go back to Virginia in the first place.

  “I told you yesterday that I was fine, Casino. The only problem I'm having is that I miss sleeping in your arms at night. This bed is so big without you.”

  “That crazy girl did threaten you,” Casino reminded her. “You can't take that type of thing lightly, ya know?”

  “Royce? She's all bark and no bite. But there is something you can do for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “Tell me what you're wearing.” She wanted to change the subject to something more pleasurable.

  “What I'm wearing?” For a second he was wondering what that had to do with anything, and then it hit him. “Okay, I got you.” Casino looked down at his attire, as if he had to be reminded of what he had dressed himself in that day. “I got on those Gucci pajamas you persuaded me to buy when we went shopping the other day.”

  “Take them off and come play with me,” she teased.

  “It depends on what you have in mind.” Casino was warming to the mood. “Tell me what you're wearing.”

  She was touching herself where it mattered. “Nothing … nothing but a smile.”

  “In that case how does my hand feel nestled between your legs?” he played along. “You feel so hot and tight.”

  “I love when you play with my little kitten like that,” Fabiola cooed. “She misses you.” Since they took their relationship to the next level Fabiola found herself wanting to be with Casino more and more. Every time she slept alone all she thought about was him touching her.

  “Do she mind if I take a sip of her warm milk?” he asked, moistening his lips with his tongue.

  “She wouldn't mind that at all. To be honest, she'd like that very much.” Fabiola kicked the sheets off of her naked body, looking around the room for her suitcase; it was on the floor by the closet where she left it. She got up to retrieve what she needed to make the experience a little livelier. She laid back down, spread her legs wide-open, and began to put the vibration on her clit.

  Casino could hear the slight hum of the rabbit vibrator through the phone and felt himself growing to the idea. “Ummm, this is good, baby. It's sweeter than before, have you been eating something to make it that way?”

  The stimulation of the rabbit pulsating on her clit, combined with hearing Casino'
s deep voice, took her where she wanted to be, where she needed to be. “It's the same sweet young kitten as always. It just tastes like that because it's been a while since you visited her like this.”

  “Put your hand on this,” he said into the phone. “You feel how hard it is, baby?”

  “Oh, yeah, it's rock hard. Did it get that way just for me?” she panted, her face a mask of pure ecstasy.

  “Do you want to take it for a swim?”

  Eyes in the back of her head, she said, “Yes, please, take it for a swim with me.”

  “You don't have to beg,” he told her, “I'm testing the water right now, but I'm only part way in.”

  “P-put”—her breath caught—“it all the way in. D-don't you want to get wet?”

  Casino was hard as penitentiary steel for real, and he wished she were there with him. “I'm going a little deeper,” he continued the role play “Do you feel it?”

  “Do I?” Fabiola had the vibrator on high, her legs stretched straight out, muscles taut, toes curled under the balls of her feet. “Please don't stop. Whatever you do, don't stop”—breathing hard—“Uh … Uh … Uh.”

  “I'm not going to stop, baby. You want me to put it in deeper … harder.”

  “Oh my God,” Fabiola shouted her imagination into overdrive. “P-please d-don't s-stop, I'm almost th-there …”

  Casino was happy one of them could get off that way. “Then enjoy the ride, baby, enjoy the ride.” And she did.

  TRACK 23

  Animal Planet

  asino, Tonk, and Spade were gathered in Casino's sitting room, when the telephone rang. Tonk picked it up, “Hello? It's for you.” He handed the phone to Casino.

  “Who is it?” Casino asked, phone in midair.

  “Fabiola's mother?”

  Casino answered with an amused look on his face. “How are you, Ms. Mays?”

  “You can call me Viola just like everyone else, Mr. Casino.”

  “Okay. Then I must insist that you leave the ‘Mr.’ off of my name—Casino will do just fine.”

  “Fair enough,” Viola agreed.

  “Now that we have what we should call one another out of the way, to what may I ask do I owe the honor of this call?” Casino asked.

  “Well, it's about Fabiola.”

  “I figured that much. What about Fabiola?”

  “I want to start a record label for her, and I want you to be partners with me.” Viola just put her cards on the table, not knowing how Casino would react. She was willing to throw long shots—that's how bad she wanted to make this happen.

  “I think that's a wonderful idea—I even have a name for it.” Ever since Casino had had the talk with Tonk he had been thinking about the exact same thing. “How about we call it Ghetto Superstar? That is, if that's all right with you?”

  “I'm not sure about that name, Mr. Casino—why ‘Ghetto Superstar’?”

  “So now we're back to the ‘Mr.’ stuff?” Casino teased.

  “I'm sorry, M—I mean, Casino. It's just such an odd name for a record company. Why that?”

  “Because Fabiola will be a superstar, and she was born and raised in the ghetto. What could be better fitting?”

  “Now that you put it like that, I think I like it. It has a sort of ring to it.”

  “Then all we have to do is talk to the lawyers to draw all the paperwork up. How about I get back to you tomorrow with all the formalities?”

  “That'll be wonderful,” Viola agreed and hung up the phone.

  Casino placed his phone back on the hook as well. Now he looked to Tonk and Spade. “Where were we?”

  “I've been keeping my ear to the streets. I heard a pair of twins may have been responsible for the attempt on yo life, Pops. Word is they up-and-coming killers-for-hire; teenage wanna-bes dat go by the names Li'l Ali and Baby Hova.”

  Casino was quiet for a second, and Spade continued, “The information I got is pretty reliable, Pop. Better than anything else we've come up with,” Spade said.

  “But,” Casino questioned, “is it enough to have them killed in retaliation for something they may or may not have anything to do with?” He looked at both Tonk and Spade.

  “I think it is,” Spade said. “If for nothing else then to send a message to the next son-of-a-bitch that might have some'en stupid on his mind.”

  “What about you, Tonk?” Casino asked his longtime friend and employee.

  “I want the coward bitches that done this shit to you dead as much as anybody else in this room, but I'm not sure if killing two kids that we think may have committed this unthinkable and unacceptable violation against you is the way to go.” He shrugged. “I mean, we need to know who they are working for and why this was even done. This shit is bigger than those twins, but then on the other hand, I say shoot the fucking messengers.”

  No one spoke for several minutes. “The answers we are searching for could be as simple as watching the Wildlife Channel,” Casino said.

  “Pops, with all due respect.” Spade looked at Casino like he was still under the influence of medications. “What the hell does National Geographic have to do with us returning the favor by putting some well-placed bullets in the head of a couple of clowns that probably tried to kill you for a few pennies?”

  “If you take the time to pay attention, nature can be a blueprint not only for most of man's problems, but for most situations in life.” Casino intertwined the fingers of both of his hands in the form of a steeple. “Take the lioness for instance: The lioness sits on the hill for hours watching every move of the entire herd until she is sure of her prey She's not trying to set an example to the gazelles that her team runs the jungle. She has a purpose for her fatal tendencies—usually hunger. But even on the brink of hunger, and the burden of feeding not only herself, but her mate and offspring, she waits until she is sure, and when she moves she is unstoppable.”

  “Okay, Dad. I understand what you're saying. I'll keep my eyes open and my ear a little closer to the street. But if and when I find out them punks' hands are dirty, will you let me teach the next lesson?”

  “Deal.” Casino patted Spade on the back. “This meeting is adjourned. Anybody hungry?”

  Before he could chow down, the phone rang again. It was Fabiola excited about the news her mother had just called to give her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Casino.”

  “Don't thank me. Your mother is basically the brains, I'm just bringing the necessary funds that you all need so that the world will know your name and talent.”

  “That's a big part of it.”

  “I am excited about the venture though, I will admit.”

  And indeed he was, but before he could focus on his future, he had to close a door to the past.

  TRACK 24

  Big Things

  ver the next six months, not only did Casino and Fabiola grow closer as a couple, but their business soared. With the influence of radio play and the take-off of “Boss Chick,” there wasn't a shortage of majors wanting to join forces with Fabiola and the independently owned Ghetto Superstar Entertainment.

  Viola's dream was finally coming true. Fabiola was a major player and well on her way to becoming a megasuperstar. All of Viola's hard work and studying the industry was finally paying off. She took an early retirement from her factory job to help run the fledgling record label for Casino.

  Casino loved the idea of being the CEO and face of the label. Fabiola sold more than a million copies of her début single, and they owned the entire pie, distributing the slices to their proper places. Casino was finally totally legitimized, or so it seemed—but he knew he still had to be careful of the FBI and IRS. It was a known fact that they didn't think a black man, with or without a formal education, deserved to have real paper in their world—not legally anyway. But this was a damn good start, and Casino took full advantage of it. Flossing!

  Viola didn't take her job lightly. With the help of some pit bull attorneys and some advisors and consultants, she worked out o
ne of the most lucrative first-time deals for Fabiola and Ghetto Superstar Entertainment in the history of Def Jam, or any other major for that matter. The deal was sealed two weeks before Fabiola's twenty-third birthday, but to let them tell it, her industry age was twenty-one. Her birthday, in conjunction with her new deal, was cause for a celebration; something befitting a star.

  Wanting to keep his money circulating in his hometown whenever possible, Casino informed Viola of the plan and Viola did what she knew best. She called in Bambi, the best party planner on the East Coast, who just happened to live in Richmond and was known for her extravagant and flawless parties all over the country.

  “So, what exactly are your expectations of me?” Bambi asked both Casino and Viola.

  “I just want her to know how special she is to me and I want her to feel like the queen of the night.” Casino stopped the sentimental spill and thought for a second. “Just the biggest damn party Richmond, Virginia, has seen in this conservative-ass muthafuckin' state since Ulysses S. Grant stormed this bitch. And money is not a factor. You think you can handle something like that?”

  “Not a problem, Mr. Winn. What would you like the dress code to be?”

  “Nothing less than fabulous,” Viola blurted out, and Casino beamed.

  Bambi consulted with everyone close to Fabiola and Casino for input on what direction to go with the event, ultimately choosing to go with a white-carpet extravaganza. On the night of the party, just as Bambi had planned, the event took on a life of its own, and Bambi was loving every minute of what she had created. Before anyone knew it, the party turned into paparazzi heaven. They loved her. Fabiola was quickly becoming a media darling. Everyone showed up at Fabiola's party: Johnny Wiz, Teflon-the-Don, Taz, Death Wish, Ching-a-Ling, Ricky and the band, various heavy hitters and industry players, plus other singers and entertainers who wanted to either show their support or just plain old be nosy and freeload on good food and champagne.

  The locals that were lucky enough to receive an invite didn't miss their once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to party with the people they normally saw only on television. It was the first time that Richmond's underworld hustlers, players, and ballers attended an event with the city's black high society. It excluded none—even the mayor was there celebrating with a glass of champagne. No one wanted to miss it. The locals that couldn't get in stood outside. Richmond's police department was on hand to help the licensed security guards tackle crowd control.