The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(134)

“No, I don’t suppose you do need to hear it, now do ya?”

“No, ma’am,” I mumble, and she releases both my face and my eyes from her unyielding grasp.

“Well, at least you’ve still got your manners…that’s somethin’, I guess.”

Knife-to-the-fucking-heart. She didn’t even have to tell me she was disappointed—those words just said it all. How could things have gone so very wrong on what should have been the best night of my life?

“I don’t want to be late,” I say, indicating the closed door on the other side of her desk. I’m such a pussy. Here I am, trying to get away from the only person in this whole goddamn place who actually gives a shit about me.

“Yeah, your boys are in there, waitin’ on you. I best be gettin’ back to work anyway. You take care, Trace, ya hear?” she says, her concern obvious.

“Will do, Stella. And thanks…” I say as I stride toward the door.

“For what, Sugar?” she asks.

“For caring,” I say, then quickly open the door, put my swagger back on, and walk in.

“Ace…we done tore it up, brotha,” Dre calls out before I’ve even had a chance to close the door. His real name’s DeAndre and he’s not actually my brother, but he is my cousin. We started off making music in a storage closet near my uncle’s apartment and considering where we used to live, hanging out there instead of on the streets probably kept us alive and—for the most part—out of trouble. We came into this business together, and although I’ve been recognized from the beginning for my rapping and writing skills, Dre’s also made a name for himself as a guy who mixes killer beats. Unfortunately, he seems to have adopted his old man’s habit of mixing some killer drugs too.

“Fuck yeah, we did,” yells Xavier, also known as ‘X,’ or ‘Triple XXX’, as he likes to refer to himself. Hiring him as my sound engineer was the best decision I’ve made; the guy may be the biggest player in LA, but he is a fucking genius in the recording studio.

Well, this is a different reception than I got at the executive ass-chewing, that’s for sure. I look over at Quinton and Cal, who are both wearing looks that mirror those from the earlier meeting. Can’t say that I blame them though, since I just made their jobs a hell of a lot harder.

Quinton is my main media and marketing man and he has every right to be pissed, but I know he’ll get over it—he always does. Calvin, or Big Cal, is the head of my security team, and even though he’s annoyed we gave him the slip last night, he never stays mad for long. The guy’s bigger than any offensive lineman in the pros but he’s a gentle giant. Except when someone’s threatening to cause me bodily harm and then he’ll put the fear of God in them.

Marcus, my videographer/photographer, looks about as unhappy as they do, but he’s probably just worried about me since last night doesn’t affect his job. We don’t call him “St. Mark” for nothing, and it doesn’t help that the guy is never with a girl. Hey, I don’t ask and I sure as hell don’t tell.

“’Sup,” I say, hoping they aren’t too riled up. Before I have the chance to apologize, however, the door opens again and Jay walks in. One look and there is no doubt that he is still pissed.

“’Aight, fuckers, let’s get started,” he says in his usual I-ain’t-got-time-for-small-talk manner of speaking. “T had his meeting with the big dawgs and now we got a collaboration to plan.”

“Wait, what?” asks Dre.

“Co-lab-o-ra-tion,” Jay answers slowly. “When two or more artists work together on something—“

“I know what it is, motherfucker,” Dre snaps. “I also know there is no way in hell Trace is collaborating with anybody—unless you count me.”

“Actually, he is,” Jay says, giving me a look that dares me to argue with him. “Aren’t ya, Trace?”

I sigh before responding, “Got to, cuz, no choice. You know how it is. The big boys call the shots and they done fired their weapon my way today.”

“Now that’s outta the way, let’s continue. We got a song, now we just need a singer and then a video,” Jay says, glancing over at Marcus.

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me. The song too?” Dre yells, but closes his mouth when he sees the frosty look Jay blasts his way.

“So let’s figure out who we’re gonna partner up with. Any ideas?” Jay asks, making himself comfortable in a leather chair and putting his feet up, obviously done now that he’s laid down the law. I sit up a little taller because there’s no way I’m not deciding this—I’m the one who is going to have to sing and perform with this chick.

“What about Ka’Mari?” Quint asks.

“Nah, man. You crazy?” I say.

“Carressa?”

“Are you for real?” I retort. There is no way in hell; that girl is all kinds of insane and everyone knows it. “Regina’s cool as shit, how about her?”

“Booked solid,” Jay responds without missing a beat.

“Makayla?” Xavier throws out, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

“Man, she’s hot, I’ll give ya that, but she can’t sing to save her life. We need someone with pipes.”

“Ace, you’ve shot down every fuckin’ female singer on the charts. Who do you think it should be?” Xavier asks.

“What about that Taryn chick?” Dre offers, to my surprise. “Now that girl can sing.”

“You listenin’ to white folk music now, Dre? How the hell do you know she can sing?” Quinton chimes in.

“Don’t even matter. Can you see me bangin’ her in a video?” I interrupt before they can argue this further.

“Actually, come to think of it, the song is about opposites attractin’ and shit. Well, there ain’t no one more opposite than you and that white girl,” Jay adds. I glare since he’s just now bringing up what might have saved us the past ten minutes of discussion.

“And damn if she ain’t ghost white,” Xavier says and everyone laughs except me. This is ridiculous. We wouldn’t even be having this conversation in the first place if it wasn’t for the fucking record label.

“Can we get back to it?” Jay barks, bringing our attention back to him. “Now Dre here’s got a point. Girl can sing and it fits the song, even though we’ll have to adapt it some. But Trace, you can take care of that.”

“”Aint like I got a choice,” I respond. I know I’m being a dick, but since I can’t tell Backlash to suck mine, Jay is the closest thing to them in my book.

Jay shakes his head. “Whatever, man—I’m gonna go make the call.” As he walks out, I hear him mutter something about how happy the suits will be when they hear I’ll be singing with ‘America’s fucking Sweetheart.’ I start to follow, impatient to go back to bed before this day gets any worse. But before I’m out the door, I hear Dre call out, “Which of the brothas gonna get him some white pus-say?”

I hear the others begin chanting my name in unison, so I quickly slam the door to drown them all out. Hell to the fucking no.



Taryn



I climb the narrow steps and enter the private plane. After greeting the flight attendant, I slump down in the cushioned seat and stretch my legs out in front of me. My sleep last night was restless, to say the least, but I should’ve expected it after drinking champagne with Gina. I either have to not drink a drop or consume enough to pass out in order to have a sound sleep.

“I’m assuming I don’t have to remind you what to say in the interviews. Keep them short, and don’t—“

“Mom, I know the drill,” I interrupt her before she can continue with the usual lecture before these appearances. I lean against the headrest, hoping I can get at least a catnap on the long flight to New York.

“Nothing personal…no relationship talk,” she adds and I release an annoyed breath.

“I know,” I answer, rolling my eyes. Not like there’s anything to speak of. Sure there was Maverick but that was short-lived. I’ve decided that there’s no way two people in this industry could ever make a relationship work. Besides the chaotic schedules, there’s also the intense competition to be the best. Though in the case of Maverick, it was him being photographed with a girl who was clearly not me that did us in.

Once my mom finally sits back and relaxes—as much as she ever does, anyway—I let my mind shut off and my eyes drift closed.



When the plane lands, I’m quickly ushered into a waiting limo. My mom had already woken me an hour before we arrived so I could freshen up. I have no idea why she bothers since the makeup artists will just redo everything anyway.

Before I realize it, we are crawling through traffic in a bustling area of midtown Manhattan. In all the times I’ve been to New York City, I’ve never just walked around like a normal tourist. Sure, I’ve been to the best restaurants and a handful of shows. But it’s not like I can hop in a cab and say ‘take me here’ or stroll through the streets, perusing the shops. One day…maybe. I would like nothing more than to stand in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve, admiring all the neon lights and big screens…preferably without my face on them. Funny how my hopes and dreams are probably the exact opposite of most girls my age.