𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐔𝐬

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐎𝐫 𝐍𝐨 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥

January 20, '01
Twiggy's POV

January 27, 2001
Twiggy POV

I was gettin' tight, staring furiously at my slim leather Cartier watch, tryna get the time to stop. But one more minute went by and I hit Sean up, steady ready to cut up on his ass.

He answered on the first ring: "Yeah?"

"Yo, bro, where the fuck you at? We got 10 minutes to get inside before they change their fuckin' minds."

"Dude, chill out, okay? Listen, we can walk in there an hour late and they'll still give us a meeting. You've got somethin' that they've got MIT assholes tryna figure out right now."

"I know what the fuck I got. I got a meeting at 6 pm with niggas from Apple and Sony. I got a business they can choose to take a part of or sue my ass for. Don't tell me what I got. Get the fuck here, with a fuckin' contract. I'm goin' inside. When you get in, apologize for your untimeliness. And don't fuckin' smile."

I hung up on his ass, just about ready to crush my Nokia in my hands before taking a few breaths and heading inside the big old building: 11 Penn Plaza.

***

"Good evening Mr. Jackson," a skinny white guy, maybe five years older than me, stood up to greet me. "I'm Clyde Barlowe, one of the many Senior Vice Presidents at Apple. We spoke on the phone, I believe."

Firmly grabbin' a hold of ole dude's hand, I shook it, saying, "Barlowe, of course."

He gestured at another man, an older, shorter dude, still white, with liver spots on his bald head. "This is Doug Morris, one of the top executives at Universal Music Group since '96."

"How's it goin', Jackson?," Doug said, shakin' my hand. He spoke wit a rough, old school, Brooklyn accent.

"Doin' good, Morris." I was gettin' a good vibe out of him. An honest one.

Gesturing at the only guy left, a tall, lanky, white man, with a Jay Leno chin, Barlowe said, "This is Michael Lynton. He's a chairman at Sony Music Entertainment, but he's pretty much on his way to being chief exec. In fact, he says locking this deal in is all he needs for a guaranteed promotion by the end of the month."

Michael Lynton smiled and outstretched his hands towards me, "You look like a reasonable guy, Mr. Jackson. I'm sure we'll come to a deal by the end of the hour."

I shook his hand firmly. "I am pretty reasonable. I hope we're all reasonable here," I said steadily, holding eye contact with him.

Now him, I didn't like. He was givin' off a bad vibe; I'd have to keep my guard up around him, fasho'.

"Well, please, have a seat Mr. Jackson. Is it fine if we call you Michael?," Clyde asked me.

"If I can call you Clyde, Doug and Michael, then sure," I answered evenly.

Doug let out a big bellied laugh, saying, "He was the Other Michael before you stepped into the room, kid. Or Chin. Chin works too. "

Glancing at Chin, I saw his nose flare up a bit as he let out a forced chuckle. He reminded me of those overachieving white dudes who think they don't get enough recognition and end up selling out their respective companies or embezzlin' cash from them.

We all took a seat before Chin said, "So, I heard you were expected along with your manager?"

"Yeah, no, he's on his way as we speak," I replied. Fuckin' Sean, I thought to myself.

"Well, while we wait for him, I'm sure we can discuss a few things," Clyde announced. He continued, "I want to talk about your music recommendation algorithm, because, let's be honest, it's the only reason why you're here."