Chapter Seven #2
"I know,"
“Bye.” Tyler ended the call as taps on the bathroom door startled her.
“I’m not trying to rush you, sweetheart, but there’s a line out here,” the security guard said through the door.
“I’m coming,” she assured him. Giving herself one more look over, Tyler took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face.
“You good?” he asked.
“Yea, can you walk me to my car?”
“That was the next step. The women in the section are gone, and your assistant is on her way to pick you up. You want a bottle of water?”
“Please.” Tyler held on to his arm as he led her out of the club.
Per usual, a few paparazzi were standing on the curb waiting to capture pictures of famous people coming out of the club. Besides Tyler, there were a few ball players and social media influencers in the building, and they’d all be linked together by morning.
“Tyler, why are you here alone?”
“Tyler, did you know Dexter was just seen downtown with another woman?”
“Tyler, are you leaving Oakwood?”
“Tyler…Tyler…Tyler.”
“Do yall even sleep?” Tyler questioned, standing in front of the flashing lights.
“Give me a few words, Ty.” One of the reporters stepped forward. “How do you feel about Dexter stepping out on you?”
“And that’s what you wanna use your one question on?” She frowned. “You’re lame and need to be fired.”
“Just hear me out.” He reached out to grab her arm.
Without warning, Tyler cocked back and punched him in the face.
“Fuck!” he cried out loud, dropping his camera on the ground. “You just assaulted me.”
“No, you put your hands on her and she defended herself,” Aria snapped, pushing her way through the crowd. “You ok, friend?”
“I’m great,” Tyler smiled.
“Well, bitch, I’m not. I was getting the frame beat out this box when I got a text from the owner saying you were two seconds away from beating the brakes off Bobbi and the hoe crew.”
“I wasn’t about to touch them scary hoes.”
“Where the fuck is Dexter's greasy head ass?”
“According to the blogger I just punched in the face, he’s somewhere being a hoe,” Tyler chuckled as Aria helped her in the car.
“You wanna pull up?”
“No,” Tyler declined, shaking her head, settling into the passenger seat. “I want to go home, eat something greasy, and go to bed.”
“And where the fuck Bobbi lumpy booty ass go?”
“Hell if I know. I came back from the bathroom and that bitch was ghost.”
“I don’t even know why you went out with her shaky ass.”
“Me either, but it’s cool. Bobbi gone do what Bobbi do. I wasn’t expecting to end the night with her.”
“Mmm, cousin or not, her ass can get it. Shane sent me videos from her page, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think her slut ass was trying to embarrass you.”
“She probably was, but you can’t embarrass a person who doesn’t have anything to hide.”
“I hear you.” Aria twisted her lips. “I still don’t like it.”
“I know,” Tyler sighed, resting her head on the window. “I don’t like it either.”
???
Two days later, Tyler found herself in a funk that she couldn’t shake.
The pills weren’t helping, drinking made it worse, and the only place she found comfort was in the booth.
With a pair of headphones resting on top of her head, the end of an ink pen hung from her lips as her finger tapped on the notebook resting in her lap.
That morning, she woke up with so much on her mind, but now that she was sitting in the booth, she was stuck.
The words she hummed all night vanished.
It didn’t matter that she was sitting in the booth with a beat playing in the background, she was still drawing a blank, and it was frustrating.
“Shit.” Tyler dropped her head, feeling defeated.
“You want me to restart the beat?” Her engineer, Kenny, asked, sensing that something was off.
Kenny had been there all morning, and he’d be there all night if she needed him.
Tyler was the only person who could have him out at the crack of dawn while she sorted through her creativity.
As long as Dexter wasn’t around, Kenny was all for it.
Fucking with Dexter would have him sitting in a cell, and he wasn’t trying to go back there.
“Yea, play it back,” Tyler's voice lightly cracked, still trying to gather words she couldn’t find.
Kenny nodded and hit the button on the switchboard to restart the beat.
The combination of violins, pianos, and light drums graced Tyler’s ears, and her eyes instantly closed.
The beat felt warm and familiar. It reminded her of good times, fun times, times when she felt loved.
The beat was nostalgic and reminded her of her mother.
When Tyler opened her eyes, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You good?” Kenny asked as she quickly swiped the tears away.
“Uh, yea, you know what? We’re good for the day.” Tyler cleared her throat. “My head is all over the place.”
“You sure?” He side-eyed her through the glass.
“Yes, thank you for coming out.” She exited the booth. “I’m going to go clear my head, get some food, and maybe we can try again later.”
“Aight, Cool. You know where to find me.” Kenny stood up as Carla strolled into the studio like she owned it.
It didn’t matter that it was almost ninety degrees outside, Carla was dressed in a navy-blue pant suit with a pair of cream Red Bottoms. Her hair was pushed back into a sleek ponytail that touched the middle of her back, and a pair of Prada frames rested on her face.
“You don’t see me calling you?” Carla questioned rudely, removing her glasses. “And what’s the point of having an assistant if she doesn’t know where you are?”
“Hello to you, too,” Tyler scoffed, rolling her eyes.
“I’mma head out. Ty,” Kenny stepped around Carla, who looked at him in disgust. He wasn’t like the engineers and producers Oakwood hired. Kenny’s hands and face were covered in tattoos, he reeked of weed, and his clothes were the typical hood nigga attire.
“Thanks again, Kenny. I’ll be reaching out soon so we can finish this up.” Tyler reached over to hug him, and Carla rolled her eyes.
“Aye and stop stressing. You’re a natural when it comes to this shit. Don’t chase the words, let them come to you,” he told her before backing out of the door.
Carla twisted her lips at his little pep talk.
She didn’t care what he was talking about.
She was more concerned about why her niece was making moves she wasn’t aware of.
Tyler being in the studio with another producer wasn’t a good look, and it had her wondering how serious she was about going independent.
Examining her niece, Carla let out a deep sigh.
Tyler was dressed in an oversized graphic tee shirt, joggers, and New Balance sneakers. Instead of wearing a wig, she rocked a dad cap and completed the basic look with a bare face. Again, Carla was disgusted. Tyler was a pretty girl, and the fact that she wanted to dress like a hobo bothered her.
“Does Dexter know you're in a studio with some thug?” she interrogated, placing her Birkin on the couch.
“What’s up, Carla?” Tyler rebutted. Of course, Dexter didn’t know. He didn’t care for Kenny, and had he known they were in the studio together, things would have been a lot different.
“Why am I getting emails about you punching some paparazzi person in the face?”
“He grabbed my arm.”
“And you hit him in the face, Tyler? That man is trying to sue you.”
“What’s new?” Tyler replied. “Someone is always trying to sue me.”
“And we always have to clean up the mess. Darryl told me he gave you the contract. Where is it? I need to hand it in.”
“I threw it away.”
“You what?” Carla shrieked, knowing she had heard her wrong.
“I threw it away. I could’ve sworn I told you that I wanted to do my own thing. I’m not signing another contract, Carla.”
“Oh my god, you’re about to kill me with this bullshit.
You can’t just not sign the contract; it doesn’t work like that.
You have to pay back studio time, advances, and a slew of other shit.
Houses, cars, a tour bus, you have expenses, Tyler.
Do you think you can afford this fancy ass life without the label? ”
“That’s the thing, I don’t need this shit. Materialistic things don’t move me; I keep telling you that.”
“That’s not the point. There are people depending on you.
What about your mother, huh? If you don’t sign this contract, do you think you’ll be able to provide for her?
That nursing home costs ten grand a month.
Do you think you can afford to keep paying that if you don’t sign the contract?
” Carla flung her arms in the air. “You make these rash decisions and everyone else has to pay the price.”
“Let’s be honest.” Tyler folded her arms. “What is the label really doing to help me grow? I should be bigger.”
“Bigger?” Carla scoffed. “Girl, calm down. You acting like you're Beyoncé. You’re a small-town Detroit artist. People know you, but that’s only because of Dex. Please, humble yourself.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” Tyler chuckled. “I might not be as big as Beyonce, but I sell out every show. My albums go crazy and the singles I drop do numbers, so I might be more than a small-time Detroit artist. I just need a better team.”
“Well, if you’re going to toot your own horn, then do it. I still think you need to sign the contract. You’ll never get ahead without the label.”
“I should have more opportunities. I should be allowed to hop on remixes with other artists without it being such a hassle. I should have some creative control, but I have none, and I’m over it.
I love singing, and as of late, I feel like a slave to this shit.
Oakwood has their foot on my neck and I can’t breathe. ”
“You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“See, this is why we don’t work. I’m telling you that I’m suffocating and you call it being dramatic. I need a break from Oakwood, I need a break from you, I need a break from this life.”