God Don't Like Haters (5 page)

This was the first time Archie hit me, and I
was still surprised that I had shot him. How did I have the courage
to put a bullet in Archie, who barely left a scratch on me, and not
ever even attempted to fight my father back? I guess it was
maturity. I was older now. No man better not ever put his hands on
me.

My phone twinkled. It was another Site
notification from my subliminal post about Archie. I was surprised
to see that Coras, Mr. Sometimey-Internet-User, had commented on
something so personal.

Coras Bane:
 Good thing I don't have to
worry about a loved one turning they back on me. @MonifaChavis
always got my back.

Completely uncalled for! Why would he post
that under my status? Where everyone else was leaving me comments
of encouragement, he felt the need to throw it in my face that he
had his relationship under control. Was this some kind of evil
get-back from me being late to the studio yesterday? Sometimes I
didn't understand Coras. One minute he was all up under Monifa and
Ashleigh, the next minute he was sending me subliminal messages in
songs. He needed to make up his mind. I loved Coras, but I'd rather
take a little bit of physical abuse from Archie than the mental
abuse of Coras's cheating ways.

"What are you doing here, Kirbie?"

I looked up from my phone. It was my dad at
the door. Benjamin Capelton. He was a short man with a large belly
who loved wearing flannel jackets. The one he had on now was brown
and black. He had a nice set of hair on his head, but it had long
went gray. So had his beard. His eyes were worn, but he still
looked a lot more lively than he had when he used to be a heavy
drinker.

"I knew you were here because I smelled your
feet as soon as I walked out of my room," he smiled.

I had my socks off. I brought a foot up
close to my face as far as I could stretch—I used to be able to
make my big toe touch my nose—and I sniffed. I didn't smell a
thing. My dad thought he was a part-time comedian now. This was the
father I wished I had grown up with as a child.

"Your mother's feet smelled the same way," he
said, sitting down beside me. I sat up and gave him a hug. As I
pulled away, he suddenly looked at me strangely, as if I had
something on my face. "What happened? Archie hit you?"

I hadn't known the smack left a mark. I
touched my face and felt light pain, so I got up to look in the
mirror.

My jawline was bruised.

"Do you want me to get something for that?"
my father asked.

"No, I'm fine. It was an accident. It's not
that bad."

"I insist, Kirbie."

"I said I'm fine, Daddy."

He got up and left. I was
waiting for him to come back with a pack of ice when I suddenly
heard a 
click-clack
, and then I saw him
walking past my room with his shotgun. I ran out and grabbed him by
the arm.

"Daddy, go put that back!"

"No, Kirbie. Let me take care of it."

I took the shotgun from him. "I thought you
were a man of God now?"

"I'm only human, Kirbie. I can't sit by and
let that nigga do you ..." He stopped himself.

I knew what he was about to
say. 
I can't sit by and let that
nigga do you like I used to do you.

"I already handled Archie, Daddy. He won't be
hitting me no more."

Benjamin looked at me worriedly. He knew I
sold drugs and carried a gun. I had even sold pills to some of his
old buddies. I could tell by looking in his eyes that he wanted to
say more to me, but he felt like he couldn't tell me what to do
anymore because he'd lost his privileges as a father. He'd treated
me worse than any man ever had and probably ever would.

"I'll put it up," he said, and I gave him the
shotgun back. "Just promise me you won't go back to him."

"I don't know what I'm gonna do yet."

"What about Coras? I thought you liked
him."

"He's taken."

"I can find you a nice young man at the
church—"

"Daddy, I'm fine. I'll figure it out. If I
have to be alone, I'll be alone."

"I just don't want you to end up lonely like
me."

I gave him a hug. "Go put the shotgun back,
Daddy."

He held me for a moment longer, kissing me
on my forehead. Then he went into his room and closed the door. I
heard him turn on some music by his favorite artist—rhythm and
blues by the incomparable Caylene Hope.

My phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered. I went back in my room
and sat down on the bed.

"Where you at?" Coras asked.

"At my daddy's house? How's Monifa
doing?"

"What?"

I decided not to even get into it with him
over his childish comment on The Site. I was going to be the bigger
person.

This time.

"Are you ready to be an adult?" he asked
me.

I sucked my teeth. "Coras, you act like I'm
late to the studio all the—"

"Answer my question. Are you ready to be an
adult? I didn't ask for backtalk."

Everybody wanted to be my
daddy, it seemed—Archie, my 
real
 daddy, and especially this
drill sergeant on the other end of the line.

"Kirbie, you can't just be
a good singer in this industry," Coras continued. "You might assume
that because you got a voice that you're special, but thinking that
way will hinder you. You gotta 
work, 
girl. Yeah, you're not
scared to hustle; yeah, you're not scared to shoot a gun; yeah, you
can turn all of that into hot music—but all of that falls to the
wayside if you can't be a responsible business woman on top of
that."

I was very close to hanging up on him.

"Are you ready to woman-up?
I would say act ya age but you're only 18. I need you to
act 
my
 age."

This nigga ... bruh ...

"I'm ready," I said.

"Are you?"

"Yes, Coras."

"You're always talking about people hating on
you. You need to stop hating on yo'self and take this music
seriously. We need to get my mixtape done so I can get it mastered
and we can start working it and sending it out to these major
labels. I'm ready to get rich."

"Me too."

"Well get yo ass down here to the studio
then. And put some pep in ya step."

CHAPTER 8

La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor

My first day out of prison I had just enough money
to get me a hotel in downtown Manhattan, New York. It was a fancy
suite; I wouldn't settle for nothing less. I stayed up all night
standing at the window, looking down at the Mount Eliyah ENT
headquarters, owned and operated by my nemesis Eliyah Golomb.

"I did seven years in prison because of you,
Eliyah. Oh, you're gonna pay for that, my old friend. Just wait and
see."

That night in the hotel, I spent the last of
my prison money on a ham sandwich that was undeniably the best
thing I ever tasted in nearly a decade.

By the middle of the next morning, I had
over a hundred thousand dollars in cash, secured from industry
associates that owed me money. First, I bought the finest suit I
could find in stores—a navy blue Armani suit tailored to my needs.
Then I bought a Hublo watch with diamonds.

As I was exiting the jewelry store, someone
took a picture of me on their camera phone. It was a young Black
girl with short hair, cute but not cute enough, dressed in a
revealing white blouse that draped over gothic leather pants. Her
wrists were accessorized with costume jewelry.

Bohemian, 
I assumed.

"Are you La'Renz 'Buddy Rough' Taylor?" she
asked with a smile.

New Yorkers were bustling past us. No one
else had noticed me yet. She snapped another picture, wide angle
this time.

"Yes, I am," I said.

"Can I take a picture with you, please?"

"No," I said, then climbed into the back of
my awaiting cab.

I had no time to waste.

My next stop was Mount Eliyah ENT. I was
dressed the way I imagined I would be dressed the first time I saw
Eliyah. I was dressed like the man I was before prison. I wanted
him to see that confinement hadn't changed me.

"Thank you, sir, right here," I said to the
cab driver. He stopped, I tipped him and climbed out of the
cab.

I fixed my tie before I walked into my old
partner's establishment.

I was recognized immediately by the front
desk security. It was two of them. I could tell by their wide eyes
that they knew I was La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor. I kept walking
past their desk.

The bigger of the two spoke up. "Sir, you
have to check in first."

I was at the elevators when the big one
decided to get up and come after me. The last time I'd been here I
shattered a window by throwing a hiphop award through glass in
Eliyah's office. The trophy landed somewhere on the street below. I
had been irate because the award belonged to an artist I
discovered, a rapper named Yayo Love. Eliyah stole him like he
tried to steal my late wife Jazzmine Short. I would've thrown
Eliyah out of that same window but security escorted me out. Ever
since then I had been on high-alert by Mount Eliyah security.

Apparently, after doing seven years in
prison, I was still on high-alert.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open.
I stepped on.

"Mr. Taylor, you're not allowed in this
building," said the hefty security guard, slamming his hand against
the elevator frame and stopping the door from closing. "I'm going
to have to ask you to leave the premises immediately."

"Why?" I asked.

"I wasn't told why. I just need you to
leave."

"What's your name?"

"Bryan."

"Bryan, I need you to move your hand out of
the way so I can head on upstairs. I have some business with your
boss I need to attend to. And in doing so, I'll consider you for a
potential job in working for me when I crush this company."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Taylor. I
need you to leave. You're only allowed in the building by
appointment only."

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "I'm sorry to have
to do this to you, Bryan."

I reached into my suit jacket as if I had a
gun. Bryan had quick reflexes for a man of his size—he had backed
away from the elevator at least six feet in half of a second. I
smiled at him as the doors slid closed.

I didn't have a gun.

Not yet anyway.

CHAPTER 9

Kirbie Amor Capelton

I felt more focused than I ever had in my life. I
was working on my first solo mixtape!

Coras had already finished his mixtape a
couple weeks ago and sent it out to all the major labels, including
Mount Eliyah ENT. He hadn't gotten any responses yet, but the song
we did with Slim Eight was being played on Kansas City's local
radio station, Hot 103 Jamz. People had been calling in and
requesting the song.

Me and Gee Beats were the only ones in the
studio this morning. He was scanning through instrumentals he'd
produced.

"Just tell me when you hear one you like,"
Gee said.

We found what I thought was the perfect beat,
so I sat down on the couch with my pen and pad and started my
creativity process. I decided to name the song, "Touch Me Again."
This was going to be a fight song, not a sex song. It was going to
be about Archie, of course. Chock full of revenge, murder and trash
talk.

I was halfway through my
first verse when Coras walked in the studio with his side
chick—
ahem,
our
manager
—Ashleigh Hedgman. Ashleigh was
dressed casually in a turquoise button up, black slacks, and wedge
sandals. She was pretty, I couldn't hate. I couldn't hate on Coras
either; he had on a muscle-hugging black V-neck with a luxurious
gold Cuban link chain around his neck.

"Cut the music," Coras said to Gee Beats. "We
have an announcement to make."

Gee leaned into his workstation and cut all
of the levels down. Then he took a swig of his Hennessey and spun
in his chair to face Coras and Ashleigh. I set my pen and pad down
on my lap.

I was actually doing a good
job of not showing my panic. 
An
announcement? Is this bitch pregnant?!

"Ashleigh, go ahead," said Coras.

Ashleigh smiled. "Big news. I've managed to
book us a spot opening up for Yayo Love at the Sprint Center."

Wow!
That 
was
 good news. And a relief at the same time. It was almost
impossible getting booked at the Sprint Center, which was the
largest venue in Kansas City for aspiring artists like us. Local
artists rarely got to perform there.

"What songs are we doing?" I asked.

"Four songs," Ashleigh
said. "And we only have time to perform the first three minutes of
each. The songs are: 
Killa City,
Convenient For Me, Murder Rate Up, 
and 
No Bull.
"

I frowned at the song choices. Two of the
tracks she mentioned I wasn't even featured on. And one of the ones
I was featured on, I sung last so if we only had time to do the
first three minutes on each, that meant I was only performing once.
For the other three songs I'd just be on stage looking pretty.

Ashleigh loved to hate on me.

"Who picked the songs?" I asked.

"I did," she said. "Randomly."

"I bet."

Coras said, "After the
Sprint Center, we're gonna hit the road and start working my
mixtape. 
Convenient For
Me
 featuring Slim Eight has been a
success for us so far and we have to keep spreading it across the
states that support Kansas City artists. Texas, North Carolina,
Denver—"