Jordyn and Marshall first meet on one of those days Marshall is desperately trying to sell copies of his debut album Infinite, vending on the streets of Detroit, standing right next to his beat down hand-me-down Honda his mom had passed on to him.
...
"Nah, wait, fuck are these?!" I spit out angrily, shifting through the photocopies Dre just handed to me during a meeting with the label.
I read briefly though each.
"Are y'all telling me that some cocksucker has been sending these to my girl, TO MY MOTHERFUCKING GIRL?! And she was fucking AWARE of these?!" I exclaim, reading some more, not really believing this shit.
Why didn't Jordyn tell me about this, yo?! Cause this shit is fucking serious, it's important.
It's your biggest fan, some of them fucking letters read. Then some other ones, they talks about how dude is threatening to cut himself if she don't respond to him. Talking about he would kill himself and his pregnant girlfriend.
Dude is fucking deranged. Yo, Jo needs a bodyguard for real. Scratch that, she needs a whole security team.
And her stalker does too, as a matter of fact. Cause if I ever find our who that dude is harassing my girl like that, so help him God.
"Yo, Slim, chill the fuck out," Dre says to me then chuckling ans putting one of his huge palms on one of my shoulders. "Trust me dawg, this shit with Jordyn would be handled. Nobody is ever laying a hand on that girl, you know that. But in the meantime, the real reason we've called this meeting is to talk to you about some other shit. Stuff that's actually RELEVANT to your advance in this industry, you feel me?"
"Yeah, and what's that?" I huff, not liking this at all to he honest.
Don't like at all how they are all trying to deflect, acting like me being concerned about my woman and her safety is dumb or some shit, brushing it off for other things.
At the same time though, those other things, they ARE important, and I do have to pay attention to those. I need this rap thing to work for me this time, otherwise, it would've been all for nothing.
"So, for your next album, Slim, we are gonna need something really crazy, you know what I mean, son?" Dre tells me, and I laugh.
"My next album, dawg? The Slim Shady LP ain't even released yet, who the fuck knows how all that even plays out and you all are already talking about the next record?!" I exclaim angrily, overwhelmed as fuck, all of my old insecurities and doubts, remembrances of how Infinite had flopped kicking in full gear.
"Oh no, hey, what is it I'm hearing, Marshall? You've got to think positive about this," my manager, Paul, butts in.
"That's true, kid, have you not heard motherfuckers cheering for you lately. Like all over the place?" Jimmy Iovine then seconds him, while Dre says nothing, and he's the most one I'm paying attention to at this point to be honest. Dre is just bidding his time, never being the one to flatter a motherfucker before actually seeing results. And I'm not even mad at that.
It's not like Dre don't believe in me after all. Dude put his whole career on the line to sign me. It's just that Dre won't speak until he's actually seeing it all unfold and I respect that for real.
"Aight then, so what y'all wanna hear on that next record then?" I ask.
"Something really crazy. And tragic. Do keep in your twisted sense of humor though," Jimmy Iovine says to me, patting me on the back.
And for whatever reason, my mind keeps rotating to those crazy ass fan letters Jordyn has received, even if my blood literally boils every time I think about them.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
