Page 81 of Sing Your Secrets
“I don’t know if I have a favorite song.” He presses his lips together and nods his head, looking a little disappointed, but I continue, “Because the way you write your albums is so cohesive—they tell a story. How do you just pick one part of the story? Depth will always be my favorite album. I genuinely love every single song off that record. Radar is a close second, and my favorites from that record are ‘In the Fray’ and ‘Saw You Coming.’ Now, your most recent album, Enigma, I liked because it was so different. Trap music isn’t my usual taste, but the way you hosted all those collaborations…I’d say from that record, ‘Breathe Again’ is the song I listen to most.” I look at his surprised expression. “I could go on…”
Cupping his hand over mine, he pulls me into a brotherly hug and pats my shoulders a few times. “That’s fucking cool, man. Thank you. It means a lot, especially when fans seem few and far between these days. Word around town is I fell off.”
“What?” I can’t control my shrill defensiveness at the idea that my favorite rapper fell from grace. “Asshole haters.”
“Nah, there’s some truth to it. It’s been a minute since I’ve released anything I’m proud of. Depth is my favorite album too. You know—I wrote most of the album backstage, here. My producer used to spin here some nights. We’d sit backstage, smoke a little J, and just let the words spill out. I’ve done four stadium tours”—he glances around left to right—“this is still the best stage in the world.”
Shifting my weight, I examine the legend in front of me again. Strange…I always thought he was a little taller than me. I think I have him by an inch or so.
“Your producer for Depth—Mac, agreed to work with me on an EP. Any advice?”
He raises his dark brows. “Yeah? You rap?”
“I’m a singer.”
“Ah, that’s what’s up. Sorry man…Miles…I wish I could say I’ve heard of you.” He clenches his teeth together, in a pitiful expression.
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I haven’t released anything. I was in L.A. just…” What the hell was I doing in L.A.? “I mostly sang covers and worked on demos, but I couldn’t get my hands on a deal.”
Petey scoffs loudly. “Please. Let me tell you something about labels. They don’t want what’s good—they want what sells. And the listeners eat that shit up because they don’t know better is out there. Fuckin’ rat wheel is what it is.” He shrugs. “And I know I sound like a hypocrite because financially I’ve benefited from that rat wheel, but doesn’t mean I like the politics.”
“Lonely at the top?” I ask.
“Exactly,” he says. “But that’s why I’m back home for a bit—straightening out my shit.” He points down to the stage. “I’m getting back to my roots, trying to find a way to love creating again. I just finished up my contract with Elite. I’m a free agent, so I actually hit Mac up myself. He’s been slow getting back to me.”
“You guys don’t work together anymore?”
“Mac produced for me when I was indie. After Depth, I signed my soul away to Elite Records. They had a list of approved producers and engineers. Mac wasn’t one of them, so I moved on.”
Wait…you chose the deal over your friends?
I look over Petey’s shoulder at the business meeting happening across the room. It doesn’t look like much business is going on. They’re leaning back in their chairs, legs crossed, relaxed, and half of the cookie is gone. “I’m meeting with him in a couple days. Want me to mention you’re back in town?”
“Nah, I’m straight man. I got someone working on it. But as for that advice…”
“Oh…yeah?”
“Mac’s the greatest. End of story. I’ve worked with a lot of people in the industry. No one understands how to create great music like he does. So, whatever he asks of you, sit down, shut up, and just do it. Even when he’s being a dick”—Petey rolls his eyes—“it’s worth it. You won’t regret it.”
If Reese’s endorsement wasn’t enough, the words from one of the most successful hip-hop artists of this decade just confirmed I was handed a golden ticket. I have to be damn sure not to waste it. I suddenly feel a little more nervous, like there’s not enough polishing in the world I could do to be worthy of Mac.
“Hey, can I poke around backstage?” Petey asks.
“Um, yeah? I mean, don’t you own this place now?”
He cackles. “I haven’t signed anything yet. But speaking of which, Delilah told me you’re willing to stick around for a bit. To help me get this place off the ground and running. I’m buying it for someone—but it’s a surprise. She’s got a lot going on and I can’t just dump a business on her. I don’t have much time to run The Garage myself.”
“Yeah, I can stick around for a while,” I say as I lead Petey backstage. “But out of curiosity, if neither of you has time to run a place like this, why buy it?”
“A gesture. This place means the world to her. I made a lot of mistakes. I’m trying to unravel a lot of bad choices, and I don’t know how else to show her how special she is to me. This is where we fell in love. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d pay anything for this place.”
“Damn, man. That’s romantic. You know, my girlfriend was worried this place was going to fall into the wrong hands. But I think she’s going to love this story—that you bought it for love.” I almost tell Petey that he might remember Mac’s daughter. I think Reese mentioned she met him a time or two, but then I swallow my tongue when I remember that Petey’s trying to work with Mac again. Leave it to me and my big mouth to accidentally slip about our secret relationship and kill all chances for this album.
“She a fan too?” Petey asks as he makes his way to the far side of the room. “I’ll sign whatever you like for her so you can look like a hero.”
I chuckle. “Thanks—that might work if you sign it as Usher.”
Petey snorts as he yanks the new leather couch from the wall. “What is it with women and Usher, right? Outside of the obvious. Man is in his mid-forties and could probably still swipe your girl right from under you.”