Read Online A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles by Nikki Turner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nikki Turner
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Fatz couldn’t be a real nigga and keep his mouth shut. Still, I wasn’t going to let this fool put me down and, furthermore, he wasn’t going to insult my character like that.
“Excuse me,” I replied, as I pushed his grimy hands off me. “I came here for you to listen to my music and hopefully to get my songs played on the radio. I didn’t come in here to get insulted.”
Jay looked at me as if I was speaking Chinese. “Come on, FFB. You slept with the whole damn NBE label and you’re in here talking all proper and saying you didn’t come in here to get insulted? Did you feel insulted when you fucked Fatz in his truck five minutes after you met him?” FFB? What the hell does that mean? He started to laugh dead in my face as I sat stunned and quiet. “Now, that’s what you call an insult, a nigga blowing your back out in histruck. I, on the other hand, am simply asking you to provide me with some of your wonderful services. Maybe you can show me a little something right now. I heard you’re mad flexible.”
I wanted to sink into the ground and never show my face to anyone ever again. The way he labeled me as a first-class whore was inexcusable. Yes, I did sleep with the whole NBE label, and yes, I did have sex with Fatz as soon as I met him but that didn’t make me a freak. I was only doing what I had to do to survive at that moment. I was damn near homeless and starving when I first arrived in Atlanta. I needed some friends to have my back until I got on my feet. Every time I slept with someone, I always reminded myself that once I got my record deal, I would never degrade myself like that again. Jay Spinz didn’t know me from a can of paint, and he’d never understand where I was at. Mrs. Tarsha told me a long time ago that there’s nothing wrong with having sex to get a check. She said she did it and it landed her a rich lawyer husband, so I could only have faith that it would work out for me too.
Jay continued to proposition me, but I was in no mood to hear any more of his offensive proposals. “I thought you wanted to make it in this industry,” he said. “I heard you were serious about getting signed and becoming big and famous.”
“Yes, I want to make it, but I don’t have to sleep with you or anyone else to accomplish my dreams because I’ve got talent, and my CD speaks for itself.”
“Man, the only talent you got is sucking and riding a hell of a dick, from what I was told, so I thought you wanted to add me to the roster. But I see you’re not serious about your music career.” Jay then stood up, opened the door, and practically put me out of his office. “Now I feel insulted,” he said in a joking manner as he rubbed his hand across his face and looked in the mirror. “I know I look waaaay sexier than Fatz’s big ass, and you treated him like a king. I guess I’m not fat enough, is that it?” He lifted his Polo shirt to broadcast his washboard abs in hopes of me getting turned on,I guess. “Look, baby girl, come back when you get your head right. Remember this, though: If you want me to play, then you have to lay! Have a nice day, FFB.”
FFB? He said it again and I had no clue what those initials meant, but I was too ashamed to even stand there and argue with this jerk. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Worst of all, I couldn’t believe that Fatz had sold me out like that. I got down with him and his crew because I didn’t have any money to pay for production and studio time. Words couldn’t explain how ashamed I felt walking out of that radio station as Jay and the other disk jockeys pointed, laughed at me, and called me an FFB. Usually I would have stood up for myself, but how could I? I was foolish to believe that everything I did in-house would actually stay in-house.
That one embarrassing day led to many others like a domino effect as every door I knocked on was slammed in my face. Everyone wanted to use me to write and sing background for their artists,
“Excuse me,” I replied, as I pushed his grimy hands off me. “I came here for you to listen to my music and hopefully to get my songs played on the radio. I didn’t come in here to get insulted.”
Jay looked at me as if I was speaking Chinese. “Come on, FFB. You slept with the whole damn NBE label and you’re in here talking all proper and saying you didn’t come in here to get insulted? Did you feel insulted when you fucked Fatz in his truck five minutes after you met him?” FFB? What the hell does that mean? He started to laugh dead in my face as I sat stunned and quiet. “Now, that’s what you call an insult, a nigga blowing your back out in histruck. I, on the other hand, am simply asking you to provide me with some of your wonderful services. Maybe you can show me a little something right now. I heard you’re mad flexible.”
I wanted to sink into the ground and never show my face to anyone ever again. The way he labeled me as a first-class whore was inexcusable. Yes, I did sleep with the whole NBE label, and yes, I did have sex with Fatz as soon as I met him but that didn’t make me a freak. I was only doing what I had to do to survive at that moment. I was damn near homeless and starving when I first arrived in Atlanta. I needed some friends to have my back until I got on my feet. Every time I slept with someone, I always reminded myself that once I got my record deal, I would never degrade myself like that again. Jay Spinz didn’t know me from a can of paint, and he’d never understand where I was at. Mrs. Tarsha told me a long time ago that there’s nothing wrong with having sex to get a check. She said she did it and it landed her a rich lawyer husband, so I could only have faith that it would work out for me too.
Jay continued to proposition me, but I was in no mood to hear any more of his offensive proposals. “I thought you wanted to make it in this industry,” he said. “I heard you were serious about getting signed and becoming big and famous.”
“Yes, I want to make it, but I don’t have to sleep with you or anyone else to accomplish my dreams because I’ve got talent, and my CD speaks for itself.”
“Man, the only talent you got is sucking and riding a hell of a dick, from what I was told, so I thought you wanted to add me to the roster. But I see you’re not serious about your music career.” Jay then stood up, opened the door, and practically put me out of his office. “Now I feel insulted,” he said in a joking manner as he rubbed his hand across his face and looked in the mirror. “I know I look waaaay sexier than Fatz’s big ass, and you treated him like a king. I guess I’m not fat enough, is that it?” He lifted his Polo shirt to broadcast his washboard abs in hopes of me getting turned on,I guess. “Look, baby girl, come back when you get your head right. Remember this, though: If you want me to play, then you have to lay! Have a nice day, FFB.”
FFB? He said it again and I had no clue what those initials meant, but I was too ashamed to even stand there and argue with this jerk. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Worst of all, I couldn’t believe that Fatz had sold me out like that. I got down with him and his crew because I didn’t have any money to pay for production and studio time. Words couldn’t explain how ashamed I felt walking out of that radio station as Jay and the other disk jockeys pointed, laughed at me, and called me an FFB. Usually I would have stood up for myself, but how could I? I was foolish to believe that everything I did in-house would actually stay in-house.
That one embarrassing day led to many others like a domino effect as every door I knocked on was slammed in my face. Everyone wanted to use me to write and sing background for their artists,
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