thirty seven | crystal
I was having one of those long talks with Will again.
He was rambling about his vision for what the cover of our album would look like. He was losing me after a while, his concrete thoughts becoming more abstract as time ticked onward.
He detailed how he wanted prison bars to morph into pillars— or somethin' like that— before mentioning roses, money, and portraits. He was listing off item after item, racking his brain and moving things around in real time, as if there were a picture of it plastered in front of us.
"No, actually, the money'll go behind the bars and the pillars will hold us, you know?"
I only blinked, not knowing what the hell he was talking about.
He laughed once he realized that my expression of confusion was unchanging. He insisted that his wackiness would make sense in the end. "I'll get 'Shaan to sketch something up. You'll get it then."
I sure hope so.
"You probably tired of talkin' about this rap shit anyway— the 'business' stuff, I mean," he scoffed.
I only shrugged, although I have been drained lately.
For the last two months, it's been a non-stop cycle of being in the studio, being in and out of offices and conference rooms, and the occasional photo shoot.
I didn't even know what we were taking photos for; it's not like we had any material out. I assumed they were just getting a jump on some promotional stuff, but I hated going off of assumptions rather than actual facts.
Not to mention that for half of the time we've been hunkering down on the business front of I.V., Ishaan was missing in action. The fallout of the Stephen-demo fiasco made for a significant shift in the dynamic of the group.
Operating as a trio with Will and Tony was completely different from operating as one with Will and Ishaan.
In the beginning of 'Shaany's leave of absence, the morale of the group was meh.
I had a lot of explaining to do, once Ishaan blew up the spot, especially to Will. He felt like Ishaan made some valid points, and he probably would've left right along with him had I not ended up sobbing on the floor of the studio.
He catered to my tears and talked me off the cliff of my emotions, but once I was leveled, he didn't hesitate to air his grievances. "You probably didn't think nothin' of it, but it does come off like you were goin' behind our backs. On the real."
I defended myself, not sparing a single detail as I recalled the events that would go on to be the cause of Ishaan's first month-long absence.
Wanting to contribute to the group in some fashion, I whipped up this dope ass track with Ice and Xena. Not knowing if my group members would feel the same, I decided to go to an expert. I called up Stephen, asking if he had a few minutes to spare for me.
He seemed reluctant but penned me into his schedule nonetheless. I found a way to the headquarters and presented him with the only tape I possessed of my first time leading a song— from the subject matter, to the hook, to the verse, everything.
He settled back in his chair, allowing the song to play halfway through my verse before finally giving some sort of reaction. "This is smooth... The groove is cool. Definitely could play in the clubs," he allowed his head to nod.
I smiled slightly. The nerves that were becoming jumbled within me dissipated at his approval.
"You did this yourself, right?" he raised an eyebrow.
"With some help—"
"Who's singing?"
"My homegirl, Xena."
"Hm."
"And Ice produced it— our DJ from the showcase," I added.
"Huh," he nodded before continuing to bob his head to the beat.
Once the song concluded, he continued to give praise. "And, here I was thinkin' that my words were going in one ear and out the other with y'all."
My amusement slipped out in the form of a sharp exhale.
"You know, Crystal... It seems to me that you've got some great ideas," he noted.
"Oh, thanks... I'm just following my group members' lead," I shrugged.
He scoffed with the shake of his head. "Your group members ain't doin' shit like this."
My smile shrunk. A statement that I should've taken pride in receiving felt... wrong in a way.
He must've taken notice of my uneasiness. "That's not a diss to your crew, shorty."
I relaxed a little.
"I'm just sayin'... if you keep trustin' your instincts, you'll go far," he said, "and if your crew was smart, they'd trust your instincts too."
I wasn't in his office for much longer, after that. He returned my tape and wished me a successful studio session before I was on my way.
Had I known an exchange that lasted less than ten minutes would have my group in disarray, I would've never brought the song to Stephen.
Nevertheless, consequences had to be dealt with, and music still had to be made. Whether Ishaan was here or not. Whether Will was mad at me or not.
Without Ishaan, we were forced to pick up where he'd left off in the studio. After all, if one falls, the rest will still stand— in true Iron Vacation fashion.
Taking charge was a learning curve for me, especially since I'd never really spent time at the soundboard alongside Kadence and Jason.
Taking the lead, in general, was a new experience, but it was a necessary one. With 'Shaany gone and Will wanting me to prove just what instincts I had, there was no choice but to woman up.
What I did would set the tone for our studio sessions for the next month. I was aware of the pressure I was under, so I didn't try to do things Ishaan's way. Not out of spite, but rather to put forth a different energy.
Every session began with a conversation— what we wanted to accomplish that night, what we saw for our album, what we saw for the group. With that conversation came a list of bullet points to keep us on track while a blunt was put in rotation.
Good energy kicked off each session, and by the early morning hours of the next day, we would have a song and a half added to our catalog.
It was a complete deviation from our usual routine, especially since the only influence we'd be under while recording would be that of the music. At least, that would be the case until after Stephen would pay us a visit.
But with Stephen popping up at the studio at least three times a week, after Ishaan left us, there was nothing left of what was considered to be Iron Vacay's standard day-to-day.
The only thing that remained was Antonio's loyalty to me. Even with shit being so weird between us, he had my back during the demo fiasco.
When Ishaan took his time away from us, and Will was still trying to shake off his mirrored feeling of betrayal, Tony's outlook was: We need some shit for the radio, and Stephen says it's a hit, so I say we lay some verses, and get some shit done.
His willingness to work and his trust in my creativity made the change in our regime a lot smoother. With a producer and engineer looking for input and two group members actively pushing forward, it was hard for Will to drag his feet on joining in on the effort.
So, when 'Shaany finally came back, he had no choice but to get down with the get down too.
Since then, things have been looking up for the group. We were creating a sound that we not only all weighed in on but a sound that we all would listen to, even if we hadn't made it ourselves.
Once we grew closer to really locking in what our album would sound like, the visual was becoming clear— even if Will's abstract explanation of it wasn't.
Things were smooth sailing, on the I.V. front, especially once we got our advance.
Everyone was looking to set up the foundation of their new lives, and that check was the first step.
'Shaany was set to move into a new spot in Manhattan, right before we'd make our radio and TV debut. Tony was house hunting, and I was debating on doing the same.
I considered moving back to Queens to be closer to Tiffany, and after finally getting a hold of her on the phone, I was optimistic about doing so. She even came over and helped me put rubber bands on my newfound wealth from Eudora.
As we caught up with one another, it became clear that she didn't want me back in Queens. "It's not that I don't want to see you, I just don't want Mama to see you," was her reasoning, and after some thought, I agreed to stay put.
Besides, if Tiff ever found herself wanting to get away from things in the borough, she could find relief in Brooklyn— shit, at least in my crib. Not to mention the fact that moving to Queens would put me further away from I.V.'s main studio.
So, Brooklyn would remain my home. I mean, that's what Will was doing, and if he was cool being where he was then I would be fine too.
My money would probably be better spent going toward the next few months' bills anyways. It was enough to pay back the people I owed, too— well, it was a start, at least.
Tony didn't want my money though, and neither did Maceo.
So, I bought a car.
I didn't know how to drive worth a damn, but I loved the vehicle just the same. It was a sleek, black Jeep that sat high on the road and shined beautifully under the soon-to-be summer sun.
Maceo said I was tryna' be like him, since he had a similar vehicle— the one that would soon be Vonny's.
So, I opted for a paint job. Within a day, my Jeep was the color of champagne, fit for the Cristal persona.
Everyone else seemed to know exactly where their money would go, especially Will.
Prior to our big check from Eudora, he was beginning to itch for the quick cycle of cash that was earned by running with Tony.
He'd been using the stacks that dwelled in his safe to help his mother with bills and home maintenance. Not to mention keeping his car fully functional.
Money that was supposed to go toward a future— a step into independence— was beginning to dry up like a puddle in July.
He was gettin' nervous. He'd never show it, but there were a lot of things he'd never show that only I would be able to identify.
That five-figure number changed our lives— well, it was a start, especially for Will.
He got some repairs (and a bunch of upgrades) done for his car, paid bills, and even got himself a couple of jewelry pieces.
The rest of it was gifted to Ms. Shondra. Like Tony and Maceo, she refused to take it, but unlike me, Will was very convincing.
So, she compromised. She helped him open his own bank account and made it accessible to the both of them. They talked about giving some money to the local church and agreed that the rest would be saved for a rainy day.
That reminded me that I probably needed to open a bank account too. Like Antonio told me, I don't need to be walking around with so much money on me. An account would be good; it'd be like my first "big girl" move, I think.
"Are you even listening to me?" Will asked.
"No," I admitted candidly.
He kissed his teeth and nudged me. "You came over so we could have a 'chat' but won't even listen to me."
I fought off a smile. "I just missed you. That's all."
He nearly snorted. "We see each other all the time— definitely more consistently than before."
"Yeah, but it's been forever since we've just hung out. No talking about I.V. or this rap business shit or whatever. Just me and you," I grinned while joining his hands with mine.
His eyes became slits as his gaze beamed into me. "What'd you do?"
My jaw dropped, a laugh of disbelief escaping me. "What'chu mean? I can't just want to spend time with you?"
"You must have something specific that you want to talk about."
"What makes you think that?"
"You sat me down, you made it a point to say you don't want to talk about Iron—"
"I did not sit you down. We both just so happen to be sitting, and I just don't want to talk about work, ya' know? I wanna talk to McKay, not Ill Will."
He smirked, still seeming suspicious but indulging me in conversation anyway.
"How's Dom?" I smiled. "He still got that perm in his head?"
He couldn't withhold his laughter, even if he tried. "You dead wrong," he shook his head.
"How is he?" I re-prompted with a giggle.
"He's cool," he gave half a shrug with a shrinking smile before abruptly pausing, "Wait."
I watched his face and body language gradually morph as he sat up in his chair. With a magnet drawing his eyebrows together and one side of his mouth curling into a grimace, he somehow had me figured out.
"Why you fuckin' wit' Mace again?"
"What would make you think that?"
"You done sat me down and—"
"Oh my god," my hand withdrew from his and flew up to my forehead in distress. I knew he was about to repeat the very same thing he had before.
"Nah, you gon' hear this, Cris," he insisted with a shake of his head.
"I already heard it from Tony," I mumbled with rolling eyes.
"Tony knows before I do?" his grimace softened into a slight pout. "Yo, that's cold, Cris."
I scoffed. "I didn't intend on any of you niggas knowing."
"Yet, here we are," he shook his head yet again before pausing, yet again. "'Shaany know?"
"Hell no!"
"Okay, good."
"Good because you know before he does?"
"No," he rolled his eyes, pulling a chuckle out of me. "It's good because he's gonna overreact and say shit to just make you feel guilty and stupid... and you shouldn't feel like either of those things, ever."
"Not even when it comes to Maceo?" I asked softly.
He contemplated the right answer, sighing deeply before responding. "Not even when it comes to Maceo... because you're not stupid... and you should only feel guilty, if you're in the wrong... You're neither, even if 'Shaan makes you feel that way."
"Thanks, McKay," I smiled softly.
He playfully rolled his eyes. "You gotta stop hangin' around Tony so much. You ain't never called me McKay like that."
"Sure, I have," I refuted.
He scooted his chair backward. "Let me move back before you get struck with lightning for tellin' a story like that."
"Boy—" I didn't hesitate to move closer to him, gripping the sleeve of his shirt before he could move away again.
It became a game, him finding a way out of my grasp and me chasing him to regain leverage. We ran and dodged, tiptoeing to avoid any precious, breakable knick-knacks and laughing like a couple of kids.
In the end, he allowed me to tag him and we both plopped down onto the living room couch in exhaustion.
"What, you not scared you're gonna get striked down with me?" I panted just as he was locking his hand with mine.
"If lying's all it takes to get some volts, I'd be a pile of ash, for all the other shit I've done," he sighed while stretching his long-bodied self along the length of the sofa.
His head found my lap while he held my hand over his chest.
"You're always using me as a pillow," I commented.
"Well, you're not a good leg rest," he answered, earning a thump to his forehead.
He winced and laughed, pinching my arm in response. I didn't have the energy to spark what would be a new game that would end the same way. So, I just relaxed with a sigh.
Silence ruled the space with exception to the TV set displaying the news. The news was always on in the McKay residence. The only time it wasn't was on holidays, it seemed.
Just as the public was being informed of another crackdown on drugs, this time in East New York, Will stole my focus.
"You and Mace... how serious is it?"
"It's not serious. We're just... hangin' out," I shrugged.
"Hangin' out for what?"
I searched for the right words before figuring that no answer would justify my actions, in his eyes. "He's teachin' me how to drive."
He scoffed. "I could teach you how to drive."
"Well, he offered before you did."
"This nigga stay beatin' me to the punch," he muttered. "I thought I was your partner in crime."
"You're everybody's partner in crime, remember?" I teased.
He warded off a smile while I toyed with his chain. "Yeah, but we're the dynamic duo. You know?"
"Uh-huh," my fingertips ran over the textured, golden medallion.
"If you was gettin' lonely, you could've called me instead of Maceo."
"Yeah, right, McKay," I nearly laughed.
"I'm dead serious. I always turn to you, when I need to talk. You don't think to do the same with me anymore?"
"I do. That's why I'm here now," I admired the shining four pillars that were encrusted in the center of his jewelry piece.
"But why weren't you here sooner?"
"He came to me before I could get to you," I answered.
"Story of our lives, huh?" He gave me a bittersweet smile.
"So it seems," I mirrored him.
"Yeah, a'ight... Just don't let that nigga come before your rhymes, a'ight? Don't let no nigga keep you from bein' the Picasso of this rap shit," he advised.
"Now, you need to stop hangin' around Tony so much," I boomeranged an earlier statement, pointing out how only Antonio had given me that title.
He laughed.
I added. "And, don't worry. I won't... Only niggas I'm lettin' come before my rhymes are you and Tony."
"What about 'Shaan?" he was grinning in amusement.
My face soured. "'Shaany wouldn't allow himself to get between me and my rhymes."
"Yeah, I guess that's fair," his smile shrank as he reached up to thump my dangling earring.
He watched my jewelry swing with twinkling eyes. Contentment settled on his features even as his gaze averted to meet mine.
"Next time you get lonely, fix your fingers to dial my number. A'ight?"
"If you're jealous, just say so."
"I'm jealous, as fuck. A'ight?" he couldn't keep from chuckling. "I'm your better half, and I think somebody's forgetting that."
"Never in a million years," I giggled.
The day ran long with Will as my company, but the evening made me wish for more hours in the day.
I was on the phone with Maceo, listening to him dispatch fantasies he'd dreamt up for us. It made me feel like I was sixteen again, his sweet nothings echoing out of receiver and right into my heart.
"When we move in together, I'ma get us some gold silverware to match your gold records," he said.
"Yeah, right," I playfully rolled my eyes while hugging a pillow.
"I'm serious... You the real deal, and you know you are! I don't know why you frontin'!" he chuckled.
"Okay, so you a fan now?" I was fighting tooth and nail to rein in my smile.
He kissed his teeth. "I know it took me a while to come around, baby, but I'm in full support, for real... 'cuz I've seen what you can do, and that makes me real excited to see what you'll go on to do."
"You just sayin' that, but... it means a lot to hear you say that," I admitted.
"I'm not just sayin' that... but you've never been the one for just words, so I got'chu when I see you."
I laughed. "Okay, Maceo. Whatever you say."
Midnight crept up on me, which was just the cue I needed to end our call. Of course, he wasn't letting me off the line until I committed to a date with him.
Since our last date went well, I didn't mind the idea, but I knew better than to blow off a recording session for a night with him.
"We can do lunch," he compromised.
"I like to go to the studio early, and once I'm locked in, I'm locked in," I shrugged. "No tellin' when I'll eat."
"Well, how about you call me when you start gettin' hungry, and I'll bring you some food and take you somewhere?"
"Just because your beef with Antonio is on freeze doesn't mean the same is true with Will and 'Shaany," I shook my head.
"I'm supposed to be scared of them?"
"No, but if you come up to the studio, it'll create a hostile environment for the workplace, and that's the last thing we need right now."
"I'll only be there for a second. It's not like I'm staying."
"Yeah, but then it'll make it hostile for me because 'Shaany doesn't know I've been seeing you."
"Why not?"
"Because me and 'Shaan," I paused and sighed deeply, "haven't been on the best terms lately, and we're just getting to a place where we can tolerate each other again."
He awaited further explanation.
I only gave him, "And if he knew that we were back together, it'd make it very hard to maintain that level of respect we have."
He scoffed. "He don't respect you because you're with me?"
"I don't know. I just... it's hard to be taken seriously when you're doin' stupid shit all the time."
"So, bein' with me is stupid?"
"To him, yeah!"
"So, what do you think?"
"What do you mean?"
"You care so much about what he thinks of you that you're letting it dictate what you do and who you're with. Meanwhile, his respect for you is conditional—"
"I never said that."
"It's implied, Cris," he quipped.
We took a few seconds to release the mounting tension of the call.
"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide the fact you're with me."
"I don't feel that way."
"Then why doesn't he know? He'll get jealous or something?"
Here we go with this shit again.
I did my best to nip his suspicions of Ishaan in the bud right then and there. "He won't get jealous because he doesn't feel that way about me... He'll just get mean, and I can't work while he's making me feel like a fool for a decision that I stand by 100 percent."
"You stand by me?"
"Haven't I always?" I scoffed.
He took a moment of silence, and when he reemerged, he had an idea. "Let me bring breakfast to your place, in the morning... That way, it's just you and me, and I won't be anywhere near your 'workplace environment'."
I smiled slightly at the thought and softly agreed to his proposition.
And nearly at the crack of dawn, he was knocking on my door. He carried in eggs and bacon and pancake mix.
Seeing Maceo towering over a stove was definitely a sight to behold, a sight that was making me anxious.
The last time he attempted to cook, we nearly had a fire on our hands, and I vowed that he would never touch a kitchen appliance that wasn't a microwave ever again, if I could help it.
He insisted that he had things under control, this time. "I've been practicin'."
Whatever that meant.
He urged me to start my day as I usually would, claiming that he wouldn't need any micromanagement.
As much as I didn't want to, I trusted him. I showered and got dressed for the day, and just as I was putting my feet into some sneakers, breakfast was done.
It wasn't half bad either, thankfully.
We talked on and on, laughing and reminiscing for a large part of the morning. We flirted while washing dishes and just as I started losing track of time, he asked me to walk him down to his car.
"You know I'm not gonna let you drive me to the studio, right?" I bit back a smile, folding my arms as he unlocked his doors.
"Yeah, I know wit'cho stubborn ass," he opened the passenger side door anyway.
And planted right in the seat was a box that would probably have to be held in both of my hands.
He picked it up with one and prompted me with, "you remember how I said I had somethin' for you?"
"Yeah," I raised an apprehensive eyebrow as he handed me the box.
I opened it hesitantly, reaching my hand in to feel a hunk of metal. A raised eyebrow joined the other as my face scrunched in confusion.
I pulled out the present to find a microphone and with it, a slip fluttered to the sidewalk. Maceo picked up the slip as I ogled over the essential piece of equipment.
It wasn't just a mic, it was one of the professional ones that's used to record in the studio.
"Mace," I whispered, somehow not able to pull my gaze away from the silver device.
"It ain't gold, but it's a start," he smiled slightly while standing straight again.
"This is really nice, Maceo."
"Yeah, I figured that you could put that in your home studio, whenever you build one in that phat ass crib you'll have," he shrugged before handing me the slip that'd fallen.
It was a ticket from the Palladium, the words "NYE Showcase" printed on it.
"You went to the show," I could barely talk as I finally met his gaze in astonishment.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I saw you up there, and I just felt so... stupid for holdin' you back, all that time... and I realized that as ya' man, I'm supposed to support you, no matter what. So... I went and supported and... you fuckin' blew me away, Cris."
I could feel myself tearing up as I looked into his eyes. It was one of the nicest things he'd done for me— even nicer than the money or the mink coat or anything.
I trapped him in a hug, fighting off my tears as I shakily exhaled.
"Thank you," I expressed.
"It's nothing," he ran a gentle hand over my curls.
We held each other for a while, this being the first time since we began dating again that such direct contact lingered.
When my quickly-formed tears became cool waters and baby butterflies started making an appearance in my stomach, I initiated our distance.
"Thanks again."
"Of course."
With that, he glanced at his watch and suggested that he be on his way. "Call me, when you make it home from the studio, a'ight?"
"Okay," I affirmed, putting the mic back in its box alongside the ticket.
I watched him get behind the wheel of his car, seeing him off with a smile before he left me in the wind.
And when the smoke of exhaust cleared, I exchanged glances with two men, who were staked out right across the street.
One was black and bald, and the other was white— Italian. Wearing plain clothes rather than their over-the-top and out-of-season trench coats I knew them for, it was none other than two predators hot on the trail of their prey, Maceo.
Daniels and Cavelli.