CHAPTER TWELVE
Tipping the Scales…
Tapestry looked at Cain and burst out laughing. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what was so damn funny. Regardless, he couldn’t help but admire how good she looked. The woman was dressed in a teal cardigan with matching flared pants and a yellow top. Black heels and purse, as well as a white floral necklace to match the white rose in her hair completed the outfit.
Today had been a damn good day. She’d even sung for the three men, one of his own songs he’d written, and they looked truly amazed. She’d made a mixed tape, too. Now that that was over, they were exiting the building and going towards his parked vehicle out on the street. Their meeting with Nola Notes Studio had gone well, and as usual, Tapestry was charming and engaging, able to make the most serious of men smile.
Spinely seemed to be particularly impressed with her. Cain was also happy that the necessary revisions were made to his contract, per his attorney’s suggestions. Things were moving forward, and his parents and siblings were supportive as ever and happy as hogs in mud for him. Silence stretched between them as they made their way closer to his parked truck, and then Tapestry’s silly ass erupted in laughter again.
“What?!” He stopped, threw up his hands, and rested his fist on his hip. The woman now had tears in her eyes, she was laughing so damn hard.
“There was… there was…” She raised her hand in the air and shook her head as if she’d caught the Holy Ghost.
“What the hell is goin’ on here? If you don’t come on!” He was laughing now, too.
“I can’t believe you ain’t see it! There was… bird… There was bird shit on his jacket! You really didn’t see it?!”
She could barely speak as she fell apart right before his eyes. He laughed even harder now.
“Who? Steven Alexander?”
“Yes!” She got to going again, laughing so hard she had to hold her belly. The silly woman went to lean against the wall of the closest building for support.
…Serves him right. Sneaky son of uh bitch…
“Isn’t that supposed to be a sign of good luck?”
“I think so… I think it’s a Turkish superstition. Anyway… it was right on his shoulder.” Cain kept his thoughts about the man to himself, but the fucker rubbed him the wrong way, all day, every day. He’d tried to nickel and dime him a few more times, and had attempted to get another song for half the cost of the first.
My name ain’t Bargain Basement Willy! What the fuck does he think this is?!
It went on and on with this fool, and he couldn’t stomach him. If it weren’t for Spinely, he wouldn’t have cut the deal at all. He wasn’t buying his over the top cowboy Texan persona, all of his jewels, slick talk to match his slick head and his ridiculous sales pitch, either. He also didn’t appreciate the way the son of a bitch kept glaring at his lady’s breasts during their conference. He knew Texans loved big things, but Tapestry’s tits weren’t on the menu.
Cain opened the passenger side door to his black F-150 and helped her inside. The woman strapped herself in and finally stopped laughing, though he could see it was a struggle.
Minutes later, they were on the road, listening to Eric Clapton’s, “It Hurts Me Too.”
“You hungry, baby?” he asked as he noted it was nearing noon.
“Yeah…”
He headed towards the Toups Meatery, one of his favorite places to stuff his face.
“Where you goin’?”
“Toups…”
“Oh? I ain’t been there in forever.” She slid her finger in her mouth and eyed him like he was candy. “I want some meat right now…”
In a flash, the woman was tugging at his pants. The clinking sounds of her manhandling his belt buckle made his pulse race. Before he knew it, her head was in his lap and the wet warmth of her mouth cocooned his growing dick, sending him into a euphoric tailspin. He could barely breathe and keep steady; his fingers slipped a couple of times off the steering wheel as she swallowed his cock, massaged his balls, licked under the length and tasted his precum.
She pulled away for a spell to look into his eyes and his essence dripped from her lower lip before she swallowed him again, hungrily sucking like it was the tastiest thing she’d ever encountered. He groaned and thrust inside her mouth, his vision blurry as he changed lanes.
“Shit, Songbird! Mmmm! You keep suckin’ my dick like dat, lickin’ it like a neckbone, and I’m ’bout tuh… I’m ’bout to explode in ya fuckin’ mouth, baby!”
His back pressed hard against the seat as he squirmed, praying to God he didn’t wreck his ride. He loved that truck and had put a lot of money into it to trick it out, including brand new speakers. But the only thing speaking to him at that moment was the climax he was about to have… Damn, did Tapestry know her way around a dick! She’d made him cum that way more times than he could count, and that was a big feat since oftentimes receiving head wasn’t enough to make him orgasm. She kept on going and with his one free hand, he cradled the crown of her head, pushing her down until she gagged. He fucked her mouth harder and faster, the traffic around him a blur. He was so damn grateful that his windows were tinted.
“Dis big dick is mine, baby… I wanna taste you.” Loud, slurping noises echoed, blending in with Etta James crooning, “I’d Rather Be Blind.”
“You wanna taste this cum, baby? Mmmmm! An appetizer before we eat, huh? Fuck!”
He grabbed her hair in his fist and jammed his cock deep down her throat. The woman gripped his thigh, her nails digging into the fabric of his khaki pants straight through to the skin. And she stayed put, her mouth wide open to receive his exploding, hot load. Her eyes watered and tears flowed from the impact as he pumped fast in her mouth, milking the last of himself.
After a few moments, she gently released him, put his dick back in his pants, and buckled his belt. Soon, he heard the click of her seatbelt, and then she sat there, all prim and proper, dabbing at the corners of her mouth and reapplying her lipstick.
When they arrived at the restaurant, he took her hand and she stepped out like a princess—in his mind, she truly was. As they approached the entrance, he wrapped his arm around her and whispered, “As soon as we leave from here, I’m takin’ you back to my place and eatin’ the hell outta your pussy… gotta get my tongue on some real food… Then I’m gonna fuck every hole in yo’ sexy ass body. Bon appetit… let’s eat…”
…Three weeks later
It was a strange feeling…
Cain stood inside Nola Notes Studio, in a room he’d never been in before. He’d just finished recording his first song, “Superstitions of a Supernova.” After only a few repeats, they said they had what they needed. Spinely wasn’t around, but the short guy, George, and Steven Alexander were in attendance. After he’d finished in the studio, he was excused while they wrapped things up. They told him to sit tight and wait around.
This place is somethin’ else…
This particular room had beautiful large stained glass windows that reminded him of the old Catholic church he used to pass by as a little boy with his brothers and sister on the way to school. He was only the second eldest, but was often mistaken for the eldest due to him being so tall for his age. He stared at one of the Nola Notes Studio windows real hard. It depicted a dove carrying a branch.
A memory rose to the forefront. He recalled carting a paper bag Mama had given him one day, full of fresh tomatoes to give to his third-grade teacher, Mrs. Chouteau. She’d been one of the few people of color around his neighborhood. Maybe that was why he’d had a crush on her…
Mrs. Chouteau was fine!
He smiled big at the memory of the lady… After he’d left elementary school, he’d never seen her again. He wondered what she was up to. Was she still alive? He glanced down at his watch, still waiting for Spinely and Alexander.
I wonder what’s takin’ so long?
They had seemed awestruck with his work that day. He looked down at his guitar propped up against the wall, then back at the lovely stained glass windows…
That old church he used to pass popped right back in his mind again. One time, something mighty strange had happened. Back when he was in the third grade, still ogling Mrs. Chouteau, an old White man with missing teeth and pants slouched around his waist was leaning up against it. He was homeless and half out of his mind. Cain had seen him a time or two before, askin’ folks for money. One morning, that old man gave him what for! He gave chase to him and his siblings, screaming his head off, telling Cain he had the ‘evil eye.’ He, Kenneth, Victor, and Abby took off like streaks of lightning, screaming their heads off. It was a strange thing how fast that man could move. They were out of breath and laughing hard by the time the old man finally threw in the towel, but Abby wasn’t as thrilled as the boys—she was frightened beyond belief.
That memory was one of thousands he cherished… little sprinkles of joy in his life. Soon, he heard the click of shoes against the floor, and the door open. He met eyes with Alexander.
“Heey! Why aren’t you relaxin’ after a job well done? Take a load off. Have a seat, Cain.”
Cain hesitated for a bit, then did as asked. He walked over to the small table covered in a white cloth and sat down.
“Want some water? Coffee?”
“Naw, I’m good.”
Cain leaned forward and clasped his hands. The big man sat across from him, a laptop and briefcase in hand. He set the items down.
“All right, I said for you to come on in here and wait because we wanted to wrap everything up but also to talk to you about somethin’ that’s come up.”
“And what’s that?”
“We, uh… we need to talk about Tapestry.”
“You ready to sign her?” Cain tried to be optimistic, but he didn’t like how the man was looking at him, and his body language was odd, too.
“Well, we’re in a bit of pickle. It’s a little dicey.”
“Make relish then.”
The man chuckled, but it was obvious he was now uneasy. Alexander’s face was turning red like those tomatoes in the paper bag being taken to Mrs. Chouteau.
“You see, she uh… she’s got a beeeeautiful voice! We like it a lot… and she uh, she’s a real nice lady, lovely too… but hmmm, how should I put this?”
“Look, just say what you need to say, please.”
The man looked at him for a spell while rubbing on his chin, then nodded.
“Cain, she doesn’t fit the image we’re lookin’ for.”
Cain looked at him long and hard, gritting his teeth and fisting his hands.
“What do you mean she doesn’t fit the image that you’re lookin’ for?”
“In today’s world, Cain, you have to be the complete package! I wish it weren’t that way because women and men like Tapestry could get the break they deserved—but they’re money suckers… people don’t buy their music ’cause of how they look. See… you’ve got it all.” The man threw up his hands. “You can definitely sing, you can perform well in front of crowds, you know how to work a room, you’re tall, you’ve got that whole rocker look down pat with the long hair, tattoos, and brooding eyes. The ladies love you, too…”
The man smiled at him as if that last line would make all of this okay… make it all right.
“What kinda horse shit are you sittin’ here talkin’ about?! You mean tuh tell me that you—”
“Now hold on, Cain!” The man pointed his finger at him. “To be honest, you’ve been a problem since you first stepped your foot in here! We’ve bent over backwards for you, and we’re not going to be bullied into doing somethin’ that will hurt our bottom line. I know you take this personally. She’s your friend, but—”
“She’s my girlfriend! That’s my woman! She’s got more talent than most of these crooners out here, and you want to sit there and tell me she’s too big? Have you lost your country-fried mind?!”
“I get it, Cain… all right? I understand.” The man put up his hands in surrender. “I’m not sayin’ she’s not attractive. She’s obviously a very pretty woman… hell, if I were single I’d date ’er but her face being lovely isn’t enough… What about her body? She’s just not what people go for nowadays, Cain. The days of the Etta James types, Billie Holiday, Aretha Franklin, and the like are over!”
“What about Jill Scott?! What about Adele?! How about Candy Kane, Megan Trainor, Emeli Sandé and Jennifer Hudson? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. My baby is built just like Jill Scott, and Jill Scott is sexy as fuck. Fuck what ya heard! I mean, they could almost pass for sisters! And my baby has the chops of all of ’em I mentioned and then some! I doubt the producers of Kelly Clarkson feel like she’s a lost cause! She ain’t a size 2, either. Sittin’ here talkin’ about they’re out of style…” He clicked his tongue at the man, trying to not lose his composure even worse than he had. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!”
“It’s a no go for Tapestry. Sorry.” The bastard threw him a cool look, a ‘fuck you’ written clearly across his expression. “We can talk again in a year or so and reconsider if she’s lost significant weight. Maybe she should look into surgery or one of those boot camps for weight loss. I think that’s an option so she can at least be considered.”
“Consider this!” Cain flipped him off as he leapt from his chair. Bird shit was definitely not good luck. “I wanna talk to Spinely. NOW!”
“He’s not here. He’s in Tennessee on business,” the big bastard stated calmly.
“And you’ve got some fuckin’ nerve. You’re pushin’ 400 lbs., easily!” Cain stormed over to his guitar case and snatched it off the floor.
“I’m also 6’3 and a man… and not trying to get a record deal,” the man stated dismissively.
“Fuck you. I ain’t comin’ back up in here until I talk to him. Don’t you call me about that song, about shit else in the studio. Don’t you say another goddamn thang to me.” Cain stormed off. “I’ll talk to Spinely myself… you son of a bitch! I knew you wasn’t shit the moment I laid eyes on your troll lookin’ ass! Go crawl back under your bridge and shove that pinky ring up yer ass!”
“You’re under contract, Cain.” The man burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t do anything stupid, if I were you. It’s not our fault. It’s the way of the world, Cain! Deal with it!”
“I’mma deal with it all right.” Cain turned in his direction before busting out of this place, his finger pointed squarely at him. “And you’ve fucked over the wrong man… believe it. If it wasn’t for her, Spinely may have dragged his feet on me for a while longer. Tapestry is the one that got me where I am right now! How fuckin’ dare you!”
“Cain, you need to calm down before you say something you regret. Now, I’m warnin’ you, boy.”
“I ain’t cha boy!” Cain gritted his teeth. “And I don’t regret shit I’ve said to you, not one mothafuckin’ syllable.”
“She’s fat.”
“Just like your motherfuckin’ lip will be if you keep talkin’ slick ’bout my girl. Things in Texas might be bigger, but my ass is badder, believe that. I come from the swamps of Louisiana, you gaudy, pretend-rhinestone-cowboy son of a bitch! Folks from around these parts take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’! I’m from a long line of mothafuckas who keep on survivin’, time after mothafuckin’ time! Ain’t a bastard alive that can lick me! Not Hurricane Katrina, not depression, not a dead bitch named Frieda, and surely not the likes of you. You ’bout to remember the Alamo, motherfucker. Mark my goddamn words…”