The Softer Side of Alie...

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Thursday, July 28, 2016

Snippet Thursday!!!!

The Softer Side of Alie...
Home of Mendacity...

Snippet Thursday!
Catch a snippet of our newest in the works...
Title: So NOT a fan!
Coming soon...

Chapter One…
News Room

“Look Bob, I am sure that there are any number of entertainment journalist in the building who would jump at the chance to interview him!” I wailed, my boss frowned, then shook his head.
“I’m sure there are, but they aren’t as objective. I want the meat, the fuel behind this feud, his music, his personal life…and anyone else will simply just be too enamored by who he is to get to the true story.”
“But I hate this shit Bob! I am a full fledge journalist! This is basic intern shiza, and I resent the fact that you’re forcing me to do this!” I yelled, several of the people in the outer office looked our way, when Bob sighed, then frowned.
“Do I need to pull the rank card Cyrine?” He hissed, I gasped wide-eyed, glared at him, then snatched up the assignment storming from his office.
“He’s at his penthouse suites now, and has agreed to a two o clock interview!” He yelled after me, I paused, looked at my watch, then growled.
That would give me a half hour to come up with some hard hitting questions.
I hated Rap, the rap world, and everything it stood for in the 21st century.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I listened to anything but old school, so that’s what pissed me off the most.
I was more prone to RunDmc, Pac, Big Daddy Kane, Digital Underground, Dougie Doug, KRS1; old skool that had some value to it. 
Yet, I was a bit privy to Eminem, Drake and a bit of Lil Wayne. Most of the shit they put out today was just that; so it pissed me off to no end that Bob would force me to interview some rapper.
This was all Jose’s ground!
He glared at me as I passed his desk.
“What the fuck Joe, you know I don’t want this shit!” I snapped, he sighed, then realized who it was being forced to do the story.
Everyone in the office knew I hated Rap and Hip-hop.
And why?
Because I felt like it had no integrity anymore.
Here I was doing some write up on some stupid ass feud between a White rapper called Kid Trice, and a Latino one called Yamal.
I guess I could be thankful for small favors though; because he hadn’t pulled the race card and given me Yamal. 
Which a few of the hidden racist editors here do. 
Anytime there is a “Black story…or a Latino” story, I was the first person they came running to.
I’m just like wtf!
Just because I’m Costa Rican, African-American and Arabic, doesn’t fucking mean that the piece should automatically go to fucking me!
People would never realize how racist the media industry was, from print to film.
I motioned to Kelly; he frowned, then sighed as he drew out his press pass.
“Fuck, and here I thought I’d at least get to fucking eat lunch!” He moaned, and I sighed.
“Me too, but he’s forcing me to do the interview, so we best head out.”
“Where we going anyway?”
“59th and Lexington Ave.” I sighed, and his brows rose.
“Who’s that?” He countered as we both hopped into the news van.
“Some Rapper dude named Kid Trice.” I spat, he gasped, then grinned from ear to ear.
“STFU! Seriously?” He cried with glee, and I rolled my eyes.
“Yes Kelly him.”
“Seriously, you have a problem with this?” He cried shocked, and I glared at him.
“Of course I fucking do, I didn’t go to NYU’s top journalism school to interview fucking rappers.” I snapped, his face scrunched up, then he glared at me.
“Wow…racist much.”
“I am not racist! Are you fucking serious? How is hating on rappers racist?”
“Yes you are. And it is! You assume that we’re all a bunch of stereotypical gangsters and wanna be’s!” He cried, and I laughed hysterically as he pulled on to Lexington Ave.
“This coming from the upper middle class white boy.” I laughed, and he glared at me.
“You are so fucking stuck up Cyrine, I swear! What, some rapper break your heart before you became so sadidy? Were you a B gurl who never got any play?” He snapped, I laughed even more, but then noticed that he was serious.
“First off, fuck you Kelly; I was just kidding about the white boy crack. Second, I am not stuck up; I just think more in the world should matter besides some fucking rapper’s feud, their bling, or who they’re fucking, no matter their “Color or Race.”
“Which obviously shows that you’ve never actually listened to his music. It’s a combo piece like Drake. And if you don’t like his raping, I’m sure you’d like his singing voice; but you’re just fucking dissing it for whatever reason. I swear, if you liked nothing else on his album, you’d love Shadowed Nights!” He hissed back, then drove into the parking lot.
“Yea…cuz it’s so influential.” I laughed; Kelly shook his head, then just glared at me.
“Whatever Cyrine…but could you try to show a little respect, even if it isn’t your thing. Some of us actually think the dude is amazing and heartfelt.” He cautioned, I sighed, then gave him a look conceding.
I mumbled as we passed through security, were given ID badges, then rode the elevator up.
As it dinged at the top floor, the doors opened to reveal a passel of security, and I was at that moment looking up into the chocolate face of the meanest looking giant of a body guard I had ever seen in my life.
Cyrine Kassab…NYC Beats Magazine.” I squeaked showing my press badge wide-eyed, he nodded, then motioned us in.
We were checked again, and I sighed as I saw the groupies hanging about in nearly naked attire, dudes who appeared to be more on the block, than in a hotel suite; and as the leggy blond made towards us I sighed and tried to hide my disdain. 
“Mr. McCannon will see you now.” She nearly purred at Kelly, I rolled my eyes, then sighed.
“Who?” I questioned, Kelly rolled his eyes too, and she frowned.
“Damn Cyrine, you don’t even know his name?” He wailed, and I simply sighed trying not to laugh.
Kelly McFiggis was a very handsome man, by any woman’s standards. 
33, 6’2, well toned body, awesome green eyes and I loved the goatee, because it caused his eyes to stand out even more. However, I silently laughed to myself at her provocation, because Kelly was strictly African-American women.
“Aaah, yea, thanks.” I said, motioned for Kelly to start rolling, turned my press badge around, then turned towards the camera.
“Hey everyone, guess what! We’re hanging out with Kid Trice today here in Upper Manhattan, and well we wanted you guys to get first look.” I said, and I swear the people in that room, hallway, and patio swarmed us, cheering, attempting to get their faces into the camera as Kelly began panning the suites.
I swear, people were nothing but media whores and sluts nowadays.
“Yes…yes…y’all…popin beats and spittin rhymes with the one and only Trizice! All for your entertainment!” Kelly suddenly turned the camera on himself, said his schpill, and I gave him brows as he turned the camera onto some of the groupies.
Well damn, who knew he had skills!
One of the skanks noticed him, and I held my hand up shaking my head warding her off.
“Not your type, move along.” I stated waving her off like a peasant, she glared at me, drew herself up, and I looked at her like she was stupid.
“Don’t let the clothes fool you trick, 125th all…damn…day. Traemelo.” Bring it I returned, she glared some more, then moved back to where her friends were.
I supported Kelly in his endeavor of African-American women, hell, I was elated in the fact that he saw women of color as beautiful…but there were skanks in every race; and I’d be damned if I would let him get used by some trick, giving all woman of color a bad name.
Kelly shook his head laughing as he noticed the exchange, then nodded towards the publicist as she motioned for us to follow her.


As we entered the largely spaced out room, I sighed at its beauty.
I was actually surprised, because I figured it would be full of groupies, lots of alcohol, hype men, and the normal entourage of a rapper.
But it was completely empty of that, save the piano, cello and guitar.
I sighed, because I played the cello in college.
I noticed the one lone guy sitting on the floor in a pair of dark blue denim jeans, a white tee and barefoot; I drew up short, completely astounded.
The tousled dark blonde hair and upper body I had roamed so many times that I had committed it to memory, as well as the large hands. Everything I had tried to forget for the last ten years was there seated on the floor right before me.
He looked up from the sheet music, and I stopped dead in my tracks gasping as those familiar grey eyes pinned me, and he did as well.
“Grey?” I whispered, and he rose, the shock evident on his face.
“Cy?” He returned, I felt my heart slam into my chest, turned on my heel and ran from the room.
“Fucking shit! Cy!” He yelled, then took out after me.
The people in the outer hallway moved out of my way as I came barreling down on them.
I snatched open the door, sprinted for the elevator, and just as it opened he caught me.
“Got damn it Cyrine! Just listen!” He yelled as he attempted to control my struggling form.
“To what Grey!” I screamed near to sobbing and struggled all the more.
He suddenly lifted me, slammed us both into the wall, and I moaned despite myself as his lips crushed mine.
For two seconds I forgot about the pain, seized his face, deepened the kiss, burying my fingers in his hair.
“I love ye! Fuck! I neva stopped!” He hissed, there was a collective gasp in the hallway, and we both looked towards his suites.
The entire house was in the hallway…and fuck if there wasn’t an overabundance of cell phones filming the entire thing.
“Put me down Grey.” I commanded quietly, he groaned, then placed me on my feet.
“We’re not done Cy.” He snapped, I snatched my hand from him, walked into the elevator, then swiped at the tears on my face.
“Yes…we…are.” I said as the doors closed.
“Fuck!” Grey yelled, punched the elevator, ran his fingers through his hair, then walked a complete circle.
He looked up as Kelly walked up to him grinning.
“Now…I completely understand her.” He laughed, and Grey frowned.
“We’ll have to reschedule.” He said, Kelly nodded, but his grin spread even wider.
“Shadowed Nights?” Kelly asked nodding towards the elevator; Grey gasped, then nodded grinning slightly.
“Aaah yea, Cy has always left an impression.”
“Yup she has. So yea, just call Bob. Oh and here.” He said as he handed Trice the card.
“An this is?” Grey asked, and Kelly laughed out right then as the elevator doors opened again, and he stepped in heaving his camera to his shoulder.
“Her address.” He winked; Gray’s breath caught, then he threw his head back laughing.
“Thanks dude.” He said, they shook hands, the doors closed, and Grey walked off promising this time around; nothing would come between them...

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