Beautiful Noise

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

E zren.

“How does it feel to be back in The States?” Clay turned in his chair to face me. I lounged on the leather sofa with my head back and hands shoved in the pocket of my hoodie.

“Good as hell but you already know that. I hate touring.”

Clay chuckled and I rolled my head lazily to the side so I had a partial view of him. “Yeah you do but those checks look really good though. Good enough to hop your ass on a plane whenever the demand is there.”

“The demand is always there. The fans love me, Clay. You know this.” My ego responded because well shit, the fans did love me. I was that guy. Talent unparalleled with the looks and persona to land myself in the number one spot with each album I released. I was most women’s fantasy, and with my smooth voice and gritty passionate lyrics, they paid top dollar for the Eccentric experience.

“Don’t be humble now, E.” His sarcastic tone had my smile expanding.

“I’m just stating facts, but you know how I get down. I’m grateful and humble as fuck because I’m blessed for where I am in life and what I have but not crazy enough to believe that things couldn’t change in a matter of seconds. Even still, I will always be my biggest hype man. I’m the gotdamned truth.”

“You are and you’re right about one thing. It could all change in a matter of seconds. You’ve got these talent lacking muthafuckers out here studying your every move, hoping they’re up next. It’s possible.”

“Nah…” I shook my head lazily. “It’s not possible. They might create a little buzz, and might even make a few dollars doing so, but they’ll never be me. There’s only one Eccentric; so studying me won’t do shit but get them labeled as a watered down version of me. They’d do better to create their own lane instead of trying to replicate mine. My style, my vibe, my talent only works for me. That’s how they get fucked up in the game.”

I spoke with confidence because I meant exactly what I said. I had my own thing and anyone who tried to duplicate me would be seriously disappointed. I preached that to the up-and-coming artists I mentored, making sure they understood the importance of bringing something fresh, new, and authentic to the table. Success might be possible through imitation, but longevity was not. I’d lasted so long because I created my own vibe, left my mark on the world in ways that others couldn’t duplicate. The key was changing the game, not remixing it.

“That’s why I respect you, E. People truly don’t understand how down to earth you are.” He paused and added, “But your fucking ego is still other worldly.”

I chuckled, nodding. “If I’mma hype anybody, I’m gonna hype myself. That isn’t ego, that’s called confidence.” I sat up, brushing my hands over my head before I extended to my full height. “Run that shit back so I can lay these vocals and take my ass home.”

“Bet, I appreciate you doing this.”

“You appreciate me doing it for free.”

“That too.” He chuckled. “She can’t afford what you cost for a feature, and damn sure can’t afford to pay for one of your songs, but I see good things for Leijah. She’s about to fuck shit up.”

“Good because the way dude played her wasn’t right. I didn’t like that, which is why I’m here. Shorty is gonna be straight, and with me singing this hook, she’s gonna get the audience she needs to prove how talented she truly is.”

“Which brings me to another thing I wanted to run by you…”

“And here comes the bullshit,” I muttered, which had Clay laughing lightly.

“It’s not bullshit. I was just wondering what type of investment you would be willing to make with her career.”

“I never said I would be invested in her career. I’m doing you a solid for free.”

“This would be paid, and the budget isn’t massive, but it’s money and also writing credits.”

I laughed, looking at Clay like he had lost his mind. “I’m not a songwriter.”

“You write all your shit, E.”

“Because it’s mine. My feelings, my emotions, my experiences. Not the same thing.”

“It could be.”

I quickly shook my head. “Nah, it couldn’t. My brain doesn’t work like that. I have to be attached to what I write. I am attached to what I write. It’s strictly for me.”

“You wrote the hook?”

“That’s two lines that don’t mean shit and all I really did was play off her lyrics which were dope as hell. So why does she need a writer?”

“Those weren’t her lyrics. She has a voice. I won’t take that away from her, but she can’t write songs. She hasn’t lived, hasn’t experienced anything, so there’s nothing to pull from. She needs a writer and a good one.”

I nodded in understanding but added, “I can’t help. That’s not my lane.”

“Not even if the price is right?”

“It’s not a money thing for me, Clay. You of all people should know that.”

He exhaled a sigh of frustration and leaned back in his chair. “I do but I’m fucking desperate.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, and if I come across anyone, I’ll send them your way. You need someone new, someone with a fresh, unique vibe so she stands out. Truthfully, that’s not me. I’m antiquated as fuck in this industry.”

“You’re thirty-two.”

“Not my age, my sound. I don’t think I have it in me to do anything other than what I do. I’ve perfected the art of me .”

“I would argue but I can’t. You’ve damn sure perfected the art of being Eccentric.”

“I straight up feel like that was a diss but I’ll let you live. Now let's run this shit so I can take my ass home.”

A few hours later, I was pulling up to the house I’d just purchased but hadn’t had the luxury of spending one night in. I closed a week before I left for London and had to leave the details of moving my things in to my mother.

I got rid of most of my stuff and ordered new furniture but couldn’t be there to receive them. My OG was the truth. She handled everything even though she complained throughout the entire process. Gwendolyn Shaw gave me a lot of shit but there wasn’t anything I asked that she wouldn’t do, ever.

Climbing out of my car, I tossed my hood over my head to block the chill that had settled into the night air. It was after nine and an unusually cold evening for Atlanta. I circled to my trunk and removed my two rolling suitcases and matching duffel. Most of my performance attire was shipped back separately so all I had to keep up with were my personal things. I was grateful because at the moment all I could think about was a long, hot shower and crashing face first on my brand-new mattress.

When I reached the front door, I keyed the code I’d set up before leaving, praying my mother hadn’t changed it. She liked to complicate things for me by doing unexpected shit that made sense in her head but irritated the hell out of me. A year ago she switched all the passwords to my bank accounts just as a precaution. People get hacked every day, Ezren.

Facts, but if you went as far as changing passwords, it made sense to remember what the hell you changed them to. It’d taken three full days for the banks to reset all passwords for me.

Stepping into my place, the first thing that hit me was the aroma of something good. Italian maybe.

I cracked a smile, feeling good about the fact that my OG hadn’t let me down. She had actually hooked me up when she acted like she was too busy.

Dropping my things at the door, my first stop was the kitchen, a chef-grade kitchen I hadn’t planned on using and only had built for when my mother came around to cook for me. It was spotless and nothing was out of place aside from the three glass containers on the stove top.

I lifted the lid to the first one and found garlic bread that had my stomach twisting in knots and growling like I hadn’t been fed properly in months.

Shit, I hadn’t.

I snatched up a piece of bread, biting into it and peeking into the second container to find some sort of pasta. The noodles were spiral corkscrews with a creamy sauce that didn’t exactly look like my mom’s classic marinara, but when I dipped the end of the bread in to get a taste I closed my eyes, enjoying the buttery smooth flavor.

Damn, this shit is the truth.

As much as I wanted to dive in, I decided to shower first, eat, then bed. Instead of fixing a plate, I left the kitchen, hooking a sharp left, moving slowly toward the back of the house, only to stop dead in my tracks when I heard a woman’s voice. It was faint but damn sure real and coming from the guest room at the end of the hall.

The closer I got, I realized the voice was singing Whitney Houston. And terribly I might add. She was fucking up the entire melody, singing the wrong lyrics and dishonoring a classic tune from one of the greats. Completely disrespectful.

I stood outside the door, frowning, so completely sidetracked by how off key the woman was that I neglected to process that a woman was in my house. The only woman who should be here was my mother and I knew for certain she had landed in Belize hours ago thanks to the video she sent of her overwater bungalow.

“Who the fuck is in my house?” I growled, pushing the door gently enough to peek inside. After a quick sweep, I realized the bedroom was empty and the horrible singing was coming from the bathroom.

With long angry strides I crossed the room, stopping under the doorframe that led to the bathroom to find lean, toned arms hugging the lip of the tub, a head resting back, crowned with a jet black, unruly fluff of hair. Her lush lips were in motion, belting out lyrics to Whitney. The woman was in a zone and lost in her own little world. So much that she had no clue I was present but mostly because of AirPods lodged in her ears and the fact that her eyes were closed.

“What in the entire fuck is this shit?”

The annoyance I felt for this woman being in my house was delayed by the fact that she was naked, submerged in teal blue water with her skin hidden by a thin layer of bubbles dissipating by the minute. Once I neared the tub and stood over her, I had a perfect view of the rest of her body, but my eyes were focused on Hershey colored nipples that sat dead center of full breasts.

“Fuck.”

Tearing my eyes away from her curves, I stepped back and yelled out a greeting, thinking it was best not to touch her.

No matter how badly my fingers were itching to do so.

“Hey.”

I waited. She didn’t budge, only smiled wider before belting out a few more lines, off key, so I raised my voice and yelled louder.

“Hey!”

I could see the exact moment it registered that she was no longer alone. Her body became rigid and her eyes went wide seconds before she turned in my direction. I took another step back when she shot to her feet and almost landed on her ass. She managed to maintain her balance while snatching up an empty wine bottle from a bamboo tray next to the tub.

“Don’t you move. I promise I will use this.”

I smirked, doubting her aim was precise enough to hit me. My eyes slowly traveled from her face down her body.

I should have felt bad, but hell, she was naked in my house without permission. While I got lost admiring how the suds glided down her smooth brown skin, she snatched one of the AirPods from her ear and tossed it to the floor.

“Stop looking at me, pervert. And what the hell are you doing here and how did you get in?”

I granted her request and focused on her face. A beautiful face I might add even though she was scowling like I was public enemy number one. I probably looked like a murderer. My thoughts shifted to my hood, which was still tossed over my head. I flipped it back in an effort to coax her to relax.

Why the fuck I cared that this squatter who’d helped herself to my very expensive wine and bath deserved to feel relaxed was beyond me, but I didn’t like the panicked look resting on her pretty face.

“I used the door code, which I set. This is my house. Instead of asking me what I’m doing here, how about you tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“This is not your house. This is Ezren’s house, or rather Gwendolyn’s since she’s majority shareholder of Grand Diamond LLC, but that’s beside the point. You, buddy, are not Gwendolyn and you’re definitely not Ezren. Nobody named Ezren looks like that.” She waved the empty wine bottle, which she was still currently holding as a weapon, in my direction while I processed what she said.

Gwendolyn and Ezren.

She knew my name. The one my mother gave me. I hadn’t used that name publicly since high school and even back then most people called me E or Eccentric since I’d adopted the name in middle school. I was sure with a little digging the world could find out what my real name was, but no one seemed to care. I had my name legally changed to Eccentric months before I signed my first deal. The fact that she had that information meant one thing.

This was my mother’s doing.

I was going to fucking murder that woman.

Okay not really because I would never in my life disrespect my mother but she had gone too far. Apparently my house squatter was courtesy of Gwendolyn Shaw.

“You know my mother?”

“No, I just told you?—”

“That this house belongs to Ezren, which is me, or rather used to be, but she refuses to call me Eccentric. I think it’s mostly to remind me that no matter how big I get, I’m just a southern boy from Georgia but point is, this is my house.”

“ You’re Ezren?” She tilted her head to the side, then gasped at the realization that no doubt just processed. “Holy shit, you are Eccentric. I…oh my God, this is your house. I’m naked in your house.”

That was when it registered that she was still indeed naked. She dropped the wine bottle, which landed into the water, while she threw an arm across her breasts and placed a hand just below her waist and turned away from me.

“Please get out so I can get dressed. Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, the view is quite nice.”

“That’s not what I meant, asshole. Yes, my body is nice. I work hard to ensure it is. I meant you seeing it, like this is embarrassing. Please get out.”

I chuckled and stepped around her, lifting a towel from the counter which was just out of reach. I handed it over and she quickly accepted, covering up with record speed.

“I’ll be in the living room. Get dressed. We need to talk.”

She turned with narrowed eyes. “If you’re going to ask me to leave, then don’t bother. Your mother promised me I could stay. You might want to call her.”

“Oh, I fully intend to. Get dressed and hurry up.”

I left her there, pulling out my phone as I stepped into the hallway to call the source of my current problem and to my surprise she answered right away.

“Morning, baby.”

“It’s evening here.” I quickly did the math in my head. Nine hours’ time difference meant the sun hadn’t risen in Belize yet. “And don’t baby me. Did you forget to tell me something?”

“Oh, I see you’ve met Kori. Isn’t she lovely?”

Her body damn sure is but she as a whole…jury’s still out.

“She’s naked in my house is what she is.”

“I told that girl to put some clothes on while cleaning,” she grumbled then released a sigh before adding, “I told her she can stay. So if you’re calling to tell me you’re putting her out, then you’ve wasted your time and interrupted my peaceful morning for no reason. The point of being here was to unplug, Ezren. Not be stressed by you.”

Is she fucking kidding me?

No, she’s dead ass serious. I know my mother.

“You don’t seriously expect me to let a stranger live in my house.”

“I do and before you argue or disagree, it’s my house, Ezren. I’m majority owner of Grand Diamond LLC, so for the sake of argument, that house is just as much mine as it is yours. Kori’s staying and if you don’t want to live with her then you can leave.”

“Leave? This is my fucking house. I had it built just the way I want it. I’m not going anywhere.”

I lifted my eyes just in time to see my squatter whose name I now knew was Kori coming down the hall dressed in an oversized T-shirt and black biker shorts that stopped just above her knees. She wasn’t wearing a bra because I could see her nipples pressing against the fabric.

Why the fuck do I notice that?

“Then I suggest you figure out how to co-exist with Kori because she’s welcome to stay as long as she wants.”

“Ma, come on.”

“Goodbye, Ezren. Figure it out and you better be nice because if I find out you’re being disrespectful to my guest you won’t be happy with the results.”

And then she hung up.

“This is not happening,” I mumbled and narrowed my eyes at the squatter, who smirked as she crossed the living room en route to the kitchen. I lowered my head, brushing both hands over my head, inhaling several deep breaths before facing the issue.

She was waiting. With her back to me while she piled food on a plate, one of my plates, she spoke. “That call didn’t go as planned, did it?”

“What?”

“Gwendolyn told you I could stay. That I was just as welcome here as you are, in her house.”

“Yo, I don’t know what the fuck she told you, but this is my house. I designed it, picked everything in it, and paid to have it custom built. My shit, not hers.”

“But it was purchased under Grand Diamond LLC, which she’s majority shareholder for.”

“By one fucking percent, which was my decision, one I’m seriously regretting.”

“Well, either way, I’m not going anywhere until she tells me I have to, but I will stay out of your way because I can imagine this isn’t something you were expecting.”

“No shit,” I murmured.

She moved my way carrying two plates, one of which she shoved toward me and had I not moved quickly, it would have landed on the floor because she let it go before brushing past me.

“I’m going to eat in my room to give you time to process that we’ll be sharing this house for a while.”

Stunned, I watched her walk away like she truly belonged here, pausing just before she bent the corner. “Oh and that’s my food you’re eating. I cooked it. I’m not expecting a thank you, just clean up your mess when you’re done.”