. . . then we hit the long road . . .
In November, we played what became an annual rival football game, the Battle of the Border, against South Carolina State. It was the Aggies against the Bulldogs, a big game of bragging rights for North and South Carolina, and we were favored to win it, with a 6-2 record to South Carolina's 3-5. My parents, my brothers, and my sister were there, and John's mother was there to see him perform in the band. I was dying to get in and show off in my blue-and-gold in front of my folks. I didn't want a reccurrence of the homecoming game, where I only got dirty during the kickoff coverage. And not that I wished anyone to be injured to get my opportunity, but that's how it happened. One of our starting cornerbacks twisted his ankle on a play and had to come out.
The coaches started to look around for a replacement, and I was right there, man, ready to go in and play.
The defensive coach looked me right in my mug through my face mask and said, “Harmon! Get on in there!”
He didn't have to ask me twice. I ran right on field.
As soon as I reached the huddle with the starters, I heard my sister screaming from the stands like a damn maniac, “DAAAR-RINNNNN!”
She said that she was going to do it if I ever got in the game, too. She had her high school friends there to back her up on it, you know, the little-sister girlfriends who had crushes on me.
The guys in the huddle said, “Aw'ight, Darin, you in here, boy. Act like you can play.”
I nodded my helmet and responded, “I'm ready for this, man. I'm ready.”
As soon as we lined up against the Bulldogs' offense, with me on the corner, I had to match up against a speedy receiver. I can't even lie, my heart was racing like the summer Olympics. I mean, it wasn't that I couldn't play football or that I was scared or anything, I just hadn't been in the action. So I had to calm myself down.
Sure enough, they ran a crossing pattern on me, and I chased the receiver down and knocked down the pass before he could pull it in.
“ That's how you play it, D! That's how you play it!” the starters were telling me. Big Joe was one of them, up on the defensive line. He seemed like he was twice my size in that huddle. But I didn't sweat it. I had a job to do.
I was hyped and ready after the first couple of hits. On the next play, I had to come up and help out on the run, and their bruising running back gave me a forearm to the chin before I could get him down with help.
“ Yeah, Darin! You playin' it, boy! You playin' it! ” Big Joe screamed at me.
My teammates were all hyping me up and all that, but I was woozy as hell. I was thinking, Damn! He cracked the hell out of me! But that's the game of football. So I had to suck it up and play.
I lined up again, and my sister was still yelling her lungs out, with her girlfriends instigating it, I'm sure.
“DAAAR-RINNNNN!”
On every defensive play for the rest of that game, I kept expecting to be pulled, so I played every snap like it was my last. But since it was a blowout, 40–17, there was really no reason to pull me. None of those points had been scored on my side.
After the game, the coach gave me a nod and a smile. He said, “Good game, Harmon. I guess we have something to look forward to for next year.”
That was music to my ears! I had finally worked my way into playing time. Man, I had a good time that night! Everybody did, you know, except for the players and fans from South Carolina.
John smiled at me later on that day and said, “It looks like you're about to be the man again, D. Just like in high school. They couldn't get nothing on your side.”
I said, “Thanks, man. I was nervous a little bit at first. Or not really nervous, just excited, you know. I mean, we both blowing up now, John. You with the music, and me with football. This feels good, man! Good! ”
I still didn't consider myself to be a real manager, but after the big game, I felt more energized about helping John out in his music career. It was like we were both about to live out our dreams.
By then John had completed a new song, called Unappreciated, with parts for backup singers. He was writing about how he felt as a young man before he started singing. He was telling it straight up, and I liked all of his songs because you could easily relate to them. Everybody feels unappreciated sometimes. I felt unappreciated on the football team until I got my chance to play that game.
Anyway, John planned to sing the new song with Pyra and Angie singing backup. But he had also written a female response verse. That's where I saw a problem.
I asked, “John, who's gonna sing this response?”
He smiled and said, “Angie has the stronger voice.”
I said, “Yeah, but Pyra has the stronger ego.”
We had heard a few of their demo tapes and it turned out that they could sing. We both came to the conclusion that Angie was the better singer, though. However, Pyra did most of the leading, and most of the talking.
I said, “John, unless you're gonna write a response verse for both of them, then I wouldn't use that, man.”
He said, “A response verse for both of them would create an imbalance. That would be like a ménage à trois or something.”
I smiled and said, “Yeah. That's cool.”
John shook it off. “Nah, I'll just take out the extra verse and write a bridge then.”
When John got a chance to practice the new song with Two Scoops at Frazier Hall, I made sure to stop by and see how things were going.
John had penned another great slow song:
Pyra and Angie came in with the chorus:
Then John slipped back in and added, “That's what they tell me when I'm gone,” before singing the next verse.
I'm telling you, my boy was BAD
! Angie walked over to me late that night when they were finished practicing and said, “Are you sure he's only nineteen?! The stuff he writes about sounds like he's forty-five or something.”
I laughed. I said, “That's because he's been listening to that at home for so long, that old-school shit. Why, you don't like it?” I asked her.
She was hesitant. She said, “I mean, it sounds good and all, but I'm just thinking about the audience. Because if he's really nineteen and he's promoted that way, and then he comes out and sings like he's forty, I just don't know how that's gonna work.”
I said, “Well, what about Johnny Gill? It works for him.”
“Yeah, but he has that deep, baritone voice.”
I thought that John's tenor (normal male voice) was perfect. Too much bass could actually get in the way of a guy's delivery. Everybody couldn't be Barry White. John had the perfect voice for his stage name, the Loverboy. He had perfect harmony between his voice and his music.
I said, “We just won't talk about his age then. A lot of the songwriting comes from older guys anyway. Boyz II Men don't write their own songs.”
Angie said, “And that's why I don't really follow Boyz II Men. I like Jodeci. I mean, I can relate to what they're saying more.”
Angie was all about the business of music. I respected that. There was a lot that I could learn from her.
I nodded my head and said, “I see your point. Don't worry, though, he's only written a few songs. He's gon' write some younger stuff.” I was going to tell him to try it myself.
Angie said, “Yeah, and some up-tempo stuff, too.”
When I talked to Pyra that same night, she was a lot more personal and less business.
She said, “Darin, can I ask your opinion on something? If you had a girlfriend that you trusted, right, and she had to go out of town on business, would you be all concerned about who she's with and what she's doing every minute of her damn day?!”
I smiled. I said, “It would depend on how much I trusted her.”
“So, if you did have to know everything, then that would mean you didn't trust her then?”
“Basically, yeah,” I told her.
“Mmm hmm, that's what I thought. He doesn't trust me,” Pyra responded, talking about whomever.
Pyra reminded me of a high school girl. She always needed to validate her point with someone. And she was constantly flirting, with her eyes, body language, outfits, hair, and with the questions that she asked you. I wouldn't trust her out on the road either.
When Angie and Pyra headed back home to Virginia, I asked John, “So, what do you think about how things went tonight?” It was close to midnight on a Wednesday.
John said, “It went better than I expected it to.”
“Yeah, because you had everything organized for them.”
He was used to being the bandleader in high school.
John nodded and didn't speak for a second.
He said, “You know what I've been thinking lately, D?”
“What?”
He looked me in my eyes and answered, “Working on my music fulltime.”
I started smiling. I said, “First you need to work on getting a record deal or something.”
“Not really. Record deals are easier to get when you've been out there on the road already. I want to travel the country with the few songs that we have now, and build up my name. And if things work the way they should, I can get a record deal in no time.”
I looked back into John's eyes to see if he was serious, and he was.
“So, you're talking about giving up your scholarship to sing? I mean, at least finish school first, man. You can always sing. Your mom ain't gon' let you stop going to school anyway. Have you talked to her about all of this?”
I didn't know if John had even told his mother that he had started performing. He hadn't talked about having any conversations with her about it.
He looked straight ahead like a man on a mission and said, “I'll just have to tell her then.”
I started laughing, imagining his mother telling his ass off and forcing him to get back to concentrating on his schoolwork. It wasn't as if he was doing something totally unrelated. He was studying music and playing in the band.
John stopped my laughter and said, “I'm not joking, man. I'm gonna tell her this weekend. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I mean, I know what I want to do now.”
I said, “You, ah . . .” I didn't know what to say.
He asked me, “You still want to be my manager, right?”
I smiled again. I said, “John, I'm ready to break my way into the starting lineup now on the squad. I'm not dropping out of school with you, man. I'm no real manager. I'm just your boy.”
I couldn't believe that he was even asking me that. He knew how much football meant to me.
John said, “Well, what we'll do is keep doing events when we can on weekends, because football season is almost over with anyway. And then when the season starts again next year, I may have a record deal.”
I joked, “Yeah, and then you can get yourself a real manager.”
John didn't think it was funny, though.
He said, “I still want you to be my manager, man. You could read up on it and learn the business. I just want to concentrate on the music, and I know that you wouldn't try to cheat me or anything. I heard that a lot of people get cheated by their managers, and I know that I could always trust you to point me in the right direction and look out for me.”
He smiled and said, “You've been doing it this long.”
“Yeah, but I can't do much else for you but watch your back.”
John had a lot of confidence in me. He just smiled and said, “Not yet. But Angie and Pyra like you. They say you're easy to get along with, but you also say what you need to say.”
I was flattered. “They said that?” I asked him.
“Yeah. They said that they would let you be their manager, too, if you wanted.”
I actually sat there and thought about it. But still, my football career came first.
I grinned and said, “We'll just see what happens when it happens, man.”
I wasn't there when John went home to Charlotte to tell his mother about his plans that Sunday morning, but he told me all of the details, and I could imagine the whole scene.
Sister Williams was all dressed up from church. She was wearing a bright dress with white gloves and a fancy church hat, and she was smiling up a storm because her baby boy was coming home to visit her from college.
John waited for his mother to get through her hugs, kisses, and I'm-so-proud-of-you talk so that he could drop his bomb on her.
He said, “Mom, I've been thinking a lot lately about what I want to do with my life.”
His mom was nodding eagerly. I have no idea what she expected from him. Maybe she figured John would use all of his musical talent for gospel or classical music, I don' t know.
Anyway, John said, “I want to sing.”
She looked at him skeptically. “Okay. But John, you've always sang.”
He said, “I'm not talking about singing in church with the choir, Mom. I want to sing for everybody.”
She asked him, “What do you mean? The music of the church choir is for everybody.”
John shook his head and said, “Mom, I'm tired of going to church and praying and everything. I just want to go out there and sing good music for the people. For everybody.”
Sister Williams frowned at him and said, “You are not saying this to me.”
“I am saying it. I've been listening to you my whole life, Mom, and it's time for me to listen to my own heart now.”
She got frustrated and said, “Who has put these things in your head, John? Who? ”
He said, “Nobody did. I don't need anyone to tell me what I want to do with my own life.”
“And now you want to sing secular music?” she asked him.
“I don't call it secular. It's just music. Is the music that we play in the band secular?”
She said, “You mind your manners, John! You don't speak to me that way!”
He said, “Well, I'm dropping out of school. I've learned enough to do what I need to do now.”
Sister Williams got irate and responded, “Oh no, you're NOT quitting school! Satan has gotten hold of you, boy!” She raised her hands to the roof and said, “Jesus, Lord, exorcise the demons from my son's head! Please, God!”
She grabbed John's head to pray right there in the living room, but John backed away from her.
“John, you don't know what you're doing !” she screamed at him. “ Think about this, boy! This is insanity ! You didn't work this hard on your music to quit school and sing the songs of sin and of Satan!”
John shook his head and started to walk toward the door. He was ready to take the bus back up to Greensboro.
His mother yelled, “JOHN, don't you walk out that door! DON'T YOU WALK OUT THAT DOOR!”
John kept right on walking. His mother dashed to the door to grab him.
She hollered, “PLEASE, LORD, I'M PRAYING AND BEGGING YOU!”
John said, “Stop it, Mom. I'm just doing what I feel in my heart.”
“And your heart has been run down by the devil ! Now you're going to stay in school, and you're gonna pray to God for his forgiveness.”
John dropped his head, embarrassed by his mother's reaction, and tears welled up in his eyes. But he wasn't changing his mind. He felt it. He had to do his own thing.
He said, “I'm sorry , Mom. But I have to go now.”
His mom screamed, “NO, NO, NO! I WON'T ALLOW THIS! LORD, GIVE ME THE STRENGTH I NEED TO HOLD ON TO MY ONLY CHILD!”
John held his mother's hands and tried to peel them away from him so he could walk out the door.
She yelled, “JOHN, DON'T DO IT! ”
He walked out of the house anyway and started running down the street with tears streaming down his face, but he wasn't turning back. When he made it to the bus station for the trip back to Greensboro, he anticipated his mother driving up and trying to jump out and grab him again. But it never happened. I guess she figured that he would come back on his own, like he had always done when they had a disagreement. His mother would always win. But this time it was different. John was finally establishing his independence. I mean, he felt bad about it, but he still wanted to do his own thing.
Once he told me all of this when he got back to school that Sunday night, I just knew that my mother would be calling me. Sure enough, when I made it back to my dorm room, my roommate told me to call home, ASAP!
As soon as I got on the phone with my mother, I said, “Mom, I had nothing to do with John making his own decisions. In fact, I told him that he should stay in school and graduate.”
“Well, how did this all happen?” she asked me.
“I mean, you know, he just found out that he could sing, and that's what he wants to do now.”
She said, “But he hasn't even sang a solo song in church yet.”
“Well, I guess he didn't need to, because the boy can sing,” I told her. “Everybody knows it up here at school. He sang during the homecoming talent show and ripped it up.”
My mother said, “Oh yeah? He really can sing that well, hunh?”
“Yeah!”
She said, “Well, he's breaking his mother's heart talking about this dropping out of school stuff. So you make sure that you talk to him again. And have him call home. She says that he hasn't been answering his telephone.
“That boy is just about to give his mother a nervous breakdown,” my mother told me.
When I hung up the phone, I thought about how long John had been under his mother's foot, and I realized that it must have been a real shock for her to finally have him stand up for himself. Maybe they both needed to get over the shock by talking it all out. So I made a visit to John's dorm room at Scott, and his roommate told me that he had gone to Frazier Hall again with his keyboard.
I jogged over to Frazier and walked in on John in the studio. He was working on another new song. He even had a minor audience of music majors and band members. They were already starting to worship his gift.
As soon as he saw me, he went into the chorus of his new song to send me an obvious message:
Freedom was funky as ever, and up-tempo! It even had a choirlike bounce to it, like one of those joyful songs that makes everybody get up and rejoice in church. It was one of those Holy Ghost songs that got the older women dancing. I listened to that and shook my head with a smile. I said to myself, This boy ain't going back. The devil got him for real.
Then I quoted James Brown, “‘Give it up / or turn it loose!’”
My father loved him some James Brown, and when you had “it” (the talent), you had to let it loose and do something with it. John definitely had “it,” so I didn't know what to say to him. I wanted to say, “Hey, man, just do your thing and go for it.” But I had promised my mother that I would try and talk to him again about staying in school and calling his mother that night.
John read my mind before I even got close to him.
He said, “I'm not turning back, man. So don't even waste your time talking about it. I'm doing what makes me happy, and I'm gon' keep doing it.”
Instead of getting into an argument, I asked him about Janese, his first love, from Bennett College. I figured I would loosen him up a bit first.
He smiled and said, “She's mad at me now, too.”
“Why?”
“She says I spend too much time thinking about my music. She says I need to give it a break.”
I started laughing. Girls would say the same thing about me and football. They just didn't understand. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
I asked, “And what about the other girl?”
John said, “The way I see it is like this, D. I got one girlfriend. And you know who that is, man?” he asked me.
I said, “Your music.”
“That's right. And I ain't breaking up with her for nobody. She was here with me in the beginning, and she'll be here with me in the end. But I can't say that for everything else. These girls' emotions change when the wind blows. And I can't take that stuff, man. I got my own problems.”
I smiled and said, “Who made you an expert on girls already?” He had just recently lost his virginity. He never had that many girlfriends before that. I could only name three, all from the church and all short-lived, with barely a kiss from them.
John said, “That's just the way it is, D. You say the wrong thing to a girl and she's ready to quit you already. But if I play the wrong note with my music . . . the music don't hold no grudges.”
He smiled and added, “She don't hold out on me or nothing. She gives it all up to me. Any time I want it.”
The boy sounded outright freaky, but in a musical way.
I said, “Okay, you got one girlfriend now. But just do me a favor, man. Can you call your mom tonight and tell her that you still love her? Because if I remember correctly, she was the one who first hooked you up with your girlfriend right there,” I said, referring to his expensive keyboard.
John nodded to me and chuckled. “All right, I'll call her, man. But just to say that I still love her. Because I don't have much else to say. And if she tries to talk me out of doing my music . . . I might just have to hang up on her.”
I thought to myself, Damn! This boy is dead serious! The music just created a new monster.
John and his mother came to an agreement that he would stay in school until he could prove, with a record deal, that he could make a living from his music. I figured that his mother believed he wouldn't be able to get a deal and that she would end up having her way with him again. Obviously, she had no idea how talented her son was. And if John couldn't get a record deal with his singing, writing, music compositions, and stage performances, then nobody should have one!
At the end of football season, the senior cornerback in front of me was able to finish out with his starting position. We lost our last game to Howard 21–10, and we just missed the play-offs with an 8-3 record. We even lost out on the Heritage Bowl bid to Florida A&M that year. I wasn't too upset about it, though, because I knew that I would be the starter for the next two years of my college career, and we had a lot of guys to work with. I felt confident about the future.
So I traveled with John, Pyra, and Angie to a show at a Christmas Expo event in Richmond, Virginia, that was set up for us by Todd Light and Ecstasy Records. John wasn't getting paid to perform this time, but I figured it was another show for him to wet his whistle with a couple of new songs, and backup singers to boot.
As usual, John brought the house down with May I, and then performed his two new songs, Unappreciated and Freedom, with Pyra and Angie singing backup.
At the end of the show, Todd and his partner, Steven Huntley, an older guy with bank, were ready to sign John up for a recording contract. But no way in the world were we signing the first contract offered to us, unless it was coming straight from the powers at Sony or Warner Bros. or something. I didn't have to know much about the business of music to know that. I would never sign with the first sports agency who wanted to sign me for a football contract, so no way in the world was John going to sign the first record deal that was offered to him.
I said, “We're actually more interested in just doing shows and testing the market right now.”
John was one hundred percent behind me. He didn't even speak on it. He just let me do the talking.
The older guy, Steve Huntley, said, “You could do all of the shows in the world, but the record deal is what you want, right? Don't you want to get your music on the radio and sell your tapes and CDs in the stores?”
I don't know if I was just being petty at the moment, but when he said tapes before he said CDs, I kind of figured that his record company was a little behind the times. It was nearly 1994, and CDs were the new wave in music.
I answered, “Definitely, but we want to make sure that we're still smiling and not frowning when that time comes. So we want to test all of our options first.”
I guess I was a pretty good manager, because those guys didn't stress me at all. John wasn't signing their contract, and that was it. But I realized that my boy was right; hitting the road would have people falling out all over the country for him. It was a dynamite plan. All we had to do was keep the shows coming.
When we left, Pyra had a slight attitude problem.
She said, “I can't believe you just flat-out turned them down like that. That could have been our way in. You don't have to stay in a deal with them. We could have all used it as a springboard.”
I still wasn't representing Two Scoops. They were just going along for the ride. And as far as I was concerned, John could pick any two girls out of a church choir to sing backup. It wasn't as if he needed Pyra and Angie. We were doing them a favor. But I didn't say anything about it, out of respect for Angie.
Pyra also had a pager that kept going off. Her man was definitely stressed. Or whoever it was who kept calling her.
She made a phone call and started cussing up a storm, letting somebody have it.
I looked at John, thinking to myself, This girl has some major social problems.
She hung up from her phone call and hollered, “Damn, I hate petty-ass niggas!”
Angie just shook her head and kept quiet.
John and I decided that we would stay in Richmond that night and drive back to school in the morning, so Todd Light put us up in two rooms in a no-thrills hotel. I thought about not taking anything from him since we weren't signing his contract, but hell, it was the least that they could do for the free performance that day. Our group had easily outdone the others who performed.
After a while, with Pyra still ranting and raving about everything, I pulled her aside and tried to calm her down.
I said, “What's wrong with you? We put on a good show tonight, right? Were you satisfied with the performance at least? I mean, you'll have more opportunities to shine. This is just one night and one show. So just calm down.”
I didn't want to make any promises to the girl, but I wanted to at least give her something to look forward to.
She broke down and said, “Aw, man, it's just so much fucked-up shit going on in my life right now, that's all. I just fuckin' need a vacation or something. I need to get high right now, or something. Just to calm my nerves, you know.”
She started looking at me all flirtatiously again, as if I had some get-high on me, which I didn't. I was a hard-core athlete, and I didn't mess with that smoking shit. I knew other guys who did, but I wasn't one of them.
I said, “Well, I don't know what to tell you. I just know that you're too good looking to be all stressed out over small stuff like you are.”
I sounded much older than nineteen myself. But I did have two older brothers, so I knew immaturity when I saw it. And Pyra was definitely acting childish.
She softened up and smiled at me.
“Can I have a big hug right now?” she asked me. “I just need somebody to hold me.”
I hugged the girl, but then her hands starting going up and down my back as she squeezed me, like a Loverboy song.
I had to slip out of her hold before I ended up in bed with her. I wouldn't have minded that, but I was trying to stay professional, and I didn't need any extra baggage. Pyra didn't seem too stable to me.
She sighed and said, “Thank you.”
“Don't worry about it,” I told her.
I had to think about everything under the sun to keep my Johnson in check that night, because I didn't want to make anything complicated by messing around with Pyra. I mean, I still didn't view myself as a real manager, but if Pyra had any illusions that sleeping with me or being with me in any way could get her closer to where she dreamed of being as a performer, I didn't want to mislead her. So instead of me just being a guy and taking advantage of an open opportunity, I decided to take the higher ground and just leave the girl alone. It could have been that she just needed a good stiff one up in her that night, but still, I didn't want to complicate my position. The fact was, I couldn't do a thing for the girl. She had limited talent and was a big head case, and I would much rather screw a girl who liked me for being a football star. At least I would know what I was getting into.
We all hung out and got something to eat in Richmond that night, and I fell asleep while watching some HBO movie in the hotel room.
When I woke up that morning, John was taking a shower.
He walked out with a towel wrapped around him.
I asked him, “Where did you sleep last night, man?” I had the whole bed to myself that morning. This cheap hotel didn't have any double beds.
John smiled and said, “You're not going to believe me.”
I just waited for his answer.
He said, “Pyra has a lot of energy, man. A whole lot of energy! She just wouldn't let me sleep last night. She kept talking about ‘Come on, come on.’”
I said, “You got her?”
He said, “Did I ever ? We must have went at it for, like, four or five hours, until the sun came up.”
At first I just shook my head. That boy was a damn rabbit. Then I got nervous.
I said, “Wait a minute. Did you use rubbers for all of that?”
John stopped and said, “Nah. I hope she don't have nothing. But I don't think she does. She was real clean, man.”
I said, “Yeah, I would hope so, but she still could have gotten pregnant on you. Shit, man! That girl got problems.
“And where was Angie when all of this happened?” I asked him.
He said, “Oh, I don't know. She left and never came back. So after a while, I just figured that she wasn't. I started thinking that she came back here with you or something.”
I said, “Nah, man, she wasn't with me.”
Pyra had set his behind up to lay him. I didn't trust that girl at all after that. No wonder her man didn't want her out on the road.
I said, “John, what do you think about her, man?”
He said, “Pyra?”
“Yeah, who the hell else are we talking about?” I was getting irritated with him.
He said, “Well, you know she's fine, she just needs somebody to love her.”
I shook my head and said, “Man, that girl needed some love a long-ass time ago. She just seems insatiable, like she could never get enough attention. And she ain't gon' get it from you. You got your girlfriend already, right? So now you just fucked up your backup singers. You mark my words, John. You should have just left that damn girl alone.”
After dealing with Pyra and Angie, I started thinking about my own football career over the Christmas break from school. I met up with old high school friends and rivals from my football days at Garinger High School in Charlotte's Mecklenburg County Division, and we all talked about Steve “Air” McNair's chances of going pro as a great American quarterback from the black college ranks at Alcorn State. At the same time, I was still curious about the music industry and my boy John, so I went and bought a book on music management and started reading up on things.
My mother caught me reading in my room one day and asked me what it was all about.
I said, “I've been looking after John and his music, and he keeps asking me to be his manager, so I figured I would do some reading up on it.”
My mother smiled and said, “I thought you didn't have anything to do with it.”
I said, “Mom, he came to me with this. I didn't go to him.”
“Mmm hmm. I knew it was more to it than what you told me over the phone.”
I looked at my mother from my desk chair and said, “The boy is good, Mom. What can I say? I can't act like he's not.”
“And you really think he has a chance to become a singer.”
I nodded my head and said, “Yeah.” If I believed that I could play pro football, then I had to believe that John could be a nationally known singer. It was that simple.
When I visited John over at his house for the holidays, his mother was all over me for inside information. I was nervous as it was because I knew that she would ask me things. I just had no idea how pressed she would be for the answers.
“How long has John been thinking about this music career, Darin?”
John was right there with me, but they both acted as if he wasn't even in the room. It was weird. My parents never ignored me. They just made sure that they controlled the conversation.
I looked at John, hoping that he would answer the question himself. He didn't.
Out of respect for his mother, I answered, “Ever since the homecoming talent show, I guess.”
She looked at John and said, “You didn't tell me you performed at the homecoming talent show.”
He said, “Yeah, I did,” and that was it.
“So, where else has he performed?” his mother asked me.
I was wondering how long they were going to keep me in the middle of things. I felt that they were both acting irrational.
I said, “He did the homecoming at Norfolk State, and we did this Christmas show in Richmond, Virginia.”
They had me looking like a damn stool pigeon.
She said, “So where else do you plan to perform?”
I didn't know if she was asking me or John.
I looked at John, and he didn't appear to be ready for an answer.
I said, “Well, we're planning to go to a music conference in Philadelphia coming up in January. There's a lot of connections that we need to make.”
Sister Williams looked at me and said, “ We? So, how involved are you in this, Darin?”
Fuck! I had put my foot in my mouth. John started smiling as if it was all fun and games.
I said, “I'm just going along for the ride.”
That's when John started laughing.
His mother said, “Are you being deceitful with me, Darin? Are you two in a group, singing that godforsaken nasty music together? Does your mother know?”
Jodeci hadn't exactly created the most positive musical image for Charlotte church boys. I guess Sister Williams figured that we were following in their footsteps. But we weren't.
I said, “No, we're not in a group. I can't sing a lick.”
John spoke up again and said, “Darin's just been managing me.”
“ Managing? So you knew about this then, Darin,” his mother said to me. “You've condoned it.”
I looked at John and frowned. Was that boy trying to put me through the wringer on purpose, or what?
I said, “Well . . . I'm just reading up on it now. I really don't know enough about the music business to be a manager. I'm just tagging along with John as his friend.”
Sister Williams said, “Darin, you've never just tagged along. You've always been the one making the decisions for you two.
“Don't you dare deceive me, young man!” she yelled at me. “You show some respect for your elders. You're not tagging along for the ride. You're his manager. And that means that you're in this Satan business together!”
I said, “ You listen to secular music. Marvin Gaye didn't sing all gospel.”
Sister Williams went off and said, “DARIN, YOU GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, RIGHT NOW! You don't speak to me that way!”
I stood up and got to walking. John went ahead and followed me out.
“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, JOHN?” his mother asked him.
John didn't even answer her.
“WELL, YOU CAN BOTH STAY OUT THERE THEN!” she yelled at us and slammed the door.
I looked back at John and shook my head. I said, “Man, your mom is buggin'! Seriously! ”
He said, “I know.”
“Yeah, but you was sitting up in there instigating. ‘He's my manager.’ What did you do that for?” I asked him.
He said, “I just wanted you to see how she was, that's all.”
I said, “Man, I know how she is already. Both of y'all buggin'!”