A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (5 page)

I cried until my eyes were puffy and bloodshot but I continued to drive. The only time I stopped was to fill up the tank and get snacks and soda. I was truly living on the edge and when I realized that it was me against the world it took no time to jump into survival mode. I drove for nearly eighteen hours until I saw a billboard that read, “Welcome to Georgia … Home of the Sweet Peach!” Instantly tears began to pour from my eyes like a waterfall. However, this time around I wasn’t crying because I was depressed, but because I felt proud of myself for actually accomplishing at least one dream in my life. It’s true that I had nothing but the clothes on my back and wishful thinking; however, it was those two factors that gave me the confidence and determination to go on.

I drove and drove until finally spotting a street name that sounded familiar to me: Martin Luther King, Jr. Drive SE. With nothing to lose, I exited 28A and said a quick prayer to the man above. “Lord, please guide and protect me as I enter into this unfamiliar state. May the doors of opportunity open for me so that I
may be in a better predicament than I am now. Amen!” Hopefully this was the beginning of a new life.

I drove around the neighborhoods, admiring this amazing city filled with countless opportunities. I began to size people up as they walked or drove past in their luxurious cars and wondered if they were famous producers, up-and-coming artists, or people with the connections that I needed to get my foot in the door. Someone once told me that Atlanta is to music as Hollywood is to acting, and if that’s true, then it shouldn’t take much time to get into the mix. I was already prepared to do exactly what I did with Shawn to get my jump start into the industry until I had the cash to hold my own. Then I’d be able to afford quality music tracks and studio time. All I needed to do was meet one or two prominent producers so I could fuck their brains out, get money, a hot-ass track, and studio time. I had made that sacrifice for Pretty in Pink, so doing it for my own damn self wouldn’t be a problem for me at all.

For three hours, I walked up and down various blocks to the point that my feet began to ache. But it wasn’t in vain. Dudes were hollering at my fine ass from left and right, and I gave out my number to more men than I ever have in my whole life. Let’s just say that I was extra friendly to everyone, including dudes whom I wouldn’t even throw piss on. They would ask me, “So where are you from?” and I would tell them a big fat lie, something I’ve been doing all my life. Lying became as natural to me as breathing.

“Oh, I’m in town visiting a friend and checking out the city because I may relocate here to pursue my music career. Do you have any suggestions or recommendations?”

It didn’t take me long to realize that everyone and their mamas were trying to strike it big in this city. Ain’t nothing sadder than seeing people in their late forties and fifties handing over business
cards and CDs, claiming they were
about
to get signed. It started to discourage me at times, but I had to keep reminding myself that I was not going to end up like them because I was young and talented. Although the situation was dispiriting, I did walk away with some valuable information. I was told by many aspiring artists to contact all the local record labels, radio stations, and DJs to get people familiar with my name. They said that people out here were always looking for that next big star to break and represent Atlanta. I was also told that the fastest way to get my music heard was to have it playing in the strip clubs. It seemed that gentlemen’s clubs were very popular out here and could introduce my music to a vast number of male and female listeners, including some very famous producers and musicians. I took note of every drop of information that I got, big or small, and planned on using it right away.

I was strolling the block like a prostitute when I literally bumped heads with this very heavy guy who was dressed to kill and iced-out from head to toe. His big ass nearly knocked me to the ground, but he looked like he had serious paper, and somehow I knew that he would be valuable to me. It may sound a bit crazy, but I had a strange feeling that he was going to change my life.

“Excuse me, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to knock down a pretty sexy thing like you.”

I smiled and replied, “It’s okay, Big Daddy, you’re cool.” I regained my balance, straightened out my tight-ass skirt, and kept the conversation going. “So where are you in a rush to on this fine evening? I want to holler at you, but it seems that you’re way too busy for me.” Yeah, you would have thought I was a man the way I was spitting game and macking this nigga, but hey, time was against me, and I had to move quickly.

“Well, I have some business to attend to tonight, but if you call me tomorrow then I promise I won’t be as busy.” He then began to check out all my assets. Men are always so predictable, especially
when they’re trying to hold a conversation with you while scoping out your breasts, thighs, and ass at the same time. “So are you from around here? I’ve never seen you before, and I know just about everybody out here.”

Those words were music to my ears. If he knew everyone, then I needed to know him so that I could know everyone too. I had to get in good with this guy so he could help me out any way he possibly could. “I’m not from Atlanta. I’m out here on vacation. However, I plan to move here very soon to pursue my music career. Do you have any suggestions on what a girl needs to do to find a manager and hook up with some hot producers?”

“Are you serious?” he asked. “I know tons of producers, and as far as management is concerned, baby, you’re speaking to the best of them right now. I manage Sha Diamond and Jay’Son, who are two R&B singers, as well as a rap group called Dash. I also have tons and tons of producers under my belt.” He then lifted the platinum necklaces that hung over his chest to show me the words written on his T-shirt. “See, the name of my record label is Never Broke Entertainment—NBE all day, every day, shawty.”

“So will you manage me?” I eagerly asked, feeling quite enthused. “I was in a group back in Pennsylvania and we did very well. I wrote, arranged, and sang just about ninety-nine percent of the songs on our album. However, I had some problems with my previous manager, who was also the mother of one of the girls in the group. Her husband was our crooked-ass entertainment lawyer and the rest is history.”

“So basically they fucked you over, huh? That right there was a conflict of interest from the jump. You should have found yourself a lawyer who had no other ties to or interest in the group except you.”

“Fucked me over? Fucked ain’t even the word. Fuck insinuates that it was consensual. Those motherfuckers raped me and took everything I owned. So I’m back at square one looking for a manager
and ready to get back into the studio to do it all over again. Anyway, that’s all in the past, and I’m looking into the future now. My name is Melissa, and you are?”

He rubbed his big belly and replied, “Just call me Fatz; everyone does.” He began to laugh so I joined in.

“So Fatz, can you add me to the roster of clients you’re representing? I write my own lyrics and could sing bells around anyone you put in front of me, even Sha Diamond and Jay’Son. I’m not afraid of competition, so I’ll fight and do just about anything to defend my talent.”

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Listen, my truck is parked over in that garage across the street. I have some instrumental tracks inside. If you can sing over one of those tracks and convince me to take you on, then you got a new manager, and trust me, your name will flood these streets like a rainstorm.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem. Let me listen to those tracks. I bet they just might be my first singles on the album.” I was aggressive but I knew I had to impress this man. I was not leaving this situation without knowing that I gave it my all. We walked into the garage and he hit the alarm on his black Cadillac Escalade. The rims on that truck were damn near taller then me; they were huge, I tell you. As soon as we got inside he popped in the CD and a banging-ass track began to play. The beat was sick as hell, and I knew that it had to be mine right away. Knowing that Atlanta loves that dirty south sound, I quickly began to think of lyrics that would make the crowd want to jump to their feet and dance. I listened for less than one minute and began to freestyle to the beat. “Boy, the way you got me krunking on the floor, no joke, I’m craving more. After the club, tell me where you wanna go: my place, your place, maybe the mo.” I was singing my heart out and getting into the track as if it was already mine.

“Damn! Shawty, you can really sing. No lie, at first I thought you were all looks and no talent because we see a lot of that out
here. But you, you can really sing and you’re gifted. Did you just make that up or was it already written?”

“No, I just thought of the melody and lyrics now. See, I told you I could sing. All I need is a trustworthy and dedicated manager. If you’re loyal to me, then I promise I will be extra loyal to you, if you know what I mean.”

Fatz sat back in his seat and looked deeply into my eyes. “Well, I think I know what you mean but you can get more in depth so that both of us can be on the same page,
if you know what I mean.
” To be honest, I knew the game pretty well because I’d been playing it for a while now. Fatz seemed like a very confident dude. But I knew my skills. If I gave a little, then I could play my cards right to get a lot out of him. I needed at least one friend out here, even if it was someone who considered me a freak. I had to grab his attention, so I did it the way I knew best.

“I can show you better than I can tell you,” I said as I reached over and began to passionately kiss and rub my tongue all over his fat-ass neck. He smelled intoxicatingly good, which made my job a lot easier; his scent was driving me through the roof. I ran my tongue across his ear and whispered, “I’m official, baby. You can have all of me as long as I get fifty percent of you. I don’t need
all
your time; I just need enough to get me tracks, a studio to record in, and some gigs to perform.” I then unbuttoned his jeans, pulled out his fat juicy dick, and began giving him some serious tongue action, the type I would typically give Shawn. His dick was very thick and it had a curve, which made it shift down my throat with ease. As soon as I took him in my mouth, he began to cry like a bitch.

“Shit … what the fuck! Damn, sweetheart, you’re sucking this dick so fucking good. Ohh, baby, don’t stop until I bust, all right.”

“Okay, Big Daddy. I’m going to suck this fat-ass dick until it erupts like a volcano.” I took it that Fatz loved dirty talk because he
forcefully grabbed my head and began to push it down as he pounded inside my mouth. His dick was hitting the back of my throat, but I was persistent with my thrust and strokes. I held that dick inside my mouth like I was seasoning and marinating it with my saliva. I was literally hungry too, so I pretended his dick was a sausage and went to work on it. “Fuck my mouth, baby. Fuck the words back down my throat,” I said.

Fatz closed his eyes tightly as he released his tasty cum into my throat. Not a single drop of his semen reached the surface; I swallowed him up. “I’m cumming. Open your mouth wide. Oh shit!” I leaned up and licked my lips to show him how yummy it was, which must have lit a fire under him because he grabbed me sternly and moaned, “Jump over in the backseat, pull your skirt up, and open those sexy-ass legs.”

And that’s exactly what I did, jumped over, pulled up my skirt, and opened my legs wider than the Pacific Ocean. Fatz climbed over, pulled my thong aside, and without warning plunged his thick dick into my wet, dripping pussy. I was wet to the point that it was making a splashing sound, which turned both of us on. He felt so good as he lay down on top of me and began to move inside me while passionately kissing me as if we were old-time lovers.

Words can’t explain how good this sex felt. I don’t know if it was because we were fucking in public or because I knew he was going to get me some tracks and pay for studio time; whatever the case, it just felt damn good to me. Before I knew it, I was climaxing. “Fatz … Fatz … I’m cumming. Fuck it, baby. Fuck the cum out of me.”

Then all of a sudden Fatz started to moan in ecstasy too. “Oh, baby girl, I’m cumming too. Damn, you got some bomb-ass pussy. Here go some more cum for you.” I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t want Fatz to stop, so when he rose to pull out, I squeezed my arms and legs tightly around his waistline.

“Cum inside my pussy just like you did my mouth. I want to feel that warm nut. Don’t worry, I’m on the pill.” Fatz didn’t hesitate to bust inside me, and yes, his warm nut felt soothing to my walls. At that very moment, I knew that I had sealed the deal with him. I had myself a new manager from Atlanta, Georgia, baby!

We exchanged numbers and made plans to hook up the next day so we could meet some of his producer friends. It was nothing to me, because, as I always say, fucking a dude for tracks is an investment for my career. Yes, I walked away from this deal still homeless, damn near broke, and exceptionally hungry, but I’d be recording in a day or two. I just got a new dirty-south track plus some good dick out of the deal; what more could a girl ask for?

After surrendering to my sexual appetite, I decided to treat myself to a real meal to ease my hunger pangs. My body couldn’t go another hour without putting something hearty inside. After all, I was not used to this kind of deprived living, and it was beginning to take a toll on me. I remembered someone telling me that Peachtree Avenue was the place to be and even mentioning that P. Diddy had a soul-food restaurant named Justin’s on the block. That was right up my alley because I could get something good to eat and possibly run into Diddy himself.

I walked back to the garage, got in my car, and asked the parking attendant for directions to Peachtree Avenue. I followed his directions until I pulled up in front of the restaurant.

When I got there, I parked my car about fifty miles away from the restaurant. I couldn’t afford to pay for parking because my money was getting low and I had to preserve it. So I sucked it up and hiked to my destination.