He pressed to end the call on his gold plated iPhone 5s. His handler had told him they were doing their best to get a gold plated iPhone 6 Plus but weeks had now gone by. He looked like a fool without it but that was fine. He was from the mud in this music biz. He, of all people could handle the wait.
“They don’t want you to get a gold plated iPhone 6 Plus” he muttered to himself. They didn’t want him to have a lot of things but they couldn’t stop him from getting a number one record. They could never stop Dj Khaled from getting that.
Who would he call now. Birdman wasn’t answering his phone. Ace Hood had said he already had a family thing happening. He didn’t even want to call Mavado or Vado. He had to have someone special with whom to celebrate his latest number one record in the Bahamas. He had already planned a ton of fun activities from lounging in the pool to riding jet skis to swimming with dolphins. The perfect weekend. He had even ordered a novelty size bottle of rosé champagne as well as ten other regular sized bottles. He would provide for his crew, if only his crew could attend.
Should he call Drake? His hand hovered over the green call button on Drake’s contact entry. Drake had passed on the last 4 invites. He didn’t know if he could handle a fifth rejection. He didn’t want to feel like he was needy but he also wanted to celebrate this thing in style. A number 1 record requires number 1 guests. The prospect of relinquishing any last shred of dignity in the relationship was too much to bare. He went to press the home button but his large clumsy fingers hit the call button instead. For a split second that seemed like an eternity, Dj Khaled was frozen with fear. If he hung up it would look weird and add to the already unspoken social awkwardness that existed between the two. Drake would never call him back to see what was up. He would just let it linger and add to the stockpile of small social victories he already accumulated. Dj Khaled decided to let the call go through. He figured an open refusal from Drake was better than being completely ignored. He put the phone to his ear and prepared himself for what was to come.
“I’m sorry, but the number you have called is not in service” the automated voice at the other end of the line said devoid of any compassion. Dj Khaled stood there for 5 minutes with the phone to his ear. This was worse, way worse than anything he had been prepared for. Time seemed slow to a crawl.
“Sir, congratulations on your number 1 record in the country, but also, are you ok?”
All of a sudden life came rushing back. He realized the phone was still on his ear. How long had he been stuck like this? Minutes? Hours?
“I’m good girl. Time just feel different after you get a number 1 you know?”
The maid left. He thought she rolled her eyes but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to risk asking. She would deny it anyway. The way the game was made, they don’t want you to know if someone is ridiculing you behind your back.
He went down to his thinking swimming pool and had another maid pour champagne from a $500 bottle into a plastic cup. He rested his fleshy arms on the edge of the pool and contemplated his situation.
How could a man, whose name was a gold standard in rap music be celebrating alone? Without his name attached to a project, these talented rappers and producers would be toiling in obscurity. He had made them. How could they ignore him now, in his time of ultimate glory. It was as if they resented him for taking part of their shine. It made no sense. Hearing him yell “We da best!” over someone else’s beat was what let people know it was going to be a track of the utmost quality. Some things were beyond understanding. He felt like he was suffering from success.
“I need new friends” he said to himself.
He did what he always liked to do when he was bored: take a picture of his fabulous life. He raised his phone and took a selfie of him sipping his champagne out of the plastic “We The Best” cup with a plastic straw. He tagged it as “I changed, a lot” for some reason.
The likes began to pour in. “At least they care” he thought to himself.
Then it dawned on him. He would go on vacation with his fans. He would film the entire thing. They could shower with him, see him pretend to bang a lady, jet ski with him, hang out with him in the pool and absorb his wisdom and slap the asses of the ladies he paid to hang out. Looks like he wouldn’t be lonely again.