God Don't Like Haters 2 (13 page)

"Yes," I answered her. "This'll be my first
visit to New York."

"Business or pleasure?" she asked.

"Business."

"Really? What field?"

"I'm an aspiring singer," I said.

"Me too!" she squawked, then held out her
hand. "Vivian L. Housser."

I shook her hand. "Kirbie Amor."

"Say, Kirbie, maybe we can team up and go at
this music thing together. I have a list of record label addresses
in my purse."

"Um ... I sort of already have someone
picking me up at the airport. Maybe another time."

"Oh. Okay." She blinked at me. Then she
grabbed a magazine and left me alone.

I hadn't shut my phone off yet. I took what
little time I had left and logged into The Site. I decided to
update my status one last time as an unsigned artist.

Kirbie Amor:
 I'm headed to New York to
follow my dreams. To all of the people that wish me well, I need a
prayer from you! I think this is my time!

Chapter 18

Kirbie Amor Capelton

I had never been more anxious to get off of a plane
in my life. But I had to wait for the rows ahead to clear out
first. I was standing up at a sideways tilt, bracing my hand
against the back of my seat because it was too cramped to stand
perfectly erect.

My thin neighbor, Vivian, was still seated
for some reason.

"I like to be the last one off of the plane,"
she said at me, as she began letting people behind us go ahead of
us. "I don't like to feel rushed when I'm getting off. It irritates
me."

I nearly grabbed a fistful of her hair and
shoved her into the aisle. KC Kirbie would have, but I was now NYC
Kirbie so I kept my cool. Instead, I just pushed past her rudely,
as I brought my carry-on bag up and over her head—I "accidentally"
bumped her head with one of the mini wheels—and mumbled
an 
excuse me
 on my way down the aisle and off the
plane.

After I crossed the jetway bridge, I almost
instantly saw Sundi Ashworth across the way in dark sunglasses and
the most ostensible blue pleated day dress. She told me to look out
for the sunglasses and the blue dress but I didn't expect the
dress's crochet insets to dip so low to create an almost
see-through bosom. She looked incredible, star-studded, out of the
ordinary—like the women you see on TV. She didn't belong in an
airport.

I felt humble compared to her, in my comfy
airplane clothes that consisted of blue jeans and a solid pink long
sleeve shirt with ribbed cuffs. I was casual. But the blue jeans
were stretch Gucci—
perfect
 butt huggers—and my Rolex
watch sparkled as I dragged my luggage. I wasn't bad looking.

I just wasn't 
Sundi-looking.

"Kirbie Amor!" she called out once she saw me
coming. She waved, and actually bounced once in her stilettos as
she did so. She was just as excited as I was. "Kirbie, over
here!"

I smiled. And not until I got closer did I
notice she was standing next to a tall light-skinned man in a
peacoat and fedora. He was wearing sunglasses too. My first thought
was he was her bodyguard, but then that didn't seem to fit because
he looked too refined and handsome for that role (though with
sunglasses on men, you could never be too sure how attractive they
really were).

Mystery man,
 I thought.

Sundi Ashworth extended her hand and I shook
it. She introduced herself, then gestured toward the man next to
her whose hand I shook also.

"This is La'Renz Taylor," Sundi said.

"Kirbie, it's nice to finally meet you," he
said.

I was stunned.

"Nice to meet you too," I managed.

Part of me didn't know what to think right
now. I had shook both of the hands of one of the most infamous
couples in the music industry. But why were they together? I
wondered. According to the blogs, these two had been estranged once
La'Renz went to prison. Sundi later went on to work for Eliyah
Golomb, whom La'Renz claimed was the real killer behind his wife's
death. Several hiphop media outlets had printed that La'Renz had an
"unhealthy" hate for his mistress while incarcerated—as told from
the mouth of a former cellmate—that he had planned to rectify after
his release. They made it seem like he was going to kill Sundi.

Yet here they were, together, in
harmony. 
Wow
. That was proof that you couldn't believe
what you read on blogs.

"Let me take your bag," La'Renz offered.

"Thank you," I said.

He also helped me pull the rest of my luggage
off of the baggage carousel. Then we were headed outside, where a
fairly clean Volvo SUV was waiting for us with the hazard lights
blinking. I had thought we were going to be chauffeured in a limo.
I was almost certain that was what Sundi told me. But I was
notorious for getting details wrong so I eagerly climbed in the
back seat, where La'Renz joined me, and Sundi drove.

I had actually rented a Volvo just like this
once, on one of me and Archie's many pill trips to California.

"How was your flight?" La'Renz asked me, as
he removed his glasses. His brown eyes were twinkling. I tried not
to stare.

"It wasn't bad," I said.

"All commercial flights are bad to me," Sundi
said from up front. "When you start flying private, you'll know
what I'm talking about."

I smiled, and I hoped I wasn't smiling too
much. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Our first stop is the radio station,"
La'Renz said.

"Radio station?"

"Yes. I have a spot booked for you in the
next hour at 104.1 Revolt. This is gonna be your first major
interview."

I was at a loss for words. Nervousness set in
fast. Revolt was the top radio station in New York City. They had
an evening show where a panel of three—DJ Trap, Liam Bashor, and
Skye Munro—interviewed the top artists in music. It was a
nationally-syndicated live radio and TV broadcast. The trio had
interviewed everyone from Caylene Hope to Jazzmine Short to Yayo
Love. But those artists landed interviews after they were famous. I
didn't even have a mixtape out.

"I had to pull some strings to make this
interview happen," La'Renz told me. "So just relax and be yourself.
Revolt only books stars, so when people hear and see this
interview, you'll automatically be thrust into the limelight."

"I didn't know I'd be on radio this soon. I'm
not dressed. I need to change."

"You look amazing," Sundi said. "You have
taste. And I really like that Rolex. I wouldn't tell you this if I
didn't mean it. And Revolt's glam squad will touch you up with
make-up once we get there."

"Really, you do look beautiful," La'Renz
said. He squeezed my thigh. "And once they hear your voice, it's
gonna be all she wrote. Can we get a sample from you? Sundi, turn
the radio down."

"You want me to sing?" I asked.

He laughed. "Yes."

"Right now?"

"Give us a taste. They're gonna ask you sing
on air once we get there so you might as well warm up."

I racked my brain for a song, then I decided
to sing my verse about Coras from "Convenient For Me," because it
had been on my mind heavy during the flight here. I opened up my
vocals quietly as I sang the first several lines, then I really
opened up and let my voice falsetto as I reached the midway point.
La'Renz grabbed me around the neck before I could finish and pulled
me into an almost sibling-like hug. He kissed my temple.

"You fucking killed it! I don't even need you
to finish!"

"She's amazing!" Sundi cheered.

"Thank you guys," I said. "And thank you for
inviting me here and giving me this opportunity. Singing is my
life."

"Well, let's make it official." La'Renz
pulled out a contract from inside his jacket and handed it to me.
"Look it over and flip to the last page and sign." He handed me a
pen and a magazine to write against.

I set the contract on my lap, hunching over
to give it a quick once-over. I was about to flip to the back when
I saw that it was a legal agreement between me and ...

"Taylor Music Group?" I questioned.

"Yes, that's my label," La'Renz said. "You'll
be my first artist so you'll have my complete attention. I won't
stop until you're number one on the Billboard. I've done it before
and I'ma gonna do it again with you."

Back in the day Taylor Music Group was the
top label in R&B and rap. But now that title belonged to Mount
Eliyah ENT, the label I thought I was signing to—the label I
thought Sundi still worked for.

"Maybe she needs time to look it over with a
lawyer," Sundi said sympathetically.

La'Renz sighed and leaned away from me.
"Sundi, we can't do Revolt unless she signs."

"I'll sign it," I said quickly.

There was a small ounce of apprehension
swirling inside of me, but I ignored it. On the back page, I
scribbled down my signature.

Chapter 19

La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," DJ Trap began,
as he adjusted the microphone close to his feminine-thin lips.
"This is 104.1 Revolt, the number one name in radio for five years
in a row. I'm your host, the incomparable money-savvy DJ Trap and
I'm here with my co-hosts, the big scary black man named Liam
Bashor and the lovely Asian-Black mix Skye Munro. Today, we also
have two very very special guests."

The three hosts formed a semi-circle around
me and Kirbie (Sundi was still outside in the car). Shoved in all
of our faces were oversized microphones with gold-plated lightning
bolts—the Revolt logo—attached to each swivel point. Bulky
studio-quality headphones were on our heads, though DJ Trap had his
set draped around his shoulders for now. Though I didn't know any
of these hosts personally, I knew their on-air personalities to a
tee from listening to their show over and over in my prison cell
with a shoddy static-reception portable radio. This trio hadn't
been around when I ran hip-hop years ago. It had been Frank "The
Juice" Teeter on the ones and twos then. Now Frank was the owner
here at 104.1 Revolt. He was the one I called to book this
interview. He owed me. Nearly the whole industry owed me.

To my right, Liam Bashor said, "One of our
special guests is none other than the infamous La'Renz 'Buddy
Rough' Taylor. Some of you might know him as the man who started
Taylor Music Group and rose to the top of the music industry with
all the cards stacked against him. Others might know him as the man
who murdered his wife, Jazzmine Short, the R&B icon who—"

I cut him off. "Allegedly," I said into my
microphone.

Liam twisted his face up. "No, not allegedly.
You pled guilty so that means your guilt is incontestable."

"That's simply not true," I replied, trying
to stay mild-mannered. "People plead guilty to crimes they haven't
done every single day in this country."

"Why would they do that?"

"To avoid a lengthy prison sentence, or even
the death penalty."

Liam laughed. It was that same, fake laugh of
disbelief I'd heard in my earbuds for many nights in prison when he
interviewed controversial guests. I hated his laugh.

"If you didn't kill him, who did?" he asked
me with a sarcastic smirk. "Eliyah Golomb?"

"I never said that."

"But you claim he or someone he hired set you
up, right?"

I knew coming here today that this question
would get brought up. But I didn't expect it to be within the first
five minutes of air time. However, I should have known. Liam Bashor
was the most disrespectful, brutally invasive host of this
generation. Almost every one of his questions and comments crossed
the line of professionalism. The old me would have punched him
three minutes ago.

Skye Munro diffused our back-and-forth with a
smile and soft wording. "Liam, we have to follow order here. Back
off. We haven't even introduced La'Renz's artist yet. We can get
into all of that later."

That's the smart thing to do,
 I
agreed mutely. But I didn't know if Skye thought she was saving me
from humiliation or Liam from getting his ass kicked. Or she could
have just been trying to push the Jazzmine questions back so
listeners would tune in till the end.

"Would you like to introduce your artist?" DJ
Trap asked me.

"Sure," I said. I placed my arm around the
back of Kirbie's seat and she smiled. "This is 19-year-old Kirbie
Amor, the first artist signed to Taylor Music Group. From what I've
been hearing while I was away, she sings better than any artist out
there right now. She'll sing circles around anybody you pit her
against."

"She can't sing better than Jazzmine Short,"
Liam remarked.

I started to speak but Kirbie jumped ahead of
me.

She put her lips close to her microphone and
said, "If you wanna compare me to anybody, compare me to Caylene
Hope."

There was laughter all around the room. Even
a few giggles from cameramen. They weren't believers.

Yet.

"Let her prove it," I said. "Let her
sing."

"I wanna hear her," said Skye Munro
excitedly.

"Are you ready to sing right now?" DJ Trap
asked Kirbie.

"Sure," she said. "What do yall want me to
sing?"

"I want you to sing one of Caylene Hope's
songs," said Liam Bashor. "Since you think you can compare to her,
let's see you try."

I knew Kirbie was capable of pulling this
off. What I wasn't sure about was whether or not she'd let these
cameras and these personalities get the best of her and make her
choke.

DJ Trap scooched back in his chair to finger
a control board on his right, then in all of our headphones Caylene
Hope's "Give Love Another Try" started to spin. Kirbie cleared her
throat, adjusted her headphones. My arm was still around her so I
gave her an encouraging pat on the back. Then, as the melody gave
way to verse in our ears, Kirbie closed her eyes and let the words
flow from her lips effortlessly, in the softest most beautiful
voice I'd ever heard. I looked around the room at DJ Trap, then
Skye Munro, then Liam Basehor—Kirbie had the whole room captivated!
This particular song came out after a public break-up between
Caylene Hope and Hollywood director Stephen Duly. It was a powerful
song with a lot of history and emotion behind it, and Kirbie was
singing it perfectly.