34. Wyn
Wyn
Most people say like “Oh I get migraines” and it’s a tension headache or something. They’re dehydrated or have been looking at a screen for too long. I was one of those people.
Until I got a real migraine.
It’s been me and a dark, silent room for three days. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t open my mouth to eat.
Rico thinks it’s because of my new gum habit. Patience wants me to come to the hospital.
But now, on day four, my head isn’t trying to kill me, and I’m reminded of all the real world problems I have. The good thing about having a doctor for a sister-in-law, is that the hospital will always be there.
I need a hit single today.
That week in Texas with the very adorable nonbinary producer Rembrandt was fruitful, but none of the songs pop out to me. They’re really good, don’t get me wrong. But none of them scream “comeback.” Sheisty agrees, and now we’re back to the drawing board.
Which means I don’t have time for a doctor to tell me I’m dehydrated, or refer me to another doctor who will tell me all this is residual shit from my accident. I’m done with gum. I’m drinking five bottles of water a day. And I’m getting this fucking single if it’s the last thing I do.
Dressed in a hoodie, biker shorts, and uggs, I pack a couple changes of clothes, some period underwear, in case I’m gone for a week, and some travel toiletries.
Excitement begins to fill my veins as I triple check my purse and backpack.
Back when I first linked back up with the Get Money Crew, it would be me and Shaddy, in the studio for days on end, working on not only my mixtape but everyone else’s music.
We’d be in all these different random studios all over the state and neighboring states, sometimes in New York, or Georgia, chasing a dream.
Now he has awards, his own studio and producer label, an amazing life.
I want that. And it feels like it’s right there, waiting for me to snatch it.
My phone vibrates, telling me my rideshare is downstairs. I throw my backpack over my shoulder, grab my purse, and lock up, holding a hair tie in my mouth as I call the elevator.
My hair was basically matted by the time my migraine receded, so in the shower this morning, I took my time, combing out the knots and deep conditioning it.
I never gave a fuck about my natural hair after I learned to do my own wigs.
Sometimes I’d cut it into a buzz just to get the wig to lay flat.
No one saw me without one anyway–except that one time with Coach, and that’s why I stopped shaving my head.
Besides appearances, I haven’t had the urge to wear a wig. And lately, it’s been harder and harder to choose between the blonde and something closer to my natural hair color.
And don’t even get me started on my freckles. Coach loved my freckles too, and always begged me to not wear such heavy makeup. I paid his ass dust every time.
Now, one heated look from Rico, and I haven’t touched my foundation besides the one time we went to my parents’ house.
And yeah, maybe it’s because I went a year without covering myself, but I could be lying to myself if I didn’t acknowledge how much I want to please this man, and I’m trying not to lie to myself anymore.
I chuckle once as my rideshare takes me to West Kenton.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen. If twenty-one year old me was told that ten years later Rico would be the most important person in my life again, she’d laugh, do a line or two, then laugh again.
Through all the hurt and bullshit, the ego dynamics whenever he was in the city and outside with us, and even us coming to blows in Belize while he forced me to get sober.
We ended up exactly where we were nearly twenty years ago.
I share my location with him, which he hearts immediately before calling me. I waste no time answering, rolling my eyes at myself as embarrassment and giddiness begin to war with each other.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he croons into the receiver. “My Snow is feeling better and actually acting like she belongs to me.”
“Yeah, yeah. You better be sharing yours.”
“Did that before I called. But I’m curious. Why are you allowing my raging control issues to spark?”
“Hold on a sec.” I thank my driver then get out, looking around the quiet street in the West. There’s coffee shops and yoga studios and outdoor restaurants on the block, with metered parking and a man sweeping trash from the curb.
A long cry from the strip malls I’m used to, and I bet if the patrons and residents knew the windowless building next to the dog groomer houses a recording studio where all the greats have been to at one time or another, they’d petition to get it moved.
Most of the time, this building gets traffic at night.
I notice the street sweeper gawk when I punch in the code to the building.
I seal myself inside the building, deadbolting the door and turning on all the lights.
When I check the security screen and see I’m good, I bring my phone back to my ear.
“You still there?”
“Always.”
“You are so smooth,” I playfully snap. “Anyway, I shared my location with you because I’m locking myself in this studio until I have a hit single.
I won’t be on my phone, but I know you and your raging control issues need to know I’m okay, so as long as it’s on, and my lo is here, I’m straight.
Sheisty’s wife’s uncle owns it, and the code changes every time it’s rented out, so only me and the guys have the code.
I think it’ll only be a few days, but something’s gotta give.
I have a hosting next month and I wanna be able to perform something. ”
“Look at you, communicating and shit,” he muses.
I make sure the back door is double locked before going into the room in between the front and back.
The walls are a royal blue fur, the floor some type of soundproofing.
The booth itself is small like a closet, but I put my stuff down on the corner couch before taking the middle one.
“You gotta eat, too, Snow. You already been down for some days.”
“I’ma order some groceries, they have a full kitchen here. And then I’m sure the guys will be popping in, especially Tripp, so I’ll have him bring food.”
“Hmm,” he grunts, and I imagine his fine self sitting up from his bed. “You sure I can’t come and give you some inspiration? Some studio love?”
“Corny ass,” I cackle, taking my iPad out of my purse. “No. I need to be in the zone, and you’re a distraction.”
“I thought you can’t focus without me?”
“Well today, it’s the opposite. Today I feel like… we should just be on the boat, back in Belize, watching the sun move from one side to the other. So I need to make coming back worth it.”
“Nah, Snow. We not doing that.” My phone beeps in my ear, and I answer his facetime call.
There Rico is, his pecs and arm muscles jumping as he rubs the sleep out of his good eye. His tongue swipes across his lips before he mashes them and glares at me.
“Listen real good. You the coldest muthafucka I ever met. The only person I know that truly can do whatever she set her mind to. You always tell me to look at what I’ve accomplished, but on Baby yo ass here for a reason, Snow.
Leave it all in the booth. Let these niggas know who the fuck Wynter Snow is, and why she the Ice Princess.
Yeah, I could be fucking you on the beach, but you meant to be way more than just Lady Luney.
It’ll be plenty of time for us to do us.
Right now, you need to show anyone that counted you out why that’s the worst thing they could do.
Starting with that one bitch throwing shots in her wack ass song.
On my mama, you don’t throw some shots back, I’m sending real shots through that bitch window. ”
“Ugh,” I groan, rubbing my hardened nipples. “You know it gets me going when you talk like that, Daddy.”
“I can get you right to yo new single. Don’t forget to eat and sleep, or I’ma send real shots to you, too. And hit me later on tonight. Mars is going with Ju, and I gotta handle some shit for this, uh, foundation shit I’m a part of.”
My face scrunches, before I snort. “Oh, you got a job?”
“Fuck you. Be good. Don’t let yo ‘twin’ get you in trouble.” He blows me a kiss before hanging up in my face, and like a loser, I place my phone on my chest and fall back into the couch.
Richard Alvarez. He can cut a bitch down. But he can also lift a bitch higher than she’s ever been.
It takes another three days of nonstop recording before I have my single.
Three full days; seventy-two hours. Trippy came an hour after I got there, and has been with me the most–him and Red.
Three days of us dissecting sounds, drums, samples, and lyrics.
PC comes on day two, and after an hourslong writing session fueled by some delicious meat lovers pizza, I strike gold.
I’m so excited I fall over calling Grime.
He takes his time coming, but when he hears what I have, he laces me with a verse so fire I can’t decide whose verse I like the most. I offer to share the rights, but he looks at me crazy before leaving with PC.
Red captures the mixing on Live, and has me spit my verse on day three. It goes viral immediately, and completed with a picture of me and Grime in the stu for cover art, I release it to the masses seventy-three hours after I pulled up to this building.
I’m floating. This high… I haven’t felt this in a long time. Pride. It has me weightless on the couch while my devices continue to go off. The guys are outside in their cars smoking, but I think they’re also giving me time to just be.
Usually, I’d just be with a blunt. On the floor, sometimes with Shaddy, sometimes Grime will sit next to me. And I just bask in the second, not even the moment. The second that things align, and I’m reminded that music is what I’m supposed to be doing.
I don’t do it for every song. That would be crazy. But some songs. My first single. My single with Shad, my first mixtape, I have to just be.
Right now, too, I have to just be.
My other phone vibrates next to me. The one that has no social media, so I know it’s a text. I swipe it and glance at the screen.
Rico
Wynter Snow back and the price just went up
The Coldest fr
I’m about to grab my phone when the last name I’d expect to see takes over my screen, indicating a facetime.
My brain freezes. I don’t think as I swipe to answer and bring the phone to my face.
Set’s pulling so hard on the wood his dimples show, before blowing the smoke into the screen. “Waddup, Lady Luney?”
“Uh, hey.”
“This new shit is… you the shit.” He shows me his other phone, that’s playing my song. From the screen I can tell it’s already purchased and in his music library.
“Th-thank you, Set. Seriously.” I sit up, peering at my screen, which is back on him.
There was a time I didn’t speak to him at all. After he met Brina and kicked me to the curb, I got serious about music. After that, I blocked him, but it wasn’t hurt feelings. I blocked every nigga I was dealing with at the time, because I needed no distractions.
But after my accident, and we sort of started back up a friendship, there wasn’t a day that went by that we didn’t speak. Even when I was in rehab, we emailed. Dare I say it, we were besties, and knowing I hurt him, and he cut me off, bothers me a lot.
Enough to confide in Rico about it.
I don’t wanna say or do the wrong thing. I haven’t reached out, because I know Casey Washington. Loyalty is big with him, and lying is out. He’s killed people for less, and for a minute, I thought my days were numbered.
Shit, the way he is, that could still be the case.
“How you been, girl?”
“Um… good. Great, now that I have a single and they like it.”
“Yeah, you look good. Happy.”
My lips spread into a smile. “Thank you, I am. For real.”
Set mirrors my smile. “Don’t thank me yet, mama.” He pulls on his wood again, before blowing the smoke away from the screen. “We got unfinished business. It’s money on the floor.”
My stomach drops to my ass, just like my smile. He erupts into laughter, putting out his wood before pausing my song on his other phone.
“B told me I can’t kill you. Why you snitching, huh?”
“Set… look, I just wanna apologize–”
“For what, Wyn? I been knowing you since I was eight years old. In all these years, when has an apology moved me? You think ‘cause some time passed, I’d be more amenable to hearing you justify yo flaw ass?”
My weak ass apology dies on my tongue, and I feel a headache coming on.
“And on top of everything, the lies and manipulation, now you got me and my lady in a weird place. You got her capping for a bitch who wanted her spot. From an opp to an ally. Wild times we living in. Me and Luney would never.”
“Set–”
“I ain’t gon’ kill you Wyn. Not ‘cause it would make B mad, or ‘cause I’m showing mercy. Killing you would be too easy. I think the terror of wondering why and how and when I’ma exact my revenge is way more fitting than just snapping your neck when you asleep in that clamshell bed one night. Yo ass love a white rug, girl.”
“What the fuck?!” My hand grabs at my heart as it tries to beat out of my chest. This nigga… there’s no way he should know my bedroom furniture. I don’t even go Live in there, and no one has been over except Rico and his family.
“Congrats again on the single. You always could rap. Stay dangerous, Lady Luney.”
He hangs up on me, and it’s a long time before I can even move from my spot. When I finally get the energy, the first thing I do is pop some aspirin, and down two bottles of water.
I’m not stupid enough to think he’s playing, but telling myself that Set is the king of games, and if he actually wanted to harm me, he would have done so by now, helps me calm down.
He said it himself; the terror of not knowing is more rewarding to him than doing something.
And even though he denied it, he is showing mercy because of our past. Besides our time deluding ourselves into being each other’s main, we have years on years of being actual friends, and I know in his heart of hearts, when he takes himself out of it, he sees I wasn’t being that malicious.
Not toward him.
I hope.
By the time the aspirin kicks in, Red is high as hell, and tells me I’m laying a verse on his new single immediately. Escaping into the booth to flee from that loud weed smell mixed with cologne, I oblige him, and try to push Set and his idle threats to the back of my mind.