Shady Records, New York
"Who is this bitch you gave me to listen to again?"
DeShaun Holton looked up to find his friend of eleven years leaning against the door of the studio room. He furrowed his eyebrows, placing the pen near the paper on the circular table in front of him. Every other member of their clique had retired to take care of 'some' business, implying they had grown tired of shit and Bizarre had complained he was getting claustrophobic since the whole room was too small for him.
After Em's scandalous controversies this year, their album was getting put on hold but DeShaun wanted to keep the energy flowing and get started.
He was hyped like always.
The bulb clicked on when his gaze fell upon the compact disc Em held up in his hand as a clue. The cover depicted a starless sky over the city which was clearly the Mo-town.
Written in bold, cursive and streaks of luminous silver was the word: Panache.
"I met her in Detroit, told ya."
"Course you did. But why?" Em said, staring back at him with unreadable eyes.
DeShaun's back dug in to the plush cushioning of the couch he was sitting on as he leaned against it. "What do you mean?"
"Why would you have me listen to... this?" Em waved the CD as he finished, walking up to the couch and plopping down beside him. Noticing the paper his friend was working on, he grabbed the sheet off the table with the other hand.
"Dude, gimme that!" DeShaun complained but Em kept it out of his reach, squinting as he tried to read the scribbled handwriting from afar.
Given up, DeShaun put his calves down on the table, after criss crossing them.
Em nodded in approval after reading like it was a thumbs up.
"As to your question..." DeShaun gave a casual shrug. "We the worshippers of Hip Hop, man. We lend another fellow man or woman worshipper a helping hand. Dontcha 'gree?"
Em's brows shot up. "And she is a worshipper, you think?" Turning his body more to the left so he could look at his best friend clearly, he slapped his left knee lightly to get DeShaun's attention. "I heard this shit. Skimmed through it. And I see what you saw."
DeShaun turned his head to him, eyes glinting. "You do?"
Eminem bit back a smile but failed as a small smile crept into his lips. Now annoyed, he cleared his throat.
"Man, she ain't me."
"She ain't. But she's the past you. Infinite. You 'member?" He snorted as Em shook his head. "She ain't plagiarizing. Different style, lyricism and flow. But same desperation."
Proof gaped once Em shrugged that off.
"Ok. Tell me, you think she sucks."
"Naw. I'd be lying and you'd be burning my ass."
"Give her that shot."
Silence.
"She givin you head, ain't she? Flying back to Detroit, I bet the first place you gonna visit is hers!" Em exclaimed, in wonderment. "Sharonda ain't never liked me but now she gon' know what's up with her husband too!"
"Shut the fucking hell up, man. It ain't nothin' like that. Plus, I don't do white chicks. You know me."
"Infinite didn't work for me. It didn't give me the break." Em stated, matter-of-factly.
"Shady did. Don't let me influence you, doody."
Em glanced at the CD still in his hold, when an important question popped up in his mind. "Is she hot?"
DeShaun threw him an annoyed, constipated look. "I guess, by your standards."
"Breasts?"
"Madonna."
At the mention of whom, made him automatically furrow his brows.
"Ass?"
"Big for white."
"Hair?"
"Alaina."
"Eyes?"
"Doggy."
"Boobs?"
"Mado- wait, I already answered that, dickhead."
"Just making sure." Em smirked, getting up and finally setting the disc on the polished black glass table."Give her the call. I'll have Paul contact her later. Fly her out here. But don't fucking drill that idea into her head."
DeShaun knew what he was talking about, so he smiled.
"You're signing her anyway, ain't chu?"
Em had on that same unbreachable look as he walked out.
However he popped his head back in as DeShaun was just about to pick up the pen. "Forgot to ask. Lips?"
"What?"
"Cause I'd need them to suck my-"
"Get the fuck outta here, bro!"
----
The continuous creaking of the bed ceased once the ringing of the phone started, disrupting the noises of ecstasy along.
A brunette head popped out from under a bare chest, and the man on top dismounted, letting out a dissatisfactory groan.
Pristine glided the phone in her palm from the bedside table, then looked at the number.
Instantaneously sitting up and flinching as she did so, she pressed the button to accept the call.
"Hello?"
"Am I speaking to the rapper named Panache?" Smooth, Pristine thought.
"Yeah?"
"Oh. This is Proof, we met-"
"I remember."
"Okay." For the next few minutes, he had her full attention. Pristine soon forgot she was naked as she paced around in the room, shooting over 'quiet' gestures to Keid as he tried to know what was going on.
"Thank you. Thank you. I got it." Flipping the phone closed, Pristine leapt on the bed, landing on him and making him yelp. She hugged him tightly, going, "Oh my god. Oh my god. I'm going to New York!"
After repeating that numerous times, she had settled down and enlightened him with the good news.
"Baby, I'm so happy for you." He gushed, trying to hint at her they were in the middle of doing something five minutes earlier.
Pristine was not listening. "Oh my god. Finally, fucking finally, a call! And I was thinking about leaving too-"
"Wait, what? You were thinking about leaving?" The words tasted alien on his tongue as he levelled his gaze with her.
Calming down, she replied. "Yeah. Like for a week. Check out some record companies, stay at Tina's... you know?"
"But you were thinking of leaving." He repeated, deadpanned.
Pristine cupped his face around his angular jaw that flexed, and she looked into his eyes. "Baby, I never meant leaving you. I'd come back. I love you." She kissed him full on the mouth before pulling away to whisper, "I, love... you." A peck was granted in every pause.
His hand trailed back to her hips, enveloping his arm around the bare flesh. He pulled her in.
----
Two Days Later
"Pissed isn't the word I'd use. Nope. He stood me up. And I have to call my best friend up to give me a ride to the airport." Pristine droned on, as Jayden navigated his car through the streets. "Tell me again, why I don't date you?"
That made him chuckle. "Cause we don't see each other in that way!" He answered, in a high pitched, snappy little girl's voice.
"Right. Fuck you, Keid!"
Jayden sniggered, "Something was always off 'bout that guy. Still is, as you can tell."
"We don't say that shit no more. That's highschool lingo for little girls, Jay. Off? He's a fucking drug dealer, Sherlock." Pristine scoffed.
"And you okay with that? Just fine? Nothing?"
She faced the window by her side. "It ain't like we gon' settle down somewhere and have kids."
"What about love?" Jayden came back.
"No love." Pristine returned, her tone steady." I'm twenty-three. He's twenty-five. We too young for that." He threw her a glance before reverting his gaze back past the windshield.
"You're a twenty-three year old leaving a man two years older behind for a twenty eight year old motherfucka."
As a response to Pristine's incredulous look, he quipped. "I did my research."
"So?"
"It's all business."
"Mmhm. Business with a girl."
The conversation died after that.
"We never let you get raped as long as you were with us in Detroit." Jayden told her, handing Pristine a pair of side bags she had to purshase for the trip. Shutting the dickey and locking it up, he came around to give her a hug. "In New York, you're all alone. Be safe."
She chuckled against his chest. "Thanks for the ride. Pay Mark a visit for me."
"You know it."
And then she swept past hoardes of people crowding Detroit Metropolitan Airport.