Rockstar Savages Page 3

  Carmela knew it wasn’t the shape of the top, but how it showed more of her lack of boobs. She was a true pear shape. Narrow shoulders, tiny waist, full hips. And her long hair made her look smaller, and her hip wider. She joked with Nicole about her butt, but she didn’t lack in that area one bit.

  Carmela tossed her hair to the side, holding an imaginary microphone to her mouth. This would be a showstopping finale look to close out the concert. It was original and beautifully made. She just wasn’t sold on the Selena-style bedazzled top showing through the open hoodie.

  “Look,” Nicole leaned into her hip, “wear it for this show. See how it feels and then we’ll decide if this is a silhouette we can add to your future shows. Think about the stage lights hitting the crystals, sparkling across the audience. And we can see more of your curves.”

  Carmela took a deep breath. The woman looking back at her liked the crystals, but what would her fans think. She’d built her brand on the “girl next door,” “round the way the way girl,” “one of the guys” type of woman. She was a grown-ass woman, as Nicole put it, but to most of her New Orleans fans, she was still Little Luvie holding it down for the neighborhood.

  La Luvie fans saw her either as their homegirl or one of the guys. But this was more Carmela.

  “I don’t know about this Nicki.” The concern in her eyes made Carmela turn around.

  “Carmela when are you going to stop thinking about your fans, your brothers, your father, and tell everyone to kiss your a—”

  “No ma’am! You are on a roll tonight.”

  Nicole kissed her fingers with a loud smack then slapped her butt to complete her statement. Carmela laughed until her side hurt.

  “It’s not that simple.” Carmela said more to herself than Nicole.

  “I don’t know about that La. It seems like you’re the one holding all the cards. It’s time you used them.”

  Nicole went back to work, pinning and marking with tailors chalk, leaving Carmela to her thoughts.

  Carmela reached the edge of her sanity, and her patience, when Gabriel told her about the invoice for the “celebration.” The marching white coats and fancy food set her back five figures. Once again, Richard overspent and he still didn’t tell her how much it cost to have the choreographer fly out.

  That was it. But what could she do?

  Fire her own father? Then what?

  What would Mamma do at a time like this?

  All Carmela had was the promise to take care of the men in her life. She promised her mother. And it seemed she’d die from exhaustion, stress, and whatever else to make it happen.

  The last time she’d reached her limits, she’d tried to release Richard from his managerial role it only made matters worse. So this time, before she dropped over the edge again, she had to get a handle on their situation before it was too late. Then last night it came to her.

  Carmela helped Nicole hang up the costumes and clean the room. Nicki liked everything in its place.

  “I think it’s time for the wine.” Carmela offered.

  It was time to share her plan with Nicole. Her plan to retired from music.

  * * *

  Carmela poured the red wine. “Take these to the media room while I grab my iPad.”

  Nicole took the chilled glasses, turning on her heels and Carmela went in the opposite direction.

  Carmela’s home was her haven. To go from a girl raised in 3rd Ward projects to owning a Grand Victorian in Garden District. It was her reward for sleeping in crappy hotels and living nonstop on tour buses. This home was her dream home with its original moldings, woodwork, hardware and Richard had it outfitted with modern technology. A healthy mix of the old with the new.

  Then her haven become their office space after they lost the Crescendo building. The old building was a modest place for her contract team to offer technology training. The plan originally focused on the youth. But as they attracted more children, they also attracted the parents of those kids. Parents that knew very little about computers outside of social media.

  Crescendo offered everything from typing classes, to Microsoft certification, app development courses, and they’d recently thought about creating a certificate program for computer repair.

  But it all was placed on hold when the owner of the building sold it to the highest bidder, leaving them without the space she needed. She had a few churches offer to lend their spaces but it wasn’t the same. And without a building she had to convert part of her home to an office for her team.

  Her team started with Richard, her manager, then Marcel, her oldest brother, who worked with him. Marcel handled marketing, promotions, social media, finances. Everything Richard didn’t.

  Gabriel, the youngest of her two brothers, was her tour manager, bodyguard, advisor, sounding board. He was anything and anyone she needed.

  As the oldest, Marcel always led, and they followed. But their Baby Lala wasn’t a baby anymore.

  Carmela climbed the grand staircase to her bedroom. She snatched up her device. Then she made a pit stop by the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine. They would need lots of wine for this talk.

  The team worked here at least three to four days a week. Which changed the vibe of her home from peaceful to stressful. Thankfully everyone went home early after such a long week of rehearsals and adjusting to the last minute venue shift for the concert since he construction at Crescendo was nonexistent.

  They had a frame and supplies but no money to pay the contractors. Yet, Richard and Marcel paid the caterers. She shook her head in disbelief. So, they moved the concert venue to Urban Vibe.

  The media room held plush overstuffed reclining theatre chairs. They hardly used this room, which made it the perfect spot, just in case someone popped back in. Carmela entered the room, locking the door, selecting the seat beside Nicole.

  “This must be good.” Nicole wiggled her eyebrows, turning sideways.

  “It is. What do you know about RSE?” Carmela passed the iPad to Nicole refilling her glass while she read the website.

  “Why are you looking at an indie label? You’re already independent.”

  For the next hour Carmela explained the botched plan to Nicole. The crowdfunding was supposed to be her exit strategy. Her time to drop the mic and exit stage right. But somehow her father was on the brink of ruining that too.

  “Let me get this straight.” Nicole, now laid back. “You’re really going to retire. I mean, I never thought you’d keep rapping this long. But with so many opportunities finally coming your way, I thought you changed your mind.”

  “I’ve been done with this industry. I did the crowdfunding to help pay for the construction of our building. And I hoped I could retire and spend my time devoted to working with Crescendo.”

  Carmela took a long drag of the red wine. “My expenses are astronomical, which means more time on the road. I get paid more for gigs than from streams and sales. And I don’t make enough from sales alone to slow down my nonstop schedule. So it’s a vicious cycle. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

  “I can pick up more clients. Just having you wear my clothes is payment enough.”

  “No way, I’d never do that to you.” Carmela reached over and squeezed Nicole’s hand. “And that bustier was absolutely gorgeous, even if I don’t wear it.”

  “Thanks. I know you’ll wear it one day. It’s too beautiful to leave locked away in a closet.”

  Carmela nodded.

  “What does RSE have to do with it?”

  “They help nonprofits and they make music. It’s a win-win for me.”

  “Why would they help you if, in theory, you already have the money you need to execute both?”

  “I want to pitch it as a partnership.”

  “But how? Are you going to arrive in Houston like, Bam! I’m here.”

  “No chile.” Carmela chuckled. “I invited the CEO to Friday’s show.”

  “What if he doesn’t come?”

  “Then
I’ll have to fly to Houston like, Bam! here I am.” Carmela opened her arms like a Jack-in-the-Box.

  Nicole chuckled, but Carmela was serious. She would board a plane if it meant getting a meeting with Cameron Carter.

  “What about Richard? Did you tell him?”

  “No! And don’t you tell him either.” Carmela drained the rest of her wine. “He’s on his, you’re a star kick, and he’s running us into the ground. We need…correction, I need, help.”

  “Like a mentor.” Nicole peered over the rim, sipping her wine.

  “Yeah. They obviously know what they’re doing. They’ve made more progress in three years that we’ve in almost fifteen.”

  “Yeah, but you guys had to learn the business as you went along.”

  “I agree but when will we move beyond this terminal infant state we’re in?”

  Carmela let out a deep breath. This all was too real and too much. She knew Richard would be furious. But she doesn’t care. They can’t continue like this. She won’t continue like this.

  Crescendo was her priority. Fame was his.

  “Well, the way I see it. You have to wear the crystal outfit Friday.”

  “And why is that?” Carmela turned to see the overly eager smile spread across Nicole’s face.

  “Because you invited a superstar to your show. And to impress a Carter your star better outshine his. You remember Marques’ show at Essence Festival?”

  “Girl, do I?” Carmela refreshed her memory after watching several YouTube videos.

  “He was de-li-cious!” Nicole slurped to make her point, then extended her glass towards Carmela. Their glasses tinged in salute to his fine self.

  “And now he’s married. I bet she’s some super model or something.”

  “Can you imagine a woman snagging and marrying a man like that?” Nicole shook her head, as if blown away by the thought.

  “I can’t imagine snagging and marrying anybody, let alone a man with screaming fans throwing themselves at him.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think about that.” Nicole reached for a blanket. “Wait?” She sat straight up. “Do you think Marques will come Friday too?”

  “I guess…he could.” Carmela reasoned.

  Nicole popped up out of the chair almost knocking over the bottle of wine at their feet.

  “What are you doing?” Carmela laughed as Nicole tried to steady herself.

  “I need to make an outfit. I know he’s married, but I got to make an impression.”

  And like that she stormed out with Carmela laughing. “That man ain’t worried about you.”

  Carmela shook her head pouring a little more wine. She would help Nicole finish the costumes for Friday in hopes of RSE being in the building. Now, she was kind of glad Richard paid for the dancers. And her plan felt solid after talking it over with Nicole. It felt good to have someone in her corner.

  Left alone in the room she acknowledge for a second that she was nervous. Her plan could go all right or allwrong.

  What if he ignored her invitation? What if he could care less about Crescendo, or helping her? What if Richard found out?

  Carmela pushed those nagging thoughts aside. Her biggest priority was trying to find a way to stop bleeding money, plus the invitation was sent.

  Now, to focus on giving her best performance and wowing RSE, knowing she’d have to deal with her Richard later.

  Chapter 4

  “Gentlemen, let’s get this meeting going. Y’all don’t want Sydney Carter storming in and dragging me out.” Cameron stood greeting the men as they entered the room.

  “Sign me up for that show,” Devin called out.

  Jamal laughed at Devin’s antics as the others settled around the conference table. He turned the top on his bottled water, convinced someone contaminated the Houston water supply with a marrying potion. He had evidence to prove it.

  Exhibit A: Bruce Daniels.

  Exhibit B: Damian Hughes.

  Exhibit C: Cameron Carter.

  The potion was strong and Jamal was not falling for it.

  Jamal silently shook his head. The potion was strong as hell and Jamal wasn’t falling for it.

  “Time is money fellas,” Jamal reminded them glancing at his watch.

  “Midas has spoken,” Cameron said from the head of the table and the men chuckled. “I have three matters of business on the table before I leave the country. First, we officially inked the deal with Sydney for her first album with RSE.” The guys clapped. “To ensure we have a proper kickoff I want to hold off on releasing her project. I want some time to sit with you all and plan a proper release. So, kick that around in your heads while we’re away.”

  “Will we release the album she planned to submit to Southern Sounds, as is?” Jamal asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure Bruce may make a few adjustments, but they’ll be minimal.”

  Jamal nodded. That would keep the label from overspending on the project. He made a note to recheck the figures and meet with Bruce.

  Cameron continued, “Second, we need to find a better model for scouting new artists. I want to limit my travel, but I don’t want it to affect the quality of the artists.”

  “Have you thought about YouTube?” Marques asked.

  “That’s cliché,” Cameron tossed back.

  “What about a contest? Music reality shows are popular and easy to promote,” Devin suggested.

  “We could run a contest using YouTube submissions,” Jamal said merging the two ideas. “It would save money and probably give you more submissions than you can handle.”

  Everything Jamal learned about the music industry came from the men in this room. He’d turned his millions over several times. They held investments in several industries, but the thought of launching a label hosted contest would increase the public appeal for RSE.

  “I like the sound of that.” Cameron leaned back. “Let me think about it. Jamal, can you work up some numbers for me?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Last order of business I need someone to swing over to New Orleans and meet with Carmela Franklin.” Cameron tossed the file on the table.

  “Why her?” Bruce asked, flipping through the file then passing it down the table.

  “She is a hip hop artist that managed to fan-fund over half a million dollars to produce an independent album.”

  “Half a million? Why would she want to sign with us if she has the money and the fan base?” Jamal asked reaching for the folder.

  “That is for her to explain because she reached out to us after hearing about us signing Sydney. Do we need to draw straws gentlemen?”

  Jamal opened the folder, examining the picture on top. She wasn’t what he expected. Her black crop top revealed a chiseled six-pack. The picture had her posing in front of a colorful graffiti wall. But Jamal's eyes went straight to hers.

  “I’ll go.” Jamal’s quick response caused all eyes to turn his direction. “I need to get out of Houston. The water is contaminated with marriage bacteria.” He chuckled, but the woman staring at him made his joke not so funny.

  “Midas it is. Keep the folder. Gentlemen, our king, and queen have been installed. It’s time to kick this baby into overdrive. It’s time to strike while we have a heavy buzz about RSE.” Cameron made eye contact with each man at the table. “It’s almost a new year, so be prepared to hit the ground running. The goal is to double our roster. I’m off to honeymoon with my bride. Make sure the building is in one piece when I return.”

  They laughed and hugged, bidding Cameron farewell.

  The conference room cleared as the men parted ways, Jamal remained. He opened the folder again lifting the picture intrigued by his response to her. Carmela’s long locs cascaded over her shoulder, her eyes peering straight at him. The chaotic wall paled in comparison to the strong posture of her stance.

  Jamal had no desire to boo up any woman. He had no time for it. But a sample of Carmela had a nice ring to it.

  A little gumbo and étouffée wi
th a side of Carmela held an enticing appeal. Jamal snatched up the folder, New Orleans here I come.

  * * *

  The hurricanes gathering in the gulf rivaled the energy pulsing through his body. Jamal sat in his office contemplating what…no who…was the source of his peculiar state. She had a name, Carmela Franklin, and for an unknown reason, not even the threat of a hurricane would stop him from journeying to New Orleans, LA.

  Jamal accepted the assignment. Signing an artist with an existing fan base was always appealing. Having fans meant less marketing. Less marketing meant less money spent on building their name, and more money spent on building a brand. And the return on their investment was always better.

  He figured this basic fact-finding mission would take a few days. He’d meet with Carmela then he’d head over to Atlanta. But first Jamal work up the numbers he got from the team last week.

  Numbers never failed him. Numbers were consistent and dependable as the passage of time. And his love of numbers and money had built a bridge from his old life to this.

  Jamal was the money man at RSE. No deal was inked without his approval. Not a single investment, artist, or album and with their mutual trust and respect the six partners of RSE were quickly amassing an empire.

  “Midas.”

  Jamal glanced up to find Damian Hughes in the doorway. He stood, closing the space between them as they embraced.

  “I thought you were gone.” Jamal walked back to his desk, Damian followed. He unbuttoned his jacket, lowering back into the plush chair.

  “I’m waiting on Imani, she’s meeting with Marques and Brione about the benefit concert. These are for you.” Damian dropped a stack of documents on the desk.

  Jamal gathered the crisp pages, scanning the revised figures, pleased to see Brione managed to shave fifty thousand dollars from her original estimate. “I think Brione is gunning for my seat. She runs a tighter ship than me.”

  Damian laughed, sitting back, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Believe me, your throne is secure, no one wants the headache of staring at numbers all day. But you.”