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Queen of the City
 

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Queen of the City


  Queen of the City 1

  The Life of a Female Rapper

  Tamicka Higgins

  © 2015

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.

  This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Introduction

  I could hear the crowd chanting from inside my dressing room. I was in there, alone. It was by choice, though. It was the only way I could get in my zone before a big show, and I’ve done it countless times, but every time before I went on stage, I was still nervous. The anxiety shot through my body like heroin and for a moment, everyone quieted down. My heart beat was loud enough to break my eardrums as I sat in my chair, knowing my moment was just seconds away.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! He knocked, then opened the door and stuck his head in, “Suzie, you ready?”

  I didn’t say a word. I glanced at him and nodded my head, letting him know I was ready to go.

  “Five minutes,” he said, letting the door close behind him. I got up and followed him out. The crowd became louder with each step I took. Men and women stood around backstage with glassy-eyed looks and liquor on their breath. That was usually me, but not tonight. I owed this to Junie. I owed this to Big Mama. I owed this to everyone who believed in me when shit was fucked up. I had to give it my all.

  The DJ hyped the crowd up, “Are y’all ready?”

  The crowd yelled out, “Yeah!” in response.

  “No, no, no, I can’t fuckin’ hear y’all. That shit ain’t loud enough. I said, ARE Y’ALL READY!”

  “Hell yeah!”

  “Here is the one all y’all been waitin’ for! Suziiiiiiie Rock!”

  I stepped on the stage; the crowd went crazy. Chicks were in the front row damn near flashing me their breasts. Thirsty ass niggas were crowding the stage, reaching their arms out towards me when I stepped on. I had my head down as the chants continued, “Suzie! Suzie! Suzie!” I put my hand up to silence them. The DJ stopped spinning the record and for a moment, one surreal moment, the whole auditorium was bone silent. I lifted my head up, looking slowly from left to right. I held the microphone to my mouth and started rapping as the crowd went into another frenzy. This was my life, and I enjoyed every bit of it.

  For me, it all started when I was back in high school. I came to the lunch table that Junie was sitting at with the rest of his home boys. He leaned over to kiss me as he made a beat with his hands on the table. The niggas around him all took turns spittin’ lines to the beat. I sat there eating a bag of chips, just listening to them spit their shit. All of a sudden, it came around to me. Every muthafucka at the table was looking at me expecting to spit something.

  “Y’all, get the fuck outta here with that shit. Y'all know I ain’t wit’ it.”

  “Come on, Lyric! I mean, god-damn, yo’ fuckin’ name is Lyric! You can spit somethin'.”

  I looked at Junie as he smiled at me, the beat he made on the table was still going. I put my bag of chips down, and their eyes widened out of shock, still not believing I was about to spit something.

  “Suzy bedrock the mic/flow dirty like flintstone toes/dope lines out my mouth niggas get high when they hear me like they blowin’ dro/muthafuckas hear me rap, and they swear I ain’t write my shit/so I commit suicide and tell them I’m the ghostwriter.”

  The looks on their faces were priceless. I picked up my bag of chips and started eating them again as Junie stopped making the beat and everyone at the table dropped their jaws.

  “What?” I said, looking back at them as I crunched on my chips.

  “Fuck! What the fuck?! Where you get that shit from!?”

  I laughed, “I got it from my head, dumbass. See, this is exactly why I don’t like rhyming and shit because you muthafuckas don’t like to let bitches get credit for shit!”

  “Calm down, Lyric,” Anthony said, “We... or I, I don’t know about these other niggas, but I didn’t know you had that in you.”

  “I didn’t know you had it in you either,” Junie spoke up, “and you’re supposed to be my fuckin’ girl and shit.”

  From that point on, niggas didn’t call me Lyric no more. They called me Suzie. Suzie Rock. That’s what the streets knew me by, and that’s what I accepted. Suzie Rock. Suzie Muthafuckin’ Rock.

  Chapter 1

  He sat outside in his Black Tahoe in front of my house waiting for me to get ready. He had to be out there a good thirty minutes before I finally stepped out the house, but what the fuck did he expect? Shit. I had to make sure I looked my best. I never thought I was the one to have a boyfriend. Not saying I was into hoes or whatever, it’s just that people told me I was too hard to have a nigga. Too much of a thug, but Junie didn’t care. He said I was like his best friend. We did all kinds of shit together. Played video games, hooped, went to the club together. Let him tell it; I was the perfect girlfriend, and honestly, I didn’t start dressing real feminine until he came around. I was known to wear sweats and fitted hats everywhere I went. It was just who I was, but Junie helped me see how beautiful I really was on the outside. My friend Shaunie was shocked as shit when I came to her, asking her to show me how to put on make-up and walk in heels when I was 17. The sex appeal actually helped my rap career so I used it more and more to my advantage even though, at heart, I was just a tomboy. Not when I was with Junie though. When I was with Junie, I felt like a woman.

  I finally walked outside and got in the passenger’s seat. A look of annoyance was plastered across his face as I snapped my seatbelt on.

  “What?”

  “What you mean, what? I have been sittin’ out here for damn near an hour for your ass to come out.”

  “Junie, don’t play with me. You already know how I do when I’m gettin’ ready, I don’t understand why you are actin’ brand new and shit.”

  “Fuck. Yo’ ass should just start gettin’ ready a day ahead of time and shit.”

  “Nigga. Just shut up and drive before I walk my ass back in the house.”

  “Aight, aight,” he grabbed my leg and leaned in for a kiss.

  “Ok. Now that’s better. Let’s go. Fuckin’ with you, we already late.”

  He looked at me, “Really Lyric?”

  “It was just a joke, quit bein sensitive! Let’s go!”

  He pulled out the parking spot, and we were gone. Junie and I have been together since our junior year in High School. He asked me to go to prom that year, and five years later, here we are. He was a pretty successful producer, mostly doing local shit, but he was well known around here. And me? I was one of his artists. We formed a pretty decent team, doing shows locally and out of state every now and then. We had a
lot of supporters but with that, there were always a few people that didn’t like what we were doing for various reasons. Maybe we were getting too much shine or bitches just jealous because I’m with the nigga they want, or they’re on some petty shit like that. It is what it is, though, shit; we were still going strong. I wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he. He glanced down at his phone while he was driving.

  “Fuck!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He was silent for a minute.

  “Yo, let me drop you back off at the crib for a minute.”

  “What?”

  “Baby, please. I just gotta handle some business.”

  “The fuck, Junie? Yo’ ass was just talkin’ about bein late, and shit and you wanna turn around and go back?”

  “Please, just let me do this.”

  “Fuck that, take me with you.”

  He glanced at me for a moment as if he was thinking about his next move.

  “Aight, Lyric. Just… just fuckin’ stay in the ride, though, aight?”

  “Aight.”

  We drove about twenty minutes to the east side of town in a beat-up ass neighborhood right in the gutter. Going from hood to hood was nothing for us, but there was always an uneasy feeling when you’re in a hood you don't know anything about.

  “Yo, just sit here, aight.”

  “Junie, I’m not your fuckin’ little kid. I’m good. Go handle yo’ business and hurry up.”

  He shook his head and got out the truck, being sure to lock the door behind him. I watched him walk to a house across the street. Five dudes sat on the porch when he approached the house. I recognized one of them immediately. Big Tuck. He was a well-known drug dealer from the East Side, and he had his hand in about every drug deal that went on in the city. Two things he didn’t fuck around with was his drugs and his money. I know of him, but I never met him personally. All five of them looked towards the truck I was sitting in for a few moments like they were unsure about it just sitting there. I pulled my strap out of my purse and cocked it back just in case. Eventually, they looked away from me, and three of them went in the house with Junie. I sat in the car with my finger on the trigger, checking all windows continuously. The sun was slowly dipping down just beyond the horizon as the street lights began to flicker on up and down the block. I nervously looked at the time on my phone; the minutes felt like hours. I saw a man walking up to the truck as I looked out the side rearview mirror. I cracked the window and pointed the pistol in his direction as he put his hands up.

  “Hey, I wasn’t lookin’ for trouble,” he said, peering inside the window. “Hold up. You Suzie Rock, ain’t you?”

  “Yeah, who the fuck are you?”

  “My bad, G,” he said, “I was just letting you know yo’ boy will be out in a minute, you know what I’m sayin’? That’s it. I wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble.”

  His gold tooth glimmered under the streetlight as he smiled in a way that showed he didn’t believe I would pull the trigger. He must not have known what I was capable of. I rolled up the window as he walked away. Moments later, Junie nervously came out the house like he had just seen a ghost. I slid my pistol back into my purse as he got in the truck, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

  “Whassup, Junie?”

  He put the truck into drive and rolled down the street, not saying a word to me. I knew what it was about.

  “Junie, why you still fuckin’ with that shit, huh? Damn! Don’t you make enough money from this producing shit?”

  “Mind yo’ business, Lyric,” he said, not looking in my direction.

  “Fuck that. You are bein’ stupid as fuck right now.”

  “Lyric, for real. Just mind yo’ fuckin’ business. I told yo’ ass not to come anyway. It’s yo’ fuckin’ fault I almost—” He cut his words short as I sat and waited for him to continue.

  “You almost what, Junie?”

  He pressed his foot on the gas, increasing the speed of the truck. I faced forward and kept silent for the rest of the ride to the party. Junie wasn’t himself for the remainder of that night. It was almost like he was spaced out, his mind drifting off to places that nobody knew about but him. We finally arrived at the party. One of our friends was having a going away party. She was headed to the army, and this was probably the last time she was going to get to turn up for a while. She lived on the Southside, about 20 minutes from where I lived. We all went to the same high school, and it was sad that she was leaving, but then again, I was just happy she was getting out of this gutter-ass city.

  “Heeeeeeey girl,” she said as I walked into the house, “’bout fuckin’ time y’all got here. Hey, Junie.”

  He nodded his head and kept walking into the house.

  “The fuck is wrong with him?”

  I shook my head, “He on some bullshit, don’t worry about that. What’s up with you, though? You ready to leave the nest and shit?”

  “Hell yeah, girl. Mama is fuckin’ gettin’ on my last damn nerve and shit, and I’m tired of workin’ these dead end ass jobs, so fuck it. This the next best thing. Everybody can’t be a fuckin’ rap star like you and shit.”

  “Bitch, please. I ain’t no fuckin’ rap star.”

  “Not yet, you ain’t, but that shit is comin’. Niggas ain’t even flowin’ like you out here. You got this shit on lock, trust me, bitch.”

  I laughed, “Word.”

  “Well, find you a blunt and fire that shit up. I know it’s some floating around here somewhere. I’m ‘bout to get back here, so these fools don’t fuck up the kitchen.”

  Crash! Glass broke in the other room.

  “You muthafuckas!” Adrienne yelled as she sped towards the back.

  The party was packed with people we went to school with. People I haven’t seen since we walked across the stage and others I see pretty much on a daily basis. Milwaukee is a small ass city. If you go to the club three weeks in a row, you damn near will see everybody in the town at least twice.

  “Whassup with yo’ boy?” Anthony said as he walked over and stood next to me.

  “Shit, I don’t know. All I know is he left Big Tuck spot and he ain’t been himself since then.”

  “Big Tuck?”

  “Hell yeah. That’s what the fuck I said.”

  “Wait, you were with him when he went?”

  “Hell yeah. In the passenger’s seat.”

  “Damn. And you still fuckin’ living? And he still fuckin’ living?”

  “Yeah. You see we are here, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head in surprise, “that nigga is ruthless, though. He doesn't trust shit, so I’m just surprised he let that shit slide.”

  Anthony took out a blunt and fired it up. He had taken a few hits before he passed it my way.

  “Well, one nigga did try to creep up on me and shit. I got the .45 in my purse, though; you know what I’m sayin’? I had it aimed at him, and he walks up to the car like, ‘yo’, you Suzie Rock’ and shit. I’m like, ‘yeah’, then he kinda just backs away and tells me Junie would be out in a minute.”

  “Word? Damn. So you probably only made it out cuz you a semi-celebrity and shit.”

  “Maybe. But I tell you this, though; I woulda took at least one of them muthafuckas with me had it went down. Word up.”

  He laughed, shaking my hand in agreement with what I said. One thing I knew growing up in this city was that you couldn’t be seen as a punk because both niggas and bitches will try you anytime you show a sign of weakness. I kept a hard grill on me for so long that it just became my look. Niggas be thinking I’m mean and shit, but that’s just the face I have. It’s the face that I was taught to have out here. He gave me the blunt as I walked over to Junie with it. He was looking out the window, paranoid, when I walked up behind him. He flinched when I put my hand on his waist.

  “Fuck! Don’t be doin’ that shit, Lyric!” he snapped back

  I looked at him with an attitude, “The fuck wrong with you, nigga? Ever since
we left Tuck’s new spot you been actin’ like this. The fuck that nigga do to you?”

  He looked down at the blunt and took it out my hand, “Nothin’ man, nothin'.”

  “Shit. Maybe that will calm yo’ ass down a little bit.”

  We walked outside and sat on the porch while the music blasted from the inside. It was one of our tracks. I bobbed my head, spitting the lyrics out word for word as Junie inhaled the weed and blew it slowly back out into the night sky. I could tell he was beginning to relax. Whatever happened at Big Tuck’s spot shook him up pretty good. I knew he used to fuck with him a while back, but after we had started making a little money off this rap shit, I figured he would walk away from it. I mean, shit, we all hustled for a time, here and there. Even me. Big Grandmama said I got that from my mother. She raised me after my Mama died from a drug overdose when I was 13. She was a dope girl back in the day, but she ended up getting strung out on her own work. Big Ma said she named me Lyric because I was as beautiful as Tupac’s lyrics in “Dear Mama.” Big Ma could never say his name right when she told me the story.

  “Yeah, she called you Lyric because of that rapper, uh, what’s his name? Two-Shop-Occur? Two-Spot-The Curse? Whatever that ole, bald-headed boy name is, she named you after she heard one of his songs.”

  She even told me that Mama had some lyrics of her own. She was more of a poet, though, from what I read. Before she passed away, she had shoeboxes full of notebooks that she wrote all types of poems in. It was dope reading that. It was like watching my birth on notebook pages. Seeing it with my own eyes was so surreal. As far as my daddy goes, last I heard he was locked up in jail somewhere. I could only remember seeing him twice in my life. Once was when he left Mama’s house early in the morning. The other time was the day they took him away to jail. I had to be about eight years old then. If it wasn’t for Big Mama, who knows where I would’ve been right now—but here I am. Twenty-two years old and graduated from High School. Not too bad for a crack baby.

  “Don’t you hate when like… the Leprechauns and shit be talkin’ and then all of a sudden they stop? Don’t you hate that shit, Lyric?”

 
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