Page 1 of Legend's Legacy
Legacy Rose Reese
“Girl, the last thing I want is to be going to that studio.”
“Honey, I’m trying to get that fine nigga Rastafarian to let me see something,” my best friend, Josephine “Josi” Braxton, professed.
“Girl, that nigga’s name is Raahinya,” our other friend, Mauri Alexander, corrected her.
“Ain’t that what I said? Rastafarian,” Josi argued, rolling her eyes and twisting her lips.
“Girl, you’re stupid. Just because that man wears dreads and his name starts with an RA doesn’t mean his name is Rastafarian,” Mauri countered.
“Heffa, it ain’t my fault his mama named him after a religion,” Josi declared.
I looked at Mauri in the rearview mirror and shook my head. “Why are you arguing with her? You’re just as bad as she is,” I pointed out with a giggle.
“Please, Lacy.” Josi called me by my nickname. “Let’s just roll past there for ten minutes, and then we can keep rolling,” Josi pleaded.
I sighed, rolled my eyes, and busted a U-turn in the middle of the street. “I swear, if this nigga thinks that I’m up there spying on him, it’s your fault.”
“Legacy, please. Ain’t nobody thinking about your old crusty ass nigga. He needs to get over himself. Shit, he should be glad that a bad bitch like you is checking for him,” Mauri declared.
Pointing at Mauri in the back seat, Josi nodded. “Now that shit I can get with. You done put that designer pussy on that nigga and got him sprung. He thinks more highly of himself than he ought to,” Josi declared in a high-society voice that she had just adopted.
“Josi, how much did you have to drink before I picked you up and before we just hit the club?”
We had been to one club, and we were heading to a bar to chill for the rest of the night. Mauri was depressed because her boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she wasn’t in the mood to party. I was tired and just wanted to curl up in my bed. But Josi wasn’t ready to go home. We compromised and agreed to go to a bar for an hour before we headed home.
My best friend sucked her teeth. “Bitch, I drank enough to make sure to have fun for your dull ass. Because we all know that you’re not drinking a damn thing with your bougie, boring ass.”
“I’m not boring, Josi. I’m the designated driver. Hell, if it weren’t for me, you couldn’t drink your ass off tonight.”
She shot me a look as I pulled into the parking lot of the studio where my boyfriend, Regal, was probably recording. “The hell you say. Yes, the hell I would. Have you heard of Uber? That’s what a drunk bitch would be riding home in. That or somebody’s dick tonight,” she stated loudly, laughing as she pushed the door open.
“You sure you want to let her go in?” Mauri asked as she climbed out of the back seat.
I sighed with resignation. “We’re here now. What can I do?”
“You’ve got a point.” Mauri agreed as we tugged at our short dresses and tried to catch up to Josi, who was walking better in her stilettos than we were, despite how many drinks she’d had.
We rushed inside the building to escape the light sprinkles that had just started coming down when we pulled into the lot.
“Whoa, slow down, ma. Where’s the fire?”
“Heyyy, Rastafarian. How you doing, baby?” Josi greeted the six-five producer with a smile and grabbed onto his large arms, stroking them down before she patted his chest.
He smiled graciously back at her and then looked at me. “You looking for your man?”
“Not really. My friends just wanted to drop by before we headed to the club,” I explained.
“You might not make it back out of here looking like that, if Regal sees you. But if you’re looking for him, he’s in Studio C.”
“Thanks, Raahinya.”
“You still looking for a baby mama, Rastafarian?” Josi asked, pushing up on her heels to get closer to his face.
I saw the way his face scrunched up, and I knew he caught a whiff of the liquor on her breath.
“No, baby girl. I’m good on all that wifey and kids shit,” Raahinya answered.
