Love and a Gangsta (26 page)

“Are you behaving yourself?”

“America, I love you and only you,” Omar sighed.

He misunderstood my question. I was about to ask him something else, but he said to me, “I gotta go, baby. I’ll be back around eight tonight.”

He got up and left. I sighed, watching him leave. Truth was I wanted him to get in the tub with me so we could enjoy each other’s company. But my husband seemed in a hurry to leave. I remained in the soothing tub for another fifteen minutes, then stepped out and wrapped myself in a large towel. It was a beautiful day out, and I was going to enjoy it by going for a short walk.

As I made my way into the bedroom, my cell phone rang. I rushed for it, picking up and answering, “Hello?”

“Baby girl?” I heard Imagine said.

“Imagine, how is it going?” I replied.

“You busy this afternoon?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Can you make it down to the studio? I have some people that I want you to meet.”

“One problem, I don’t have my car.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ll be at your place in an hour to scoop you. I told you, I’m gonna make you better than Beyonce. You were born to be a star,” he said then hung up.

I stood there, wet and curious. I rushed into my bedroom to get dress. My time was coming and I could feel it coursing through my blood. I loved doing music.

About forty minutes later, Imagine parked his Cadillac in front of my building. I strutted out the lobby looking cute in denim caprice jeans, denim jacket and D&G sandals. Imagine opened the door for me. I thanked him for being a gentleman and got in.

“You look really nice, baby girl,” he said complimenting me and using his nickname for me.

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad you got time to spare this afternoon. You ever heard of this kid named, Kemistry?” he asked.

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be the next Fifty Cent out the hood,” I said.

“Good, because I want you to do a track with him today.”

“Stop kidding me.”

“I don’t lie about business, baby girl. He’s making some noise in the
biz, and I figure why not put you on something… Show him and his peoples your skills.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just go into that studio and give ‘em the vocals you’re working with,” he explained.

“I will.”

“I know you won’t let me down, baby girl.”

In no time we were in Manhattan on our way to the Hit Factory. Everybody recorded there, from Jay-Z to Fifty. It was my first time, and I was nervous.

I followed Imagine into the studio, and was greeted by the crew. My stomach was in loops. Imagine greeted other rappers, singers, and engineers. Then he turned their attention to me. I stared into their famous faces.

“Everybody, this is America,” Imagine announced.

“Hello everyone,” I wave greeting.

They waved and I knew they saw my protruding belly. Some of them glanced down, but remained silent. Imagine helped me get familiar with the studio and the engineers, and other singers. I hit it off with another singer by the name of Lady Soul. She was cute, thick in the right places, and knew a lot more about the industry than me. She put out two independent albums on Imagine’s label, sung back up for Ashanti, Heather Headly, and even R. Kelly.

I spent about an hour getting familiar with my surroundings. It was around four-thirty in the afternoon when Kemistry strolled in with his entourage. I never met him in person, but he looked the same to me as he did in his videos.

Dripping in ice and diamonds, dressed like a thug in baggy jeans, Timberlands, he sported fitted baseball cap worn to the side, and throwback jersey. He had a hot single out, and was getting some airplay on the major stations in New York. His demeanor was cocky and arrogant.

Imagine had a few words with him. He nodded as he listened. Then he looked over at me, and my heart dropped. I wondered what Imagine was saying. Kemistry came over, eyeing me like I was a groupie.

“Damn luv, you’re cute, and I’ve been hearing that you can blow
in the studio, that’s what’s up.” He then glanced down at my stomach and made a disturbing remark, saying, “Oh shit, you’re pregnant, luv. Damn, you couldn’t wait for a brother.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just playing, luv. You gotta have some sense of humor, right?”

“Not like that.”

“And you got some attitude, I like that,” he smiled.

His first impression made him look like a jerk. I just wanted to do my thang and get away from him. The producer started putting a few beats together, majority of them were hot and I couldn’t wait to get into the booth and record. Kemistry went into the booth first to spit a few bars down on a party beat. The sound had everyone nodding to it. Kemistry put on the headphones, moved closer to the mike, fixated his eyes on me and started spitting a verse to a track.

“This is hip-hop sensation y’all…make it last to the beat y’all….Yo that’s right girl work them hips and swing them tits, work the club floor, tear up the dance floor/ honey got rhythm on all fours/ loved the way she twist around and hit the dance floor/ seductive in all ways/ boo caught my eye since I stepped through the door way/ so yo I’m top villain & got you ill- in/ you say my game is nice/ then lets get a room for the night/ got you shivering in all that ice/ slip my tongue down your throat, put my hand up your skirt &/ make it feel like the sun’s connecting toward the earth/ so work it girl, just don’t hurt it girl/ know you’ve been checking me out all night/ so it’s up to you how you want to get this party started right/ see my smile, feel like I’m over seas cause that L and Hennessey got me feeling so nice/ I’m high out my mind & alittle booty is all I need to satisfy me fully for the night/ you and me/ just doing things right/ just a little is all I need/ lusting 4 u from night 2 night/ go in my little stash/ so I can purchase the right ass/ no telling how many positions we’ll end up in one night/ so if you’re real with it, then come feel on it/ just don’t taunt me with little kisses like you can’t deal with it.”

After his verse he looked over at me and smiled. We spent about four hours in the studio, and I got in the booth and tore it up. Everyone loved me, I felt so flattered.

“Girl, you got a gift with that voice,” Lady Soul said.

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Baby girl, we on our way,” Imagine smiled like a proud father.

“Yo love, we need to do more tracks together. You’re gonna make a nigga go platinum with your voice,” Kemistry said giving me props.

As the evening rounded out, I listened to everyone else, and we were all equally talented. Imagine brought through a good mix of people to come together on a song. I was sitting next to the engineer observing him doing his thang, when I noticed Omega walking through the door with a young looking thug. He spotted me and smiled.

“Oh shit, America…?” he said.

I rolled my eyes at him. He walked over to me and said, “Yo, where your husband at? I’ve been tryin’ to get him for a minute, but he’s being hardheaded and shit. What, Soul too good for a nigga now?”

I just looked at him, remaining silent.

“Damn, it’s like that, America? We go way back, since high school? I don’t even get a hello from you,” he said.

“Hey,” I returned halfheartedly.

“I see you ready to drop my nigga’s seed and shit… Soul Jr. is soon on the way. Y’all making me Godfather, right?” he asked, and then started rubbing on my belly without my permission.

“C’mon, you know I’m gonna have to teach that youngin’ how to survive,” he continued.

Hearing him talk had my stomach in knots. I looked fiercely at him.

“You and your thugs stay the fuck away from me, my husband, and my baby!”

“Now you’re gettin’ disrespectful. I came up in here showin’ you love, and you wanna scream on me like that, like I’m some off-brand nigga,” he said.

Before anything else was said, Kemistry smiled and greeted Omega.

“What’s good my nigga,” he gave Omega dapped.

“Kemistry, what’s good you workin’ hard on those tracks right?” Omega asked.

“I’m knocking these tracks out like pussy. Tryin’ to get paid like you, know what I’m sayin’,” Kemistry boasted.

“Yeah, my nigga,” Omega said to him, while giving me a cold stare.

I sighed and tried to ignore his trifling ass. Imagine soon walked up to us and gave Omega dap and a hug.

“Imagine, what’s good my nigga,” Omega said.

“Business, Mega? What brings you here?” Imagine asked.

“Came to see my boy, Kemistry,” Omega said. “But you know, I feel I’m not wanted here at the moment, you know how some bitches be hating.”

“Imagine, I’m ready to leave,” I said.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“I’m tired,” I answered.

“Ahight, let me get my things,” he said.

“I’ll wait for you in the hallway,” I told him.

Omega glared at me as I walked by him with attitude. I wanted nothing to do with him. He was probably the reason why Omar came home with the small wound on his head a few nights back. I said nothing else and waited in the hallway.

Imagine dropped me home around nine that evening. He was a gentleman and walked me to the door, thanking me for coming out. I thanked him for the opportunity. I walked into my apartment and it was dark and quiet. Omar was not in, I wanted to talk to him, but my husband was ghost. Saturday night and I wanted to be in my husband’s arms, having him comfort me. Seeing Omega again brought out the bitch in me, and I wanted some comfort. But I was alone. I went into the bedroom, got comfortable for bed, and watched television until the TV started watching me.

As the days progressed, I worked on my music more and more. For me, it was work, recording in the studio, and home writing more songs. Omar was in and out as usual. I tried not to let it bother me. I called and talked to Mr.
Jenkins, and he confirmed that Omar’s been at work everyday since starting. That brought some relief. Now, if I knew what he was doing with the other half of his time, I would be totally at ease.

Writing songs and poetry brought me comfort. I’d sit in my bed, or the tub, or sit by an open window and create music from my heart. I wrote dozens of songs and poems in the past month. I had plenty more to put down.

Going into my second trimester, I had my first sonogram scheduled in one week. I was anxious to know if I was having a boy or girl. I was hoping for a boy for my first.

Besides my small quarrels with Omar, life seemed to be going good for me. I was happy, praying for a healthy baby, and a strong, lasting marriage. As always there will be bumps and obstacles in the road.

Thursday afternoon, I came home to a large manila package addressed to me. It was thin, so I thought it was a recording contract. I couldn’t wait to see what it contained. Excited, I tore it open only to be shocked and appalled staring at seven large glossy photos of my husband fucking a bitch.

My breathing became so intense it made my eyes watery. I was seething. There was no date, just Omar raw and exposed and doing the unthinkable to another woman. The pictures were so graphic that I was able to see the pink of the woman’s vagina. There was one photo of my husband going down on this bitch, with his tongue deep in her.

“Ohmygod!”

Tears trickled down my face and I felt the urge to vomit. I knew of his cheating in the past, but to see pictures brought out sickness in me. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. It didn’t matter if the photos were old or fresh. I had proof of Omar’s infidelity in my hands. I remained in the bathroom for about an hour, trying to get myself together. I was a mess. I love him, but after seeing the photos of him acting a fool with another woman, I didn’t know what to think.

Several hours later, after the tears dried, and my anger somewhat subsided, I sat motionless on my bed. There was a lot of shit running through my head. I left the pictures sprawled across our bed for him to see when he walked in. I rubbed my belly, thinking of the father of my child.

A quarter past ten, Omar entered the apartment. I was sitting in the dark when I heard him.

“Baby, you home? Why is it so dark in here?”

I didn’t answer him.

“America?” he called out. “America?”

He walked into the bedroom and turned on the lights. He saw me seated quietly on our bed. He looked down at the photos I spread out. He moved closer, curiosity getting the best of him and asked, “Where did you get those?”

“Does it fuckin’ matter!” I barked. “And don’t you dare deny them.”

“That happened a long time ago, America. That ain’t me anymore, you know this,” he tried to explain.

“I don’t know shit about you anymore! I love you, and this is how you repay me, with this bitch! And I always knew, but kept giving you the benefit of the doubt. To see this shit in my face, Omar… Your fuckin’ face in a woman’s nasty crotch, and then you come home and kiss me with that stench on your breath… Oh, how could you,” I cried out.