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"I’m Rick James, Bitch!"

That was the weird quote that Dray had thought of as he stepped into the elevator to Sun-coast record’s main building. The day was sunny and the air in Los Angeles seemed crisp and warming. Dray had just watched the Vibe awards where his idol, Rick James had performed and oddly quoted that strange reply. Apparently, some young girl had seen Rick James back stage and had mistaken him for the local help – needless to say, Rick must have been pissed, since he later insulted the girl live on stage, while he gave out a music award. That show was a rerun and aired over three months ago, but when Dray caught the program playing on the lobby TV, he couldn’t help himself in watching it. It did give Dray some retrospective feeling of sadness, because Rick James had died not long after that show. To Dray, that was the equivalent of having a parent die – he simple idolized the old, funk master that much. He had always wanted to meet Rick James in the flesh and swore that he would do so before he died. But now that the funk master had passed, this goal seemed impossible.

Outside, there seemed to be some hectic goings on. Dray noticed a large number of squad cars carrying police and firemen to some nearby disaster. But whatever ill luck others were having, Dray felt like he could walk on the clouds. For three years, he and his band, the ‘Funky Five’ had tried to make it into the limelight. Now, as he stepped into the executive office of Sun-coast records, he hoped to get the answer he long desired.

Behind the office doors, Miss Kay Taigas conversed in agitated banter with her ex-husband, Brian. Her husband was the main producer for Sun-coast records and had a long history producing classic hits. Some years ago, he had married Miss Taigas, thinking she shared the same love of music as he had. However, he later learned that she only married him for the money, and when he found out that she harbored a deep prejudice against many of the artists he so dearly loved, he made a quick move to divorce her. Nevertheless, Miss Taigas was always shrewd and managed to keep an important job as one of the record company’s major players. This bad relationship was echoed through the call she was currently making to her ex-husband.

"I’m telling you, Brian; I’m not going to sign on any more African-American musicians. This whole company is going down because of their stupid ‘Hippity - Hop, and jiggaboo music!"

"You mean Hip - Hop, you imbecile…! God – I can’t believe that I can’t get the courts to throw you out of office! Those people are great artists – furthermore, they create nearly all the revenue for our company. You must realize that the money your alimony suit is stealing from me comes from the hard work of those talented musicians! That’s it, Kay -- I won’t have anymore of your prejudice ideals corrupting my company. When I get back from Chicago, I’m bringing my lawyers to throw you out of there!"

Hearing Brian’s threat, Miss Taigas simply laughed at his angry reply.

"You can try, but I think the only way to get me out of here is over my dead body!" Kay Shot back heatedly.

With that, she hung up the phone and readied herself to address another of her husband’s hopeful prospects. In tandem, Dray walked in the office with a sense of glee over him. Before him stood a tall, middle-aged, white woman with teased blonde hair that was gathered up into a tight bun. She looked at Dray with a cynical sneer before telling the young, black man to sit down.

Dray sat down awaiting the woman’s verdict. For earlier, he had gotten a call from Brian, telling him that he was very interested in producing his record. Dray was a funk artist and like the others that practiced the ultra-funkadelic grooves in the past, he too wore bright and peculiar garb.

"Really, Mr. Dray, I expect a man awaiting a record deal to wear more formal clothing!" Snapped the tall woman.

"I’m only representing my groove, baby. " Said Dray with a devilish grin.

"Well, let’s get right down to it then; I’m Miss Taigas, the marketing manager here. I’m afraid I have some rather bad news for you – you see, I’m aware that our executive producer offered you a record deal, but now that I’ve gone over your material…well, I feel that your work just isn’t the type of stuff Sun-coast could make a profit from."

"What…What do you mean?" Asked Dray morbidly.

"It’s this whole "funk’ thing; funk just isn’t cool anymore – it’s that simple." Replied Miss Taigas snottily.

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