by Tiana Laveen
Gutter had called her that morning to let her know their scheduled date for that evening wouldn’t go as planned. His manager had gotten the date wrong about the concert, so he had to go practice and get set up at the venue, which would take hours. He’d given her two options: ‘Reschedule, or park your ass in the front row and bring some friends if you want. I’ll take care of the arrangements.’ Promise had been swept up and shaken about in a sensual and exhilarating whirlwind, and his spontaneity challenged her planner’s nature. Before she knew it, a black Lincoln was picking her and her two girlfriends up, equipped with a bottle of chilled champagne in the back and a big, fragrant bouquet of dark pink and red roses for her.
Now here she was, almost going deaf as Gutter’s fans went crazy as he beat up, punched, and kicked the keys of a grand piano, while singing a song called, ‘Sleep with Me.’ It was raunchy. Beautiful. Raw. Something about that rustic, deep, rumbling voice wrapped around the words, “Home is inside of you… Soft… Deep… So slippery, so wet,” tore her apart. He was saying such divine and filthy things, and yet, the way he sang imbued them with melody and beauty. She didn’t miss how his gaze landed on her several times, and at one point, he winked. Six feet, five inches of rough and tumble human poetry.
Gutter played a number of instruments, awing the crowd—guitars, a synthesizer and a drum machine. His deep, commanding voice carried and echoed all around her. It was incredible how he sounded like a million band members synchronized to perfection. Sometimes he had other musicians with him, but tonight, he was a one-man show.
Such amazing talent…
He was striking.
Dripping with rough beauty.
Dripping with immense, poignant talent.
Dripping with exacting truth.
Dripping with sensuality and mystery.
A couple of hours later, the man was dripping with sweat and slapping hands with a few big-name rappers and fellow singers who had joined him on stage for surprise guest appearances. That evening, Gutter performed rock, punk, electronica, a bit of rhythm and blues, and more. He could sing just about any song, of any genre, and pull it off with the greatest of ease, mesmerizing her. She’d never seen him in concert before, but this was one for the books.
Before she knew it, he was performing his closing song, ‘K-CUF,’ a haunting tune about two friends who wanted the same woman, and one of his biggest hits. She found out how the title of the song was ‘fuck’ spelled backwards, and that K was the first letter of the girl’s name in the song, while ‘CUF’ was used as a play on the ideology of ‘cuffing season.’ His songs were always so layered, never cut and dry, especially the ones that he wrote himself.
“This was incredible!” Her friend Aria—who she’d known since nursing school—screamed and cheered, her kinky twists bouncing, as Gutter waved goodbye and exited the backstage with a security entourage.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Promise bit her pointer finger, squelching a need to smile. She glanced over at Babette, who was far less enthused, and was messing around on her phone. “Well,” Promise slipped her own phone out to check the time—almost midnight, “I know he’s busy right now, but I’ll just send him a quick text and then we can head out and get an Uber or something.”
Her friends nodded in agreement.
Gutter, great concert tonight! We all had a great time. Thanks for the free tickets, the car, and the flowers. I will hopefully see you soon. Talk to you later.
As they all headed out amongst the herd of the amped up crowd, she felt her phone vibrate in her purse.
“Wait a minute,” she called out to get her friends to stop walking. “Let me check this.” She pulled her phone back out and read the text.
Gutter: Where are you?
Promise: Still here. Heading out now. Almost at the street to get a ride home.
Gutter: Go back to where you were standing. I’m sending someone to get you and your friends. I’m in a trailer in the back cleaning up and talking to my manager. Sending a guard for you. Give him 5 minutes.
Promise: OK
Her face warmed as she grinned from ear to ear. She explained the situation to her friends, and suddenly Babette lit up. As they stood waiting, three guys moved around like lightning on stage, dismantling everything and packing away Gutter’s instruments. Less than ten minutes later, a big Latino guy came barreling towards them.
“Promise Bradford?” he said, flashing a badge with his name and the word ‘Security’ underneath it.
“Yes, that’s me.”
The man looked at each of her friends, as if trying to study them for some sort of deception.
“Come with me.”
Moments later, they were all standing inside an ice-cold trailer where the air conditioner seemed to be blowing at high speed. She was typically accustomed to such conditions, especially in the morgue, but this took her by surprise. The space had a small sink, a toilet, and a shower stall, shrouded with a curtain. There were a couple of small tables, too, laden with appetizers: chicken wings, celery sticks, and lunch meat, bottles of water, a bucket of beer, a bag of weed with a lighter and papers, and other odds and ends.
“Well, damn,” Aria said, then burst out laughing, her complexion deepening. Gutter didn’t seem to notice them standing there yet as he sat in a chair, his back partially turned, speaking to a few men. Tattoos covered his skin—musical notes, instruments, microphones, and a detailed tribal sleeve lining both arms in black ink. His arms were huge and chiseled, and as he spun slowly back and forth in his chair, she noticed how taut his abs were.
Damn is right.
He spotted her then, sporting that damn signature smirk of his, the same one he’d shown before he’d purposefully broken the urn at her job.
After drinking from a water bottle, he beckoned her over. “Come here, beautiful.” He crushed the now empty bottle in his big hand.
She and her friends drew closer.
“Gutter, these are my friends, Aria and Babette.”
“Hello, Aria and Babette. Nice to meet you two.”
“Great concert tonight!” Babette blurted, despite having had a damn stank face all evening while he performed. A greasy smile split her face wide open. All Promise could do was grit her teeth and turn away from the obvious actress who was suddenly star-struck. “I love your music.”
“Thank you,” Gutter said. The men around him began to walk away, as if there was some nonverbal cue for them to flee the scene. “What’s your favorite song of mine?”
At this, Promise and Aria looked at each other, on the verge of laughter. Babette had done nothing but complain the entire evening as that kind of music was not her thing, and then looked completely disengaged for the majority of the performance. The best part? She wasn’t familiar with Gutter’s work and only knew who he was because of his fame.
“Uh, the one about the, uh, angel.”
Gutter chuckled and shook his head.
“Angel? Nah, not me. You don’t know my music… that’s cool.” He shrugged, running a cloth along his head. “That’s all you had to say. I’m still glad you enjoyed the show.”
“I’ve heard your songs, just don’t know a lot of the titles. You had one where you mentioned an angel I think.” The woman was trying to save face. Gutter tossed the towel down and turned away from her, as if no longer interested in the conversation. It was rudely dismissive and hilarious all the same. Grabbing Promise’s hands, he brought them to his lips and kissed her fingertips. Then, his gaze drifted to Aria.
“Your shirt is dope,” he complimented, then laughed. Aria was wearing a long T-shirt that said, ‘Procrastinators Unite. Tomorrow.’ Aria grinned, tugged at the material, and crossed her legs, fidgeting about.
“It’s dumb good, right? Promise always teases me about how I run late and do things at the last minute.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “That’s funny. So, what are you ladies getting into?” He gently released her hands and crossed his arms.
“Going
home. Babette has work in the morning, and as you know, I’m on call during the weekend. Just this morning after you called me, I had to arrange to get someone picked up from their apartment. Rigor mortis had set in, and—”
“Oh, come on!” Babette’s nose wrinkled, and everyone laughed but Promise. “That stuff grosses me out. No one wants to hear about you hauling some stiff, stinky body out of someone’s house. Sickening!”
Promise rolled her eyes, not certain what the big deal was. “Well, I don’t see it that way, and someone has to do it.”
“I know that, but it’s still hella disgusting and depressing. Anyway, Gutter, so it’s obvious I’m not as familiar with your work as Promise and Aria, but that will soon change. I enjoyed a couple of your songs tonight, and plan to buy them.”
“Cool.” He tossed her a half-hearted smile, one tinged with, ‘I don’t give a shit.’ Promise had to be the only one standing there who understood that. In their short time together, she’d begun to read the man’s body language, study the way he moved. She suspected Gutter didn’t care for Babette, but the lady was nice. Just at times a bit standoffish and glib, which rubbed some people the wrong way. She’d met her at her yoga class several years ago, and they’d hit it off.
“Gutter! We gotta go,” a tall man in a dark suit hollered out. “Car’s out front.” Gutter nodded in the man’s direction.
“All right, ladies. I hate to cut the convo short, but I have to go to the studio tonight and—”
“Studio? Are you working on a new song?” Aria questioned.
“It’s not my song, but I’m doing the chorus on a track with Eminem. It comes out soon.”
“Get the fuck outta here! You and Eminem are working together? I love both of y’all! Wow!”
“Hey, you know what? Why don’t y’all come with me? HEY!” Gutter stood and Aria’s jaw dropped. He looked like a mountain that had erupted from the sea. “Yo, Jason!” A white guy who had been speaking to someone else turned to him. “These women are gonna follow us over. Get ’em a car. Maybe Kong can drive ’em.”
Jason nodded and immediately whipped out his phone.
“We get to see Eminem, too? I gave that homeless man that’s always in front of my favorite bodega some money last week. This must be God payin’ it forward!” Aria began to spin, jump around, and clap, causing laughter as she lost her damn mind.
“I’ve got work tomorrow.” Babette’s voice cracked. “I need to get up early. If I go, I’ll probably have to leave soon after we get there.”
“Don’t worry about it. I got you. I’ll call you an Uber and you can leave right now then. Good night,” Gutter offered before speaking with one of the men.
Babette’s facial expression was priceless! Promise looked down at her shoes and floated somewhere between fighting an urge to laugh and feeling pissed that Gutter seemed to have no manners. Yup. He doesn’t like her… She hoped he had no idea how ill-mannered he sounded! But somehow, he likely did but didn’t care.
Aria’s eyes were glued to her phone.
“Just making sure I’m already following him online, which I am. Started months ago.” Her smile lit up the room. “A, Gutter! Can you take a photo with me? I want to post it!” Aria had absolutely no shame. Gutter rushed to her without hesitation and handed her phone to Promise. He playfully wrapped his arm around her friend, making silly faces.
“I washed up or I wouldn’t be hugging you right now.”
“You’re okay,” Aria reassured.
“I perspire a lot on stage. Like a fuckin’ pig. There are a lot of weirdos who offer to pay money for my sweaty shirts though. It’s crazy. Had one chick who kept DMing me for my draws, and said she wanted some of my pubic hair, too. Asked if I could put it in a sandwich Ziploc bag and send it off to her. People are fuckin’ insane,” he rambled on, causing Aria to turn red in the face, trying unsuccessfully to contain her mirth.
“Gutter, that’s probably TMI,” Promise quipped as she fiddled with her friend’s phone, trying to get a good angle.
“Aria, if I stink, don’t post that shit as a caption online. These gossip vlogs will soon be saying, ‘Gutter the singer declares he only takes one shower a month’ or ‘The Red Hook motherfucker who refuses to buy soap.’ They’ll go interview people who’ll fake knowing me, who will say, ‘Yeah! That motherfucker has been stinkin’ for a long time! That’s why his name is Gutter!”
He is a nut! So silly!
“You don’t stink!” Aria giggled. “You smell good, actually.”
“Cool. I’d hate to make Right Guard turn left, Secret tell it all, Degree go back to Pre-K, and Speed Stick to slow down.” Everyone burst out laughing.
“You are hilarious. I want an autograph, too.” Aria looped her arm around him, looking as if she’d known the man for years. It was clear she was on cloud nine.
“I will definitely hook you up, Aria. I’ve got some T-shirts and arm bands somewhere back here that I can give ya, too.”
Promise took pictures and short video clips of the two huddled together. Babette stood with her arms crossed, and her back turned. Shunned.
“A, come over here, Babette the angel, the chick who wears a gas face, doesn’t know a damn thing about my music but tried to play it off. Let’s take a photo!” Gutter offered with a big grin, sliding his little snide joke in the mix. Babette stared him down at first, then laughed. She sauntered over in a slow, seductive stroll.
Aria was giggling her ass off now as Promise took several more pictures.
“Gutter!” the man in the suit barked.
“I’m comin’, man! Damn! Just a minute.”
After a few more photos were taken, he grabbed a black long-sleeved shirt that hung over a chair and quickly put it on. Aria was practically drooling. Promise elbowed her, and the woman giggled and apologized.
“He’s just so damn fine, Promise!”
“All right, your car should be outside by now. Follow me to the studio. Babette, seriously. I can call you an Uber before we go. The ride is on me. It’s no problem.”
“I changed my mind. I think I’ll go to the studio. I can’t miss this. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Her cheeks darkened.
“Bet.”
Minutes later, they were in the back of some guy’s black Humvee, driving behind a white BMW occupied by Gutter and several other men. It wasn’t a long stretch to the recording studio on 41st Street in Manhattan. Gutter’s friend, Kong, who was driving them, hopped out and helped them out of the vehicle. He was a tall, bald, dark-skinned muscular guy who Aria couldn’t seem to stop staring at the entire way. She talked the man’s ear off, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Gutter somehow snuck behind Promise and planted a soft kiss on the side of her neck. The cool touch of the metal of his lip ring and his plush lips sent shockwaves through her body. He held her hand as they entered the place, while he and some of the other guys spoke animatedly.
They walked down a dark hall, the acoustics strange. Must be soundproof in here. And then, there was Eminem.
“Oh my God,” Babette blubbered as she pointed to the rap icon, AKA, ‘The Goat.’ He and Gutter slapped hands and immediately started joking around and conversing.
“Thanks for coming last minute,” Eminem stated. “I didn’t know how long I’d be in town, so I figured it was a good opportunity to take care of this.”
“No problem, no problem. We’d talked about this months ago. I’m ready.”
“Hey ladies, I’m Gutter’s manager, Will.” The man in the suit extended his hand and shook all of theirs. “It’s no issue having you here visiting, but it’s important that you don’t use your cellphones right now. The song hasn’t been released. No texting, no picture taking, okay? Typically, we take people’s purses and their phones, but I’m going to trust you, okay? Just follow the rules.”
“Yes.”
“Understood.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks. Come on over here and relax. I’ll bring you so
me bottles of water.” The three were led to a bench seat right outside the booth, where they observed as Eminem and Gutter adjusted their microphones, put on their headphones, and prepared to do their thing.
Eminem began to rap, doing the same part several times until he was satisfied. Promise looked to her right at Babette. The woman’s eyes were glued to the performer, clearly in awe. She didn’t say one word. Aria was bobbing her head, enjoying every second. Then, the music changed. Gutter closed his eyes, held onto his headphones, and began to sing the hook of the song.
“’Cause I’m not fuckin’ wiiith you… It’s a shame.
You don’t play, these games, with a man… On. The. Edge…
Not fuckin’ with you… Ya so hiiigh…
Tonight, it’s all right, I hate you, that’s my pledge…”
The energy was contagious. Promise had no clue as to how long they’d practiced the song, but the delivery was seamless once they got into the groove. She felt her phone buzzing as the session appeared to be winding down and couldn’t believe it. It was damn near three in the morning, according to the clock on the wall. No one called her that late at night except drunk ex-boyfriends, and work. A few moments later, she excused herself and stepped out into the dark hallway to check her phone.
Damn it.
It was a text from work—a double homicide. The coroner had released the bodies, so it was game time.
With slumped shoulders, she re-entered the studio to catch Aria in the tall, dark-skinned bald guy’s face, cheesing, while Babette was hamming it up with another young lady none of them knew, and Gutter was staring daggers at her.
Before Promise could say a word, he walked up to her, wrapped his big, strong arms around her waist, and squeezed. He pressed his lips to hers, and she damn near melted right there, on the spot.