Control, page 15
She said, “Okay, a Strawberry Mimosa and a Tokyo Iced Tea.” When she walked away, Charles surely took a long, hard look at her firm young ass in those tight black pants she wore.
When he caught me watching him, the director came clean with it. “That’s the other problem I need to talk to you about. I can’t seem to control myself with these women.”
I laughed and said, “You don’t say.” I couldn’t even blame the man. He didn’t ask for that extra attention, the young woman brought it to him, just because he made good movies.
I said, “Well, you can respond, nicely, just don’t ask for any phone numbers or give out yours.”
Of course, that was easier said than done, particularly in Atlanta where Black girls were traveling from all over the country to take part of the new “Black Hollywood” and “A-Town” music world that the popular Southern city had become. You literally had some of the prettiest Brown girls you’d ever see in your life in Atlanta, who were breaking their necks to be involved in movies and music. And when they failed, many of them ended up at the strip clubs.
Charles asked me, “Did you smell her?”
That question caught me off guard. I winced and said, “Well, she had perfume on, yeah.” That was normal for a young and stylish woman. We all wore scents.
“And I could smell it a mile away,” Charles told me.
That part was unusual. Guys typically had to be right up on a woman to smell anything. Maybe he had heightened senses.
I said, “To be honest with you, many guys have a fetish-for-women problem when they have power in an industry that women are attracted to. You even flirted with me the first time you were in my office,” I reminded him. “And I allowed it. So, I was a culprit too—even though I’m old enough to be your auntie,” I teased him.
He grinned and said, “Well, you’re a sexy-ass auntie.”
“See,” I warned him, pointing my right index finger across the table. “You have to remind yourself to turn it off. You have to have an off and an on button. That’s how you need to think about it.”
“Well, maybe my off button is broken,” he joked.
“And we’ll have to fix it,” I told him. “But while I have you here, I really wanted to run this screenplay idea past you on this film that I want to create,” I commented, changing the subject. We could get back to his woman issue later. After all, I was giving him a free hour of consultation. So, we needed to trade professional expertise for a minute.
He said, “All right. Shoot.”
Before I could open my mouth, the sexy, young Brown thing was back with our drinks in hand. She set them down in front of us on the table and asked, “Are you guys ready to order?”
Suddenly, I could smell the young woman as strongly as he did. And she smelled great, like a sweet floral mixed with a hint of peppermint. It was a clean and wholesome smell that made you open up your nostrils to sniff more of her. And if it made me react that way to it, I could only imagine what it did to Charles. He likely had this exotic young woman naked in his mind already.
He said, “We haven’t even looked at our menus yet.”
“Oh . . . well, take your time,” she told him softly.
I looked across the table and couldn’t stop my smile. I don’t know what was wrong with me. I guess I was as bad as he was that evening. Suddenly, this young woman seemed overly sexual to me, and everything she said was below the belt.
Charles nodded to her and said, “Okay.”
Then she looked over at me.
“I didn’t look at it either,” I told her.
“All right, I’ll be back.”
When she walked away again, Charles kept his eyes glued on me instead of on her ass.
“Did you see me turn it off?” he asked before sipping his drink.
I laughed out loud. “I sure did. That was good.”
He said, “So, tell me about this screenplay idea you have,” as he sipped on his Tokyo Iced Tea, which looked like a Dirty Lemonade.
I got excited and didn’t bother to touch my Strawberry Mimosa.
“Okay, so, I wanted to do something that dealt with this whole Bitcoin, Forex, network marketing world. I mean, those people are just . . . it’s really like a new religion, you know.”
He laughed and choked on his drink. He said, “It really is. And they get mad at you for not understanding it.”
“Oh, like you’re the dumbest person in the world for not jumping in,” I added. “So, like, you have this one girl who thinks she wants to get involved, but she still doesn’t understand it, so she ends up losing a lot of money that she really can’t afford to lose. Like, maybe she’s a senior in her last year of college, and she tries to flip her college loan money.”
Charles started smiling from ear to ear and set his drink back on the table. “And she’s obnoxious, the kind of young woman who thinks she knows everything.”
“Yeah. So, when she gets her money taken, she’s ready to bring the whole thing down.”
“And then she meets this older White man who starts giving her clues on what to do and where to look for the bad guys.”
“And bad girls,” I added. “Because they have, like, a whole crew of young women who are really making money from this thing.”
“But it’s really a cover-up for the older guys in the group that they’re secretly dating.”
“Older women, too,” I added.
Charles nodded. “Yeah, we’re in a new time now with boy toys and girl toys.”
“A new playground for the rich,” I added.
“Just when these kids thought they were doing something new and different.”
“Yeah, it’s all rigged.”
“So, what’s the name of it?” he asked me.
“The Network,” I told him proudly. I loved the title.
But Charles frowned at it immediately. He said, “Eh, Facebook had The Social Network years ago. Remember that? Jesse Eisenberg became a star playing the lead role of Mark Zuckerberg.”
“Oh, yeah,” I moaned. “That’s right.”
“How ’bout we just call it Trading?” he suggested. “That’s what they say they’re doing, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, they do.”
“And they’re trading way more than just coins,” he added with a chuckle.
I laughed. “I like that. That sounds like a great marketing slogan.”
As I began to think about what Tyrell could do with the screenplay, I noticed a well-built man arguing with his girlfriend outside the window to my left, while pointing inside the restaurant. He seemed to be pointing directly at Charles, but Charles was still into our film discussion and didn’t see it.
He said, “I really think you have something here. The Bitcoin, Forex world is international. We could really do some great things with that, with our locations and everything. Because those guys are always meeting at different places.”
“Yeah, at fancy hotels and meeting rooms,” I commented. “They have to validate . . .”
My comments trailed off as I watched this hulking, football player–looking guy barge into the restaurant with his beautiful girlfriend behind him and head straight for us.
Alarmed by it, I asked Charles, “Do you know these people?” right as they reached our table.
Charles finally turned and spotted them. “Oh, shit!” he stated, and ducked into the booth. But he had nowhere to go.
“Don’t!” the girl told her enraged boyfriend. But it was too late for that.
He said, “I’ma fuck his ass up!”
He grabbed Charles in both hands and lifted him up into a savage headbutt before ramming him back into the booth.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shouted, and threw my untouched drink in his face.
He angled toward me while he continued to ram Charles into the booth. “No, what’s wrong with this motherfucka?” he yelled. “He got a problem with thinking he can get away with shit.”
This hulking guy was yanking and shoving Charles in the booth like a rag doll, and I was hesitant to put my hands on him because he didn’t seem like the type who wouldn’t hit a woman, and I didn’t want to end up in the news in a bad way. So, I prayed that someone else in the restaurant would stop it.
“Security! SECURITY!” I yelled louder. Luckily, two older Black men came to our rescue and broke it up. They were both big enough to stop it.
“Hey, what’s going on, young brother? What’s going on?” the two older gentlemen asked, while holding the enraged man back.
“This motherfucka think he can do whatever he wants just ’cause he makes movies!” the furious man shouted. But at least he had let Charles go.
By that time, Charles looked dazed and confused, while slumped over in the corner of the booth. I think he may have had a concussion from the first headbutt. And his face looked swollen.
I looked around the restaurant and came face-to-face with our pretty Brown server. She appeared embarrassed and shocked by it all with her hands covering her mouth, as everyone watched, including the management.
“What happened?” an older Asian woman asked me softly. I assumed she was either the manager or an owner of the restaurant. Maybe her husband owned it.
Before I answered her, I looked again at this beautiful girl who accompanied the angry young man. I assumed she was a young woman that Charles had gotten himself involved with. And obviously, his chickens had come home to roost.
I didn’t want to discuss his business out in front of everyone. But I had to say something. He really did have a woman problem.
“I don’t know. But I’ll find out,” I answered.
Before I knew it, the police and an ambulance were there. They started asking me questions for their report, while detaining the young man and his girlfriend for assault.
“Can you tell me what happened here?” a Black female officer asked me.
I swear to you, it didn’t seem real. It felt like I was dreaming. Everything was moving fast, and people were talking at the same time, explaining what they saw and did, while the medics from the ambulance tended to Charles with an ice pack on his head.
Suddenly, all eyes were on me as the first witness of the incident.
I said, “This guy just . . . barged in here and grabbed him and headbutted him, while yelling about what he couldn’t get away with.” I was honestly saying more than what I wanted to defend Charles, but there was nothing I could do to change the story right in front of people who had heard and seen it all.
It was obvious that Charles had done something to this young lady that the man was not happy about. Yet, she didn’t seem to be telling the whole story. So, I didn’t know what to think.
Did Charles rape her? I questioned. I doubted it. She would have told us that. So, maybe she had consented to whatever happened between them, and Charles was too out of it to explain his side of the story. It was just a big mess.
I looked again at our pretty Brown server, who was shaking her head. I guess she still couldn’t believe it. And if she had any intentions of hooking up with Charles herself, those ideas had been thrown to the curb and stepped on.
* * *
I remained with Charles Clay at the local hospital for the remainder of the evening. He hadn’t been injured that badly. He had a lump on his head and a concussion. Other than that, he was fine, except for a damaged ego.
Charles didn’t look manly in the situation at all. He had been caught off guard by it, but still. He didn’t even try to put up a fight. At least I tossed a drink at the man.
Anyway . . . the police continued to ask him if he wanted to press charges, and Charles had not yet given them a solid answer.
“I just need a minute,” he kept telling them.
I wondered how much of the incident he even remembered. When it was just me and him alone inside the emergency room, I asked him, “Did you know this guy?”
It was still unclear to me, but from how Charles reacted when he saw them, he had to know the guy.
While sitting on a gurney with an ice pack still held to his forehead, Charles answered, “I’d never seen him before, but I had a feeling when I saw him charging at me.”
“Do you know the girl?” I asked. I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him anything earlier. There was too much going on.
He nodded slowly. I guess he did remember something. The concussion hadn’t given him amnesia.
I leaned in and whispered. “Did you do something with her?”
He looked at me with the guiltiest eyes I had ever seen. He was a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. He didn’t even have to answer me.
I nodded to him and exhaled. “Okay.” What else could I say about it? The man had a problem with enticing women. It was official.
DARK & MOODY
Reflection 24
AFTER HANGING OUT AND MAKING MUSIC THE FIRST NIGHT WITH Mrs. Melody, Dark & Moody had a new crush that occupied her mind, and she was no longer excited about her current fling. So, she pushed her girlfriend Tammy away when the affectionate woman attempted to kiss her on the lips.
“I’m not in the mood right now,” DM commented, while working on another track in her studio room. She didn’t care for the hot pink, titty T-shirt her girlfriend wore with their names, Tammy & Tasha, printed across her chest in white cursive either.
Tammy paused, in deep contemplation, wearing a natural haircut like Amber Rose. She had the honey-brown complexion of Yara Shahidi and the brick-house body of Megan Thee Stallion. But it didn’t matter. Tasha had her mind set on another woman.
“You know you’ve been on music overdrive lately. What’s up with that?” Tammy asked her.
Dark & Moody thought of ignoring her, but that would have been too mean. Instead, she answered, “I’m just try’na get things done.”
“You’re talking about for this new artist you’re working with, and this movie soundtrack thing?” Tammy questioned.
Initially, Tasha had spoken skeptically about the opportunity, while not liking Mrs. Melody or her subjective flow centering around sex. But that was before she had a chance to work with the artist, where her perception had quickly changed.
“Yeah,” she answered. There was no sense in lying about it. Business was business, and whether DM liked the sex topic or not, Mrs. Melody was on her way up in the music industry.
“Well, I thought you said you didn’t like her like that,” Tammy reminded her.
While her agitated girlfriend hovered over the studio station, DM continued to work on her music and study the multicolored sound levels on her monitor. She even put her earphones on while listening to the volume of a new mix, while never answering Tammy’s question.
After another minute of tense silence, Tammy pulled the left-side earphone cup away from Tasha’s ear so the busy-minded producer could hear her.
“Hell-lo-o-o. Earth to Tasha,” she hummed into the producer’s left ear.
That was definitely a no-go. Dark & Moody looked up from her chair in anger as if she was ready to smack her. “What the fuck are you doing?” she snapped, grabbing her left-side earphone.
“I mean, you invited me over here just to ignore me? I’m talking to you.”
“And I told you I’m fucking working. You always do that shit.”
They engaged in a stare down while reading each other’s demeanors.
“Well, maybe this was the wrong night for me to come over then,” Tammy commented. She hoped DM would have a change of heart and soften her stance. But she didn’t.
Instead, she responded, “Maybe it was.”
That led to another awkward moment of silence.
“Then maybe I should leave,” her girlfriend concluded, breaking it.
Tasha didn’t want to respond to that. It would be Tammy’s decision.
Her girlfriend nodded and said, “You’re changing.”
Dark & Moody exhaled, exhausted from the conversation already. She didn’t feel like having it. “I change every day,” she commented. And I’m tired of changing, she told herself. She wanted to be more consistent, she just didn’t know how to be. Of late, her mind and emotions had been like a tornado, twisting and turning in unknown and violent directions.
“Well, you changing up on me ain’t fair. I’ve been the same person for you,” Tammy whined.
She had been. That was true. But Tasha controlled the relationship, so it didn’t matter. Life had always been unfair that way. Whoever controlled the relationship made the rules.
“It’s just tonight,” DM responded, going easy on her. She could feel the tension rising. No one liked being rejected. She said, “I’m just a little preoccupied while working on this, because it was unexpected. But now I’m in the middle of it, and I just wanna finish it.”
It all made sense, so Tammy backed off and nodded, agreeing to a truce.
“Okay, well . . . you keep working . . . and I’ma go lie down in the room.”
She softy rubbed Tasha’s neck before leaving the studio. She walked across the hallway and into the larger master bedroom to relax on the bed and wait.
Dark & Moody took a deep breath and thought about it. It was good to have control over a situation. Her loose relationship with Tammy was one of the few where she had any control, as long as she kept the relationship loose.
As Dark & Moody had found the hard way, the more she committed, the less control she would have. Even with her music. Artists wanted her beats more whenever they were less available to them, or whenever she raised the prices on them. So, she learned to play the game of keep-away on purpose, while praying, scheming, and willing to sacrifice any and everything to control more.
You only live one time in this life, she told herself, while hammering out a new bass line, keyboard notes, and drums that reflected her emotions at the moment.
One time / one time / you live . . . one time / one time / yeeeaaahhh . . . One time / one time / you live . . . one time / one time / all riiight . . .
Mrs. Melody had even influenced the energy of her new beats, where the tempo swung more in tune with dance energy. And the rapper’s coldhearted advice replayed in DM’s head. “You can be hardheaded and go your own way if you want, but then you’ll end up complaining when you don’t have the money to do the shit that you’re really trying to do.”
