Chapter Two
With her head held high and Chanel frames covering her eyes, Tyler walked through the crowd, sandwiched between a couple of officers.
A smile was plastered on her face, and she was almost sure her picture would be a meme by morning, or a sticker in someone’s group chat.
Tyler looked as crazy as Left Eye when she burned down a certain someone's mansion. Only her partner didn’t bail her out, he sent her aunt.
She didn’t regret jumping on Dexter. Hell, Tyler wished she could have tagged the bitch he was with because Bobbi's slow swinging ass didn’t connect not one punch.
Instead of looking like she felt, Tyler was on point, as always.
The guards gave her a comb, edge control, and Vaseline.
Her fresh face gave off the impression that she was innocent, but anybody who knew her knew there wasn’t shit innocent about her hands.
Tyler was the poster child for ‘swing on that nigga,’ and she did it with a smile on her face.
As if she were on a red carpet instead of stained concrete, Tyler waved as her fans cheered, hooted, and hollered her name.
She hugged a few people, took a couple of pictures with others, promising to make it up to them for missing her Sunday night concert.
The label tried to lie about her absence, claiming she was under the weather, but Amber had other plans.
Not only did she post pictures of herself and Dex in the studio, but she also made it her business to go live and tell the world that she dragged the Princess of Detroit.
Amber didn’t care if it was a lie, clout didn’t care who claimed it, and she wanted her piece of the pie.
Dexter promised her he’d make her a star, and she was going to be one no matter the route.
“Tyler, why were you arrested?”
“Tyler, did you beat up Amber because of her affair with Dexter?”
“Tyler, were you in a cell by yourself?”
“Tyler, you look great. What skin care did you use?”
“We don’t have a comment at this time,” Tyler’s manager/Aunt Carla replied, guiding the girls to a black, heavily tinted SUV. She allowed her niece and daughter to get in before blocking Aria’s path. “You’re done for the day, and you better hope I don’t fire your ass.”
“First of all, you can’t fire me because I don’t work for you.” Aria rolled her eyes. “And second, I have my own ride. Thank you very much. Ty, I’ll call you later so we can go over your schedule.”
“K, love you,” Tyler replied.
“I love you back.” Aria blew her a kiss before turning to face Carla.
“And instead of trying to fire me, you need to teach yo daughter how to fight. Ain’t no way she should be a shit starter and can’t back it up.
If anything, you need to be giving me a bonus for saving your non-fighting ass daughter. ”
“Girl, fuck you,” Bobbi mumbled.
“Shut up and Zelle me for my nails. You have two hours and then I’m going to tax your ass for my pain and suffering because all of this is your fault in the first place,” Aria snapped.
Carla waited for Aria to switch away before she climbed into the truck.
Once the door was shut, she started tapping away on her phone.
The CEO of the label, Darryl, was down her throat about Tyler missing the last show on her tour and he wanted answers.
Tyler was the most profitable artist signed to his company, and her missing a show cost the label big money.
Not only did his team have to deal with refund requests, but he had to rebook the venue and still pay the other artists who were supposed to go on before her.
“Everybody don’t talk at once.” Carla peered up from her phone.
“I need someone to make this clear for me because ain’t no way I just picked yall up from jail!
Freaking jail, Tyler, you never cease to amaze me!
What would possess you to pull up at a studio and assault that girl? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Where’s Dexter?” Tyler questioned, ignoring her aunt’s questions.
Removing her glasses, she set them on the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh.
Resting her head against the plush seat, Tyler closed her eyes.
She was drained emotionally, physically, and mentally, and the only thing she could think about was kicking her own ass for answering Bobbi’s call.
“So, just fuck what I’m saying, huh?”
“I didn’t touch her,” Tyler uttered through closed lids.
The sound of Carla’s high-pitched voice was feeding the headache she couldn’t seem to shake. After spending the weekend in a jail cell, all she wanted was a hot bubble bath, a bean, and some good food. Listening to Carla scold her like a three-year-old didn’t make the list.
“So, you’re lying to me now?”
“Carla, with all due respect, I’m grown as hell. I don’t need to lie about anything. I didn’t touch her. I beat up Dex, and unless he’s the one that’s crying assault, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ok, smart ass, why am I receiving emails from her lawyers? She's trying to sue you.”
“I beat-” Bobbi blurted, but paused when Tyler looked up at her. “I got into it with her,” she corrected herself.
“You can’t even fucking fight Bobbi Mitchell!
” Carla snapped, causing Tyler to snicker.
It was true. Bobbi was swinging for dear life, and if the situation had not been serious, Tyler would have tried to record it.
Aria swore that Bobbi hit her a couple of times, and Tyler didn’t put it past her windmill swinging ass.
“It’s not funny, Tyler,” Carla yelped. “Yall are too grown to keep getting into fights. It’s not ladylike and it’s not how yall were raised. Tyler, you’re already labeled a diva; they might as well add troublemaker and problematic to the list. They are calling you a crash out!”
“Kinda has a ring to it.” She shrugged, further pissing her aunt off.
“Very funny. When the label decides to drop you, then what? Will it still be so funny?” Carla bucked her eyes.
“I'm sure I'll bounce back. I’m tired of all this shit anyway,” Tyler said before turning her attention back to the window.
Carla probably thought she was just ranting, but it was the truth.
Singing about the same ole shit and trying to keep up with all the latest trends was exhausting.
If it were up to her, Tyler would happily rock her buzz cut, oversized jogger sets, and fuzzy Crocs.
She wanted to perform in gym shoes, sports gear, and snapbacks.
Hell, she’d perform in a moo-moo if that’s what her heart desired.
If it were up to her, Tyler would never wear wigs or heels, but the label wasn’t having it.
They needed Tyler to stay at the top of the who’s who in Hollywood, encompassing both fashion and talent.
“Tired? Girl, you’re so damn ungrateful. All you do is get on a stage and sing, how hard can that be?” Carla huffed, degrading Tyler’s talents as if her singing wasn’t the reason for the lavish life she lived.
“Ungrateful?” Tyler arched her eyebrow.
“Yes, un-fucking-grateful,” Carla repeated. “You live a good life. I helped you get this good life that you're so tired of.”
Tyler took a minute to admire her aunt. While she couldn’t stand her half of the time, Carla was a pretty woman.
Her skin was a deep shade of brown, free of wrinkles, worry lines, and scars from the past. Her slender frame and extra-long neck bore a resemblance to Kimora Lee, and thanks to PRP injections, her long tresses were thick and her edges were full.
Money had turned the factory working, back hurting, sore feet version of Carla into a boss bitch.
Now that she had the money, Carla dressed to impress.
She owned expensive jewelry, drove fly ass cars, and whenever she stepped into a room, Carla commanded the attention she always craved.
“Whatever.” Tyler turned her attention back to the window. “I keep forgetting you’re carrying my career on your back.”
“You damn right. I allowed you to use my electricity to charge the phone you made YouTube videos on. I’m also your manager and you should be lucky I’m not demanding half of your earnings.”
“What do you really manage though? Aria and Darryl handle all of the bookings, photo shoots, concert travel, and everything else. You're simply along for the ride.”
“We’re family and I have your back in this industry. That’s what I manage,” Carla said with an attitude.
“Whatever, Carla,” Tyler sighed. She didn’t know who was worse. Carla or Dexter. They both swore it was them who made her a star.
“You know, you remind me of your mother when she was younger.” Carla scowled, fishing through her purse for a pack of cigarettes. Removing the pack, she patted the bottom until one fell into her palm. “Selfish and reckless, just like her.” Carla lit the tip and blew the smoke in Tyler’s direction.
“Mama, that’s going to get in my hair.” Bobbi frowned, waving her hand around as the Newport smoke engulfed her.
“Take the shit off then or get out and walk. Were you complaining when you had to lay your head on a filthy pillow in that nasty cell?”
“No, but-
“Hush, Bobbi. I’m going to deal with you later. You’re five years older than her and you’re nothing but a follower. You are pushing thirty. You’re supposed to be classier, have more sense, hell, anything but a fucking flunky. It’s pathetic,” Carla criticized.