Ghetto Superstar: A Novel by Nikki Turner

Author:Nikki Turner [Turner, Nikki]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: tnd2, Women Singers, Music Trade - Corrupt Practices, streetlit3, Fiction, Urban Life, Erotic fiction, Music Trade, African American Singers, chick lit, Music, General, UFS2, Business Aspects
ISBN: 9780345493897
Google: WhtM4e25Z_oC
Amazon: B001NLKV7M
Publisher: One World/Ballantine
Published: 2009-04-20T04:00:00+00:00

TRACK 12

The Big City

eavy rain and high winds up and down the East Coast were the cause of more than the airline's usual amount of flight delays. So many unsatisfied customers were lying around, asleep inside of LaGuardia Airport, that it was starting to look like a giant slumber party that no one wanted to attend.

Fabiola's flight finally made it to its destination, more than two hours after its scheduled arrival, but the important thing was that she was there—New York City. This was only the second time she'd ever been to the big city; the first was when she won the talent show. Hopefully, this time the final outcome would turn out better. After making her way to baggage claim, Fabiola found more than just her luggage.

“Are you Fabiola Mays?” the man holding the sign with her name on it asked. He was wearing the traditional black chauffeur's uniform.

Just like in the movies, she thought. “Yes, that's me,” she spoke up. “I'm Fabiola, but how did you recognize me?”

“Your eyes lit up when you read the sign.”

Fabiola gave the chauffeur a quizzical look.

“I've been doing this for a long time,” he said with an Eastern European accent. “My name is Traupee. Now, how about we go find your luggage?”

Casino never mentioned a car service. What other surprises might he come up with? She smiled. After Fabiola pointed out her suitcases as they traveled around the carousel, Traupee put everything on a cart and led her outside.

Following Traupee out of the building, she sucked in a lungful of polluted New York air without complaint. It was an upgrade from the canned air that the airports and planes were manufacturing. But she hadn't come to New York for clean air; she was there to feed her hunger pangs for success and her starvation for stardom by taking a bite out of the Big Apple.

“This is your car, Ms. Mays.” The driver interrupted her thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said, sliding onto the backseat of the black-and-gray Chrysler 300. The driver shut the door for her, placed her bags in the trunk, and soon they were pulling into the mad airport traffic.

“The hotel is about thirty minutes away,” the driver informed her from the front seat.

Fabiola felt her way through her pocketbook digging for her phone. After finding what she was looking for, she dialed Casino's number. “I finally made it,” she said after hearing his voice on the other end. “Safe and sound.”

“Good. When you told me about the delays I was concerned about you.”

“Aaaww.” Fabiola was warmed by his comment; she could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Well, I'm on my way to the studio now.”

“Excellent! Now, can you do me one other favor?” Casino asked.

“Is Beyoncé one of the luckiest, hardworking chicks in the game?”

“Don't forget to call me as soon as you leave the studio, or before, if you run into any problems—big or small—while you're there.”

He sounded like he was getting his strength back, and although she didn't

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