23. Wyn #2
“You the First Lady, Wyn. If Sheisty ain’t dropped you yet, he won’t now. Especially when he sees you’re sober.”
“Y-yeah. You’re right.” I lick my lips, wishing I had some gloss or vaseline or something. Shad must be reading my mind, because he hands me an unopened mini water bottle that I down immediately.
“Okay. Let’s go. I’m ready.”
Shad has to help me out this death trap, but I’m thankful it’s him with me. He’s so diplomatic, and even when he and Cochise had their little beef, it never extended to the others. They love him, and if he pleads my case, they may listen.
Maybe. Sheisty’s a shrewd businessman, and let’s be real; I’m bad for business. And sober or not, when they find out who I was with this past year, I don’t know if they’ll be as gracious.
The elevator ride to the fourth floor is quiet. Loud weed greets us when the doors open, but it’s not smoky at all.
“I gave them a heads up,” Shad murmurs as we walk past several doors. “Ain’t no one smoking or drinking around ya ass.”
“I don’t really have cravings…” Strangely, I don’t. But I looked up what Rico gave me a year ago, and I see why. It’s why ibogaine is used to treat addiction outside of the US.
“Still.” Shad knocks on the second to last door on the right before turning to me. “We ain’t taking no chances. However bad Rico was, I’m finna be a hundred times worse.”
My eyes stretch. How did he know—
The door opens, and a young man who looks like he could be my YN twin fills the doorway, scowling at Shad. He’s bean pole skinny, covered in bright tattoos, and has a couple inches on Shad. The murderous energy wafting on him makes my eyes bug more, but Shad is more than unbothered.
The resemblance of me and him is uncanny. Same complexion. His freckles aren’t as pronounced as mine, but this close, I see them.
Okay, maybe we aren’t just alike… his hair is more blonde, especially the tips of his two-strand twisted locs. But he’s for sure a ginger.
He finally turns to me, and his scowl breaks immediately, amber eyes softening.
“You don’t look just like Trinity, but you still twin ‘nem.” He opens the door more, stepping back to glance behind him.
Sheisty and Trippy are seated on the couch, playing some video game. Or they were, before we walked in.
Trippy’s out his seat first, moving faster than I’ve seen him move in years. He pushes my new twin into the wall before grabbing me and throwing me into the air like a toddler.
“Freckles cuz! You’re alive!”
“Please put me down,” I shriek, but Trippy doesn’t care. He throws me one more time before pulling me to his chest.
My hand goes to it, and even through the wife beater and black tee, I feel the puckered scar from where he almost died.
We talked about it once, before one of my worse benders, and if I didn’t know any better, I'd think he knew I was part of the reason he was shot.
When I started coming back around, he never treated me differently, and besides that one time, he never brought it up again.
“Damn, if I ain’t know any better, I’d think you love her more than me.”
“Nigga, I do,” Trippy bellows, finally letting me go.
My twin is scowling at him, flipping him off before grinning at me. “I’m Redrum, sweetheart, but you can call me Red. I’ve heard a lot about you–”
“Ay, cuz. I’m billing you, so you and Tripp need to figure out which song you doing today. Have Shotta help, and actually listen to his ass, foreal. I need to holla at Freckles cuz.”
Sheisty stands and rubs his chin tattoos before walking past us out of the room.
“Don’t let him bully you, sis!”
“Shut the fuck up, Tron. Go ‘head, Wyn. We’ll be here.”
I take turns looking at them. Tripp seems optimistic, same as Shad. But when I turn to Red, or Tron, he subtly shakes his head.
Ironically, that gets a snort out of me, and his face lights up. He gives me a thumbs up, before he begins to twist his fingers intricately, which makes me laugh more.
Shad pushes him hard into the couch. “You wasting her time, lil’ nigga.”
Tripp leads me back to the door. “I apologize in advance for how annoying my lil’ brother is. He got into some trouble and now my pops made him my problem.”
“He’s fine. I didn’t know both of your siblings were gingers.”
“I told you, Freckles, I know for sure it’s something about freckles and red hair that make y’all crazy as fuck.” Tripp grins before giving me one last hug. Then he pushes me out the room and closes the door in my face.
Gathering the words to beg and plead, I put one foot in front of the other before I’m in his office on this floor. His real one is on the top floor, but this is the one he uses for nefarious reasons. I don’t sit on the couch, opting to stand.
Sheisty leans on the edge of the desk. Not for the first or second time today, I feel someone cataloging everything about me. Maybe because I’ve seen myself every day, I don’t see much of a difference. But clearly, there is.
“I don’t think I’ve seen your real hair since you were a kid.”
My eyes shift to his hair. Intricate braids curl and swirl on his scalp, but they only stop at his shoulders, several inches shorter than I’d imagine he would have cut it.
He scoffs at my silent observation. “Pandora tried to set me on fire again.”
My lips spread at the mention of Sheisty’s long-time estranged wife. She’s a maniac, and at one point, my favorite party partner, until I got mixed up with one of her other homegirls.
“Why don’t you guys just get divorced?”
Sheisty just shrugs and changes the subject. “How long you been clean?”
I lick my lips. “A year.”
“You clean from everything?”
I nod. “Just caffeine.” And Rico.
“You know, we got a zero tolerance policy on everything but weed and Hennessy now. I shipped Pandora’s ass to rehab last summer. Turns out, she’s just naturally crazy as fuck.”
“Don’t do my home girl,” I smirk, silently thankful I won’t have to avoid her.
Coke binges aside, we never had any serious fall outs besides when she found out I was hanging with her junkie friend.
Being around all this testosterone gets to be too much, and Pandora was the only other woman that would be around the inner circle.
Sheisty begins to smirk, but he catches himself, coughing instead.
“How do I know you gon’ stay clean? How do I know you not finna not only let my niggas down, Shotta and apparently Red, too, but also cost me more than the two mill bill you’ve already racked up?”
“Two million American dollars?!” My eyes stretch.
“Yep. Counted it up on ya birthday. Between cancelled studio sessions, countless rideshares, paying off blogs and paparazzis and shit, and you and Pandora getting high off her allowance, it’s a little under two mill.
That’s how much you’ve cost Get Money Records, Freckles.
Now, as ya homie, I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.
You look good, girl, fasho. And I’m happy I don’t have to ban you from Dori, ‘cause frivolous spending habits aside, you the only female I really trust with her. But as the CEO of Get Money Records, you are the biggest liability I fuckin’ have, and that lil’ nigga in there is wanted by the Russian mafia.
So if you wanna still be First Lady, you gon’ have to prove it. ”
My shoulders drop. When Cochise told Sheisty he was gonna take rap seriously, they made him “prove it” by going four rounds in the ring. His task for me could be anything.
“Plan and execute a comeback show. Shotta did it in twenty-four hours. I’ll give you a week. That’ll show me that you serious, and the public still fuck witchu.”
The beginning of a headache begins to throb behind my eyes. “A show?” I repeat to myself, my fingers running the length of my forehead, edges be damned.
“Yup. I don’t care how you do it, but I’m fasho not helping. None of G$. It’s all on you and yo resources. We have more than shown you that we gon’ support you through whatever. You need to show us we ain’t waste all these fuckin’ years on yo ass.”
I meet his gaze again, refusing to blink away the tears gathering.
But he just peers back at me. If I look hard enough, I know I’ll find disappointment, so I don’t. PC, Grime, and Tripp have all sat me down over the years, but never Sheisty. He’ll drill into me about work ethic, but never my personal shit. Not even when I was out getting into shit with Pandora.
So fuck it. I can put on a show. And if I can’t, Shad will help. He’s not a part of G$.
Squaring my shoulders, I nod. “One show, coming right up.”
Sheisty finally cracks a smile, socking his palm. “Fasho. The guys all think you can do it, so prove they ass right. Red wants you on his first single.”
He starts walking toward the door, so I turn and go out first. “So, y’all missed me so bad, you signed a male version of me?”
Sheisty knocks his arm into mine. “Now you gon’ see why Tripp puts up with yo ass. Then when he gets around Trell it’s like the dumbass becomes airborne or some shit. I don’t know how the fuck he done racked up all the allegations he got.”
“How old is he?”
“A fresh, stupid ass twenty-one,” Sheisty sighs. At forty, Sheisty has been loud and proud about never wanting kids. Trell has always been the one exception to his no-kids around him rule, so hearing his speak about Red tracks.
And based on the energy Tripp’s little brother is giving, I know he does, indeed, get on everyone’s nerves in the studio.
Sheisty opens the door for me, and the idle chatter ceases immediately. Right away, I see why.
Grimey and Cochise are standing in the middle of the room, almost like they were waiting on me to come back.
Welp. I guess I’ll get all the talks out of the way, now.