Sweet Nothing | Aaliyah x J. Cole

4

Jay is starting to hate being called DJ Ya, or Ya, by everyone. When he was just Jay, life was quiet, less busy, full of familiar faces.

He's sitting in the studio as a brief mix of new hits stream on the air, listening as his manager, Ex, and producer, Raine, discuss the promotional event he's set to attend. It's an all white party at a new club, who're supposed to be featuring Munni Long, hosted by Blac Chyna.

Liyah was his plus one, for the first time ever. He gazes off for a minute, wondering if she even still wants to join. She still hasn't responded to his text, and the function is Friday, in two days.

"Ya?" A hand waves in his face. It's Ex, who crosses his arms and glances over at Raine in mischief.

"Did you hear us? Hollywood Unlocked and Essence will be in attendance. And they'll want to talk."

He spins in the swivel chair, turning his back to them. They scoff. He waves, "Yeah, okay."

Hollywood Unlocked has shared one too many untrue reports about his wild nights at select celebrity parties. And he's never been right with editors at Essence magazine since he'd had a small feature interview with them, and they chopped up some of his words to make him seem like some playboy street nigga just because he used the word "hustle" when referring to his jobs in adolescence. Ma was not happy when she'd read her son confessing to what sounded like drug dealing.

It had caused quite a stir in his personal life: former mentors from his Howard days reached out in disappointment; friends questioned his past; industry giants accused him of promoting garbage like all the other BS grifters; and worst of all, people took to the blogs to "expose" him for being just another fraud hiphop personality who lied about being a gutter child while simultaneously being college educated.

He isn't one of those dudes and still hasn't recovered from that chaos, though it's been a year.

"Look, you gotta get over this shit, man," Ex steps up to the table covered by the mic on a stand, his iPad and computer, and various fidget gadgets.

Jay looks up at him then puts on the headphones. Ex shakes his head then walks out.

Raine sits on the table and pushes one of the speakers off of his ear.

"You need the press," she says. Then she opens her arms, and gestures, like it is what it is.

"The station needs the press," he counters, making her look up at the ceiling in amazement.

"If the station doesn't eat, you don't have a job. You get that right? You're already refusing to do content outside of what's on the air, and you don't read the scripts the way they're written. This one thing could be huge."

"You know they still haven't apologized?" Jay leans back in the chair, but then a technician pops into the room to say 'Thirty seconds'. Jay sits forward, awakens the computer, and prepares for the next items on the program.

"And maybe they won't. Stop taking this shit personal."

"It interferes with my personal life."

Raine can't deny it. So she's silent for a moment, then stands up to leave before he's on air again. Right before she turns to walk out of the studio, she says, "All publicity is good publicity in this game."

He lets it go through one ear and out of the other as he waits on his cue from technicians opposite the glass wall. The countdown begins and he strokes his beard as if it'll smoothen all the wrinkles in his once ideal life.

—

Liyah eats a strong medicated gummy once the morning's cannabis oil finally wears off, which doesn't seem to take long. Or maybe it's her nerves.

On the cold floor, she's surrounded by a few rows of opened boxes on one side, a pile of empty branded boxes on the other, with tape, scissors, and shipping labels and invoices between her legs. She's been at it all day, but the stack of invoices doesn't seem to be getting any smaller.

She's grateful her wig inventory is going quick, especially since they're her personal favorite looks. But had she known packing, shipping, customer service and marketing would be this tedious, she'd certainly have hired help sooner.

But she wonders if she can even afford to pay somebody what they're worth to do all this. When she'd started the wig business, the idea was to work less. Now it's all she does.

And since she'd taken a few days off to come to grips with her situationship with Jay, orders are backed up. There's just no more time for a nigga when he's interfering with her bread and not contributing to it.

And speaking of bread, she laughs to herself every time she thinks about his lame excuse to text her right after he left this morning. In the last year, thought his countless times spending the night, he hasn't ever— not even once— forgotten anything at her crib. She knew his wallet wasn't there before she even checked.

What was that about?

Is he feeling this heat?

If she's being honest, it was kind of cute. Things were awkward when he left. Maybe he wanted to make sure they were good. But they weren't.

And if he isn't feeling the heat now, he will on Friday at the new club. She was supposed to be attending with him, but plans are changing. She's gonna get dressed, show up, and dance on somebody's son just to remind him.

He's not the center of her life.