Whirlwind

33

Author's Note: This chapter marks the beginning of Phase 3.

[Lamarr] - 7 months later

"I need everybody to put one finger to the sky right now...look straight up to the ceiling...Chicago, sing this shit!"

First things first rest in peace Uncle Phil....for real.

It was wild to me how every single night the crowd was like this; flawlessly in sync with the lyrics that became permanently entrenched in my head and attached to the tip of my tongue. Sometimes it almost seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was because during the stages of preparation for each leg of the tour, I mentally told myself this shit might not go as planned. The album was doing exceptional with the circumstances it was released under and that wasn't expected but I was grateful for it. But hoping for a successful tour just as huge as the album had become was a bit much to ask for. It was far-fetched at times too. I mean, no one was out here performing an entire album on stage for over an hour. Why? Because it was a horrible idea.

I find that listeners usually only care for the singles, the songs played on radio stations and that are popular in night clubs. Even if I didn't have any radio singles out, people still may only fuck with specific songs, leaving the others as moments to use the restroom or purchase a beverage. That was my biggest fear, but every time that line by itself dropped, and the red background lights blazed behind me and against the faces of thousands, I was proved wrong. It wasn't just No Role Modelz, it's was every single track. The crowd knew them word for word and felt the emotions I felt while writing them.

Shit, being on these stages every night I felt like I seized some distinctive power. Now that I think about it, I did. I had the power to prove these label reps and naysayers wrong. I had the power to show them that hip hop wasn't dead and that the people still believed and supported real music.

You just had to create it first.

———–

In the middle of all the cheers still going from the crowd and those drowning each other out backstage, a bellowed "Yo Cole!" drew me from the fixation my eyes held toward the dressing room. My feet were dragging me along like I had a purpose. I was walking as if I was on a mission, and maybe because I really was. A nigga was ready to clean up, catch my breath while I came down from this high and disappear. Nine times out of ten, every night after each show, I was ready to crawl into my shell and do only one of the three things: sleep, make music or oddly enough, read. But the folks around me always had other shit in mind.

My head crooked once I matched the voice to a face and was greeted with none other than Big Sean. He quickly moved through the host of still bodies as I turned completely around, stretching my arm out for a dap. "Wassup man?"

"Good show as usual, bro. You killed it," he praised then pulled back from the gesture. "You coming out tonight? Jeremih invited us all to The Factory. You know he wants to show off the nightlife of his hometown."

"The Factory?" I questioned as Elijah tossed me a fresh towel that smelled like it was straight off the shelf. 

"Yeah, it's a gentlemen's club."

"Ooh..." I nodded as a smirk aligned Sean's face once I caught drift. Strippers and some Hennessy sounded great right about now, it sounded like heaven actually. But speaking honestly, I was bound to fall asleep while one of those women shimmied their titties in my face and pranced around half naked awaiting cash in return. That would be a great Baller Alert story or Lipstick Alley thread for the world to laugh at, and one I would avoid by all costs. "Uh, you know what. Let me see what the rest of these niggas are up to and I'll let you know."