I woke up to hearing music being played in the rooms surrounding me.
I looked around the white room to only to realize that it wasn't a dream, and I was still back in October of 1995 and not in the shower of my apartment in 2020.
"That shit is hot man!"
The mans echoing voice brought me back to reality. The mans voice echoed.
Go check it out! See who that is. It could be Tupac!
I dismissed Lucy's claims of my favorite artist being in the parlor playing music with the owner of this house.
"No, I just want to stay in here." Plus all I had on was the shirt that Dre left me.
Go look.
"You sound like my mom when I talked in church."
Now! Sabriné.
I grudgingly got up out of the bed and tip toed to the door, scared of seeing someone I'm not meant to see and being seen.
I walked towards the railing, overlooking the whole parlor and the people in it. There was about three or four people that were unfamiliar faces. But they were familiar. They were all the faces on the covers of albums my mom used to play growing up.
"Lucy, is that Warren G?"
(Speaking of, how come nobody told he was Dre's stepbrother)
I whispered to the nonexistent soul beside me.
Yea and Nate Dogg. Rip him.
And they were all walking off towards a room downstairs.
Follow them.
"No, that's weird."
Go! You're already here. Being in 1995 is weird.
Listening to her, I creeped down the stairs and retreated towards where I heard their voices talking loudly.
I heard a beat that would soon gove the man I ran into yesterday, another Grammy nomination.
"California Love," I whispered and spoke to Lucy, who would only grin in response.
"You like it?"
I looked up in fright of having been caught. The men all turned to look at me standing in the doorway of the at-home built in studio.
"Yeah, a lot."
"Who this?" A man I later recognized as the man who brought Dre Snoop Dogg asked.
"My new friend." Dre smirked at his stepbrother.
What's that supposed to mean?
"I'm Sabriné," Lucy possessed me to say. I would've preferred to stay silent, staring at the legends. "And I think you should add Tupac to that record."
The guys all stared at me in silence.
Dre chuckled and shook his head.
"You need anything? Or you just here to critique my music?"
Lucy took it one step forward.
"I think you should let me hop on a track."
Which led to even more chuckles.
"You got rhymes?"
"No, I sing. Can you play something dark for me?"
Lucy, I can't sing!
Well, I'm sure all the artists in the future wouldn't mind you borrowing their singles.
What the actual fuck.
"Well if you wanna get in there, give it a try."
Lucy forced my legs into the booth, and in there rose my arms to put the headphones over my head.
And an unfamiliar beat started playing.
Think about how to word the right song to this! Don't you dare freestyle either.
"Well actually, can I just do it without a beat? This doesn't necessarily go with it."
Dre stopped the melody and motioned for me to go. I exited out of the booth and instead just stood in front of them.
The next thing I know, I started dabbling out words.
Is it hot in here or is it just me?
I'm so high in here, been smokin' on this weed
Told 'em, "Go on, take a shot on three"
Told 'em, "Drinks is on me"
Yeah, the drinks are on me
I said now go and take a shot on me
Only drug a bitch is on is the tree
But I lasted ten rounds like a freak
Like a G
Jhené won't mind.
"Not bad," I heard Warren mutter to Dre.
"Yeah, i think I have soemthing for you."
...
And just like, Lucy forced me to agree to a deal with Death Row Records.
