Candy Licker (18 page)

“I'll be glad when we finally see some ends.”

Vonnie broke. “Aw, stop fronting, Candy. You probably don't give a fuck whether we get paid or not,” she accused me. “That big old niggah feeds you lovely and puts mad clothes on your back and crazy jewels around your neck. Me and Dom still living in Brooklyn trying to get enough hot water rolling through the pipes to wash our asses every night. I don't care how many
things
Hurricane sets us up with. We still need to feel some
money
in our hands.”

I nodded real quick. “I'm there with you, Vonnie. I might live with Hurricane and all, but I still need my own money. Remember, I got a sister to take care of and ain't nothing promised to me neither. I wanna get paid in cash dollars too.”

I was talking loud, but I knew that wasn't happening. Hurricane had made it clear that I had to work off my Mob debt before I saw a dime of my royalties, and if I didn't like it he offered to call Nicky and tell him I was ready to take over my own payment plan.

Dominica just looked scared. “I had a funny feeling in my nose that something like this would happen. I dreamt we worked our asses off and Hurricane jerked us around on our contract. We ended up owing him everything and walking away with nothing.”

“That's not happening,” I said real fast. “There's no way that could happen.”

Vonnie cut her eyes at me. “How the fuck do you know, Candy? Just 'cause you suckin’ that niggah off don't mean you know how he rolls with his artists. Don't be defending his ass.”

I wasn't trying to defend Hurricane, I just didn't like seeing
my girls so shook. We went upstairs to a lounge room we chilled in after shows and started taking off our clothes and makeup.

“Nah, y'all.” I tried to soothe the aggravation that was still rising. “That's not gonna happen. There are other artists on the label who are making money, right? If nobody else is complaining then they must be getting paid, right?”

Vonnie smirked. “Girl, all they asses is broke.”

“And it's because of their contracts,” Dom agreed, stripping out of the hoochie dress that had started the whole thing. “A two-thousand-dollar advance and 6 measly percent of the first 500,000 copies sold—8 percent if we go platinum and sell over a million. He should've started us out at least at 10 percent since we have to split everything three ways. See, Hurricane knows how to catch talent when it's young and desperate. That's how he gets his artists to sign shit that doesn't promise them anything. By the time you pay the producer and the label, then add on fees for the studio, video shoots, clothes, travel, promotion, and every damn body else who got their hand held out, you're left with five dollars to your name and a bunch of ho clothes you'll never wear again.”

Vonnie took a blunt out of her purse and lit it. “We oughtta do like TLC and 'em did. File for bankruptcy and be done with that niggah. I was talking to Butter and he said plenty artists get out of their contracts that way. And they get to keep their houses and their cars. All the stuff that we don't even have yet. Butter said going that route ain't nothing but a thing. All it takes is filling out a simple form.”

I got real quiet then. If Vonnie had been stupid enough to go running her mouth and complaining to Butter, wasn't no
telling how much Hurricane had already heard about our dissatisfaction.

“Well,” I said, fanning the sharp smoke away from my face. Weed didn't do nothing but stink up my hair and I wasn't trying to get no contact neither. “I think we should just wait and see how things fall before we start getting all hyped. We still have other singles to be released. If they hit anywhere near as hard as the first two did, we
gots
to make some money.”

Dom nodded. She had changed into a pair of red pants that showed off her basketball booty and her slim waist. “True. We're just at the beginning of all this. Let's wait until the rest of our singles drop and see what kind of digits Hurricane is talking then.”

T
he following Friday night was live at the House. Right after the pit auditions were over, Hurricane called for a freestyle battle of the mic. All the rappers were pumped and couldn't wait to get in the pit and get theirs. I half listened to the lyrics because my mind was on other things. Like money and sex and where the hell I was gonna get me some of both.

I'd been hollering right along with Vonnie and Dom about our royalties, but I knew I didn't have none coming to me. Hurricane was forever reminding me that I was just like an indentured servant, working off Mama's debt, and he wouldn't even tell me how much interest he'd paid the Gabrianos for me. How could I work on paying my bill if I didn't know how much I made or how much I owed?

I was feeling stuck like hell when Dom nudged me as the crowd went crazy.

“Oh! She straight dissed her ass!”

I looked down and saw this young girl rapping in the pit. She was holding her own against a crew of other rappers and apparently the crowd respected her for that.

Dom hollered. “That's my kinda girl! Sistah breaking off some dicks on that mic!”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“A rapper named Nasty Nisaa,” Dom said. “She been goin at it real hard with some girls she used to rock it tight with in Brooklyn. You didn't hear about it? They been talking shit about her all over the Internet. Blowing her up in chat rooms and rap groups just because they think she wrote a hot song without telling them. They all got their own contracts and do their own thing too, so she didn't see what all the noise was about, but they been trying to put shade on her anyway. Nisaa said they just jealous 'cause she did something they all wished they could do, so she challenged her haters to get off the Internet and battle it out with her on the mic. Now everywhere she goes she lays it on their hatin’ asses verbally and to a vicious beat.”

I
hadheard
about this girl. I heard she was real good too. She had a lot of talent and was doing thangs, but sometimes even your so-called friends could have a problem with that. I thought
about how Vonnie had been acting lately and then listened to what Miss Nasty Nisaa down in the pit had to say.

Nasty Nisaa almost brought down the house. Insecure rappers who were scared of competition mighta been mad at her, but music lovers didn't give a damn who wrote what. They were straight feeling what she was saying 'cause they went crazy over her power rhymes.

At the bottom of the battle only two rappers were left standing. Some cute brother from Brooklyn who was rocking some sweet cornrows, and a rapper from Harlem who had just signed a contract with Hurricane.

“Check this out.” Dom nudged me like I couldn't hear for
myself. “They said the guy in the blue is from downtown. Brooklyn. They call him Reem Raw. You know who that other rapper is. Dolla Bill.”

“Aaight,” Hurricane hollered over the mic. “We fittin to get us a
costly
competition up in the House right now! Dolla Bill recently got him a contract, so let's see can he keep it. Yo, Dolla, if this niggah cracks you on this stage, he's walkin’ out holding your papers tonight.”

Now that's the way to stir shit up between rappers and keep them beefing and lunging at each other's throats. Hurricane was a trip, but he knew what the fuck he was doing. Pit one against the other with a recording contract as the prize, and watch them niggahs tear each other to pieces trying to get a hold of that paper.

Reem Raw climbed up on that stage and started doin’ the damn thang.

Dolla Bill went up next.

And then Reem Raw fucked him up for real.

Dolla Bill tried to bust him back.

Dolla Bill had handled his, but not hard enough. And at the end of the night Hurricane had made a loyal friend. Reem Raw walked up outta that pit on top. And he walked out the door with Dolla's contract too.

T
he next Saturday night Hurricane hosted a “Drop It Like It's Hotttt” contest.

You shoulda seen them hopeful chicks cracking their backs down in that pit. Vonnie, Asia, and Caramel were right in the middle of it all, trying their best to shine.

Vince was on the mic, and five girls got eliminated during each round.

The first girls to go were those with flat asses. Why they were up there in the first place I didn't understand. How you gonna come to a rump shaker and don't bring no rump? The next group of girls to get tossed were those with little asses or no hips. I didn't understand them either. Like Vince told them, the same rules applied.

“Okay, yawl,” Vince screamed from the stage. “Now we gone check out some legs. All yawl jawns standing up on two chicken bones, squawk your asses up outta this goddamn pit!”

Now I didn't think that shit was fair. This was about backing that thang up, not holding it up. Some of them sistahs had gangsta
booties and knocked knees. Did that mean they couldn't drop it down low?

Vince shooed three other females out the pit on looks alone. “I don't care how phat that ass is!” he clowned. “If your teef is crooked and your nose been broken at least twice, get your ugly asses up outta my goddamn pit!”

When it was all said and done, Caramel and Vonzelle were the last sistahs left standing.

“Oh, boy,” Dom said, crossing her legs and turning her head. “It's down to those two? I don't even wanna see this shit.”

I'd been thinking the same thing because Caramel and Von-nie couldn't stand each other. Quadir was the main reason, although he wasn't the only one. I'd already stepped to him and told him to stop playin’ with my sister trying to make Vonnie jealous, and he'd just looked at me and laughed. “Tell your little sister to keep that sweet pussy out my face, and Vonnie won't have no reason to get mad.”

They cranked up the music as 50 Cent started hollering, “Shake, shake, shake your ass, girl,” and Caramel and Vonnie went at it strong. Both of them had ferocious bodies, but Caramel was the more crucial bitch 'cause her back had an S curve in it that drove niggahs wild.

Vonnie was doing some wicked winding, but Caramel was out there busting some of Mama's old moves. She thrust her round ass out and went down, down, down, dipping her chips. Niggahs screamed and whistled, urging her on.

Vonzelle looked over at all the commotion and picked up her pace. She dropped her apple bottom to the floor and started cherry picking, her toned stomach clenched and sexy as her booty damn near mopped the pit.

But then Caramel stepped it up. Baby sister was out there popping it, and popping it
right.

“I think I hear a bowl of Rice Krispies in them shorts!” Vince screamed, pointing at Caramel as she bucked her back, va-wumping that thang. “ 'Cause this one here got the snap, the crackle,
and the
pop!”