“Where’s Dexter?” Tyler questioned, ignoring her aunt’s questions. Removing her glasses, she set them on the seat next to her and let out a deep sigh. Resting her head against the plush seat, Tyler closed her eyes. She was drained emotionally,physically, and mentally, and the only thing she could think about was kicking her own ass for answering Bobbi’s call.
“So, just fuck what I’m saying, huh?”
“I didn’t touch her,” Tyler uttered through closed lids.
The sound of Carla’s high-pitched voice was feeding the headache she couldn’t seem to shake. After spending the weekend in a jail cell, all she wanted was a hot bubble bath, a bean, and some good food. Listening to Carla scold her like a three-year-old didn’t make the list.
“So, you’re lying to me now?”
“Carla, with all due respect, I’m grown as hell. I don’t need to lie about anything.Ididn’t touch her.Ibeat up Dex, and unless he’s the one that’s crying assault, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ok, smart ass, why am I receiving emails from her lawyers? She's trying to sue you.”
“I beat-” Bobbi blurted, but paused when Tyler looked up at her. “I got into it with her,” she corrected herself.
“You can’t even fucking fight Bobbi Mitchell!” Carla snapped, causing Tyler to snicker. It was true. Bobbi was swinging for dear life, and if the situation had not been serious, Tyler would have tried to record it. Aria swore that Bobbi hit her a couple of times, and Tyler didn’t put it past her windmill swinging ass.
“It’s not funny, Tyler,” Carla yelped. “Yall are too grown to keep getting into fights. It’s not ladylike and it’s not how yall were raised. Tyler, you’re already labeled a diva; they might as well add troublemaker and problematic to the list. They are calling you a crash out!”
“Kinda has a ring to it.” She shrugged, further pissing her aunt off.
“Very funny. When the label decides to drop you, then what? Will it still be so funny?” Carla bucked her eyes.
“I'm sure I'll bounce back. I’m tired of all this shit anyway,” Tyler said before turning her attention back to the window.
Carla probably thought she was just ranting, but it was the truth. Singing about the same ole shit and trying to keep up with all the latest trends was exhausting. If it were up to her, Tyler would happily rock her buzz cut, oversized jogger sets, and fuzzy Crocs. She wanted to perform in gym shoes, sports gear, and snapbacks. Hell, she’d perform in a moo-moo if that’s what her heart desired. If it were up to her, Tyler would never wear wigs or heels, but the label wasn’t having it. They needed Tyler to stay at the top of the who’s who in Hollywood, encompassing both fashion and talent.
“Tired? Girl, you’re so damn ungrateful. All you do is get on a stage and sing, how hard can that be?” Carla huffed, degrading Tyler’s talents as if her singing wasn’t the reason for the lavish life she lived.
“Ungrateful?” Tyler arched her eyebrow.
“Yes, un-fucking-grateful,” Carla repeated. “You live a good life. I helped you get this good life that you're so tired of.”
Tyler took a minute to admire her aunt. While she couldn’t stand her half of the time, Carla was a pretty woman. Her skin was a deep shade of brown, free of wrinkles, worry lines, and scars from the past. Her slender frame and extra-long neck bore a resemblance to Kimora Lee, and thanks to PRP injections, her long tresses were thick and her edges were full. Money had turned the factory working, back hurting, sore feet version of Carla into a boss bitch. Now that she had the money, Carladressed to impress. She owned expensive jewelry, drove fly ass cars, and whenever she stepped into a room, Carla commanded the attention she always craved.
“Whatever.” Tyler turned her attention back to the window. “I keep forgetting you’re carrying my career on your back.”
“You damn right. I allowed you to use my electricity to charge the phone you made YouTube videos on. I’m also your manager and you should be lucky I’m not demanding half of your earnings.”
“What do you really manage though? Aria and Darryl handle all of the bookings, photo shoots, concert travel, and everything else. You're simply along for the ride.”
“We’re family and I have your back in this industry. That’s what I manage,” Carla said with an attitude.
“Whatever, Carla,” Tyler sighed. She didn’t know who was worse. Carla or Dexter. They both swore it was them who made her a star.
“You know, you remind me of your mother when she was younger.” Carla scowled, fishing through her purse for a pack of cigarettes. Removing the pack, she patted the bottom until one fell into her palm. “Selfish and reckless, just like her.” Carla lit the tip and blew the smoke in Tyler’s direction.
“Mama, that’s going to get in my hair.” Bobbi frowned, waving her hand around as the Newport smoke engulfed her.
“Take the shit off then or get out and walk. Were you complaining when you had to lay your head on a filthy pillow in that nasty cell?”
“No, but-
“Hush, Bobbi. I’m going to deal with you later. You’re five years older than her and you’re nothing but a follower. Youare pushing thirty. You’re supposed to be classier, have more sense, hell, anything but a fucking flunky. It’s pathetic,” Carla criticized.
Tyler watched Bobbi visibly sink further into her seat. The bad bitch act she displayed a couple of nights ago vanished. Bobbi sat there with tears in her eyes while Carla berated her as if she were a child instead of a grown ass woman, as if she hadn’t raised her to be a follower, versus thinking for herself. Carla acted as if she hadn’t encouraged her daughter to force her way into spaces, even when the crowd didn’t accept her. Instead of teaching Bobbi that it was perfectly fine to sit at her own table, Carla advocated for her to sit with others. She broke her back to keep Bobbi in the hottest fashions and opened up her home when the teens wanted to party. In Carla’s eyes, as long as Bobbi had a seat at the cool kids' table, then her job was done.
Now that Bobbi was an adult, Carla couldn’t understand why her daughter didn’t have the capacity to think for herself when, in reality, she never had to. Bobbi still lived with her, she hopped on dumb ass trends, befriended the mean girls, and kissed ass to stay relevant. Being a follower is what Bobbi was taught to do. It was what her mother trained her to do.
