Nice Guys Don't Finish Last (4 page)

“
Baby
, wake up! The time is seven thirty, we both overslept,” Nico whispered tapping my shoulder as I lift my head, and squinted my eyes at the digital clock on the wooden dresser.

“Oh, shit. I am going to be late and 695 is going to be dumb jammed,” I jumped up quickly & banged my fist into the mattress. I became light-headed from rising hastily.

“Just tell them you are going to be a few minutes delayed. You are one of their best social workers. Why hold it against you,” he asked.

“You’re right, I hate being late for anything,” I slipped on the jeans I wore to the club the night before.
“Well at least you don’t dress up today,” Nico laughed rubbing the crust from my eyes. “You are so ugly in the morning.”
“Shut up, and pass me the navy blue Polo shirt sitting on the floor,” I laughed as I slipped the shirt on and headed towards the bathroom to brush my teeth & wash face.
“What are you doing when you get off? We should go to dinner or the movies after I get out of Morgan’s studio,” he said as he walked into the bathroom to fetch my black & white Nike dunks, dressed in zilch but Spider-Man briefs slight enough for a three year old boy.
“That’d be cool. Don’t forget to feed, Milo. I must get out of here, I may speed there.”
“Abdul, you carry enough speeding tickets. I am sure you can get there on time though. I mean, it’s only Towson,” he kissed my cheek.
“Well, I’m out of here. I’ll call you when I get to work, and make sure you kill those tracks today,” I said relaying a peck on the lips, while groping his narrow ass. One of the features he remains insecure about, but I adore everything about him.
“Here’s your coat, I hope you have a good day. Love you,” he opened the door.
“Love you too, and have a great day as well,” I said as I walked out the door and transitioned to the parking lot where the radiant silver Altima Coupe assembled.

The clock ticked twelve thirty P.M and I spent lunch at Chipotle, nearby the detention center. Everyone from the customers erect beside me to the cashiers upended behind the register gazed at me like shit was splattered on my face. I never felt as uncomfortable in my life, whereas I pulled out a twenty dollar bill to offer to the female cashier and a small piece of paper fell out.

I unfolded the paper to discover the number from the guy I pirouetted with at the club the previous night. I did not remember probing him for his number, nor did I recall taking the paper from him. My first impulse was to rip the number & dispose, but what is the harm of a new friend? He appeared cool, and we merely danced.

When I got back to the office, the case load was deliberate & a new client did not transport until Monday morning. So why not give shorty a call? I stalled for a few minutes, inquiring if a phone call would complicate life…. Oh what the hell, we only live once. I selected the office phone and constrained star sixty seven before dialing the number.

“It was Calvary where they crucified my Lord, It was Calvary where He purchased my salvation, it was Calvary,” the voice of Kim Burrell echoed across the call tone as I hummed along. I assumed dude must be a church head because gospel lovers adore her. I recall Nico playing her albums repeatedly on our road trip to Atlanta last summer.

“Hello,” a semi-sharp voice answered.
“Yes, can I speak to Delmar please,” I asked. “This is Delmar, who is calling?”
“Oh, this is Abdul from the club last night. I wanted to

say hello.”
“Hey Abdul,” he responded, noticeably altering his tone.
An image constructed of Delmar blushing from ear to ear. “I wondered if I was going to receive a call. Why you
block your number out,” he asked.
“Well, I’m calling from my job phone and never appears
on anyone’s i.d,” I lied!
“Oh okay. That’s cool. So what’s up? Do you have any
plans tonight?”
“Ummm I sort of do! Why what’s up,” I asked. “Cause maybe we can do the movies or dinner. I heard
that movie with Taraji P. Henson comes out today.”
“Oh okay. I might have to update you throughout the
day. How old are you,” I asked.
“I’m 21. I just turned 21 yesterday. And you,” he
laughed while chatter in his background clashed with
conversation. The noise resembled a public school environment. “Oh, I’m 24. Well, I am going to let you go. I was just
calling to speak and hope you have a good day.”
“That’s cool. Give me a call later, so we can plan,” he
said.
“Will do,” I lied as we both hung up and sensed guilty
for calling a stranger. I shall never call again!

It
was quarter ‘til two as I sat in the lobby of Morgan State’s Communications Studio waiting for Roger to congregate me. Desperation led me to verify my wristwatch & update my Twitter every ten seconds with bullshit tweets predicating Nico the “artist”. At least the former occupied my time because the latest I planned to stay was three thirty.

The clamor of the students nearby pushed the envelope as college jocks threw footballs at each other, in disregard to the school’s policy of “no food, drinks, childish activity.” If I ran the school, they would be on academic probation for being black, stupid & ugly.

“Nico, I apologize. I got wedged in traffic. I am so excited to hear the demo,” Roger said as he walked through the lobby door beholding downwards, as I assembled on the orange plush sofa. He is a handsome elder white guy, around his earlymid 50s with gorgeous gray hair and ocean blue eyes.

“Yeah, you are only forty five minutes late,” I responded as I gazed at my watch.
“Either you accept my apology or not, son,” he replied.
“I accept. Where do you want to listen,” I asked.
“We’ll go in the green room. We actually have a student who’s interested in re-recording the track for us,” he smiled.
Roger is one of the people who pressed me throughout my career, from the moment I was an undergrad freshman at Morgan. He reassured “Nico, the artist” live up to full potential as a singer/ songwriter, entering me in many contests and helped gain exposure through the radio as an intern.
Roger has no idea how much he means to me. He is the father figure in my life, since my real sperm donor no longer speaks to me!
“Oh okay, that’s cool. Is he coming in today or is he going to record the song on a different occasion? Because I plan to be here to arrange everything with him! The song has the potential to be a big hit, if we shop around to the right people,” I said removing myself from the chair to walk to the studio area.
“Yes. Actually I got a call from my assistant, Barbara, and she informed me that the young man has an appointment for three thirty,” Roger said as he reached for the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. After we entered the room, he turned the light on and booted the laptop.
“Oh, I won’t be able to stay that long. I planned on leaving at three thirty. I must run errands before I dinner with Abdul tonight.”
“Well, I am certain the guy could latch on to the melody after listening to the demo. So we may not need you,” he said.
“I believe the artist must sing with conviction and the harmonies must be out of this world. You know what I mean,” I asked.
“Yeah, I do son. This guy might interpret the lyrics differently. We don’t want him to sound like ‘Nico’ singing it,” he said as the wrinkles in his forehead formed deep waves.
“Oh I know he won’t sound like
‘Nico’
. There is only one me, and don’t you forget that,” I laughed while Roger cleared his throat presumably in disgust.
“Oh Roger, stop taking things seriously. I was being sarcastic, but a great artist can never be duplicated like there is only one ‘Whitney’, one ‘Phyllis’, Leontyne. Catch my drift?”
“NICO, I GET THE POINT! Sometimes I worry about you. How do you expect to make to be successful with an arrogant attitude,” Roger asked while the computer finished loading.
“I am not being arrogant; I am sarcastic & honest.”
“Yes you are! You feel like you need an answer for every single thing,” he said irritably.
“Roger, no I don’t! I just want my music to sound a certain way, if my name is attached to something, I want it to be the best it can be. I wouldn’t want my name on the credits of a disaster like “
Turnin’ Me On
.”
“Nico, I understand your perspective. But you are not the kindest person and I said this for the past five years.”
“Well I’m sorry. I do not understand why people can say what they want. But when it comes to me, I get attacked for being honest & not biting my tongue.”
“I am hard on you because you are an aspiring artist, and the way you present yourself is studied under a microscope. I think your approach is negative; it is not what you say but how you say it. I believe you need a slice of humble pie, man. Don’t obtain offense to what I say, perceive as fatherly advice,” he said as I pouted and fiddled my thumbs waiting for the process to be over.
“I don’t understand why artists are obligated to appear cookie cutter and live the public relations lifestyle,” I sighed.
“Well, this is the career you crave. You must accept what comes along the territory,” Roger stated as he reached for the demo sitting on the table before me, and inserted disk into the CD drive. My stomach dropped, anticipating Roger’s reaction to the song and wondering if he would say “Yay” or “Nay”.
The slow haunting piano chords graced the room, stabbing my body with pins & needles. The passion in my tenor voice crooned within the framework of the song, and the lyrics cling to my soul like no other song ever written or performed in my life.
“Memories-- fade away! I’ve been caught in your rapture…” were the words I was stuck on the day before. Roger was enticed with the musicality; smiling and mimicking the piano with his fingers in the air.
“Meeemmmooorrrriiiieeessss fade awaaayyyy,” I belted over a middle C sustaining the phrase into the second octave. “But nice guys don’t finish lasttt.”
Ensuing the ending, Roger clapped like a proud father witnessing his son slam dunk a ball for the first time, as I remained coy of my new masterpiece.
“I love it, I love it a lot! I think you should keep this song for yourself, sounds really good,” he said.
“Naw, I think I am going to give away. Give me that money,” I laughed.
“Okay, well I would like to hear how this other guy sings. I think his name is Delroy Barr, I heard he is a good vocalist,” he said.
“We will see,” I bit my tongue to avoid another “You need to be humble” speech followed by a prominent knock on the door.
“Mr. Bennett, there is a guest waiting to see you,” the female receptionist said standing in the doorway.
“Okay, send him in,” Roger smiled as the receptionist headed back out to get the singer as we anticipated his entrance; we sat at the table drinking bottled waters. About sixty seconds later, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Roger greeted.
“Hello, how are you guys doing today,” the chocolate young man said as he pranced into the room wearing a Balmain trench coat… surprisingly the real brand & not a knock off. Where did he get money to afford Balmain? He was definitely a queen!
“Hey, how are you? I am Nico,” I said shaking his hand. “And this is my mentor, Roger.”
“How are you,” Roger asked reaching his hand to shake the young fellows.
“I am great, nice to meet you two. My name is Delmar Boar,” he said shaking his hand.
“Oh, my assistant told me your name was Delroy Barr. I think she had a mix-up, forgive me on that,” Roger said.
“Oh that’s okay. Well, what is the name of the demo & when can I hear it? I’m excited,” he said.
“It is entitled
‘Nice Guys Don’t Finish Last’…
I can play it for you now,” I answered visibly glowing & could not wait to observe & hear Delmar’s reaction to the song.

The
music filled the room, as I nodded my head in admiration. The melody is vivacious, and the piano chord is one of the most original pieces in a while. The song was a complete opposite from my gospel roots; a risk venturing off into a direction my parents will rebel against.

What could be worse than Kelly Price’s attempt to burst into the R&B scene with the awareness her voice was built for gospel. I debated giving the song a try, but the descant is dreamy & the lyrics are mind-grabbing.

“So what do you think,” Nico asked after the song finished with a blank smile on his face. He was really handsome, and had an uncanny resemblance to a thinner version of Brian White, the hot piece of dick from “Stomp the Yard”.

“I love it! The song is different, especially for me,” I expressed drinking, a complimentary bottled water on the table. I was enthralled by Nico’s glossy, caramel skin that shimmered like he bathed in a tub of hot butter.

Nico said simultaneously. They almost sound rehearsed. “So when are we going to record the song? I am ready,”
I threw a hand gesture in the air.
“Well, I would love to work on it today. But I must leave
pretty soon! I have a date tonight,” Nico tapped Roger on the
side of his leg with his finger, Roger nudged him back. “Oh, you got a girlfriend,” I said.
“Yup, three years,” Nico said beating the table with his
fingers and giving a fake smile.
“Oh okay. So about this song, I don’t mind remaking the
song myself and adding extra harmonies because they could be
worked on a bit,” I said as Roger quickly turned his head and
cleared his throat.
“What are you inferring about the harmonies,” Nico
asked offensively.
“I am not implying anything. However, I believe I can
add soul to the song. It needs more oomph.”
“Oh really? I would like to hear this. Wouldn’t you,
Roger,” Nico asked Roger.
“Whoops, I think it is three thirty, Nic! I don’t want you
to miss your date with Abd—Abigail,” Roger said as he stood up
from the table and Nico followed. The pair obviously hid
something, but I could not put my finger on what. It is apparent
Ms. Nico is one of the ‘girls’, but he seems like a person you
have to keep four eyes on.
“Yeah, well Delmar, it was nice to meet you,” Nico
shook my hand hesitantly and my Clark Kent beams gazed
through the fakeness behind those pearly whites.
“Nice to meet you too,” I lied as he walked away & I
proceeded behind him for Ty to pick me up!