Behind the velvet
rope.
Battles over money,
prestige, and power.
A woman who wants
love but must go beyond the velvet rope to get it.
When journalist Tisha
Ariel Nikkole accepts an assignment to interview, superstar artist / rapper,
Keyshawn "Shout" Lane, she's expecting the egotistical,
self-absorbing , playboy that dominates magazine covers. What she
finds...
Changes her
life.
In New York, Miami,
Los Angeles and Philadelphia, Keyshawn shows her a different side--a side
filled with compassion and round-the-way charm. But, when he confides in her
that he's fighting for his life against corruption, power struggles and deceit
against a record label executive gone mad, Tisha has to figure out what to do
next.
Will Tisha help
Shout? Will she become a target by association? Will
vindictive record executive, Jordan Ellis, destroy both of their
lives?
By the end this book,
someone is on life support. Who will it be?
Excerpt of Exclusive: A Tisha Ariel Nikkole Novel #1 by Yasmin Shiraz
All Rights Reserved...
Prologue
“How much time do we
spend in relationships with people who are nothing like
us—people who don’t
like the things that we like and aren’t interested in the stuff
we’re
interested in? Isn’t
it about time we sought out mates exactly the way that we want
them?
I want somebody made
just for me.”
—Tisha Ariel Nikkole,
excerpted from her article, “Get the Relationship You
Want”
Chapter 1
Washington,
D.C.
Magazine journalist
Tisha Ariel Nikkole busied around her apartment getting
ready
to interview Shout,
the biggest rapper in the United States.
For ten months the
five-seven, twenty-eight-year-old freelance writer had
collected
various newspaper and
magazine clippings that featured Shout and watched his
numerous
interviews and
performances on television. Less than a year ago Tisha was watching
Shout on BET and
heard him say, “I could definitely fall for a girl who’s smart,
loves
herself, and knows
how to take care of me.” Staring at the screen, Tisha thought
she
heard harps playing
in her head. Was that a personal invitation for me? Tisha
thought.
Yes. That was a
sign.
****
Tisha opened the
trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled out Shout’s biography
and
articles. She smiled
when she looked at the pictures of him. He was finer than Usher
with
a body like 50 Cent.
Butterflies danced in her stomach beneath her silver flower
belly
ring.
For years, Tisha had
all-access passes to the hottest rappers, actors, and singers
in
the country. She
always used them to interview the star, take pictures backstage and
then
go to the after
party. But now she realized that she had to use her access pass as
a
relationship pass to
Shout.
Just then, she heard
a knock on the door. She walked over to the door. Her
best
friend Charmaine
Bukola waited on the other side.
At five-five,
twenty-eight-year-old Charmaine was a successful government
lawyer.
Sporting black
dreadlocks pulled to a bun at the nape of her neck, the
heavy-set
Charmaine’s sweet
scented African musk oil permeated the air. Her dark skin
was
smooth and she wore
her dreads impeccably like she should be on a jar of beeswax.
Born
to a Nigerian father
and African-American mother, her style was unique—a
compliment
to both Africa and
Mississippi. Charmaine often wore a Dashiki dress in the morning and
ripped jeans with a
tank top in the afternoon. Her strong southern drawl often slipped
out
of a face that looked
like it should have an African tribal accent.
Tisha yanked the door
open. “Hey, Charmaine. You could have called me.” Leaving
the door open and
Charmaine standing in the doorway, Tisha walked to her bedroom
and
stared in the
closet.
Charmaine slowly
walked up behind her friend and responded, “Called you
for
what?”
“Because I’m on my
way out. I told you yesterday that I was going to the MCI
Center for the
interview. Had ya gotten here thirty minutes later, I wouldn’t have even
been here.” Tisha
walked past Charmaine and stood in the living room.
Charmaine followed
her. “Oh yeah, you did tell me about that. That’s why I’m
here.” Charmaine held
up a bag in her left hand. Tisha jumped out of the chair, ran over, and grabbed
the bag. She dug inside and
saw some blue jeans
with silver studs down the sides and a crisp white T-shirt that
read
hot chick in red
sequins. She put the shirt up to her chest then hugged Charmaine
tightly.
“Thank you, thank
you, thank you. I was getting ready to go to this interview
to
meet my
husband-to-be, and I didn’t know what I was going to wear. I was
looking
through my closet,
and I didn’t have anything to wear.”
Charmaine sat in the
recliner and said, “That’s what best friends are for.”
Charmaine
reached into her
purse and got her car keys.
“I know how much
you’re looking forward to meeting this rapper, but don’t set
yourself up for a
letdown. You may not like him at all. Or, after you meet him, you
may
find out that he’s
not even all of that.”
“Please.” Tisha put
up her hand.
“I believe in fate,
and I believe that God has a blueprint for my life. Shout is in
my
blueprint.”
“I must admit, I have
never heard you talk about any guy as much as you talk
about
Shout. And I never
heard you ever talk about a guy in the music business like this at
all.”
“C, I know you’re my
best friend and everything. I know you don’t want to see
me
hurt but it has to
work out between me and Shout. There has to be someone out there
for
me that has the same
passions that I have. Look at all the years that I’ve loved
hip-hop
music. Well, he loves
hip-hop music. He writes lyrics. I write articles. I always tell
the
truth in my writing.
He speaks the truth on wax and in his interviews. It’s a match
made
in heaven. Don’t
discourage me, just tell me that you’ll be my maid of
honor.”
Charmaine let out a
loud guffaw and dropped her keys. “That’s what I like
about
you, you’re eternally
optimistic.” She picked up her keys from the floor and
headed
toward the front
door.
Tisha and Charmaine
walked to the door and hugged. As Tisha closed the door,
she
looked up to the
ceiling. “Thank you, God.”
****
Shout sat on his
couch and let some unidentified groupie suck his dick. He
closed
his eyes and kept his
hand on the back of the girl’s head. He felt weave, tracks and
glue
but he didn’t care.
If the groupie wasn’t good for anything else, she was good for a
nut,
maybe two. Images
passed through his mind. He saw himself winning a Grammy,
an
MTV Video Award, and
an ASCAP writer of the year award. He looked down at the
groupie. I hope she
doesn’t choke, he thought. But then again, as long as she doesn’t
bite
me, I don’t give a
fuck. As Shout was getting closer to coming, his mind went blank.
He
shot off in the
girl’s mouth. She swallowed. That was alright. It wasn’t the best, but
I
ain’t backed up
either. Shout thought and smiled.
Shout didn’t have
much to smile about last week when he stood in front of a
judge
in Fulton County as a
result of a paternity suit. His body was damp all over. A
stripper
that he had sex with
was accusing him of fathering her child. As the judge prepared
to
read the paternity
results, Shout felt faint.
“Miss Julia Gaines,
Keyshawn Lane is not the father of your child. The test
are
99.9% accurate.” The
judge stated in his Georgian southern drawl.
“He has to be. He has
to be,” the stripper yelled. Shout took a bandana out of his suit pocket and
wiped his forehead.
“Jesus walks,” Shout
mumbled to himself.
As the stripper’s
lawyers tried to calm her down, she kept yelling.
“He has to be the
father. I poked holes in the condom. It has to be his
baby.”
Shout looked at her.
“You bitch,” he yelled. And at that moment, Shout realized
that
it was truly a
miracle for that child not to be his.
****
Tisha
pulled her new T-shirt over her head and slipped into the skin-tight
studded
jeans. Tisha’s
shoulder length reddish brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
The
tight fitting tee
revealed her defined abs and toned arms. Tisha’s skin was a warm brown
tone. From the corner
of her bedroom, she grabbed her black leather backpack
and
checked to see if her
handheld tape recorder and notepad were inside. She sat on the
edge
of her full-sized bed
and put on her favorite Nike sweat socks. The thick cushioning
in
the heel and toe of
the sock made her feel as if she was walking on air. Reaching down
to
put on her Air Force
Ones, she paused and decided to kneel and pray.
“God, thank You for
this opportunity to meet my husband. Thank You for
bringing
Charmaine over here
today. You let her know what was on my mind. You made it
happen, God. In
today’s world, people might think that me going after a certain
person
for a mate is crazy.
But, You don’t think so, do You, God? I want someone with whom
I
can be compatible. God,
Shout’s going to be compatible with me. I believe that.
Well,
anyway, God, protect
me although I don’t think Shout is a psycho. But, God, as hard
as
I’ve worked, I
deserve a little loving and a companion also. Eve had Adam. Can I
have
Shout?
Amen.”
Tisha grabbed her
backpack and headed to the door.
****
The air felt moist
and warm as Tisha got on the U Street Cardozo Metro train
and
settled into one of
the bright orange seats with yellowish tan trim. It had to be one of
the
hottest days of the summer.
Near the subway’s door were plenty of posters about safe
sex, HIV testing, and
infections. Tisha sat and mentally reviewed Shout’s
background.
Shout was the hottest
and most profitable rapper signed to World Music Records,
having received a
half-million-dollar signing bonus after the A&R executive heard
his
five-song demo tape
three years ago. Shout had fan clubs spread throughout the
United
States and worldwide.
In fact, his fan clubs hung out in front of his hotel in every
city
where he performed.
Girls and women from sixteen to sixty threw panties and bras
on
stage at his
concerts. There had been several lawsuits where women alleged that he
was
the father of their
children, although it was later proven that he hadn’t slept with
those
women, one of whom
told newspapers and magazines, “It was immaculate conception.”
Shout held the
Guinness Book of World Records and Billboard magazine’s top spot
for
selling the most albums
in one week by a rapper. Two years earlier he had built
Shout
and Sound, a
Philadelphia studio where he could work on his music any time, but
the
traffic in front was
so crazy that he could hardly get into the studio without a police
escort.
The train stopped and
several young women got on the train talking loudly about
Shout.
“Shout is so fine.
Oooh, when I get backstage it’s over.”
“Girl, you gon’ have
to wait in line after me.”
“Oh, that’s alright,
as long as I get mine.”
The girls giggled
loudly.
Tisha noticed one
woman was wearing a lime-green bikini with a tube top on her
bottom disguised as a
skirt. Every time the girl moved, her butt cheeks were
exposed.
Disgusted with the
girl’s appearance, Tisha rolled her eyes and mumbled under
her
breath,
“Groupies.”
Just then, another
heavy-set girl who looked to be about eighteen got on the
train
with two friends. Her
bra size exceeded a 38DD, but she was wearing a white tank
top
with no bra,
super-short cut-off jean shorts, and platform heels, and she had a
plant
sprayer bottle
attached to her belt. Tisha regretfully listened as the girl and her
friends
discussed the
concert. Every time the train moved, the girl’s breasts moved up and
down.
“Girl, we’re going to
be in the front row tonight. It’s going to be so live.”
“I know, I know. I’m
going to get with Shout tonight. After he sees these big
titties,
it’s over. You know
every man wants a girl with big titties.”
The girl’s
small-chested friend replied, “Lawanda, we know you think so.” All
three
of the girls
laughed.
The other friend
said, “I don’t know if you forgot to water the plants or
something,
but your mom’s plant
sprayer is on the side of your shorts.” The girl laughed.
Lawanda replied, “No
shit. If Shout seeing my breasts without a bra ain’t enough to
get
him, I’m going to
have my own wet T-shirt contest. I’ll be watering my chest like a
bed
of roses. ” All three
girls started laughing again. Just then the train doors opened and
Tisha stepped
off.
“I won’t
complain
About my lot in
life
Thanks to this rap
game
I got a lot in
life
It ain’t been
easy
Hard
times
And I’ve paid the
price
But wit’ my
winnin’s
I’ma keep on gamblin’
right
Rappin’s a lot
easier
Than a hustla’s
life”
—Shout from his
single “Rap Life”
Yasmin Shiraz is the
author of The Blueprint for My Girls as well as The Blueprint for My Girls in
Love. She is an empowerment speaker and program developer who has delivered
programs and keynotes based on her books.
She is the author of
the ALA's Top Ten Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers selection, Retaliation. She
has spoken at over 100 colleges nationwide on topics such as empowerment, black
history and hip hop culture.
She is an award
winning film director as her film, Can She Be Saved? won 4 film awards
including Best New film.
When not writing
books, she produces documentaries for her company, Still Eye Rise
Films.
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