Finally, the time came to visit the one place in NYC Tyler and I hadn't christened.
Spin Recordz was a glass building on the east side, with flights on flights of blank tinted windows to reflect the early autumn sun. Inside the revolving doors, security greeted "Mr. Moore", searching our belongings before letting us through.
Tyler's label was the hall of music. Maybe museum's a better word. Or shrine. The entrance was a sweeping grand foyer, paved with inspirational portraits from the label's artists and plaques from those who had donated their awards. There were several pictures of Tyler. My path fell on a tall black-and-white of Tyler and A'keem, an iconic, crowd's eye view of the duo's performance.
"Wow.Tyler..." I turned in a slow circle. "This, is amazing." He was amazing.
"You haven't seen the best part. C'mon." He took my hand and we took the elevator, separating mid-kiss when the double doors opened and a double image stepped forward. Sandwhiched between a very famous pair of twins, I watched, wide-eyed, as one argued at her phone, the other arguing at her sister, both women too busy to notice the popstar struggling to contain his laughter behind them as his girlfriend had a fangirl moment in the form of a panic attack.
I was bent over, clutching my heart when the women left, one of the sister's doubling back, like she forgot something.
"Tyler, Aaliyah, call us. Let's do a thing."
She left, the doors closed, and that's when I realized I wasn't just 'Tyler's girlfriend' anymore.
People knew me.
When Tyler opened the door to studio three, I discovered the reason he loved the label - and wished I knew how to sing.
The room was wider than it was long, the top half, the recording booth, separated from the back half, the production area, by a thick sheet of soundproof glass. The production area was sleek and professional, equipped with everything singers and producers could possibly need to make a hit record. But the booth - a sheer space of controlled calm, an open plain left to be transformed - that was where the magic happened.
"So-o-o-o?" Tyler flopped in one of the computer chairs, spinning towards me with his hands behind his head. "Whaddaya think?"
"I just wanna press all the buttons and slide all these slide-y thingies. And there's, like, popcorn and cappuccino machines in the hallway. And did you know there's a giant McDonald's touch screen menu in the lobby? You can order fries from work. How do you control yourself in a place like this?"
Tyler laughed. "Hansh and Josh will give you a special card and you can visit anytime you want, day or night. You'll get used to this place in no time."
"I'll never get used to it. Tyler, Spin is incredible. I see why it's so important for you to be here: you're reaching people, and, making music, and, you're doing what you love." Isn't that the point?
If my high school plans hadn't fallen through, if fate was kinder and had never made me choose the impossible, Tyler would've been here and I would've been in Boston, dancing at the Conservatory. Instead I was here, glancing at my ankle boots, gripping my elbow as I admired someone else's dream-come-true.
"I can't believe you ever left."
Tyler straightened in his seat. "I left for you, Aaliyah." Rising, he nixed the distance between us, taking my hands in both of his. "I need you more than I need..." He motioned at the room. "This. The music's cake; you're the frosting."
"The frosting's the best part, right?"
Tyler chuckled, kissing me at the same time. "Always. Now let's teach you what the slidey-thingies are for."
It was late in the evening when we closed the door to Studio Three, Tyler's arm slung around my neck as we debated eating in or going out for dinner.
"I love the Thai food here. It's so good."
"Yeah, but we go out every night. We haven't had a home-cooked meal since back home with our families." Tyler pecked my cheek. "I miss that. Don't you?"
Sighing at the wave of incoming memories, I shook my head in defeat. "Trina's spaghetti is amazing."
"Let's Skype her. I'll have the ingredients delivered and she can walk us through the recipe."
"I would love that, thank you." Walking in time towards the elevator, hugged to his chest, making dinner plans, it was more magical than anything we had done in New York so far. A good meal and a conversation with my aunt - Tyler always knew what I needed, even when I didn't.
Outside, as we navigated underground parking to the Bentley. Behind the wheel, Tyler put the car in drive, changed his mind, and switched to reverse.
"Today was kinda perfect, right?"
I nodded, grinning back as I let the seatbelt go. There was a look in his eyes I recognized, and craved.
"Let's add some frosting, girl." He clicked the lock button twice - a quirk habitual as his vices.
"You want something. You're building up to it, I know it. " Silenced with a hungry kiss, Cardi in the background, Tyler undid my jeans with quick, familiar hands. Leaning back in the seat, Tyler's head in my lap, we engaged in the hand-squeeze method. The harder I squeezed his hand, the closer I was...
Tyler rose with a satisfied sigh, his hand cupping my neck as he watched me catch my breath. "Long. Live. The hand-squeeze method."
His kiss never tasted so sweet.
The windows were tinted and the doors were locked. This moment could've become so much more, and would have, if the light hadn't interrupted. It lit up the dashboard, bright as floodlights, demanding our attention. The headlights were so intense it was difficult to make out the vehicle they belonged to, but it looked like a black truck. Someone jammed the horn.
"Santana. Shit."
"Who's Santana? Tyler--what's going on?"
"Nothing. I'll explain later, okay? Just stay in the car, Ali."
"No, I'm not staying in the car. Tyler! Tyler, wait--" I watched my boyfriend leave the Bentley, shutting the door behind him.
Seconds later I heard voices - Tyler, and a girl who sounded angry, yelling at Tyler in Spanglish. Puzzled, I lowered the window. Her brights were still on; I couldn't see them through the lights but the intensity of their conversation was loud and clear.
"Calm down? ¡Cabrón! Eres un cobarde, you've been screening my calls! Tu estas loco, si? Because obviously you left New York and forgot who the fuck I am. Next time you ignore me, perra, I'm not gonna send a text, I'll have a brick for your stupid ass!"
Tyler's reply was in lower, quieter tones I couldn't understand from the car. But I heard the grunts when one struck the other, and when Tyler told Santana to fucking chill.
Cursing, I zipped my jeans in a frenzy and jumped from the Bentley. Darting through the space between the cars, I broke through the glaring wall of light to see Tyler subduing a girl from behind. Nose bleeding, the struggling girl was trapped in his bear hug, arms pinned to her sides.
"Tyler, what the fuck is going on?"
"A'keem's girlfriend just fucking punched me in the fucking nose. She's fucking lost it."
"I haven't lost it; you're just an asshole!" Santana yelled back, a beautiful twenty-something in Uggs and a black, designer tracksuit. With her large black eyes, sculpted brows, and high cheekbones, Santana was unforgettable, temper aside. Jet waves spilled to her stomach, where Tyler's arms were wrapped, holding her in place.
"Let me go!"
"Fuck no! I'm not letting go until you calm down!"
Fingers at the bridge of my nose, I raised my other hand, calling for silence. "Tyler, are you okay?"
"You tell me! I've got a photo-shoot in three days!"
"It's not that bad. You're not even bleeding anymore." Exhaling, I switched my gaze to the angry girl in Tyler's arms. "I'm not sure why you're so pissed at Tyler, but considering the shit he likes to pull, I understand your frustration. I'm sure you have every right to be angry. However... " I walked closer, so she could see my face, and that I wasn't messing around. "If you ever touch my boyfriend again, I'm gonna get rough with you."
I nodded at Tyler and Santana shook free, straightening her couture.
"Tyler's exes usually don't stick around long enough to risk telling me what to do. I like it rough, by the way."
"I'm not his ex, I'm his girlfriend," I replied, arms folded. "What the hell is your problem?"
Santana rolled her goddess-lined eyes, staring purposefully aside. "A'keem got real messed up and landed in the drunk tank. My funds are tied--do you know how much prep school is for a five year old?"
"No, because I believe in birth control," I said. Tyler snickered, dabbing his nose with his shirt. "What do your problems have to do with Tyler?"
"Because tu novio is the reason A'keem is in trouble in the first place. I don't have time to explain all the many ways Tyler screwed over his own best friend. I'll just tell you he didn't give a damn about A'keem when he decided to leave New York."
Bewildered, Tyler raised his hands in defense. "I came back!"
"Yeah? And how much time have you spent with him, pendejo? You were gone for six months--you couldn't send a post card?"
Tyler's face went red. His gaze connected with mine and I knew immediately what Santana didn't. Tyler had kept in contact with A'keem, but he couldn't very well mention the hotel room.
And neither would I.
I turned to Tyler, shaking my head. "This is a mess."
"I know. I'm sorry--I'm sorry, don't hate me." Tyler ducked his head.
"A'keem's your friend. I don't wanna tell you how to spend your money, but--"
"I should help him."
I nodded back. "But first, we should probably get your nose looked at." I poked the tip; Tyler smacked my hand away, hissing in pain.
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