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“What’s the hold up?” Rahlo questioned, standing against the lockers in the dressing room.
After Logic signed his deal, things started to move fast. Terry set him up with a lawyer, an assistant, and a content creator. Since Al was already his manager, Terry suggested they legalize the position because even when they weren’t seeing eye to eye, the contract would bind them together, forcing them both to hold up their end of the deal. The assistant and content creator was Rahlo’s idea. He wanted to make sure Logic stayed onschedule without feeling overwhelmed, and the content creator was to capture footage of his journey. Not only would Rahlo use the footage, but Logic would need it to post on all the social media accounts his assistant set up for him. While Logic wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being plastered all over the internet, he understood that it came with the territory.
Besides all the legal shit, Rahlo had Logic in and out of studio sessions and pulling up to underground rap battles to study crowd habits and different styles of artist engagement. Logic made it a point of listening whenever Rahlo spoke because he was always dropping gems. When they weren’t talking about the layout for his future, Rahlo was giving Logic breathing exercises to control his voice without sounding like he was about to pass out.
“This nigga got stage fright.” Al laughed, peering over at Logic, who was sitting on the bench with his head between his legs. Joe, the content creator, zoomed in on Logic's face but quickly pointed the camera elsewhere when Logic glared at him.
Logic had known about the performance for a week, but his nerves still got the best of him. Truth Gentleman’s Club was packed from the VIP sections in the back of the club to the booths in the front. The dancers were in rare form; it was ladies’ night and the cover charge was $100 per person. The high entrance fee weeded out the real from the wannabes, so the club was full of ballers. Terri struck a deal with the owner so that Logic would receive 40% of the door profit. The setup was perfect. All Logic had to do was perform five songs and then host for the rest of the night. Things would’ve been perfect… if he could gather the strength to leave the locker.
“Stage fright?” Czar squealed. “We sitting in a dressing room with naked females. The fuck you nervous for?”
“And how the fuck you gone be a rapper with stage fright?” Rahlo griped, pinching the brim of his nose.
“Yall gotta remember he’s been behind the scenes this whole time. All this shit new to him,” Al explained, staring at Joe’s camera.
“I feel sick.” Logic held his stomach.
“Aye.” Czar snapped his fingers at Joe. “Are you getting this shit? This nigga look like he about to pass out. Where Alice at? He needs some bread or something.”
“Who the fuck is Alice?” Al asked.
“The assistant, that’s her name, right?”
“Nigga, no. The girl name is Alicia.”
“Alice, Alicia, Adele, all the same shit. Tell her to get this nigga some bread before he throws up on these people floor.”
“Mannnnn.” Rahlo scratched the top of his head before running his hands down his face. He wondered if this was the type of stress Terry dealt with when he was first signed. Then again, Rah was a natural born performer. “Look, bro, this is just to help you get comfortable on stage. Go out there, rap yo shit, make mistakes, do whatever you gotta do, but you gotta do it in front of people. You’ll get better in time. It’s one thing to rap in a booth, but to do it in front of a crowd takes a lot outta you, and if you wanna sell out stadiums, performing is part of the package.”
“Right,” Czar agreed. “I remember the first time I went on stage I tripped over the microphone cord and fell.”
“Straight up?” Logic peered over at him.
“No, nigga.” He frowned, causing everyone to laugh. “I’m a G. The fuck I look like tripping on stage. I’m going to get some lamb chops and go home to my wife and kids. I don’t do goodwith motivational speeches and shit. Give the nigga a blunt, he’ll be aight.”
“I’m right behind you. Lo, get your shit together and let’s make this money.” Rahlo patted his shoulder and followed Czar out of the dressing room.
“I’m going to get a lap dance while you figure your shit out. Deep breaths,” Al said, heading to the door.
“Wait, that’s all the inspiration you giving me?” Logic frowned.
“Nigga, we surrounded by big booties and titties. That should be inspiration enough.”
“You right, you right.” Logic chuckled at himself. “I’m thinking about this shit too much.”
“I’m always right. Buck the fuck up and show these niggas how a real Detroiter do this shit. Take off your shirt if you have to, hoes love when niggas take they shirt off.”
“I’m not taking off my shirt, the fuck I look like? Trey Songz?”
“Aye, I’m just saying,” Al laughed. “Come on, Joe, let’s get some footage of the club.”
When the door closed, Logic dropped his head and took deep breaths. The urge to vomit stirred in the pit of his stomach, sending him running toward the bathroom.
“Whoa, slow the fuck down,” a feminine voice hollered behind him as he damn near took off her shoulder when he ran by.
“My fault,” he paused. “I-
