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thirteen

. . .

“What’s this for?” Maximus questioned as he walked side-by-side with Keon into Midtown Bistro.

“Your first business lunch. I hit up this branding assistant online. You got some traction right now, but we need big motion. Get the masses excited to see your face, hear your music. Like picking up on some online movement, I’m trying to make it as big as it can get. You been watching it?”

He shook his head. He’d been online, but the only page he’d been watching religiously was Eden’s, and since her posts were few as of late, he found himself deep-diving into old videos.

It felt stalkerish, but something had to pass the time outside of the studio sessions.

Nothing seemed to hit, no beat, no producer, and he’d been stuck in the cycle for four days, and it was aggravating the hell out of him.

“What she supposed to do for real?”

“Surround you with the who’s who. Like Anzel said,” Keon stated, as he threw his head toward the receptionist.

“So basically, we paying shorty for placement. How much?” Maximus wanted to be sure he didn’t end up like one of those rappers who came into a lot of money and was broke before their second album came out.

Money needed to be spent wisely. The car didn’t need to be the flashiest or the most expensive.

The clothes didn’t need to be designer; they just needed to fit his style. It was simple.

“Three bands for this party, and if this meeting goes well, then an invoice-based exchange.”

“Where the fuck you learn this shit from?” Maximus asked, taking in the business people on their lunch breaks and a group of hostesses chatting amongst themselves.

“The internet. Amazing what JoyTube will teach you. In no time, I’ll be a real ass manager.”

“Nigga.” Maximus chuckled. “Yo’ ass.”

One of the hostesses broke away from her gossiping to come assist the men. “Hi, lunch is by reservation only…”

Maximus knitted his unkempt brows. “What you sayin’?”

Keon nudged him slightly before throwing his head across the dining space. “We’re here to meet with Staysha.”

Maximus started walking over to the direction Keon threw his head, not wanting to have any further conversation with the profiling hostess.

He knew what he looked like, and he also knew he was never changing himself to fit into some box of acceptance.

Once he reached the table Staysha was occupying, he grumbled. “Ay, you Staysha?”

Staysha’s eyes drifted up to him, nodding, and then they drifted to Keon, and he caught a glint. He’d only mention it if it became an issue. For now, it was all business. “Yes, you must be Trae Way MB.”

“Just call me MB, I don’t want to scare all these suits in here,” he stated, darting his eyes around at the patrons, either marveling or frowning at his tattooed face, arms, and hands. “Why you choose a stuffy ass spot?”

“Because I didn’t want my future client fighting in the middle of 22 nd ,” Staysha responded back.

Keon took a seat and hadn’t moved his eyes from Staysha. “MB, this is the assistant.”

“I prefer branding specialist,” Staysha corrected.

Maximus raised a brow. “How many clients you got?”

“One,” Staysha stated. “But she has motion. She’s big.”

“How big? Can’t be too big if you’re trying to get me too.”

“Eden Sage. She’s that girl. Runways, magazines, brands, and hopefully some TV shows. I did that in four years. You can’t drive down the boulevard without seeing her face.”

Maximus knew, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Aight, so tell me, in detail, what you’re going to be able to do for me. Rap is who I am, but I’m open to expanding, showing the world I’m just not a gangsta from Trae Way.”

Staysha hummed. “Well, there is this show that needs a rapper for the final three episodes. They emailed me this morning asking if I knew anyone. If you’re up for it, I can put you on.”

Maximus looked at Keon. “What you think?”

“I think it’ll get everyone familiar with your face, your voice, your brand. I say three episodes can turn into something bigger,” Keon shared.

Maximus turned back to Staysha. “Aight, look, let's see how you put this kick back together and see what this show is hitting for, and I’ll consider bringing you on. I got to get to the studio but y’all chop up this brand shit.”

“Oh, MB, one little thing,” Staysha started up, holding her pointer and thumb half an inch apart.

“What?”

“Do something with this situation,” Staysha commented, motioning circles around her face. “The afro is cool, but maybe some braids, a line up. Facial, maybe?”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

Maximus stood up and roamed out of the restaurant in hopes of finally being played something that talked to his spirit and not the whack bullshit these producers had been trying to sell him.