22 year old Sydney James is an intern of the arts and repertoire department at Uptown Records. The record company is home to artists such as Al B. Sure!, Heavy D, Mary J. Blige, Father MC, and newly, Jodeci.
Happily engaged and dream job, Syd has th...
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"Won't waste your time, I won't waste your time Don't play with my mind, don't play with my mind Won't waste your time, I won't waste your time Don't play with my mind, don't play with my mind." K-Ci sung into the mic more than once.
"That's good, you comin' in a little flat at the end though, try to make it strong." I instructed him.
"De man, I'm tired. It's like three am." he complained.
"You tired? Oh alright then, let's wrap this shit up." I angrily replied. Niggas always wanna waste my time. K-Ci walked out of the booth, huffing and puffing expletives under his breath.
"You wanna speak up Cedric?" I asked him.
"Nah man. Yo, do yo thing." he pointed to me before plopping down on the small couch behind me. I worked my magic on the soundboard, mixin' all the right sounds together. That's another song completed for the new album. Summer's right around the corner, and with hella recording, mixing, and finalizing, we're pushin' for December for the release.
"Y'all can go." I sighed, dismissin' my group members. Them being here and not doing much of anything already fueled the fire that was burning deep into the back of my mind.
"You sure?" JoJo asked.
"Yeah nigga, bounce!" I threw my thumb behind my shoulder, pointing to the door.
The trio said not another word before leaving the studio. I sighed to myself and put my head in my hands. Why was I such a fuck up?
I always rush things by movin' too fast and then it's never right afterward. I don't know why Syd and I connected so much, but we really did. I appreciated that about her, I adored that about her. I could be going through a lot and talkin' to her would just make it all go away. I didn't know what to do with myself. All this love shit was fuckin' with my work ethic, and that wasn't the way that I rolled.
Shutting all of the equipment down, I grabbed all of my belongings and proceeded to head for the exit. On the way out, I spotted a thick book sittin' on one of the tables. Part of me wanted to look in it, the other part of me decided against it. I listened to the first part of myself and opened it. I immediately skipped to the white pages, anxious to see the number and address that I had be dyin' to know about. My finger slid down every name, number, and address until I got to where I wanted to get to.
JAMES SYDNEY L BANKS MARCUS A .................. 405-8207 2096 HILTON-JACKSON STREET
Yo, should I really do this? It's three in the morning. Why not though? I'm not even on no nut shit, I just want to apologize to her. That's it. I set my stuff down and went for the studio telephone. My fingers began to tremble as I reached for it. Fuck it. I picked up the heavy phone, dialing each number with my pointer finger. Here goes nothin'.
