Game of Chance
Chapter 13
“Why the hell not?” she demanded with eyes blazing.
“It’s just—how can you just let anyone hear that?”
“Because it sounds hot. What, am I supposed to be shocked and ask you to burn it?”
“Well, yes!”
“It sounds good, damn it! It’s no worse than your ‘Superman’ song, you know!”
“No way, this is a hell of a lot worse!”
“Oh, please. The only people who will know that it’s for real are you and I…probably Curtis, ‘cause, yeah… Everyone else will think it’s some hired girl, like a skit.”
He ran his hand through his short hair and thought it over. “Maybe,” he conceded.
“Yes!” she said clapping her hands together. “I knew you’d see it my way,” she winked.
“Maybe is not yes. You’ll use it.”
“Mighty confident,” he said with annoyance.
“You’ll use it because it’s shocking. But it also sounds amazing, and that’s why you’ll make sure it gets onto your next album.”
“I hate it when you’re right,” he muttered.
“I just bet you do,” she grinned and kissed him on the cheek.
He groaned. “C’mon, let’s get goin’,” Marshall said and pulled her towards the door.
“Oh, and Marshall?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
//
“Marsh!” Dre hollered from down the hallway and jogged to catch up to him.
“Hey.”
“Glad I caught you. I wanna talk to you two about somethin’—”
Marshall rolled his eyes as they followed Dre into his office.
//
“Yesterday, I came across something interesting…” Dre started.
“Yeah?”
“Uh huh,” he nodded. “And I want your permission to use it.”
Contessa realized what Dre found. “I already gave Marsh my permission.”
“You know?”
“We found out a few minutes ago, actually,” Marshall added dryly.
“Do I got your permission?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Marshall!” she admonished. “He’ll use it,” she said to Dre.
A faint smile played on Dre’s lips as Marshall’s eyebrows furrowed together as he started to get angry.
“I told you Maybe, Contessa,” Marshall said sharply.
“And I told you that I know you’ll use it. Just wait ‘til you hear it, Dre. It’s amazing!”
“He’s already used the beat?”
“Uh huh. Just recorded it…”
“Mind if I listen?” he asked her, deliberately ignoring Marshall.
“Nope, not at all! Hopefully, if he puts it on the album, all of America will hear it, too!” she laughed.
Dre joined her in a brief chuckle. Marshall’s in a whole lot of trouble with this one, he thought.
//
Marshall, begrudgingly, trotted after Dre and Contessa, both were chattering away with ease. Probably at his expense.
“Where’s the tape?” Dre asked.
“Huh? It’s not there?” Contessa said puzzled.
“Nah, it’s gone.”
“Hold on,” she whispered.
//
“Marshall, can we talk?”
“Yeah,” he said tonelessly.
She took his arm and led him out of the studio, intent on getting the tape.
“Look, I’m sorry that I’ve been pushy about this whole thing…” she trailed off and slid her body next to his.
“Are you?”
“Uh huh,” she replied and skimmed her hand against his cloth-clad thigh lightly—she felt a corner in his right pocket, and moved to kiss him.
He accepted her kiss, and turned the tables with his own assault as his tongue engaged hers in a playful, sultry manner. Contessa edged her hand slowly into his pocket, and the second her fingertips grazed the tape, she quickly brought the tape out and snuck it under her shirt. It was an intoxicating thought—knowing that just kissing him made him entirely focused on her.
“C’mon, Marsh, let’s get back in there. We don’t want to keep Dre waiting too long.”
//
“Here,” she said proudly as she handed the tape to Dre, and she could practically hear Marshall’s jaw drop.
“You little bitch,” Marshall grumbled.
“Jackass,” she volleyed without turning around.
//
“Marshall, you’re fuckin’ insane not to want this track,” Dre uttered after the beat tapered off.
He shrugged. “It’s personal.”
“So is the rest of your music—it’s all you. That’s one of your ideals! You want your music to reflect you and be you, about you. This is you.”
“See, I told you it was fantastic,” Contessa added with enthusiasm.
“You should listen to your woman,” Dre advised.
“It appears I’m outnumbered on this matter,” Marshall said and put his hands up in forfeit. “Use the damn thing.”
“Good, ‘cause it’s fuckin’ perfect. We don’t even need to record it a few more times. Now, you just have to make the rest of your album this good,” Dre joked.
“Piece of cake,” Marshall said cockily, his usual humor beginning to return.
//
“I hate you, you know that,” he told her as they walked towards his car.
“No, you don’t.”
“Fine, but I’m pissed.”
“I’ll make it up to you?” she suggested hotly.
“Not this time.”
“Oh, Marshall! Stop being such a prick! You’ll see, it’ll turn out great. How far along is the album?”
“A few months away.”
“Well, you could shove this track through the airwaves now, and it’ll prove its greatness!”
“I’d rather shove a knife down my throat,” he mumbled.
“You know, you don’t have to use it,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to get angry or anything.”
“Right,” he laughed harshly.
“I’ll just think you’re making a huge mistake.”
“Like that’s a whole lot better.”
“I don’t know, is it?”
“I’ll use it, damn it.”
“Good.”
“But if it blows up in my face, I’m going to blame you and expect a nice, nasty song all about it!” he teased with a slight grin.
“Hey, that’s two songs about me. I won’t be complainin’!”
Chapter 14Author: zines@aol.com
These stories are for entertainment purposes only. They are completely fictitious, and the authors mean no harm to EMINEM, his family, friends, or anyone else that may have been depicted as a 'real life' character. No money was made on the fiction here, either directly or indirectly, i.e. paid advertising. In other words - it's just a bunch of shit we wrote for fun. Please don't take it seriously.