Day walked into the office of Dynasty Records.
“Yo, get me on the phone with that bitch that own the hip-hop tea blog. Why the fuck they keep posting me with this bitch? I told y’all I ain’t want no cameras at my nephew funeral,” Day barked into the phone as he scrolled through the hundreds of notifications on his phone. Social media had him linked to Kiara Da’vi again. He had been recorded leaving the funeral with her, and then she had posted some cryptic-ass stories, insinuating that they had rolled up the partition on the driver. It must have been a slow news day because social media was eating it up. The fact that Kiara was leaning into it and fanning the flames made it worse. She had even posted the brand-new car Day had given her to add fuel to the fire. The fact that Stassi had liked the blog post made him feel a way. She was letting him know she had seen it without saying a word. She wasn’t his girl, but bullshit like this would make it even harder for him to get her to trust him. He was fed the fuck up with the antics, especially when the shit was manufactured. The smell of weed lured him into Demi’s office. No way had he expected him to be here. He could tell Demi was a wreck. Demi was a creature of habit. Anytime he felt shit was out of control, he would find solace in work. A blunt to the face and Jeezy’s debut album on low while he ran plays in his mind was Demi’s routine. A disturbed Demi was a dangerous Demi. He hoped niggas walked straight until the freshness of this loss passed and time made the pain bearable.
“What up, boy? What you doing here?” Day asked.
“Establishing an alibi,” Demi answered as he turned slightly in the swivel chair, blowing smoke in the air. “Besides, business don’t stop.”
“Nah, man. It should stop. It’s okay for things to stop for a little while, while you get your mind right, brody,” Day sympathized. “And if it’s smoke, you know we got that handled. What’s this about an alibi?”
“Nothing nobody else needs to handle. I got it. Just wanna make sure my ID badge is scanned in, and these cameras catch me on a loop for the night before I go body me a nigga,” Demi stated.
“Why you ain’t home with Lo?” Day paused, realizing his misstep. “My bad, I mean, Charlie,” Day corrected. “You out here talking about killing niggas and shit. You need to be where your peace is. You’re unfocused. Now ain’t the time to settle no old debts.”
Demi groaned as he sat up and swiped his face in frustration. “Shit’s all fucked up, man.”
Day sat in the chair across from Demi’s desk and reached for the blunt.
Demi passed it and shook his head.
“How bad was it when you made it to the crib?” Day asked.
“Nigga, she put me out,” Demi stated. “Put me out my own shit. Figure that.”
“That’s rough,” Day snickered. “You real soft on Charlie girl, my boy. She got you whipped.”
“I’m too old for this shit. Lo ain’t bring a nigga these kind of headaches,” Demi stated.
“Young pussy, young problems. That insecurity a mu’fucka,” Day stated. “But she got a point. She ain’t coming from left field with the shit.”
Demi frowned. Men could be so obtuse when they wanted to be. Day continued. “I can’t lie. With everything that’s going on, you and Lo been looking like the good old days. I never knew y’all to be anything other than a great team. Y’all were ‘that couple’ for a long time.”
“Lo’s a partner in life, man. The shit is hard to explain. I thought that part of my life was over. I thought Charlie could be that, but Lo was more than my wife. She was literally 50/50 with me on everything but the street shit. IfI made the deals, she followed up with the paperwork and the enforcement, you feel me? From everything like a nigga dentist appointment to seven-figure brand deals. She made the home complete, but she covered a nigga whole life too. From these events to networking with these fake-ass niggas in the industry, to making sure the suits were pressed each week and the guns locked tight and cleaned in the safe. She was just my partner, man. That’s all I can sum it up as. I lost my wife…this week, my partner needed me.”
“And Charlie can’t be that?” Day asked.
“Charlie only needs to be one thing,” Demi stated matter-of-factly. “She don’t got to do anything else except keep a nigga heart in those hands. She wants to be all over the place, doing what Lo do, competing cuz she thinks that’s what a nigga expect. I had that kind of wife. I left that kind of wife. I want her, but I can’t just ignore all that I owe to Lo. She’s not my romantic partner anymore, but we partners in this loss. We in debt on this shit together, and Charlie’s young. Her feelings so fucking soft, man. She can’t really understand where I’m coming from.”
“One woman only being able to give one thing sound like a woman that’s easily replaced,” Day stated. “I can see why she’s intimidated by Lo.”
“Nah, my nigga. I don’t want her hands in a million places. She only needs to be an expert on me. Keep them hands on me. I’ma handle everything else for her. I want her to live the softest fucking existence in life, on God. Her and my baby. They won’t ever have to worry.”
“Damn,” Day stated. It was all he could say. He couldn’t relate and didn’t want to ever be that in love. That type of love scared him. That type of love was risky. That type of love had a rich-ass nigga sitting in the dark, putting one in the air after hours instead of falling into the next option. Whipped. His homie waswhipped. Demi was a grieving father and a whipped-ass nigga. Day never thought he would see the day.
“So, it would be a bad time to ask you to get Charlie on board for a showcase with Da’vi, huh?” Day asked.
“She’s pregnant,” Demi said, frowning.
“She can’t sing while she pregnant, my nigga?” Day countered. “I ain’t gon’ overwork your girl. That’s my niece or nephew growing in there, but the public loves to be a part of them nine months. If she goes ghost, she gon’ lose her momentum.”
“I’m fighting for my life over here, and you talking about a performance,” Demi groaned.
“We all need a distraction,” Day said. “This last week felt like it ripped a nigga stomach out. We can host the Dynasty Brunch and add a cause to it in honor of DJ. Maybe something tied to mental health in children. Find a worthy foundation, get all these industry niggas to come out they pockets and donate. We can’t change what happened to nephew, but we can honor him, and maybe prevent it from happening to the next kid. Raise some awareness. Have you and Lo talk about it. Nobody talks about shit like this, dawg. I thought cutting was some white shit, to be honest. His death doesn’t have to be for nothing, bro.”
Demi leaned onto his knees, pushing the rolling executive chair back slightly. He squeezed the ducts of his eyes with two fingers as he held back emotion.
Day was silent. He knew to remain still. He couldn’t say or do anything, or else Demi may flee.
“Set it up,” Demi stated simply. “All of it. The interviews. The promoting Charlie’s pregnancy. The showcase. The foundation. I’m with it. Put Stassi on it.”
