Читать книгу Not A Good Look - Nikki Carter - Страница 14

“Fair exchange ain’t robbery / but I feel like you robbin’ me blind. / Losin’ my mind, losin’ myself / I write the lines while you stack the wealth.”

—Sunday Tolliver

I’m bobbing my head to the track that Sam let me hear on the phone. We’re holed up in a little room off the main studio. It’s only a little bit bigger than a closet. The only thing in here is a keyboard, a few chairs, and a computer. Sam calls it his incubator because it’s where his musical ideas come to life.

“You feeling anything?” Sam asks after playing the track all the way through.

I nod and sing, “I remember sweet things, like whispers in my ear / I love you was all I used to hear / But I pushed you away from me / ’Cause I was silly and I was not ready.”

“That’s hot!” Sam exclaims.

“You think so?”

Sam smiles and starts to play again. “Now I’m missing you / Wanna take back the way that I hurt you / But you ain’t hearing me / ’Cause you found another one to replace me.”

“Dang, boy! You on fiyah!”

I try to hide my excitement just a little bit, but it’s hard to contain with Sam feeding off me like this. I’ve never had a songwriting partner. It’s always just been me. But Sam is the real deal.

Sam sits back in his chair and cheeses. “This song ought to be on your album. It’s too hot to give to your cousin.”

“My album? Nobody is trying to give me a record deal right now, but it’s cool that you think I should be doing my own stuff.”

“You’re a much better singer than Dreya.”

“Yeah, but you ought to see her perform. She’s got stage presence like nobody’s business.”

Sam gives me a little frown. “I’m trying to compliment you, and you keep talking about your cousin.”

“Well, we are working on songs for her album. She’s about to be a star, not me.”

“You’re already a star.”

I swallow hard and to keep from answering, I start singing again. “Love is / love does / love’s gone / love was…”

“My eyes / can’t hide / my tears / good-bye,” Sam finishes.

We’re silent now, just staring at each other in amazement. We just finished the first verse and hook of a song in less than an hour. It’s mad hot, crazy hot.

“Whoa,” Sam finally says.

“Yeah, I’m totally flatlined right now. I’ve never vibed with someone like this.”

All of a sudden the air is thick, and I think I’m tripping. Sam looks away first, breaking the spell of our intense eye contact. Then the door to the room swings open, completely disintegrating our flow.

“Y’all coming up with anything?” Big D asks.

Sam looks at me and nods. He starts playing the track and I sing the first verse. Then Sam and I harmonize on the hook. It sounds sweet…and definitely too good for Dreya. But since nobody’s checking for the next Sunday Tolliver joint, it’s gonna have to go to Dreya.

“Dang! If I leave y’all in here all day, we gon’ go platinum, no question!” Big D exclaims. “This the bidness, for real.”

Sam smiles. “She’s good, Big D. Like a muse or something.”

“Stop playing, boy,” I say, while I’m totally blushing. “You’re good, too.”

“Hey! No crushing and whatnot in my lab!” Big D says. “This here is about the paper, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, Big D, we hear you,” Sam chuckles.

Big D stares me down. “I hear you want some songwriter credit, lil’ mama.”

“Yeah, no doubt.”

I’m trying to sound cool, but I don’t feel cool at all. I feel like Eminem in that movie 8 Mile and this is like my one shot to blow up. I cannot mess this up. Everything’s riding on this. College, my career. It’s do-or-die time.

“Your name can go behind mine and Sam’s on the track listing. You’ll get a flat fee of one thousand per song.”

“One thousand? What if it goes platinum?”

Big D shrugs. “What if it doesn’t?”

“So I write ten songs and make ten thousand dollars. That doesn’t seem like a lot. What if I just wait and get my money on the back end?”

Sam’s eyebrows rise as if I’ve said too much, but Big D looks like he’s contemplating what I’m saying.

“Tell you what—ten thousand on the first time out, and if this goes platinum, you’re in a good position for the sophomore album.”

I consider my options. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. At least I know I’ll be able to start my freshman year at Spelman. But I’ll be sick to death if Dreya’s album goes platinum, which I know it will, and Big D makes millions while I’m still struggling.

Dreya sticks her head in the door. “Girl, who else is paying you a thousand dollars a song?”

“It just feels like I’m getting played,” I say.

Big D replies, “Listen, you don’t get to start out on top, baby. You got to work your way up. Most cats out here on the come-up would write songs for me, for free. I’m paying you because I know you got what it takes to go the distance. But you got to crawl before you walk, baby.”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Sam exhales like he’s relieved. But he’s probably got something riding on this, too. Something tells me I should’ve gotten a lawyer.

But that’s not how deals go down in the A.

“It’s a wrap, then,” Big D says. “I’ma let y’all get back to work. Make it hot.”

When Big D and Dreya leave the room, Sam says, “You cool?”

“I guess. I feel like I just sold my soul.”

“Don’t think about it like that. We are about to blow up, Sunday.”

“But only Big D is gonna get paid?”

Sam shakes his head. “We will, too. As soon as Dreya gets a number-one hit, everybody will want us to write for them.”

“Mmm-hmm…”

“Trust me, girl. I know what I’m talking about.”

I guess I do have to trust him and Big D. What other choice do I have? I know one thing, though. Dreya better step up to the plate and sing like my college dreams depend on it.