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Authors: Omar Tyree
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every inch of space to make you feel like you’re actually in Asia. That’s why I like this place. It’s like going away without really going away.”
She nodded. “You get a chance to travel a lot, don’t you?”
“Not as much as these rappers.”
She asked him, “Do you envy them?”
Shareef stopped and thought about it.
“I think we all do to a degree. I mean, nobody generates attention and income like those guys do. They get twenty G’s just for showing up at a party. I think I can do without the police attention, though. I hear a lot of those guys can’t travel without being harassed.”
Cynthia grimaced. She said, “You just had nearly two hundred women come out to see you with no sound stage, no bright lights, no entourage, commotion, or security everywhere. I mean, if you ask me, that seems a lot more powerful and gratifying. And they were all paying strict attention to you.”
“Yeah, but how many brothers were in there? And that guy in camouflage was hatin’. But these rappers, they get the respect from all the brothers.”
“Oh, so all the brothers still respect Ja Rule? And the hard-core guys still respect Puffy? And the New York guys still love Jay-Z and hate Nelly? I mean, that stuff is all so campy,” she commented. “It’s just like professional wrestling. One week they’re all over Atlanta, and the next week they’re all over Memphis and Houston. That stuff is all high school to me. And then they all try to act like they’re gangstas. They’re not real gangstas. I know real gangstas, and they’re damn sure not thinking about rapping, dancing, or giving concerts.”
Shareef nodded to her right as their waiter appeared to take their orders.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
They both ordered martinis and told the waiter to return a little later for their food orders.
When the waiter, a twenty-something white man with dark hair in a ponytail, disappeared, Shareef joked and said, “That part of the restaurant didn’t leave the country. It’s still American in here with the service.” He figured he’d change the subject and make their conversation a little lighter.
She said, “Well, they couldn’t possible have a huge restaurant like this right in the middle of Times Square without hiring the regular people of New York.”
“The popular TV shows did it. Seinfeld, Friends, a few others,” Shareef said, naming two long-running television series that seemed to paint New York as lily white.
“What about the Law and Orders, CSI: New York, and The Closer ?” Cynthia commented.
Shareef smiled. “Yeah, any show dealing with crime, that’s when the blacks and Hispanics show up.”
However, the woman continued to impress him. She was ready and willing to go point for point with him on every subject.
“You seem to know a lot for a girl,” he told her.
She gave him the evil look for that.
“That sounds very chauvinistic, especially coming from a man who owes his career to the women who read his books.”
“Yeah, but a lot of those women are only interested in girly issues. That’s why I haven’t written anything else. I know where my audience is. And that audience is very selective in what they want to read about.
He said, “That answers your question from earlier. But I’m not dumb enough to say it out in public. All that does is piss the audience off. I learned that when I first started my career as a novelist. You keep them happy and they’ll keep you happy.”
She said, “But it’s up to you to take them somewhere different. You have to challenge yourself and challenge them.”
Shareef nodded and took a sip of his water. Their conversation was more philosophical than he expected or desired. He respected the woman’s intellect. He respected her wit from the moment she opened her mouth inside the bookstore. But she was also a sexy woman, and at ten o’clock at night, less than five blocks from his hotel, he wanted to deal with their ideas of each
She nodded. “You get a chance to travel a lot, don’t you?”
“Not as much as these rappers.”
She asked him, “Do you envy them?”
Shareef stopped and thought about it.
“I think we all do to a degree. I mean, nobody generates attention and income like those guys do. They get twenty G’s just for showing up at a party. I think I can do without the police attention, though. I hear a lot of those guys can’t travel without being harassed.”
Cynthia grimaced. She said, “You just had nearly two hundred women come out to see you with no sound stage, no bright lights, no entourage, commotion, or security everywhere. I mean, if you ask me, that seems a lot more powerful and gratifying. And they were all paying strict attention to you.”
“Yeah, but how many brothers were in there? And that guy in camouflage was hatin’. But these rappers, they get the respect from all the brothers.”
“Oh, so all the brothers still respect Ja Rule? And the hard-core guys still respect Puffy? And the New York guys still love Jay-Z and hate Nelly? I mean, that stuff is all so campy,” she commented. “It’s just like professional wrestling. One week they’re all over Atlanta, and the next week they’re all over Memphis and Houston. That stuff is all high school to me. And then they all try to act like they’re gangstas. They’re not real gangstas. I know real gangstas, and they’re damn sure not thinking about rapping, dancing, or giving concerts.”
Shareef nodded to her right as their waiter appeared to take their orders.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
They both ordered martinis and told the waiter to return a little later for their food orders.
When the waiter, a twenty-something white man with dark hair in a ponytail, disappeared, Shareef joked and said, “That part of the restaurant didn’t leave the country. It’s still American in here with the service.” He figured he’d change the subject and make their conversation a little lighter.
She said, “Well, they couldn’t possible have a huge restaurant like this right in the middle of Times Square without hiring the regular people of New York.”
“The popular TV shows did it. Seinfeld, Friends, a few others,” Shareef said, naming two long-running television series that seemed to paint New York as lily white.
“What about the Law and Orders, CSI: New York, and The Closer ?” Cynthia commented.
Shareef smiled. “Yeah, any show dealing with crime, that’s when the blacks and Hispanics show up.”
However, the woman continued to impress him. She was ready and willing to go point for point with him on every subject.
“You seem to know a lot for a girl,” he told her.
She gave him the evil look for that.
“That sounds very chauvinistic, especially coming from a man who owes his career to the women who read his books.”
“Yeah, but a lot of those women are only interested in girly issues. That’s why I haven’t written anything else. I know where my audience is. And that audience is very selective in what they want to read about.
He said, “That answers your question from earlier. But I’m not dumb enough to say it out in public. All that does is piss the audience off. I learned that when I first started my career as a novelist. You keep them happy and they’ll keep you happy.”
She said, “But it’s up to you to take them somewhere different. You have to challenge yourself and challenge them.”
Shareef nodded and took a sip of his water. Their conversation was more philosophical than he expected or desired. He respected the woman’s intellect. He respected her wit from the moment she opened her mouth inside the bookstore. But she was also a sexy woman, and at ten o’clock at night, less than five blocks from his hotel, he wanted to deal with their ideas of each
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