Rhythm's Blues

Chapter One

Rhythm Baker Isat with my back against the headboard, listening to the Talk of the Town

podcast on the radio that sat next to my bed. My boyfriend of three years

was today’s special guest. Raheem Cole, professionally known as Prince Cole, was a worldwide superstar to others, but to me, he was simply Raheem. We’d known each other since high school, back when he was making up beats on the cafeteria table with his homeboys or recording his rhymes in the closet turned studio in his childhood bedroom.

He always knew he’d make it big, and so did I. What began as a pipe dream, to some, soon became his reality. He got his big break right after graduation. Producers had been looking at him for the longest due to the popularity of his YouTube channel. He promised his mother that he would at least get his high school diploma before pursuing his music full time.

As soon as we graduated, he was on the first flight to L.A. that same day. Since then, his career had blown up, and so had he. I couldn’t turn my head without seeing his face on a magazine cover or social media or hearing his songs on the airways. I was proud of him. Unlike some of our classmates, he’d accomplished everything he’d set out to do.

Three and a half years ago, we ran across each other when he performed at homecoming for my alma mater. I wasn’t one of those girls who was star stuck by celebrities. While other girls in the crowd were screaming their heads off and showing their titties while he performed, I stood in the audience just vibing and rapping the lyrics.

I had front row seats, and his set was almost over when he stepped over to one of his security guards and pointed at me in the crowd. I thought nothing of it when he came back out and jumped into the last song of the night. His head of security approached me and told me to follow him. I was a little hesitant, but I followed him backstage to Raheem’s dressing room.

After what seemed like forever, he came in, the sounds of screaming fans echoing behind him.

“Rhythm Baker. How the hell you doing, girl?”

While I could never forget him, I was surprised he’d remembered me. We hadn’t seen each other in about eight years. He pulled me in for a hug, damn near lifting me from the ground.

“Damn, you look good,” he said, placing me back on my feet. “I mean, you were always a beautiful girl, but shit, you filled out. What are you doing around these parts?”

“I graduated from SCSU. I had to come represent my alma mater for homecoming.”

“I feel you. It’s good to see you. You know, I’ve thought about you over the years.”

“Have you?”

“Of course. I’ve never met another Rhythm. You know music is my life. Every time I made a beat when I first started, I thought of you.”

I blushed. Truth be told, I’d always had a little crush on Raheem. I just never thought he’d be interested in a girl like me. We’d always kept it friendly, so to hear him say that was shocking.

“Well, I’m glad to see you doing what you always said you would,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I knew you’d be successful.”

“I appreciate that. What are you doing these days?”

“Occupational therapy. I work at Baptist back home.”

“I can see you doing that. You’ve always been a people person. Listen, I have to get out of here, but I’d love to catch up with you. It’s always good seeing a familiar face. Maybe I could get your number? I’m not sure how long you’ll be in town, but I’d love to see you before I head out.”

“Um… sure.”

He handed me his phone, and I programmed my number in before giving it back.

“I’ma call you when I get settled in tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

He started for the door, but his hand lingered on the knob for a moment. Turning back, he strolled over to me. He pushed a stray hair out of my face and cupped my chin. His eyes met mine, and he licked his lips.

“There’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” he said softly.

“What’s that?”

“This.”

Leaning in, he kissed me sweetly. I was slightly shocked that it was happening. For a moment, I stood frozen, unable to believe that my childhood crush was kissing me. When I finally snapped out of it, I didn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

That was the beginning of it all.

I met him for lunch the next day, and it was like a fucking circus. He was mauled by fans everywhere we went. They followed his car. They waited outside of his hotel. Some of them even snuck up to the floor he was staying on. While I enjoyed the little quiet time we got, I quickly learned that I hated the spotlight.

I was a low-key type of woman.

Back then, I didn’t rock the latest fashions. I didn’t drive an expensive car. I wasn’t at every party, trying to be seen. I enjoyed my simple life with my simple job. It brought me satisfaction. I would never fit in with his world. When I told him that, he said he understood, but that didn’t stop him from pursuing me.

For six months, he randomly popped in to visit me, and he always wore a disguise so we could have some privacy. He completely toned down his image so that he was barely recognizable when we went out in public. It was nice to have a normal dinner or trip to the store with him. In those six months, I fell hard for him, and when he officially asked me to be his girl, I said yes. After a year, I moved out to L.A with him.

He took care of my every need and even footed the bill for me to open my own occupational therapy clinic, The Baker Method. Things had been good with us. I stayed out of the spotlight yet remained the super supportive girlfriend. It wasn’t until fans started pushing him and his female labelmate together did a problem arise.

For too long, I’d been dealing with seeing the two of them in the blogs and listening to the rumors that they were dating. He assured me nothing was going on, yet he made no effort to let it be known he was in a whole ass relationship. He waved it off like it was no big deal, telling me that this was the music business.

Fuck that. I may not be seen but claim me.

As I sat planted next to my radio, I waited to see if it would come up today.

“Multi-platinum, multi-talented artist, Prince Cole is in the building, everybody. Thanks for being here, Prince!”

“Thanks so much for having me. It’s great to be here! Y’all always show me so much love, so I had to slide through and pull up on you real quick.”

“Fa’sho, fa’sho. Let’s jump right into it. Your latest album Lyrical Warfare is got some major buzz, and the single ‘Street Scriptures’ rode that number one spot on the charts for six weeks straight. What has this experience been like for you?”

“It’s been lit. Seriously, it’s been beyond anything I could have imagined. Making that album was slight work, but the one I’m working on is a tedious process. I hired a whole new team to make this shit what it is. This is my golden era, ya feel me? I needed the best of the best ’cause I’m a beast at what I do. I’ve been at this music thing for a long time. To see my lyrics still resonating with so many people is overwhelming in the best way.”

“Right, right. The songs on the album seem personal to you. Is songwriting therapeutic for you? Where do you draw your inspiration?”

“Songwriting is therapeutic. It’s how I process emotions and experiences. A lot of the songs were inspired by shit I went through and people around me. I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. My mom worked two jobs to provide for me and my siblings ’cause these slack ass baby daddies ain’t step up to the plate. But that’s a story for another day. The music is a reflection of my life, growing up, and finding myself.”

“I feel you on that, my brotha. Now, I’ma ask a question the fans are dying to know. What’s going on with you and Lady Lingo? Y’all have been spotted everywhere together. You have a hit record with her, and I heard a new one is coming. I see the chemistry, so I’ma just ask. That’s you?”

Raheem chuckled. “Come on now. That’s just my labelmate. We vibe off each other in the studio. It’s musical magic, nothing more.”

The host chuckled. “A’ight, a’ight. So is there anybody special in your life? The ladies are listening.”

Again, Raheem chuckled. “I’m just chillin’ and doing me.”

I frowned.

Just chillin’ and doing him? What the fuck was that? He was out here acting like I wasn’t here sitting in the home we shared. Like I wasn’t making home-cooked meals and doing his laundry. Like I didn’t fuck and suck him on the regular.

Tossing back the covers, I climbed to my feet and grabbed my phone off the charger. Before I could get to my call log to give my best friend, Monique, a call, she was calling me.

“Bitch!” she exclaimed.

“You heard that shit, right? I wasn’t tripping?”

“Hell no, you ain’t tripping.”

“Why the fuck would he say that?”

“This industry shit is going to his head, boo. I know bitches love rappers and shit and it’s all about his image, but what he ain’t finna do is play with you like that.”

“Nique, I’m so sick of this shit. Like, I get it. I’m not in the spotlight, but damn. He’s been moving real funny lately, especially when it comes to that shit with Lady Lingo. Like, how many times is he gonna be photographed with that bitch sitting on his lap, whispering in his ear, and shit? He keeps telling me it’s nothing, but he’s not acting like it’s nothing.”

I flopped down on my bed and buried my face in the pillow. I willed myself not to cry, but this shit was really getting to me. I loved Raheem, but he was changing. To have been in the music industry for the last ten years, he was acting real brand new right now. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t unbothered. I could feel it happening in slow motion.

Part of me felt like it was my fault for keeping my identity under wraps. I didn’t want my success to be based off his name. True, he footed the bill for the building, but I worked hard to grow my business to what it was. My clinic was one of the best in the city. We’d been featured in the news and magazines. We’d been nominated for awards. In a year and a half of its opening, we’d gained such notoriety, and I was proud of what I’d accomplished without his name being attached to it.

Of course, I supported him. I was his biggest cheerleader, next to his mother. There were countless nights where I stayed up with him in the studio until he got a track perfectly recorded. I listened to him spit his lyrics and gave him feedback. I looked over contracts before he signed them. I learned so much about the music industry so that I could support him on the back end.

I did it out of love, and for him to downplay our relationship like it was nothing hurt me. We didn’t have to be the power couple, or it couple, but he didn’t have to play like I didn’t exist at all. Later That Night I jumped as the sound of music blaring woke me from my slumber.

After getting off the phone with Monique earlier, I’d consumed two bottles of wine and had myself a “Fuck That Nigga” party. Music was played. Tears were shed. I called Raheem and cursed out his voicemail because that muthafucka never answered my calls. He knew I listened to the bogus ass interview and that I was pissed, so I was sure he was trying to avoid the backlash as long as possible.

Looking over at the clock, I saw it was almost two a.m. Frowning, I tossed back the covers. The volume of the music had gone down, but it didn’t matter. I was awake now, and once again, I was angry. Climbing out of bed, I shoved my feet into my slippers and stormed out of the room in nothing but my sports bra and boy shorts.

Furiously, I descended the stairs. I walked into the living room to find it filled with the potent smell of weed and cigarette smoke. Raheem and his flunkies sat around, passing about four blunts in rotation as they talked amongst themselves.

“Raheem!” I yelled over the music.

He was still smoking and vibing like he didn’t hear me. I stormed over to the speaker and shut it off. Six sets of eyes looked up at me. Smiles broke out on the faces of his friends. Several of them licked their lips at me, but I paid them no mind.

“Did we wake you up, baby?” Raheem asked lazily. “Aye, where yo’ clothes at? Y’all niggas, close your fucking eyes.”

The one I knew as Rod smirked. “Too late. We’ve seen it all. I see why you keep her locked away. You bad as hell, lil mama.”

I held up a hand dismissively. “Raheem, it’s damn near two in the morning.”

“I know, baby. We lost track of time in the studio. I had this fly ass track I wanted to add to the album—”

“I don’t give a damn! They gotta go. I’m not trying to have it smell like weed in here and I’m trying to sleep.”

“My bad, baby. We can turn the music down and take it outside—”

“No. They need to go, and you can go with them for all I care.”

His friends looked at him and broke out in laughter.

“Damn, she mad at you, nigga,” said another one I knew as Mikko.

Raheem waved me off. “She’s always mad lately.” He ashed his blunt and stood to his feet. “A’ight. Y’all heard the lady. Y’all gotta bounce.”

They all groaned as they climbed to their feet. Raheem walked them to the door, and they said their goodbyes. Closing the door, he turned to me.

“Happy?”

“Don’t do that. Why the hell would you bring them in here this time of morning?”

“Why would you come downstairs looking like this? Got niggas looking at your ass and shit.”

“Fuck them niggas, and fuck you too, Raheem.”

He shook his head. “Now it’s fuck me? Come on. Let me have it. I got your voicemails and text messages. Go on and get it off your chest ’cause that’s what it’s really about.”

I laughed. “I was gonna let you live until morning about that, but we can take it there. What the fuck did you mean you’re just chillin’ and doing you?”

“Rhythm… you know I love you. This is just industry shit. It’s part of my image—”

“Is it part of your image to look like you’re sleeping with your labelmate, Raheem?”

“You know I’m not sleeping with that girl.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing. According to you, you’re single.”

“Look… I’ma be honest. The label thinks it would be a good idea for she and I to pretend to be a couple. It would be good for business. We’re the highest grossing artists they have. A fake relationship could open up big shit for both of us. We’d be on some power couple shit and touching more money than we’ve ever seen—”

“Raheem, have you lost your mind? I’m not going for that shit.”

“It wouldn’t be real—”

“I don’t give a fuck! What the hell do I look like allowing you to parade your fake girlfriend on your arm while I sit at home waiting for you?”

“You’re the one that doesn’t wanna be in the spotlight! You don’t wanna walk the red carpet. You insist on being in the fucking background at my shows or events when you need to be out front being the loudest person in the room. You wanna be private and shit like you don’t wanna be seen with me.”

“Private does not equate to being kept a fucking secret. No, I don’t like the spotlight. I’m sorry if I don’t want to walk around with a camera or microphone being shoved in my face on the daily. I’m sorry that I don’t want the world invading our private lives. I’m sorry I don’t want gossip blogs spreading rumors and or putting together false narratives about us because somebody caught us having an argument, or I looked the least bit upset. You wanna talk about support?

“I’m at local every show when you perform. I manage your biggest fan pages across all platforms. I pray for you more than your black ass even knows! Background or foreground, I support you in every way, but I am not an accessory, Raheem. You understood that when you pursued me. Now it’s a problem?”

He sighed heavily. “You know what the problem is, Rhythm? You wanna be with me, but you want me to choose between being Raheem and Prince. I give you everything. You don’t want for shit. But you don’t wanna do the work it takes to be a part of my brand—”

I scoffed. “Your brand?”

“Yes, my brand. I have an image to uphold.”

I shook my head. “Well, I’m so sorry that I don’t fit into your image anymore. Maybe I never did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means maybe this relationship has run its course.”

“You serious right now?”

“You want me to be more than I am, and I want to mean more to you than I do. Where do we go from that?”

He looked at me but didn’t say anything. He simply shook his head. Walking past me, he headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To bed. I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t say that dumb ass shit.”

The next thing I heard was the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut. I took a seat on the couch and buried my face in my hands. I loved him, I really did. But I refused to be embarrassed because he wanted to portray a certain image to the media. The Raheem I knew was a man of his word. The Raheem I knew didn’t give a fuck about what others thought of him. He was true to himself.

I didn’t know who that man upstairs was, but it wasn’t my Raheem.