Chapter 2
Dreu
Vegas felt like somebody put sin and sunshine in a blender and poured that shit over the whole damn city.
I loved it. I sat in the middle of my penthouse suit looking out of the floor to ceiling windows.
My dry ass feet rested on top of cold marble floors as I temporarily imagined fucking a thick bad bitch on the balcony that looked like it floated over the strip.
Every day I woke up feeling like ‘Mr. Nigga With A Big Dick And Money’.
I no longer woke up in my parents’ home living off of their money.
I was now a multi-millionaire in my own right.
I did the shit my way and made it which was light work considering the fact that I knew I couldn’t rap worth shit.
So many niggas hated on me, and it was comedy.
Especially the Ogs that had been in the rap game for decades.
They hated niggas like me who had social media and fans making things easier to rise to the top and get paid while doing it.
No lie, the hate fueled me to keep going.
The more I grinded in the rap game the more accolades I collected.
Fame fit me like the custom jewelry I rocked on a day-to-day basis.
I had fun whenever I went in the booth, I said whatever I woke up thinking that day not giving a damn if I couldn’t rap to save my life.
I even made it a bar in one of my hottest songs called ‘Shine Time’ that I was damn near allergic to staying on beat.
Right now, all that sparkle didn’t mean shit.
I finally went to sit back down in the stool to let the lady that had me reconsidering every life choice that led me back to this chair for her to continue retwisting my locs.
I sat on a low stool while she stood behind me.
Her sharp witch nails ran through my new growth like magic.
Her big ass titties pressed directly into my back.
I was more of a titty man than an ass man. The only problem with her big juicy titties was that they were musty. The whiff that came from them smelled like she’d been running errands in the desert heat before coming here to get me right.
“Ma’am,” I licked my lips and cleared my throat. “Can you, uh, give me some space from behind.” I tried to sound polite as possible.
I didn’t play with people who had their hands in my head or people who made my food. Plus, from what my PR told me, she was the best stylist in Vegas. I was happy when Rina was able to get her to lock me in for a last-minute appointment.
“You so silly, Big D.” She giggled and slapped me hard as hell on the shoulder.
Her titties were now smacking my back like two warm, unwashed bricks. I held my breath and tried to lean forward but she followed, like she was magnetized to me.
“Damn,” I whispered to myself. “Bleu ain’t lie…fame really come with hazards.” I shook my head and remained quiet.
Across the room, my small entourage was sprawled out. My manager Iceman sat by the window smoking a vape that he swore was ‘just for flavor.’ He was really my nigga, one of the best managers to step into the game. Iceman made sure I got paid by any means necessary, even when I was small-time.
The twins Casper and Ghost were arguing about who looked better in the designer glasses that looked the same like them. The twins’ father owned the record label that I was signed to. I took to the young niggas and was currently mentoring them before they had their own big break in the industry.
My publicist, Rina paced like she was getting ready to have a panic attack.
She shot me a distraught look before placing her hand on her small hip.
I swear her ass needed some kind of anxiety pills because the smallest things had her ready to blow a gasket.
She already knew from the beginning that if I didn’t want to do something, I’d go off schedule.
Rina wasn’t only my PR but somehow my assistant as well.
She got paid triple just because she always went above and beyond for a nigga.
She kept me on track and even didn’t mind keeping shit organized like my meetings, interviews, and whatever shows I had.
Whenever I got ready to tour, she made the shit ten times easier.
I called her PR, but Rina worked side by side with Iceman.
I trusted the both of them and didn’t plan on expanding my personal team.
I also loved the fact that Rina and I never crossed the line.
I never flirted with her simply because she wasn’t my type.
She was super thin, if I had to guess her breasts were an A cup.
She was thin up and down but beautiful, nevertheless.
In her free time, she loved to travel the world swearing up and down when she hit the age of forty-five, she’d be ready to settle down and start a family which was crazy as hell to me, but I wouldn’t judge her for that shit.
Over the years, Rina became like family.
We often argued, I stayed talking shit, but when it was time for business, that just what got conducted.
“We have a schedule, and you can’t keep forgetting it, D.” Her high-pitched voice went up a couple octaves after each word.
“I’m sticking to the schedule; I’m here in Vegas.” I told her.
“You missed the special signing today; you went shopping with the twins while Iceman and I waited for you to—”
“I ain’t wait, I went shopping too.” Iceman cut her off, which pissed Rina off further.
I cut my eyes over at him, he shrugged, hit his vape then leaned back on the couch.
“Can you remember that tomorrow’s the Vegas Vibe fest? You’re supposed to host a segment, perform two songs then walk the carpet where you’ll be doing a radio interview. After all of that, you’ll attend the afterparty at Opal Lounge.” She took in a deep breath before continuing.
“I don’t want you getting sued, Dreu. I need you there and if you’re going to be late, don’t push it over thirty. Try to remain sober at least until the afterparty so your performance can—”
“Rina,” I said, holding up a finger, “You know I don’t actually perform. I just…aggressively talk over beats.” I chuckled trying to lighten the mood.
“The ladies love that shit.” I shrugged.
“Same thing,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No,” I corrected, “It’s really not.” I smirked and winked at her.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Rina’s light complexion turned a bright shade of red. Rina looked like she wanted to curse my ass out, but I knew she wouldn’t do it in front of musty titties.
“Dreu you signed a contract. They expect energy. Personality. They expect Big D’s persona. So tomorrow, please don’t—”
“Remind the world I can’t rap?” I finished for her biting my bottom lip.
“At least he honest.” Ghost snorted from the window.
“Jesus! Can you stop saying that, Dreu! You are talented in many ways!” Rina stressed.
“I know I am, Rina. Stop stressing yourself. I say that shit to troll but to be honest, when I started this rapping shit, it was simply to entertain and get views and easy money. I enjoy this shit, the feel of being in the studio saying whatever comes to mind. Iceman makes incredible beats and manages me well. At least I ain’t got a ghost writer like that nigga B-Mack that swear he out selling a nigga.
Muthafucka’s troll me all day with he can’t even rap…
yet they keep putting racks on top of racks in a nigga’s pockets.
” I looked her in the eyes dead serious.
The retwist lady leaned forward again, and her titties fully slid across my back. I flinched and inhaled the air around me and instantly frowned. Fuck this shit!
“Ma’am,” I said louder this time, “Can you please step back a little? Your situation is very close.” I stated in an irritated tone.
“My what?” She smacked her lips then popped her gum loudly in my ear.
I turned in the stool to face her. I had to shake my head because to me, she was pretty as hell. She had a short, thick, curvy frame. I loved women with big ass titties, and it was a shame that her rack had the audacity to stank. She had smooth chocolate skin; her hair was pressed bone straight.
“Your titties,” I clarified shamelessly, I was tired of beating around the bush with her ass. If I could smell it, I knew for a fact that she could. “Them muthafuckas hot and humid.” I griped.
She gasped, silence fell over the room followed by laughter. Rina threw her hands up.
“Oh my goodness, Dreu. Why do you talk like this?” She paced in front of me again.
“Cause the shit is true. I tried to be nice but she keep pressing them jugs all over me! I don’t need my back smelling like her climate change.” I eyed her titties as I talked to Rina.
The stylist finally stepped back with an offended huff. I exhaled dramatically right in front of her face.
“Thank you.” I inhaled the fresh air around me thankful that she stepped away to give me space to breathe in fresh air.
“I’m gonna go use the bathroom.” The stylist said with an attitude.
“Okay ma. You pretty as fuck by the way. Ain’t shit to be ashamed of, I was trying to be nice about it, but I had to keep it real. While you in the bathroom, use some of that soap and get in between them big baby’s.” I winked at her and turned around on the stool to give my full attention to Rina.
“You a fuckin’ menace.” Iceman retorted with a laugh.
“I’m real,” I corrected. “This is what the fans love about me.”
“No,” Rina said, pointing at me, “They love the illusion that you’re wild, not the reality.”
“Same difference.” I shrugged.
Rina stomped away towards the kitchen island and opened her laptop. I stood and walked over to the ashtray.
“Okay,” Rina put on her glasses and pecked away at the keyboard. “Your rehearsal check-in is at four. Your wardrobe fitting is at six. The label dinner is at eight. And tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow I’m the star of the whole damn festival. I got it all Rina, you emailed me the same shit you saying now. Everything is going to be perfect.” I winked at her.
“This overly confident nigga is a trip.” Casper chuckled out.
“Nah, I’m delusional,” I said proudly. “It’s working for me, you two lil niggas better be paying close attention to your mentor.” I smirked at the twins.
“Please don’t ruin anything. Don’t go overboard, I’m begging you, Dreu.” Rina groaned the words out.
I ignored her and walked over towards the floor to length mirror. My locs looked longer, they went past my shoulders falling on my chest. My chains shined against my skin and my smile looked like it had been carved by God and poor decisions.
Most believed that I didn’t have talent but couldn’t deny that I had stardom. I didn’t have bars, but I had magnetism. I had nothing but good memories in Vegas.
My Pancakes was a memory that I’d never forget.
I looked down at my dry ass feet and felt my chest tighten.
I missed her soft ass hands massaging lotion sensually on my feet and in between my toes.
I missed our late-night conversations and the way her big ass titties rested against my chest at night.
I stopped stalking her a year ago after she blocked every single fake account, I made on social media just to keep up with her. If I ran across my Pancake baby while in Vegas, she was mine. No doubt about that shit. I’d dropped down to my knees and beg like Jodeci to have her back.
I sparked my blunt and took a seat across from Iceman. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees letting the noise around me fade. There was something about being in Vegas that cracked something open in my chest. I thought I buried thoughts of Jatavia under fame, women, and distractions.
I still missed her in ways that would probably sound embarrassing.
I missed feeling really seen. She had been the only one who ever really saw me.
Jatavia wasn’t like the girls who threw themselves at me.
She wasn’t loud or hungry for attention with musty ass titties.
She was soft in her voice but sharp in her mind.
Quiet until something touched a nerve then suddenly, she’d become bold.
She was from the Nickerson Projects but carried herself like she already belonged somewhere better.
Not bougie just full of class that didn’t need validating.
It’s what I saw in her, but she somehow didn’t see in herself most of the time.
Jatavia talked about her dreams the way other women talked about having designer bags casually.
She expressed to me how she wanted stability, peace and her own version of success and whatever shape it took.
I used to lay next to her and listen to her talk like she was mapping out a future only she could see.
Now I still caught myself wondering if she made any of that shit happen.
I hoped she finally stepped into the life she used to talk about.
There weren’t many women like Jatavia in the world.
It was beyond her looks, although to me she was beautiful as hell with a hell of a personality to match.
I could show up as Dreu Langston and not who others deemed me to be.
There were many days I felt low and doubted myself and she lifted me high without even trying.
When I felt like my family overlooked me, Jatavia made me feel chosen.
I messed that shit up, but somewhere deep inside of me told me that one day I’d be able to get my first and true love back.
“I smell better now, I’m ready to finish.” The stylist cut through my thoughts.
I rubbed both hands over my face trying to shake the heaviness that settled in my chest when thinking about Pancakes. I stood and looked at the stylist who waved her hand over the stool like this time would be better and shook my head.
Hopefully Vegas wouldn’t disappoint a nigga. I hoped the universe aligned like women loved to say because now I had a strong craving for Jatavia Clark.