Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
I almost turned away when the waiter approached me at the entrance with a tray of brimming champagne flutes.
Since I had developed a habit of disappointing everyone, including myself, when I partied too hard, I’d cut my carousing way back.
But even with Von at my side, I needed some liquid courage to walk into that room.
Ricky Matsumoro’s annual after party for the MTV Video Music Awards was renowned for being a VIP-only affair.
He always held it at his newest hotel, and this year the winners posed with their Moonman trophies on a red carpet that stretched in front of the just-opened Matsumoro SoHo building.
Waiting handlers swept awardees to an expansive penthouse that opened onto a rooftop deck surrounding a black-bottomed pool, covered for the evening with frosted acrylic to create an exterior dance floor.
Of course, Kiara oversaw her husband’s guest list, and she made sure that the Moonman winners were surrounded by only A-list fellow artists, music label executives, actors, fashion designers, editors, models, and other notable culture creators.
This was my first time attending the VMAs and, therefore, my first time at the Matsumoro after party.
(At StyleList, I wasn’t even close to being senior enough for an invite.) And it would be my first event since the October issue with Sliq Bishopp hit newsstands a few days ago.
When Barbara saw the shadowy pic that I’d chosen for the cover of a scowling Bishopp picking his diamond grill with a knife and realized how far I’d gone in the profile, she’d shrieked loud enough for all activity to stop on the NuVoices floor.
The only thing that had calmed her down was the news that stores were already selling out of their October copies.
Even in her fury, Barbara knew that the incendiary story would put Sugar on the map.
Since Sliq Bishopp had been nominated for a VMA, he and his boys would be at the party—as would JJ and the rest of his label.
The thought of facing Bishopp, JJ (whose calls I’d been avoiding for weeks), and the whole industry at the same damn time made my stomach hurt.
But Barbara had informed me in no uncertain terms that I’d already jeopardized too many ad dollars to miss any opportunity to glad-hand potential new advertisers and other important people with marketing budgets.
I also wanted to support Kiara and her publicity firm’s signature event.
So, after I got my makeup done and combed my hair into a tight bun, I put on the one-shouldered leopard-print Norma Kamali dress that Freddy had pulled for me, clasped a gold snake cuff to my upper arm, and made myself walk out the door.
Now that I was about to literally face the music, I decided to accept that glass of champagne.
Von grabbed my elbow. “Let’s go for a grand entrance, shall we?” he said. But he faltered after just a few steps inside. “Am I tripping, or is literally everyone gawking over here?”
He wasn’t wrong. The sudden attention felt like a riptide pulling us to the center of the party. Men were studying us as we passed, their faces largely unreadable, while women were whispering to each other.
Squaring my shoulders, I tugged the back of Von’s shiny purple-and-black jacquard jacket so he’d focus on me. “They’re looking at us because we did something that no one else in the industry dared to do.”
As we debated whether to hit the bar before we did a loop around the party, someone touched my waist. With her smooth walnut skin, the petite woman who’d materialized at my side appeared dipped in chocolate.
Her voice was low and conspiratorial, so I had to lean down to hear her say, “Excuse me, you are Nikki Rose, right? Editor in chief of Sugar?” When I nodded, a smile broke across her face and her tone turned shy.
“Oh, wow, okay. I’m so excited to meet you.
I swear Nikki’s Notes is talking directly to me.
You’re so real and inspiring. It’s the first page me and my girls read every month! ”
She must have been surprised by the force of my hug.
I gripped my poor unsuspecting fan for several long beats until she tactfully wriggled her shoulders to indicate that she’d appreciate a lungful of air.
I released her with a warm chuckle. Some understanding had passed between us because she looked into my eyes and said, “You know you’re a role model, right?
Especially after that Sliq Bishopp story.
That took guts. You got a lot of people in your corner, sis. ”
“Thanks so much, sis.” I didn’t want to freak her out with another bear hug, so I briefly clasped her hand. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you, especially tonight.”
She took in the number of people still observing us.
“You got this, Nikki,” she told me with a firm squeeze to my sweaty hand.
She walked away a couple feet, but doubled back.
“Hey, I forgot to tell you, I’m in the publicity department at Eternal Records.
Betty Brown’s label. That cover was the shit!
I know it was early, but you’re gonna look like a genius when her album drops. ” She winked and took off.
I relaxed for the first time that night. I’d been so caught up in the Sliq Bishopp drama that I’d forgotten everything else I’d done with Sugar. I beamed at Von and was about to suggest we hit the dance floor when I saw JJ rushing through the crowd toward us.
“Nikki, why the hell are you here?” JJ grabbed my arm, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for a place to hide or a fast escape. “This isn’t safe.”
I took a page from Teresa’s book and said evenly, “Hi, Nikki. You look fabulous. How’ve you been since I last talked to you nearly a month ago?”
JJ stopped glancing around to regard me intently. “Okay, Nikki, you wanna play this game? Yeah, you look good—except maybe your hair.”
I took the bait. “What’s wrong with my hair?”
“I’m not feeling the ballet-dancer bun thing.” JJ shrugged, his face expressionless. “But can we stop talking about stupid shit? You know I’m here with Bishopp’s crew, right?”
I nodded, too hurt to immediately process his warning.
“Okay, well, I’ve been trying to talk that nigga off a cliff all night.
I don’t know if he’s angrier at you for playing him with that profile that made him sound like the East Harlem Rapist—or at me since he’s convinced that I knew about the story in advance.
Of course, I didn’t know anything about the story in advance, now, did I? ”
I looked down at my hands, studying the red nail polish.
JJ had a right to be indignant; if I’d trusted him, I would have given him a heads-up.
But even though I’d put him in a bad position, it still felt as if he held the power in this conversation.
“I’m not sure what to say,” I finally sputtered.
“I just didn’t want you to try to talk me out of doing what I had to do. ”
“Yeah, well, now Bishopp thinks that he has to do something. And I don’t like you being in the same venue with him and his stupid boys when he’s this fucking angry.”
JJ spun me around like he was going to frog-march me to the door, but a loud commotion to our right stopped him.
As Bishopp stormed over, flanked by his crew, JJ let go of me, took three steps to the side, and faded into the crowd.
By the time I realized he was gone, the total solar eclipse of Bishopp and his posse in their color-coordinated suits and durags blocked out the rest of the party.
Next came Bishopp’s voice booming over Madonna’s “Ray of Light,” so loud I almost thought the DJ had mixed in a rap song.
“I’ll be goddamned, Nikki Rose. You’re the last fucking person I thought I’d see tonight. I have to admit that I’m low-key impressed by your cojones.”
I was in full tonic immobility, unable to budge my limbs or form words.
Barbara’s claim that she’d stared down multiple strapped gangstas over the years popped into my mind as I tried to figure out what to do.
No wonder she’d become unflappable. In the same way I’d often speculated why Barbara had asked me to meet with JJ, since she clearly knew that he was a rake, I now had to question why Barbara would send me into this den of lions, knowing full well that Bishopp would be here.
Yet here I was, at the most exclusive VMAs after party, getting screamed at by a highly combustible rapper she must have known would confront me.
It felt as if Barbara were teaching me to swim by throwing me into big-wave surf.
“What, you don’t have anything to say to me now?” Bishopp was just winding up. “For such a pretty girl, you have a fat fucking mouth, don’t you? And I guess I found that out the hard way.”
Von stood gamely next to me during Bishopp’s verbal onslaught. He took a big gulp of air and squeaked, “Hey yo, don’t talk to her like that.”
Bishopp glanced at Von like he was a misbehaving puppy, then rhetorically asked the growing crowd of spectators, “I’m sorry, who is this fool?”
That restored my voice. “Bishopp, would you please relax. I’d be happy to discuss this—”
“Bitch, did you just tell me to fucking relax?” Bishopp interrupted, his voice rising again.
“You fucking come for my reputation in your little article where you repeat every fucking word of our conversation out-of-fucking context. And you interviewed that gold-digging liar.” I tried to take a step back but was blocked by one of Bishopp’s boys.
“I taped our interview, and I told you that it was on the record,” I insisted, although I was quaking with fear.
“I don’t give a fuck about your tape. You seem real confused by the fact that this ain’t a game. I’m about to sue the shit out of you.”
Kiara elbowed her way over to stand next to me. She put up a warning finger and said, “Bishopp, this is not cool. You need to back off now.”