Ariana's eyes widened: "Jaden wearing women's clothing? Really? I've seen his movies; his acting is great."
Although she is six years older than Jaden and performed on Broadway at 15, her entertainment industry resume is far inferior to Jaden, who was born in 1998.
Jaden appeared in the movie Men in Black II at the age of four, starting his film career.
In 2006, at the age of eight, he won the MTV Movie Award for Breakthrough Performance with his performance in The Pursuit of Happyness. Last year, he even co-starred with international action superstar Jackie Chan in The Karate Kid, playing the second protagonist.
Many industry big shots, including Will Smith, have high hopes for Jaden, calling him the Shirley Temple of the new era.
"Who knows?" Bonnie shrugged. "Tabloid news, maybe true, maybe they made it up. But I heard Will was so angry he burned all the dresses at home."
"It doesn't matter; that little bastard can wear his mom's underwear." Leon sneered.
The commercial van moved forward on the narrow streets of Brownsville. When driving into Chester Street, the ground became unusually bumpy.
Ariana was curious about everything here, staring at the walls covered with gang markings outside the window, muttering: "This place looks like a maze, the kind you can't get out of once you enter."
"Don't worry, Little A," Leon grinned. "I can lead you out of this place even with my eyes closed."
The CBS cameraman squeezed in the back seat carrying the equipment, the lens sweeping the street view outside the window from time to time, trying to capture every picture that could become a "street reality" label.
Bonnie stared at the phone screen and suddenly looked up. "Will Smith's tweet has been retweeted over ten thousand times; he is really mad."
Leon shrugged. "Fck, I don't know what he's thinking. Whether Jaden is wearing a skirt or secretly did some strange surgery, I didn't teach him any of this."
Will Smith himself is a representative figure of Hollywood leftist actors, having expressed support for the woke movement more than once.
Even when talking about the woke movement, he revealed his true feelings many times, exerting the god-level acting skills in The Pursuit of Happyness, crying while speaking.
But now that this kind of thing happened to his own son, he was unhappy. The deep-rooted bad nature of human double standards was vividly reflected in him.
"Do we want to respond?" Bonnie asked, "The second half of the year is our exertion point. Tim asked us to maintain the speed of releasing a new song a month. This is simply heat sent to our door."
"How do you want to respond?" Ariana leaned closer curiously. This was the first time she saw with her own eyes how Leon dealt with beef.
Leon leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. "Maybe Jaden was stimulated by something. Heard his mom Jada always dresses very revealingly in front of his friends, sometimes making overly intimate gestures."
"We can make an issue of this aspect, praising him for having a charming wife. That guy is thin-skinned; I think he will definitely be pissed off."
Ariana burst out laughing. "Are you praising him or insulting him?"
"It doesn't matter." Leon sat up and leaned close to Ariana. "This is the rule of the game, Little A. When someone attacks and slanders you, you must hit back hard. Understanding this is very important to you."
"Mmhmm." Ariana blinked her eyelashes and nodded repeatedly, looking like she somewhat understood.
Bonnie took out her laptop, created a new Word document, but her fingers lingered over the keyboard.
Like a writer without inspiration, having nowhere to start.
Thinking for about ten minutes, she figured out how to write a response full of attack power and sarcasm.
Following Leon's instructions, she slut-shamed Smith's wife, Jada.
"Will Smith respond to you again?" Ariana, watching the drama on-site, seemed very excited.
"Of course." Leon shrugged, a trace of cunning flashing in his eyes. "That guy will be so angry he'll smash his phone after seeing this tweet. I can completely imagine him incompetently raging and cursing at everyone in the PR team."
Leon left no room for Will Smith, hitting the opponent's vitals as soon as he made a move.
This is really an extremely hypocritical guy.
He debuted as a rapper in 1985 and reached the peak of his music career in 1989, winning the Best Rap Performance award at the 31st Grammy Awards.
Making a name in the film and television circle happened after the 90s. The foundation of his career was endowed by rap music.
But now he turns around and attacks new wave rap for poisoning teenagers.
His wife Jada is his biggest weakness. To some extent, she can even be said to be the "master" of this black superstar.
Whether in the entertainment or sports circle, there is a type of woman: they are always active in this industry as reporters, critics, or other related practitioners, waiting for opportunities to attack these public figures.
Usually, they don't show strong purpose at first, but slowly show their charm, professionalism, and so-called "independent female spirit" through frequent contact.
Public figures become prey unknowingly.
Someone even rolled this track to a new height, writing books about it.
Books such as How to Become the Wife of a Sports Star and The Truth about Hollywood Outsider Girlfriends can be seen everywhere on the best-seller shelves of major bookstores across the US.
This petite black girl, only 1.52 meters tall, has always presented herself as a strong woman and an independent female, completely taming Will Smith, the most influential black superstar in Hollywood history.
Every time the two are in the same frame in public, it reveals a trace of weirdness. In this relationship, Will Smith looks more like the woman.
Soon the convoy stopped in front of a dilapidated two-story building. Leon knew this place all too well.
The crooked sign from before was gone, replaced by a black panther statue made of resin and painted black.
Eyes scarlet, revealing fangs.
The door was hung with various exaggerated signboards—"Black Panther Records," "Chester Bad Boy Radio," "Brownsville Rap Art Incubation Center," "East Coast Bethlehem—Birthplace of Street Jesus"...
The outer wall was covered with graffiti and posters. The most conspicuous one was a huge portrait of Leon—holding a microphone, wearing a holy white robe, with the dilapidated street view of Brownsville as the background.
The title read in bold: "Street Jesus, Made by T-Ray."
Pushing open the door, a strong smell of tobacco and marijuana hit the face, mixed with the smell of cheap perfume and alcohol.
The music was deafening. Cardi B's Bodak Yellow background music added a hint of decadence to this gang den.
T-Ray's fat butt sat on a luxurious swivel chair, wearing a decent haute couture suit, a cigar in his mouth.
He held a blonde white girl in his left hand and a red-haired black girl in his right hand.
The common point is that both girls only had a few pieces of cloth on them, and both had fat butts like sheep tail fat.
T-Ray's fat belly pushed against the shirt buttons as if they were about to pop open at any time, looking very comical.
"Yo bro!" Hearing the door open, he stood up immediately and welcomed Leon. "You don't know how long I've waited for you. Fck, didn't you say you would come at four? Look at the time now!"
He raised his arm to show off the glittering Audemars Piguet watch, grinning obviously to show off.
The success of the podcast made him a lot of money. He didn't understand himself why spraying people into a microphone made him inexplicably rich.
"I haven't been back to Brownsville for a long time; encountered a little episode, you know." Leon patted his shoulder and selected a cigar in the humidor as if he were at his own home.
The camera team quickly focused and aimed the lens at this famous gangsta producer.
Before coming here, the CBS team knew a little about T-Ray's name. Surface Rap program swept across America.
The image of that fat ngga smoking a cigar, holding beauties, and answering questions about everything in the world was deeply rooted in people's hearts.
He always smoked and drank excessively, talking from rap music to world history and international politics, as if nothing in this world was beyond his understanding.
The audience drank beer and collectively climaxed amidst the dense abuse of "fck," "btch," and "pssy."
"What? How is this possible? Someone dares to trouble you in Brownsville?" T-Ray said fiercely, "Tell me who those guys are; I'll have someone teach them a lesson and bury them in the sand pit of Manhattan Beach."
"Those small problems have been solved, T." Leon patted his shoulder with a smile. "I just came back to the community to have a look, and by the way, let this group of white guys from CBS see the real Brownsville."
T-Ray laughed loudly, turning to look at Ariana and the filming team. "Welcome to Black Panther Records, ladies and gentlemen. There is no red carpet here, only Bloods bandanas dyed with blood."
The filming team nodded repeatedly, bluffed by the speech full of chuunibyou (adolescent delusions of grandeur) vibes.
Ariana felt uncomfortable since walking into this room, especially seeing the taillights of the two girls, almost twice as big as hers.
She looked around and saw the golden Glock pistol hanging on the wall, unable to help muttering: "This place looks like the set of Scarface..."
The filming team quickly set up the equipment. The cameraman carried the camera, aiming at Leon and T-Ray. The reporter excitedly handed over the microphone. "Mr. T-Ray, convenient to chat?"
"Of course, look what I do." T-Ray grinned. "Off the show, I use my tongue to fascinate girls; on the show, I use my tongue to make men crazy!"
"Heard you are the producer of Mr. Leon's first record?"
"That's right!" T-Ray puffed out his chest. "Every American knows the name of Street Jesus, but they must understand that I am the Virgin Mary. No! It's Street Jehovah."
Leon rolled his eyes and didn't respond, quietly watching the fat ngga posturing.
"Your achievements are unparalleled! People often overlook behind-the-scenes heroes when talking about public figures! Just like Quincy Jones to MJ, Seymour Stein to Madonna!"
"Yes... what's your name, good homie? I appreciate you!" T-Ray's grin reached his ears.
"Can you tell us what Mr. Leon's street life was really like? Every fan is curious about this."
"I think that's no problem." T-Ray hesitated for a moment, agreeing only after seeing Leon's approval.
When telling this story, one must think carefully. Can't bluntly tell the reporter that Street Jesus was nothing before.
Busking in the subway station, grabbing relief meals with homeless people...
Even living in a stripper's home, eating and taking while riding for free.
"Then I'll start asking." The reporter cleared his throat. "Heard Mr. Leon was a big shot on this street before his debut. Everyone wants to know how he made someone like you willing to be a little brother? I mean he is really too young, and a white guy..."
"What did you say?!" T-Ray was so excited he almost dropped the cigar.
With a force of his hand, the white girl beside him cried out in pain.
Before Leon became famous, he was a gangsta producer deeply cultivated in Brownsville for twenty years, the golden partner of "Magnum" George.
A white boy surviving on tips in the subway station was not even as good as a stray dog on the roadside in his eyes.
But now the situation is completely reversed. In front of the sugar daddy, he couldn't say these words.
The Audemars Piguet watch on his wrist, the big ocean view house just bought in Sheepshead Bay, the big-headlight beauties different every day...
Without Lion's Den Media, none of this would exist.
The extremely face-saving fat ngga could only grit his back molars. "You are right; Leon's charismatic personality conquered the entire community." The reporter followed the conversation: "Heard he is the toughest man in the entire Brownsville, the kind who can stick a knife between his own ribs for friends."
"Ah yes yes yes..." T-Ray nodded repeatedly to deal with it.
Thinking in his heart: When the chips on the table are enough, that kid will unhesitatingly stab the homie twice, using the kind with blood grooves, stabbing hard into the artery.
"JAY-Z offered Leon a $300,000 signing fee, but Mr. Leon decisively refused and chose to stay at Black Panther Records." The reporter's eyes lit up; mentioning these things seemed to move himself: "Finally, you pushed this deal, thinking he deserves a bigger stage. Is the real story like this?"
T-Ray's mouth corners twitched, looking away.
Leon spread his hands helplessly, looking like it had nothing to do with him.
"Shameless... too shameless." T-Ray cursed in his heart. Even historians studying the history of Indian extinction don't rewrite history like this.
He still remembers the scene of Leon giving him the middle finger after being poached by JAY-Z.
After more than ten seconds of silence, he tried hard to squeeze out a smile. "This is the real street story that happened. I am proud of his upright and kind character..."
"What a great friendship!"
The reporter couldn't help giving a thumbs up. $300,000 is a number enough to change the trajectory of fate in the slums.
"Next let's talk about Take Me to Church. Mr. Leon, can you tell us about the background of this song first?" The reporter took the cigar handed by Leon and joined the ranks of puffing smoke.
The atmosphere was more relaxed and happy.
"No problem." Leon nodded, crossing his legs.
"There are multiple interpretations of the creative background of Take Me to Church. Some say this is a song written for your ex-girlfriend. There are also some other voices on the internet..." The reporter suddenly got stuck, swallowing saliva. "Saying this is a gay song. We really want to hear your interpretation as the author."
He pondered for a moment and said: "Take Me to Church is a love letter I wrote to Brownsville, to the honest and simple nggas here."
"Inside the church are gilded holy statues; outside are gunshots and sirens. The struggle of black brothers never relies on God's gift."
While listening to these beautiful words, Bonnie's big white eyes almost rolled to the sky.
During the cohabitation time spent together, Leon joked more than once that his wish was to be a glorious plantation owner, doing nothing every day, just waving a whip and waiting for the harvest.
T-Ray interjected: "When this song first came out, the whole Brownsville went crazy. Even the drug dealers on the corner were humming this tune, saying it was their hymn."
The reporter nodded, eyes full of admiration: "Before coming here, I never thought there was such a place in New York. It seems really abandoned by God..."
"Let me tell a joke." T-Ray took a sip of whiskey and grinned. "When I was in my twenties, that was the nineties, the golden age of gangsta music. Those walking on the street were real tough characters, not those sissies carving tattoos all over their faces to scare people... At that time, the cops' attitude towards nggas was even worse than now."
"A ngga in the community stood by the roadside ready to pee, and happened to be questioned by the police. As soon as he turned around, he took two bullets for no reason."
"Oh my God... is this true?" The leftist reporter looked solemn, moved emotionally. "But why is this? This is too crazy..."
"Because..." T-Ray suppressed his laughter, the fat on his body trembling along. "Because the cop mistook the guy below him for a Glock."
"What?!"
The reporter didn't react for a moment. Leon and Bonnie were already clutching their stomachs and laughing together.
T-Ray's big hand kept slapping the girl's taillights; the fat on his belly trembled together with the girl's taillights.
Ariana had never experienced such a vulgar and obscene street-style trash talk performance up close, blushing and lowering her head.