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studio time. All I needed to do was meet one or two prominent producers so I could fuck their brains out, get money, a hot-ass track, and studio time. I had made that sacrifice for Pretty in Pink, so doing it for my own damn self wouldn’t be a problem for me at all.
    For three hours, I walked up and down various blocks to the point that my feet began to ache. But it wasn’t in vain. Dudes were hollering at my fine ass from left and right, and I gave out my number to more men than I ever have in my whole life. Let’s just say that I was extra friendly to everyone, including dudes whom I wouldn’t even throw piss on. They would ask me, “So where are you from?” and I would tell them a big fat lie, something I’ve been doing all my life. Lying became as natural to me as breathing.
    “Oh, I’m in town visiting a friend and checking out the city because I may relocate here to pursue my music career. Do you have any suggestions or recommendations?”
    It didn’t take me long to realize that everyone and their mamas were trying to strike it big in this city. Ain’t nothing sadder than seeing people in their late forties and fifties handing over businesscards and CDs, claiming they were
about
to get signed. It started to discourage me at times, but I had to keep reminding myself that I was not going to end up like them because I was young and talented. Although the situation was dispiriting, I did walk away with some valuable information. I was told by many aspiring artists to contact all the local record labels, radio stations, and DJs to get people familiar with my name. They said that people out here were always looking for that next big star to break and represent Atlanta. I was also told that the fastest way to get my music heard was to have it playing in the strip clubs. It seemed that gentlemen’s clubs were very popular out here and could introduce my music to a vast number of male and female listeners, including some very famous producers and musicians. I took note of every drop of information that I got, big or small, and planned on using it right away.
    I was strolling the block like a prostitute when I literally bumped heads with this very heavy guy who was dressed to kill and iced-out from head to toe. His big ass nearly knocked me to the ground, but he looked like he had serious paper, and somehow I knew that he would be valuable to me. It may sound a bit crazy, but I had a strange feeling that he was going to change my life.
    “Excuse me, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to knock down a pretty sexy thing like you.”
    I smiled and replied, “It’s okay, Big Daddy, you’re cool.” I regained my balance, straightened out my tight-ass skirt, and kept the conversation going. “So where are you in a rush to on this fine evening? I want to holler at you, but it seems that you’re way too busy for me.” Yeah, you would have thought I was a man the way I was spitting game and macking this nigga, but hey, time was against me, and I had to move quickly.
    “Well, I have some business to attend to tonight, but if you call me tomorrow then I promise I won’t be as busy.” He then began to check out all my assets. Men are always so predictable, especiallywhen they’re trying to hold a conversation with you while scoping out your breasts, thighs, and ass at the same time. “So are you from around here? I’ve never seen you before, and I know just about everybody out here.”
    Those words were music to my ears. If he knew everyone, then I needed to know him so that I could know everyone too. I had to get in good with this guy so he could help me out any way he possibly could. “I’m not from Atlanta. I’m out here on vacation. However, I plan to move here very soon to pursue my music career. Do you have any suggestions on what a girl needs to do to find a manager and hook up with some hot producers?”
    “Are you serious?” he asked. “I know tons of producers, and as far as management is concerned, baby,