Game Over (12 page)

Webb
got a phone call. When he hung up, he said he had to make a run and that he would be right back. Being left alone with Game didn’t bother me. Game seemed cool and we were having some deep talks, especially about some of the rappers with whom he was having problems. He named names but I’ll keep those names quiet …for now. Anyway, everything was all good. But out of nowhere, he tried to get the panties. The way he did it didn’t sit well with me at all. He started grabbing and feeling on me, with me yanking away. I felt totally disrespected and I let him know it wasn’t going down like that. “I’m not with all of this,” I told him. He immediately got pissed. I guess he’d felt that because he was a rapper, although unknown at the time, every woman was just supposed to jump up out their drawers for him. Also maybe because I was in a hotel room with him. Whatever he thought, when I turned him down it made him mad.

“
You can leave then,” he yelled showing no remorse.

Gladly, I grabbed my shit and hit the door. I
put the shit behind me and never even said anything to Webb about what had happened.

By the time the golf cart finally pulled up, Game had
apologized for trying to rough me up that night. Looking him in the eyes, I could see his words were genuine. If you want to know when someone’s lying, just look him in the eyes. The eyes never lie. He asked me to go back to his villa with him while guaranteeing he wasn’t going to try anything. He was just as bored as I was and just needed somebody to kick it with. I should’ve said ‘hell no.’ I know that. I don’t know why I agreed. Fuck, I don’t know why I did a lot of the things I did in my life. I just did them. I do know, though, he said he had plenty of weed. And Lord knows I’m a damn crack head for weed.

We ended up chilling in his room and talking. As we spoke, he kept saying I was ghetto. He said that I was so ghetto he couldn’t understand chicks like me. That was strange. He was supposed to be from
Compton. How much more hood was anything than that? But yet he didn’t act like it. Honestly, he was kind of corny. He wasn’t what I was used to. Maybe because he was from California, clear across the country from me.

Anyway, we drank
and smoked as time passed by with him cracking silly jokes. Before I knew it, I was wasted. Not totally wasted but I was getting there. The combination of good weed and wine had done a number on me. But through it all, my mind kept wondering about Jason. I wondered if he’d made it back to the room yet.

Eventually, the sun began to come up. Game surprised me by asking me to get in his Jacuzzi with him. I wasn’t feeling that
. Even though my mind was full of weed I wanted to check to see if Jason was back at the room. I told Game I had to run back to my room and get a bathing suit. I swear on everything I love that my intentions were to get out of there and never come back. Jason was who I wanted to be with so I left and headed back to Jason’s room looking forward to being in his arms. But when I got there, the room was just the way I’d left it.  

Jason wasn’t there and hadn’t been there. I got mad. What kind of business could he be handling that would keep him gone all night? Immediately, I jumped to conclusions and figured he was with another bitch, although he’d never played me like that before. Out of spite, I returned to Game’s room. When
Game opened the door he was dripping wet and dressed in just his boxers. His body was tight, and he was tatted up all over. He shut the door and I followed him out to the Jacuzzi. Game hopped in and with no shame, pulled me in with him. The moment seemed weird. There weren’t many times where I was with someone who just chilled in a situation like that. Eventually we just talked, with the jets shooting out pressure all around us; my body leaned back against his chest. They say everything happens for a reason…enough said.

I have nothing but the deepest respect for The Game. 

14- Hustlin’—Grindin’

The
Puerto Rico trip ended well, with me finally getting with Jason before I left.  Although the sex had improved the relationship was dwindling—fast, and I knew it. I just wanted us to at least maintain our friendship. After all he’d known me longer than any other man I still kept in touch with. Jason continued to make my goal difficult. He kept doing shit to irritate me, trying to make me explode.

I saw him mo
nths later in Jacksonville at the Superbowl festivities. It was the perfect place to attend several parties back to back. My homegirl and I showed up at the club where Jada would perform. We texted his homeboy who got us into the club where we all partied and had a good time. Drinks were flowing but the mood was crazy. Out of the blue, Jason started acting funny again, like he didn’t know me. That was it. I blasted off on him, repeating all the same shit we’d been going through lately. “You letting this success shit go to your head,” I said loudly. “Remember, I knew you when you had nothing.”

“I’m just acting the way you acting,” he replied.

Yet even though I had grown tired of his bullshit over the last few years I spent the next two nights with him in Jacksonville where I put it on him, reminding him of what he’d been missing. His sex was the best he’d given me in a while. Not because I was in love with him, but because I had love for him and how he’d been a part of my life for so long.

Not long after the Superbowl, Webb got ahold of me
and asked if I wanted to do some work with him. Him and Cheo were doing well as Fab’s managers, which blew my mind because they’d all come a long way. Never in a million years did I expect them to one day manage one of the hottest rappers in the industry. They’d once been street dudes grinding their way to the top. They’d definitely gotten focused; left the knuckle head shit alone and were now about legitimate business. I was so proud.

I
started working for them within weeks. It was nothing major. I would do simple tasks like scheduling, typing up contracts, handling riders and tasks with the accountant. It didn’t pay much but it was a side hustle while making my styling career happen. Also, it helped beef up my resume.

Although the pay
was weak, I enjoyed working for Cheo and Webb and went above and beyond with my duties. They always treated me with respect and always kept our relationship professional. That made me feel comfortable and appreciated so I never wanted to disappoint. I stayed just as professional as they did and kept a positive attitude even during days when life had me down. Everyone felt comfortable around me and liked the real, wild and crazy Winter. It was because of those things that they eventually recommended me to Fab when an assistant position opened.

When Fab called me in June
2005, on top of being excited, I was flattered. It meant a lot to me to know Cheo and Webb had thought enough about me to look out for me like that. I appreciated it. About business though, before accepting, I asked him the traditional questions: What would I be doing? Days off? etc, etc. Most people thought he was still signed to Atlantic Records but I knew that contract was over and Fab was searching for a new record label so I asked the most important question….What does the job pay? Now keep in mind, I’d been around enough rappers to know that most of them were broke in reality. They didn’t have even half the materialistic things or money they rapped about having. Usually, the ones who bragged the most were the brokest. And if you know Fab’s music, you know he’s about as bragadocious as they come so I was expecting the pay to be cheap but not as cheap as what actually came out of his mouth.

“Three hundred dollars a week,” he said with no shame.   

Of course, that was chicken feed. I knew people making more than that flipping burgers at McDonalds or pushing a broom in some high school somewhere. Not that those jobs aren’t considered a hard day’s work, I just thought working for a rapper of his caliber would pay so much more. The number was insulting but I knew Fab was on the rise. His name was getting hotter and hotter. So I figured if I accepted the pay, proved my loyalty and went hard at my job, it would eventually pay off. More money would come. Besides, I was still getting money from Jason whenever I needed it.

Jason’s
pockets weren’t as deep as anyone would expect but he had a generous and kind heart. If I needed something, no matter what, I could go to him. So combining the little bit of money he gave me with the money I was making from my styling jobs and now would be receiving from Fab would keep my pockets straight. And if crunch time arrived, it would be nothing to hit the club, bait me in a boss, and play around in his pockets as usual. Not bragging. It is what it is. I’m like a cat, always landing on my feet.

So my life with Fab began.

The very first thing I noticed was that Fab no longer resembled that boy he’d been back in that hole in the wall apartment just before his first album dropped. That dude was long gone. Now he was cockier, more experienced and even a little stuck up. Also, the feelings he had for me that were so obvious back then were now not so obvious now. At times, they seemed non-existent. The industry had hardened his heart. That was cool. I wasn’t looking for a relationship with him. The goal was to build my resume in the music industry.

My duties started off with general stuff, mainly administrative
, like booking hotel rooms and flights. I took care of things in his personal life like making sure he made it to places on time, returned important phone calls; showed up for interviews, promo events, photo sessions, and studio time. In the beginning, it was a tedious process that took a lot of patience because Fab was notorious for being late to anything and everything. It took a lot of pushing. And obviously for what he was paying, it wasn’t worth it but I stuck with it.

In no time, his reputation for being late changed and people in his circle applauded me, knowing I was the reason. It got to the point where they were bragging about the way I carried things out.

During that time, Fab also watched me very closely. He’d been in the industry long enough to have come across plenty of people who hadn’t had his best interests in mind. He’d met plenty of snakes who’d smiled in his face then stabbed him in the back when he wasn’t looking. So I could understand his apprehension. These days, I don’t trust too many people my damn self. I knew our relationship had gotten more into the trust zone the first time he wanted me to spend the night at the house with him and his boys. It was also the night when I began keeping a journal. I figured my new life with him would take me places and have me seeing things most would never experience.

Journal Entry

I hope stayin the night doesn't become frequent. These bunk beds are uncomfortable. I thought we’d be in nice fancy hotels or a big ole mansion but I guess everything ain’t what it seems. Rah is sleeping up top and I hope he doesn't try anything. I hope I don't have to make breakfast in the a
.m. I didn't sign up for that. I need to find a spot closer to Jersey because I can't sleep like this again. He needs to pay me more for the overnight work. I hate that I'm sleeping in my clothes I've been in all day… this is gross. I'm getting up before everyone wakes up and I'm going straight to Brooklyn.

Our work load soon escalated. I spent a lot of time dealing with Fab’s schedule. I also eventually had to help him with more personal situations. Thank God, I didn’t have to deal with his phones. Fab had two phones. One for his career and family. The other phone was his pop off phone for the countless chicken heads, groupies, boppers, hoes, sluts or whatever else you want to call them that he had scattered across the country. There was never a shortage. He had plenty of them so the pop off phone stayed ringing off the hook no matter what time of day or night. The craziest part about his phone was how he had the girls’ names listed by the abbreviated city where they were from.

A player at work.

Fab never really brought girls to the house. He preferred to take them to a
hotel room, which I would usually book. Once there, he’d bang ‘em out, send them on their way and come back like nothing ever happened. That was the first time I really paid attention to how men viewed women and how stupid women could be. I mean, some of them seriously thought they had a chance at being special, Fab’s one and only. And they were willing to demean themselves and compromise their self-respect to achieve it, not realizing or caring that he was bragging to his boys about how he’d just smutted them out. Of course, I wondered if that was how certain dudes in my life spoke about me when I wasn’t around. I’m now positive it was.

Anyway, as time passed, more and more tasks got added to my workload. I was now taking his jewelry to the jeweler
, going with him to the grocery store and making sure everyone was at his beck and call. Basically, the work increased but the pay stayed the same. I didn’t trip though. In all honesty, I liked my job and my self-esteem rose. It was mainly because of the positive changes in Fab’s personal and business life due to my persistence. It felt good to know that I was having a hand in it. I mean, people around him were complimenting me on the changes they were seeing in Fab. The changes were just
that
obvious. Fab noticed them, too. I know he did. But for some reason, he rarely complimented me. Shit, the nigga would find it difficult to even say thank you. But that’s just the way he was, I learned.

Despite us getting to know each other, Fab rarely showed emotions
and still, we hadn’t become friends. He was the boss and me—the worker. He always kept his cards close to his chest. We were alike in that way. It was the best way to keep outsiders off balance so I understood him, especially in this business. That’s just the way you have to be or you’ll get ran over. People will use your emotions against you.

Realizing I was pretty much a part of his life, Fab finally gave me a bin in his garage with the others who stayed at his house regularly.
There were always countless guys hanging around. Everyone there had a bin with their name on it full of clothes and now mine was the newest addition. It was weird but I got used to it because I realized him giving it to me meant he was beginning to trust me more. Soon, he trusted me so much that I was staying at my place in Brooklyn less and less.

My day
to day responsibilities kept growing and more time was needed with him. It was now to the point where I was even handling club outings, serving almost like his security even though he already had qualified security. Maybe it was paranoia but he wanted my eyes on him along with the eyes of his security whenever he hit the club. I understood though. With the amount of expensive jewelry he always wore, it was needed. I’m not saying he’s a pussy but shit, Fab is only a buck forty-five soaking wet. You do the math. One slap or punch, and he’d probably fold like lawn furniture. The shit would be all over YouTube. Obviously, no one wanted that. Besides, in my heart he’d become family.

I found myself becoming overprotective of Fab. Looking out for him became much more than just a job; it became a way of life. I’d grown so used to it that I just couldn’t help it. People who knew us would always ask me why I was like that with him. They immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was fucking him
. No matter how much I denied it, they thought what they wanted. That was their business. For me, Fab was paying me to do a job, one I took seriously.

The only thing I hated was that Fab never really showed any appreciation. I mean, here I was with him around the clock doing more than an assistant should be doing and he would rarely thank me. But once again I just chalked that up to how difficult it was for him to show his emotions. I knew deep down he cared. He just didn’t know how to show it.

When you’re as close to someone as I was to Fab, even in an employee/boss relationship, you can find yourself worrying about them at times. It’s just a reflex. One of the things that worried me about Fab was his spending habits.
At times he’d spend ten to thirty stacks in the club like it was nothing. He was so careless with money I would have to go behind him and make sure he wasn’t overcharged on his credit cards. The last thing I wanted to see was him get taken advantage of or hurt. I had no idea though that I would eventually be put in a position where my life would be jeopardized too.  

T
he pace of our lives soon escalated all too quick. I realized I’d been working for Fab for a couple of months. He’d been spoiled rotten. I was so caught up in my duties that I didn’t have time for my own life. I was just barely going back to my place in Park Slope, Brooklyn where I’d been living for about six months. My styling jobs became non-existent. My life now revolved around Fab and his career. The craziest thing about it is, after all I was doing and after all the positive changes I’d brought to his life and career, he still didn’t want to pay me more than three hundred dollars a week. The nigga could spend money tricking, splurge thousands at the club, spend money on hotel rooms and shopping sprees but he couldn’t pay me more than three hundred dollars a week. What type of shit was that?

But for what the job lacked in pay, it more than made up for in perks. I kept the change for everything: gas, gr
ocery store runs, the cleaners. You name it, I kept it and he knew it. I drove all five of his whips which included a Bentley, Range Rover and a Benz. When he ate good, which was pretty much every day, I ate good. When he shopped, he always bought something nice and expensive for me too. He was generous in those ways so I didn’t bug him about a raise yet. Still though, despite how generous he could be, he always seemed to have a coldness about him like he didn’t truly appreciate my sacrifices. Soon, I found out where that coldness came from after making several runs back and forth to the Brevoort Projects to drop off money to his mother.