The taste of her still haunted me in a good way. I found myself at the start of my work week trying to move things around ahead of time to make time for her when normally a woman awaiting me naked was all the time I had to give.
I pushed her to the back of my mind as I pulled up outside of Dreu’s new recording studio… If a person could call it that. To me it looked more like a factory with added noise and ego. My mother had bought him a warehouse space downtown L.A. Dreu painted the shit Black and added blue neon lights around it which looked tacky and uncalled for. He had a handicap spray mural on the side of the building. I knew his crip homies convinced him to get it painted there. In hood terminology it meant ‘Crippin’.
Me and Dreu didn’t grow up in the hood, we knew nothing about survival as my parents’ put it. I guess it was something about that particular life that intrigued Dreu. This was nothing but a playground for him to pretend he was the next big thing in hip hop when he actually rapped like Bluefase.
The closer I got to the entrance bass vibrated the pavement under my red bottoms. The metal door rattled with every beat like the place was trying to escape the base. I put in the code that my mother had texted me and walked inside.
The air was thick inside; it smelled like sweat and weed mixed with perfume and cologne. There were more blue neon lights that flickered in waves along the brick walls. Dreu had big leather sectionals against the walls with small glass tables inches apart. On the table were trays of weed and liquor.
The speakers boomed so loud I could feel that shit in my chest. His friends and the women that accompanied him looked high out of their minds as they mindlessly bobbed their heads paying me no mind.
It didn’t surprise me when my eyes snapped to the middle of the room. A sound board with a man behind it sat with his back to me. Dreu’s booth was right in the middle. He loved being the center of attention.
He stood tall in his booth, shirt off with just his thick Cuban gold chains on. His long copper brown dreads swung with each movement as he spoke into the microphone behind the thick glass with headphones covering his ears.
“Yeahhhhhh! Big D in this bitch! Ice so cold make ya bitch switch!” he chuckled.
The autotune was up way too high for my liking. The beginning of the song already sounded bad with the first set of words he spit.
“I told my nigga, Ice man to run this shit back! Let’s go!” Dreu jumped up and down a little too excited.
When his eyes landed on me, I smiled at the excitement in his eyes. He got really animated with too much energy and little to no rhythm. I tried not to laugh; I looked behind me and saw his friends dancing slowly in their seats. I had to see my brother today. I didn’t like our distance and fake beef that we had between one another.
I know it bothered him to the max, but Dreu was a stubborn person. I always had to break the ice and be the bigger person. He lowkey reminded me of Truly, every so often Dreu was into something new. Unlike Truly, his something new wasn’t alwaysgood for him. I remember when he called himself growing weed. My mother actually had a weed grow house built on their estate.
It was all short lived when the grow house blew up, to this day we didn’t know what triggered it.
“Came from the mud, now the kicks stay clean! Dreams so loud, you can hear them in my sleep! Every move coded, every deal stay mean! Had to learn the hustle nothin’ came for free! They talkin’ like they know me, I don’t talk back. Numbers in the phone, but I don’t call back! Chillin’ with a vibe, hair laid all that! Told her I’m a boss, she said, ‘Yeah, I saw that’.” Dreu shook his dreads as the beat dropped then rose louder as the hook came in, which was him singing on auto tune.
“Grind don’t sleep, I been runnin’ these blocks. Money in the air, yeah, I’m countin’ my stocks. Whole lotta eyes when I step on the scene!”
“Yeah, this the fucking one!” He shouted into the mic then told the guy to cut it.
Dreu stepped out of the booth panting hard like he’d just given a big performance at a sold-out concert.
“I wasn’t expecting yo uptight ass to fall through to hear the realest nigga alive spit.” He smirked as he swaggered my way.
“If the realest is what you calling this noise…” I smirked.
“This ain’t noise.” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “This is progress. I got a show in a couple of weeks and want to give them an exclusive.”
I nodded my head not wanting to get into a petty argument with him. He bumped my shoulder as he passed by me playfully. That’s all it usually took; me to show up wherever he was. We’dtalk shit to each other trade insults then all was well. Dreu bopped over to one of the small glass tables and snatched up a bottle of water. I was just happy that he didn’t pick up a bottle of liquor.
“You got a quiet room in here.” I asked not really wanting to be around his entourage of fake thugs and hoes.
“Yeah, I take a couple broads down in the back room.” He nodded his head as he walked off.
He told his friends that he’d be back to record the second verse. I followed behind him and couldn’t deny that the warehouse space was nice the further I walked into it. Dreu had a bar in the corner of the wall and nice framed pictures of Tupac, Dr. Dre, and many other Westcoast rappers that he looked up to. I didn’t miss the second area, that had a smaller leather couch with a long silver stripper pole in front of it.
Dreu was spoiled, there was no shame about it to him either. All he had to do was spend the money from his never-ending account that our parents refilled monthly for him. He swore he made his own money hustling, I didn’t know what that was from. As long as he stayed out of the laws way, I was fine with all the things he ventured off to do with his life.
We entered a room that looked like a studio apartment. Dreu had a desk with three Mac computers aligned next to each other. A leather sectional couch like the one in the front room lined around the four walls. I pulled my pants up and took a seat. Dreu sat across from me in one of the chairs behind his office desk.
“What are you doing here, Bleu? Lost your way from the runway?” He snorted out.
“Nah, I just wanted to talk to you for a lil bit before I head home.” I said as I rolled my shoulders. I needed a massage and a release; I could feel the pent-up tension in my neck and in between my shoulder blades.
Dreu was more than just an annoying younger brother. He was my confidant and surprisingly besides his immature ways…he sometimes gave great advice when he was in a sound mind.
