Collect Call From... 50 Cent

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DAY 3
October 1, 2:03 p.m.
Back at his home in Farmington, Connecticut—a sprawling mansion he bought from Mike Tyson—50 phones with the day’s news.

“Last night I was so tired I didn’t even want to walk to the car. I’m taking these supplements called MHP—they sell them over the counter at GNC—to help me recover from workouts, and they make me really sleepy. But I have a photo shoot for my album cover in two weeks and I want to look good. I’m taking my trainer everywhere I go. His name is Jay Cardiello, but I call him Jay Cardio. We do all kinds of shit. I can bench about 405, 410, but mostly we do resistance training. You get macho guys coming in like, Gimme some plates!, but fuck that—you just need a rubber band and a mat.

“I’m actually the smallest I’ve been in a long time—just 190. I’m slimming down. There’s a type of big where you get past cool—you know, where your suit don’t fit right? I don’t want to look like a fucking wrestler.”

DAY 4
October 2, 8:37 p.m.
Battling Manhattan traffic en route to a meeting with his manager, 50 phones to check in.

“Today is nothing but meetings. I had to sign some contracts at my lawyer’s office—not the sociopath one. Then I went to my accountant’s to talk about my portfolio. I’m at the point where my money makes money, but with the market so crazy right now, I’m happy just to hang on to what I got. That’s my worst nightmare: after all these years, waking up in the same spot where I started. Broke as hell.

“I also met with this artist from Russia. He makes these plaster molds of your face, like Greek statues and shit. I found him on Google—we had to talk using a translator. I’m getting him to do one for my album cover, so I had to go to his studio and sit with plaster on my face for 45 minutes. I couldn’t move—I had to breathe through my nose. I hope it turns out good. Now I’m on my way to dinner. I think Jacob the Jeweler will be there. Maybe I’ll get some new ice!”