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PREMIERE: I Was Hired To Write Nicki Minaj's Biography (Part 2/3)

Link To Part One
We finally went to bed before sunrise. I awoke around 9:30 to find a note resting on the nightstand. Nicki's pretty handwriting had already laid out a schedule for me before the next interview.
Amused, I went ahead and did all the chores she asked. I wore the tight-fitting workout clothes she'd laid out for me. Flattering male yoga pants from what I saw in the gym mirror... I did my half-ass exercises for thirty minutes. Showered. And then wore the exact name-brand outfit she wrote down: tight jeans and a pink Polo.
I stepped out into the hallway when a sudden slam echoed toward me. Alert, I looked over and saw the closed staff room door. At least, no music was playing this early... Club Cookie hopefully wouldn't re-open till nightfall.
Lunch was already laid out in the kitchen. A real home-cooked platter of steaks and steamed vegetables. Even chocolate cheesecake. Shit, this was the life... I guess Cookie could cook after all.
"You like it?" a beaming voice asked.
Grinning, I turned to see Nicki standing in the kitchen doorway. She wore an obnoxious purple gown. A golden headdress adorned her wavy hair. What she had on was a glowing example of VMA weirdness. You know, the kind of shit only Nicki could pull off. "Yeah, this is amazing."
Nicki walked up to me. "Well, I know you worked out pretty hard."
"That's the most I've done in awhile..."
Confident, Nicki squeezed my arm. "Aww, I know how y'all writers are." Her voice was deeper than usual. Raspier and sultry like Lauren Bacall's. "But you can still stay in shape." Her enamored eyes looked me up and down. "You can still look so... nice."
"It'd be hard to keep up with you," I quipped.
"Aww, thanks."
I waved over toward the food. The endless buffet. "I thought you said you were short-staffed?"
Like a drunk socialite, the laughing Nicki collapsed against me.
"That's a shitload of food!" I added.
"Oh, stop it!" Nicki said. "I still got Cookie, Rhonnie! We're artists, but we ain't starving artists! Not in my house!"
After having a few drinks with Kellan, Nicki and I retreated to the studio. Into Nicki's personal fortress. And there we talked. My tape recorder and notepad in my hands, my focus solely on the Queen.
Together, we delved further into Nicki's past. Or at least what parts of it she wanted to share. To my surprise, she hated the stage name...
"It just had to be interpreted sexually," she ranted in that raspy accent. "I mean yeah, I don't mind it now, but why couldn't Nicki Maraj or Nicki The Ninja or something just suffice? I have to compromise with this shit just to get my music out there! And that's how it's always been, Rhonnie. The male gaze, we all gotta appease it!"
I nodded. "Naw, I see your point."
"Maybe I'd like to sexualize men more. I don't know rap about a fine boy and his fine ass, but people get all uptight about that shit." Nicki was in jaded overdrive. Her angry mannerisms veered out-of-control. "It's gotta be black girl big titties this, shaking this fat ass that!"
This was the side of Nicki I hadn't seen in person yet. She'd unleashed her inner angry rapper. "Well, tell me more about your parents," I said.
Nicki gave me an uneasy look. "What do you mean?"
"I mean like y'all's relationship. I know who they are-"
"What's there to say," Nicki interrupted. The purple dress couldn't disguise her discomfort. "I still love them."
"I know that." Struggling to strike the balance between supportive friend and brave biographer, I leaned in closer. My composure calm and chill. "But your mom and dad had a pretty rough relationship, right?"
"Look, dad was always shot out, alright." Her bold deep accent began crumbling... "He was always getting mad, yelling at her. Yelling at us..."
Keeping my distance, I stayed silent and respectful. I just listened.
"He tried to kill her one time," Nicki said. Her trembling hand brushed her hair to the side. "The son-of-a-bitch tried setting her on fire."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"No. Don't be. You didn't do anything." Nicki leaned back in her seat. No smile or playfulness, just a forced cool demeanor. "But they're both better now." Reflective, she gazed over at the desk. At her archive of lyrics. "I just try to come in here every day, you know. Just escape into the music."
Silence lingered for a few seconds. Until I pressed further. "So your mom did stay with him?" I asked, my voice steady.
Nicki gave me a dismissive wave. "Look, let's touch on that later." She forced a wide smile. "Let's get back to the MySpace days, man."
But I had to push forward. Even if I was shit at feigning toughness. "But Nicki, this stuff with your parents. We have to talk about it. You can't just redact the past, you know."
Fighting back, Nicki gave me a skeptical look. "But I'm not? What are you talking about?"
"I get it, you're wanting to move on," I continued. "But the point of these talks, the point of this book. It's to show your personal side. The Onika Maraj side, alright."
Quiet, Nicki's piercing eyes stayed on me.
"Just like with your music, I know songs like 'I Lied' or 'Chun-Li' captured those raw emotions," I said. "I want this biography to be like that! Not just mindless sex and pop music. But the soul-bearing. Your feelings."
Nicki's gaze held me hostage. Tense silence suffocated the studio.
"Like I said," Nicki struggled to begin. "We'll talk about it later."
My "tough interviewer" routine evaporated to stuttering and floundering. You know, the common issues with introverted writers... "I don't know, Nicki," I said. "I think talking about your family, your relationship with Caiah, all of that will be important to understanding you. Seeing this personal side."
"Personal?" Nicki yelled with ferocity.
Like a warning gunshot, Nicki's rising voice put me in my place. I shut the fuck up.
"Look, I know what you're saying, Rhonnie," Nicki continued, barely restraining her temper. "But don't try and twist this. I care about my family. I do, I love them."
"I know," I said. "I wasn't doubting that."
Lost in her memories, Nicki leaned back. More relaxed but just as troubled by the past. "When you’re working so much, you’re busy and you’re successful, no matter what, something suffers, you know." Her gaze shifted back toward all those notebooks. Her demented laboratory of a studio. "I guess you could say it's what happened to me and mom. To me and my whole family really."
Sympathetic, I dialed back my approach. "But you do talk to them still?" I asked in a calm tone.
"Oh, of course." Nicki's wistful face looked at me. "We're doing better now..." She hesitated.
I could tell this wasn't confident Nicki on stage or rapping in the studio. She was struggling.
"But there's some things I can't ever get back," Nicki said. "The touring and the studio kept me from those memories. Caiah's graduation, all the Birthdays. Christmas, Thanksgiving. Those are things I'll never get back." Her tormented stare struck harder than her most powerful verses.
"Fame eats it all away, Rhonnie."
I didn't say anything. Too riveted and affected to muster a single word.
Nicki flashed a weary smile. "Some days, I wish I could go back to being that little tomboy in Queens again. Before... before everything, you know. Then I could get those memories back. I could have them outside the spotlight. Maybe then, our family would've been stronger. We'd have been closer."
From there, the conversation hit a light-hearted intermission. We made our way to Nicki's nicer memories. Nicki was quite the reader growing up. She described stories and books as an escape from the loneliness. How she would even pretend all these fictional characters were a part of her family. Of course, imagine how I felt when the Queen said my horror stories were her latest escape!
But Nicki's true love was obvious: acting. Just the way she reminisced about wanting to be a movie star radiated off her with child-like wonder. I could tell she was an aspiring actress trapped with a rapper's talent. Of course, Nicki had the theater training. The looks, the personality, the drive... the affinity for costume shops.
"Be the next Pam Grier," I encouraged her. "You've got that fire to you."
Nicki grinned. "You should write a role for me then."
"What?"
"Hey, I know you write scripts too."
Amazed, I chuckled. "That's crazy... no one ever reads them."
"I saw them on-line. They're honestly pretty good." With smooth braggadocio, Nicki pointed her trigger finger at me. "You see, I know quite a bit about you, Rhonnie." She let out a purr.
And I believed her. Nicki knew her shit. Always.
After the interview, a party started. No, not in Club Staff. Just the kitchen and living room. Nicki, Kellan, and I were all enjoying the V.I.P. treatment.
Drunk with booze and joy, I took a long shower. Put on my big glasses. I wrote a little before calling Ash at midnight. She was encouraging as always. The motivational speaker to my dark mind.
"I can't wait to see you there," she said.
"Yeah, whenever we finish the interviews," I replied. "I don't know. Might be another month..."
"Naw, it'll be quicker than that!" Ash said with what I knew was an excited smile.
Over the phone, I kissed her good night. Then I was back at it on the laptop. Back in my own studio. One sentence into my Nicki notes before a catchy beat stopped me.
Club Staff was back. The cool chorus of "Bed" drifted into my room like mist. And Nicki's frenetic verse hit me like a hurricane.
"Really..." I muttered.
Cracking a smile, I stumbled toward the hallway. And sure enough there were the colorful moving lights glowing under the club's door.
Fuck it. I was too tired (and too drunk) to care. I wrote what I could then went to bed. All while "Majesty" blared from the staff room. A nice, bombastic lullaby...
When I awoke and put on my glasses, my vision was crystal clear. Too clear. As if my Life At Nicki's House T.V. show had gone Hi-Def.
Stunned, I snatched my glasses off. Yeah, they were large Buddy Holly glasses... but not the cheap Dahmer ones I had. The ones Ash hated. Instead, what I had was style. Purple frames. Clean, slick lenses. In other words, fucking expensiveass glasses. I looked all around me but didn't see my contacts case anywhere. Nor my Dahmers.
"You like that upgrade?" I heard Nicki tease.
I saw her enter the room. She wore glasses even bigger than mine. Her hair fixed up in a messy bun. Dressed in sloppy nerd attire, Nicki still managed to pull off the baggy jeans and bland red blouse. Somehow, her goofy charisma made the outfit look natural rather than tacky.
"I'm gone be like Ashley and keep improving you," she said.
"Naw, I appreciate it," I responded. Like a nervous professor, I readjusted the purple glasses. "Ash would approve."
"Mm, they're sexy too!" Nicki's voice erupted in a fangirl tone.
Awkwardness sinking through me, I looked back at the nightstand. "But where'd my contacts go..."
Nicki glided toward me. Her walk all poise and pizzazz. "You don't need that shit anymore, Rhonnie."
I confronted her enchanting eyes. Her warm touch squeezed my shoulder.
"You look so nice with the glasses," Nicki added. Chuckling, she traced a pink painted fingernail over my frames. "Man, you got those looks and the smarts like me."
A goofy smile crossed my face. Maybe I blushed... "Well, thanks."
Like a pop music alarm clock, Nicki's "Starships" blasted through our conversation. Club Staff opened early...
Annoyed, I looked toward the door. "Jesus, really..."
Giggling, the Queen gave me a playful shove. "I told you they're crazy!"
"They do that every morning?" I joked.
Her gaze piercing into my eyes, Nicki sang along to the overpowering jam. A cheesy serenade. She just couldn't help herself...
"Oh God..." I joked.
Nicki pulled me in closer. "Come on, workout! I'll tell them to make breakfast!"
My morning ritual commenced. A light workout in those form-fitting clothes. The long shower. Nicki had already laid out a tie-die shirt and purple pants in the guest room. She even left a few beers on the nightstand.
Club Staff's listen party for Roman Reloaded faded once I entered the kitchen. Of course, the breakfast was majestic. As always.
Then us well-dressed nerds made our way into the recording studio. Nicki and I ready for the next interview. I kept going back to her geeky childhood. How timid Onika was growing up. The older photos Nicki showed me revealed a pretty but lonely little girl. One suppressed by both alienation and her own volatile family. There were the many phases and personalities Nicki's creativity conjured up to deal with the isolation. Not to mention the acting, poetry, storytelling. And ultimately, the rapping.
"That was all I had," Nicki said. "The writing kept me going through everything. It kept me strong."
I offered a warm smile. "I understand."
"Oh, I know you do." Contemplative, Nicki hesitated. "When I was a kid, I used to pretend all the books I read were real. Like all the characters." Even behind the huge glasses, I could see she was suppressing teas in those soulful eyes. "I guess that carried over into my writing. To Roman and Black Barbie, they were just more characters. They kept me strong. They became friends." A weak grin formed. "They rescued me from the loneliness."
"Spoken like a true writer," I said.
"Well, the reading helps too," Nicki commented. "Like I said, that's how I got so interested in you. Your stories just like immerse me..." Her voice trailed off in a stream of solemn reflection. "I mean even when I became famous and made all this money, the loneliness. It never really goes away. And there's so many days where I don't feel special. I don't feel pretty or smart or creative... or all you know, I don't feel like Nicki." She let out a soft chuckle. "And your stories help me escape that. They're amazing."
Flattered, I nodded. "Well, I appreciate it."
"Chun-Li" interrupted the interview. Not even the studio was safe from Club Staff...
Nicki's snorting cackle erupted over the music. A nerdy laugh to match the ridiculous gear.
I couldn't help but smile. "Well. Your staff's still here."
"I bet Kellan made them turn it up."
"So all they play is your songs?"
With the laid-back coolness of a defiant rock star, Nicki shrugged her shoulders. "Can you blame them?"
In an unrelenting beat, the music only helped propel our interview. The mood got light and carefree. A few drinks and guest appearances from Kellan didn't hurt the laid-back atmosphere either.
Nicki's quirkiness was the side people never saw. Or the side they chose to ignore. Besides the crazed Roman and this nerdy Nicki performance, there was also charitable Nicki. The Nicki Minaj who helped in raising $250 million for MAC AIDS Funds.
"You knew about that?" Nicki asked, her smile unable to hide how impressed she was.
"Yeah, I did my research," I responded.
"Well, yeah." She leaned back. "Just no one ever talks about that. Even when I'd like people to know I care, you know. That I do try to help and give back."
Supportive, I waved the notepad toward her. "Well, your fans know."
"I fucking hope so."
"Naw, they do. They really do." I leaned in closer, maintaining our strong eye contact. "Anyone who bothers looking at you without being a judgmental asshole knows you got heart, Nicki."
After the interview, we did more of the same: drinking and debauchery in the Queen's palace. Club Staff's playlist accelerated along with our alcohol intake. Together, the power trio of me, Nicki, and Kellan jammed out like college roommates in a Beverly Hills mansion.
Soon, my buzz spiraled into a swirling haze. I collapsed on a living room couch. Nicki sat right beside me while a laughing Kellan stumbled in a recliner. The last thing I remembered was Nicki's playful smile. How her light touch latched on to my arm. And then my eyes closed.
Sunlight splashed across me like a bucket of water. Groggy, I awoke in the guest room. I still don't know how I ever got there. Nor do I know how my clothes mysteriously changed into a tank top and a new pair of boxers overnight... I heard more Nicki tunes drifting in from Club Staff.
The Queen's ferocious flow on "Feeling Myself" enrapturing my ears, I reached over and grabbed the purple glasses. Several empty cans and longnecks overcrowded the nightstand. I snatched my cell phone off the charger. 8 A.M. And seven missed calls from Ashley.
"Fuck!" I yelled. Frantic, I got ready to call her back.
A harsh grip ensnared my wrist. Multiple pink rings stared back at me.
"Rhonnie!" Nicki's ferocious voice screamed. "We've got work to do!"
I faced her focused stare. Now Nicki was in tomboy mode. Pure defiance. She wore an oversized black Ramones tee shirt and loose, holey dark jeans. Her hair was straightened and stringy. Less stylish than usual... but still oh so attractive.
"That means no calling your girl!" she continued.
With blazing speed, Nicki snatched my phone. Her clenched hand a bear trap.
Mrs. Majesty leaned in closer. "We've got an interview, remember."
"I was just gonna call Ash," I said.
"So!" Nicki yelled. Like a baton, she wielded the iPhone in my face. "You think I've been talking to Kenneth this whole time! No, motherfucker! I'm taking this serious. I cut off everyone to focus and I expect you to do the same!"
Uneasy, I backed off. "Okay..."
Nicki pointed toward the closet. "Now go change and get your workout on! You know the damn drill!"
Indeed, I did. I changed quick into those tight shorts. Then I hit the gym hard. Or at least tried to. The entire Queen album played from the staff room. A soundtrack to the session.
The treadmill and crunches left me sweaty. Almost delirious, I staggered around the room. Surrounded by nothing but my exhausted reflection. And Nicki's music.
I finished off a Gatorade in a few swigs. Tired, I approached the flatscreen. My finger stumbled through the buttons.
The screen shifted from MLB Network to a different feed. I'd hit the input button on accident... and what I saw now was live footage from Nicki's palace. From my gym.
The video was clear as day. A home movie in high definition. And there I was on screen: walking the treadmill, doing my sit-ups and stretches. All in those flattering pants. I gotta say that even drenched in sweat, I looked pretty damn hot. But I was the oblivious star of Nicki's private movie. And who the Hell knows what she was using it for... or just how many videos she had of me.
I was too scared to explore this feed any further. Nervous, I turned off the T.V. And with restless eyes, I scanned the workout room. But I saw no cameras. No glowing red lights. I was alone.
I decided to play it cool. Not that I had much choice with no cell phone or weapon. And this far away from home. There was no sense in arguing in Nicki's arena. Just get the interviews done and see where it goes from there, I told myself.
TO BE CONTINUED
Link To Part Three
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