Chapter 23 : A Dr's Note From Him

Chapter 23 is neither presented by Lyor Cohen, nor his middle finger.

Jpgs spotted at RapRadar.com

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE(( a doctor’s note from him ))

Please Use Rear Exit

Up in the tree, it was even easier to pick out the scattered suits, TSABDD brass, and cock teases in cocktail dresses, all networking at a natural noise level, discussing the things that rich people at parties politicked about. Groups of three or four mostly were arranged into circles that excluded everyone else or half-moons in an obvious effort to engage. Twenty-five groups in all, at least from his cursory head count. Among them, he could see his crew. Jayson was just a headless portrait of a pudgy friend, but Saffron, well, she stood out. Dancing in symbiotic ebbs with the flow of The Internet above her, she was casually sensual in one of HD’s rare spot-lights. It was like an iPhone’s flashlight app was created just for her. Jayson could no longer keep her facing in the wrong direction. No one could blame him. It would be hard for any-one to suggest that she stopped dancing.

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She gently bounced to Charles Hamilton’s “Windows Media Player.” Mikhail thought that people must’ve been thinking about their computers if that was what Pandora conjured from their collective consciousness. Weezy’s name was surely stricken from the

preordained playlist, otherwise his hits would be bellowing from up on high. However, Charles Hamilton’s ditty was the perfect soundtrack for the life-affirming mutualism that had developed between Saffron and the spotlight. The heaven-sent luminescence reflected in her once purple top like some sort of chemical reaction in the fabric itself. A film played out on her blouse, but it wasn’t seen in The Internet’s projection above her. Scrambled to unrecognizable bursts of flash in the bounty of her flesh, it lit up her face without flickering hints at its true imagery. She quickly spun 180 degrees. Devoid of the curves she wore on the front, her back was a better screen for the film from above. Mikhail thought he could see the outline of a giant breast growing from her back. She stayed turned once a body lost in the shadows had newly won her attention.

Her back was oblivious to Mikhail’s predicament, but her front was certainly consumed by Chevy’s charms. He emerged from the shadows to rub her back, and immediately, they were laughing loudly. Chevy had never made a move on any of Mikhail’s love- or lust-interests, but he knew his friend’s body language well enough to know that he was readying such a move. Mikhail scurried down a few branches and then very purposefully fell the remaining 15 feet to the floor. Even as a note from Chevy’s dream girl burned a hole in his pocket—blindly holding on to the scant thread that his treasure hunt was innocent—he was filled with jealousy, and more hatred for a friend than he had ever felt. He ignored the mildly inter-ested (but mostly ironic) applause from the few people who had taken a passing interest in his tree antics and rushed to-wards his friends. “I totally thought I left my Chevy by the levy,” Mikhail interrupted, hiding every lack of breath that burned through his lungs. “And the levy was dry.” “Dry your eye, my guy,” Chevy said. “If one of these websites gets the info, we can work it out, no Nintendo. I remember Amy, she used to AIM me...she stayed up late, she used to blame me. I told her Photoshop couldn’t change me.”

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“Thanks for getting us in, douchebag,” Jayson said. It was as if Jayson was saving his remark for Mikhail’s benefit. And Mikhail couldn’t have loved his best friend anymore than he did because of it. “Where you been?” Mikhail asked. “We could’ve needed you back there.” “I’m glad you didn’t,” Chevy said, trying his best to stare directly into Saffron’s piercing brown eyes. “Get in where you fit in, slip in with every ounce of sin. You guys good with a drink? Tonight’s slogan is sloe gin.”

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Saffron and Jayson nodded in concurrence. They needed a refresher, as did Mikhail. Chevy rattled the lonely love of a single ice cube in an otherwise empty glass just as Weezy’s band hopped onstage and began double checking their instruments and monitors. The show was about to begin, real quick. “Fuck,” Chevy said, sprinting towards the bar where Rihanna and Maya stood. Caught in something of a line, he shouted back, “B-R-B.”

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The band sauntered into a lethargically chopped and screwed rendition of “This Is Why I’m Hot” and Weezy quietly stepped from behind a huge speaker, instantly launching into his best rastafarian patois. “Dreadlocks swing down me back like Rapunzel.” His snarl was slow and dangerous and Mikhail wanted nothing more than to share some slow time with Saffron after a night full of danger. He was filled with nostalgia for dancing in the breakroom and hope for a horizontal dance in his bedroom. She felt it too, pulling him close in front of her, wrapping her arms around his front, rocking his hips back and forth in sway with hers. He leaned back so that she could rest her chin in the nape of his neck. “How come every joint be on point like a harpoon? How come every bar stand strong like a barstool? How come every line so raw you gonna snort two?” “Guess who’s back like cataracts on a heart attack?” Chevy asked. “Burt Backarack couldn’t bomb Iraq with looks like that.” “What’s Iraq?” Jayson asked. Whatever it was, it sounded fictitious...and it was enough to grind Saffron’s grinding to a halt. Mikhail fought his urge

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to find their rhythm so soon after it was rediscovered and then lost again. How did Chevy get back so fast? How did he get drinks so quickly? How does a person say “I have to fuck you and another girl simultaneously or I might be killed” in normal conversation? “If nigga owe something/Need a doctor’s note from him/Orange throat from him” CGI’s note! Mikhail had forgotten it in the haste of his pissing contest with Chevy and the excitement of Weezy’s entrance. He wanted to open it without the curious cats in his circle catching a whiff, but he definitely didn’t want to open up a lane for Chevy to tailgate Saffron. “I know what I’m doing/Let me get him/I hope his kid’s not with him.” As suddenly as Weezy’s words left the speakers, the doors busted open behind the angst of sprinting rap fans. They surged to the stage, absorbing the darker aggression from Weezy’s second song. Only a few dozen people squeezed in before the bouncers regained control of the entrance, but it was enough to raise the room’s temperature. HD transformed from a few fancy people casually observing a concert into a die-hard set of fans. The enthusiasm spread like a virus. Even those who maintained appearances at the

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show’s start immediately admitted to themselves that they knew all the words and started rapping along in gargantuan gestures of balls-out joy. Mikhail used the momentum to unfold the crumpled sticky-note from his pocket. He casually made sure that his body blocked his actions. In the darkness, he had to read it three times. Its bluntness blinded him. There were only two possible treasures at this hunt’s end. CGI’s note narrowed the prize to two outcomes and Mikhail needed to decide—quick—if he was going to claim one or the other. Or maybe both. Only two things happen in a #720 restroom between a man and a woman: coke or sex.

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Weezy’s second song only had a minute left, unless there was a jam session tacked on the end. Mikhail hoped so, he needed to take a piss before he met with CGI for whatever was in store. With no reason to lie, Mikhail excused himself without saying a word or making eye contact, hoping to just be lost in the shuffle of what was now truly a concert. He wasn’t sure which of the two probabilities he preferred, coke or sex, and he probably didn’t have a choice.

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M:men’s bathroom,

3rd stall, weezy’s

3rd song.

don’t be late.:C

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