‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’
‘Nothing I can do now. Your handsome grandfather was a world traveller,’ Grandma Poppy said, a gleam in her eyes. ‘We’d go on safaris in Africa, adventures in Peru, vacations in strange and wonderful places. We travelled the world together. He was quite a man.’
‘Was he faithful, Grams?’ Amy asked, wondering about the grandfather who’d died before she was born.
‘Of course not,’ Grandma Poppy answered crisply, as if it didn’t matter. ‘No man is. Don’t you listen to anything I try to teach you?’
After lunch, Amy got on the phone to Tina and asked if she could drop by.
‘Sure,’ Tina said agreeably. ‘All I’m doing is sitting around feeling fat. Brad’s deserted me for some stupid ball game. Men!’
‘Can I bring you anything?’
‘Oooh, let me see–chocolate. Tons of milk chocolate. Brad refuses to buy it for me, but he’s not carrying around this big balloon of a stomach all day. Selfish shit!.’
‘Chocolate,’ Amy repeated. ‘Plenty of it. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’
Hmm…theme for the day, Amy thought. Men are unfaithful, selfish bastards! So why am I marrying one?
Good question.
Tina was waiting anxiously for her when she arrived. ‘Oh, God, I’m craving this stuff,’ she said, grabbing the bag of chocolate out of Amy’s hands. ‘Brad said the doctor told him I shouldn’t put on anymore weight. What does he think I am–an idiot? I know I shouldn’t, but if you can’t pig out when you’re pregnant, when the hell can you?’
‘That’s true.’
‘Thank God somebody understands,’ Tina said, tearing off wrappers and stuffing chocolate into her mouth. ‘Come into the kitchen–I’m making coffee.’
‘Sorry to drop by so unexpectedly,’ Amy said, following Tina into her messy kitchen.
‘You’re my best friend and you brought chocolate–believe me, you’re more than welcome,’ Tina said, pouring her a mug of coffee.
‘I’ve been thinking about the other night.’
‘Good memories, I hope.’
‘Not so good, I’m afraid.’
‘Okay, spill.’
‘I guess I kind of feel guilty.’
‘You do?’ Tina said, chocolate dribbling down her chin as it mixed with a mouthful of the hot coffee.
‘Yes, I do. And I’m thinking that shouldn’t I try to find out who he is?’
‘The man you had unbelievably horny sex with?’ Tina asked, walking back into the living room.
‘I never said that,’ Amy objected, following her.
‘Are you nuts? Why would you want to know who he is? That would spoil everything.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘You don’t, huh?’ Tina said, lowering herself into a comfortable armchair.
‘Here’s the thing,’ Amy said. ‘I…uh…I’m not sure I can marry Max.’
‘What?’ Tina yelled, almost spilling coffee on her distended stomach. ‘Now I know you’re nuts.’
‘Listen’ Amy said. ‘If Max did the same to me, I wouldn’t want to marry him.’
‘Oh, Jesus!,’ Tina said, wagging her finger in Amy’s face. ‘Don’t even think about telling him.’
‘Why?’
‘It was a one-nighter, and believe me, it’s not being unfaithful when you’re not even married.’
‘But I feel too guilty to go through with it. Honestly, Tina, I think I should tell Max.’
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Tina scoffed. ‘The rehearsal dinner is tomorrow night. You’re getting married any minute. Max is perfect for you. He’s handsome, rich, a caring daddy to his kid and, most of all, he loves you. Do not ruin a good thing, Amy.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Enough of this nonsense!’ Tina said firmly. ‘You’d better pull yourself together pronto. You’ll have a great marriage.’
‘I will?’
‘Yes, you will. Everyone gets freaked out when the big day gets closer. It’s only natural. So start thinking clearly–Max is it! He’s your Brad. This time next year you too can have a belly swollen out to kingdom come!’
‘Thanks, I can’t wait!’
‘Now that we’ve settled your nerves,’ Tina said, patting her stomach, ‘pass me more chocolate. This fat woman is desperate!’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Saturday morning Cindi and Liberty were up early. Beyond excited, Cindi insisted that they splurge and take a cab to the video shoot. The night before she’d cancelled her date with Moose, the security guard. This had given Liberty a chance to fill her cousin in on everything that had taken place in the short time she’d spent with her mom.
‘Wow!’ Cindi had exclaimed, after listening carefully. ‘She finally came out with info on your dad an’ he’s dead? That’s bad shit. How come she never told you before?’
‘She never told anyone, did she?’
‘Aretha always kinda suspected it was the manager at one of those clubs she sang at.’
‘Now we know–it wasn’t.’
‘I’m callin’ my mom,’ Cindi had said. ‘See what she has t’ say about it.’
‘You can’t tell her,’ Liberty had answered quickly. ‘Diahann doesn’t want anybody knowing.’
‘Why’s that? ’Cause he was married?’
‘Don’t ask me, I’m still in shock.’
‘But you must wanna find him?’
‘Aren’t you listening to me? He’s dead, Cindi, dead.’
‘Are you sure she’s handin’ you the truth? Germany’s a long way away, an’ if she was singin’ back-up for Isaac Hayes, you can bet my mom would’ve known it.’ Before Liberty could stop her, she’d picked up the phone, put it on speaker, and called Aretha. ‘Hey, Mom,’ she’d said, ‘did Diahann ever go to Germany singin’ back-up for Isaac Hayes?’
‘If Diahann went to Germany, I’d sure as hell know,’ Aretha had said. ‘An’ if she did one damn thing with Isaac Hayes, I’d certainly know. Hallelujah! That man is a god! Saw him in concert once–there he was, all naked, covered in gold chains, his manly body glistenin’ with sweat. Oh, Lordy, Lordy! That man is one sexy hunka beef! I wouldn’t mind—’
‘Mom! Please don’t be talkin’ to me ’bout sex, that’s nasty!’
‘Why you askin’ anyway?’
‘’Cause Diahann told Libby she was on tour with Isaac Hayes.’
‘Believe me, baby, it never happened.’
‘But you don’t know everything she did. You were in Atlanta, an’ she was in New York.’
‘Honey,’ Aretha had said firmly, ‘if my sister took that fine ass of hers abroad, the whole family woulda known. She always told us ’bout the good things goin’ on.’
‘You’re sure?’ Cindi had said, exchanging a look with Liberty.
‘Yes, baby, I’m sure.’
‘Thanks, Mom. Oh, an’ listen to this–I am gonna be in a music video. You’ll be able to watch me on TV. How about that?’
‘What?’ Aretha had yelled. ‘This means we’re celebratin’. You an’ Libby get your asses over here Sunday. I’m cookin’ us a fried-chicken feast!’
‘I’m workin’ on the video Sunday.’
‘Now, don’t you go givin’ me no sass, Cindi. You be here soon as you’re through, you hear me, child?’
After Cindi hung up, she and Liberty had sat around mulling over everything. They’d decided that either Diahann was making up stories, or Aretha hadn’t known what the hell was going on.
Now they were in a cab on their way to the video shoot.
There were quite a few pretty, sexy and overweight girls milling around the studio. The choreographer, Benny Cassola, a young Hispanic man with shiny black hair pulled back into a ponytail, was attempting to shepherd them into a line-up. ‘You,’ he said, gesturing to Cindi, ‘you part of this group?’
‘I sure am,’ she said, hurrying over.
‘I’ll be teachin’ you some key moves. You gotta be natural, listen
to the music an’ stay loose. I’m lookin’ for sexy an’ juicy–the juicier the better. All you gotta do is shake it like Jell-O.’
‘Shake what?’ Cindi asked, as if she didn’t understand what he was getting at, although she totally did.
‘Everythin’ you got.’
Cindi took a look round the studio. There were men everywhere–musicians, publicists, engineers, cameramen. She’d never been shy about taking her clothes off in front of men, but this group presented quite a challenge.
‘Don’t sweat it,’ Liberty whispered soothingly, giving her a little shove towards the line-up of girls. ‘You’ll be amazing.’
‘Sure.’ Cindi snorted. ‘With my ass hangin’ out while all these horny gorillas are eyeballin’ me like I’m meat!’
‘At least we’re on a sound stage. That’s something to celebrate.’
‘You ain’t takin’ your clothes off,’ Cindi pointed out. ‘I am.’
Slick Jimmy’s song began booming over the speakers.
Fat girls got it goin’.
Fat girls in the hood,
Fat girls got the booty,
Does a man real good.
Fat girls fuckin’ in the park.
Fat girls blowin’ for a lark.
Fat girls got it goin’.
Fat girls in the hood.
‘Crap!’ Cindi whispered, outraged. ‘It’s a fat girls’ song. I ain’t fat, I’m womanly. I know I got booty t’ spare, but that don’t make me fat! Damn!’
‘Get into it, have fun,’ Liberty encouraged. ‘It’s experience.’
‘Experience, my ass!’ Cindi snapped.
As soon as Benny got all the girls together, he started teaching them a series of basic moves–bend, shake and jiggle. Cindi fell into the routine immediately.
Standing on the sidelines, Liberty was fascinated, watching Benny as he circled the girls like a panther, style and grace personified.
‘You’ll all get individual marks to hit,’ Benny informed his line-up of large, bootilicious females. ‘I want you to keep it movin’, keep it sexy, an’ most of all, keep it smooth. You can do it, ladies.’
Cindi was busy checking out the other girls. At over two hundred pounds she realized she was the skinny one of the group, which immediately boosted her confidence.
When Benny felt they had it down, he sent them off to get their hair and make-up done.
‘Come on,’ Cindi said, dragging Liberty into the large make-up room where several make-up artists and hair-stylists buzzed around, looking professional and busy.
‘Hey–you,’ said a tall, striking woman, beckoning Cindi. ‘Come sit over here.’
‘Me?’ Cindi said, not sure it was her being summoned.
‘Yes, you. I’m Beverly. Welcome to my chair.’
‘Hi, I’m Cindi.’
‘Okay, Cindi,’ Beverly said, preparing her make-up brushes. ‘You got a real pretty face. My job is to make it even prettier.’ She glanced at Liberty, who was standing by the chair. ‘And who’re you?’
‘Cindi’s cousin.’
‘Watchin’ out for her, huh?’ Beverly said, concealing a yawn.
‘Late night?’ Liberty countered.
‘Gatsby’s. Best club in town.’
‘Wow!’ Cindi said excitedly. ‘I read about that place in US magazine. Wasn’t that where P. Diddy threw a big party?’
Beverly nodded. ‘I was there,’ she said casually, like it was no big deal.
‘Shit!’ Cindi exclaimed. ‘You get to hang at fancy places ’cause you make up stars? How fine is that?’
‘I work for whoever’s payin’ me,’ Beverly answered, soaking a cotton ball in astringent. ‘Today I’m doin’ make-up on you girls. Next week I’m workin’ on a photo shoot for Glamour with Vivica A. Fox.’
‘You’re making up Vivica A. Fox?’ Cindi said, duly impressed as Beverly dabbed her face with the cotton ball. ‘That girl is somethin’!’
Beverly took another quick glance at Liberty. ‘You need your eyebrows plucked,’ she remarked.
‘What’s wrong with my eyebrows?’
‘Too thick. They’re dominatin’ that beautiful face. You gotta do somethin’ about ’em. It’ll make all the difference.’
‘I thought thick eyebrows were in,’ Liberty said defensively.
‘Honey–you’re wrong,’ Beverly said, proceeding to smooth a Peter Thomas Roth expensive moisturizer over Cindi’s face.
‘Umm…feels real nice,’ Cindi said, loving the experience of being pampered.
‘Now your make-up’ll glide on,’ Beverly explained. ‘Always remember to moisturize. Black skin needs special care.’
‘I will.’
‘So,’ Beverly said to Liberty, ‘if I get a moment, I’ll pluck ’em for you later.’
‘I’m not sure I want to do that.’
‘You gotta treat your eyebrows like your snatch,’ Beverly said matter-of-factly. ‘’S all about groomin’, baby.’
Liberty and Cindi exchanged startled glances in the mirror. Had this tall, striking woman actually said that?
By the time Cindi was fully made-up, she looked as if she’d experienced one of those make-overs so popular on morning TV shows. And when Fantasia appeared with her skimpy costume, and she wriggled into it, it actually flattered her bountiful curves.
‘Dead-on sexy,’ Liberty said encouragingly, as they headed back to the set. ‘I’m telling you, you’re looking way better than any of the other girls.’
‘You sure?’
‘Course I’m sure.’
‘Cause I’m kinda jittery.’
‘You? Come on. Nothing gets you nervous–unless it’s the thought of not getting laid on a Saturday night!’
Cindi grinned, hoisting her massive bosom. ‘You’re right! Not me! I’m a winner, girl. I got championship booty!’
After more rehearsals, Slick Jimmy put in an appearance, surrounded by his posse. Slick Jimmy looked like a cross between Snoop Dogg at his pimping best, and Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. He was no Usher, but he had his own look with his low-slung baggy pants, a big sweatshirt that hung below his knees, pirate headgear, and oversized dark shades.
The girls stood around staring at him while his song continued booming over the speakers. He began lip-synching, while the director, Maleek–a young African-American man with thick black dreadlocks and very white teeth–began telling Benny where he wanted the girls placed.
Liberty hovered on the sidelines, watching. There was no doubt about it, Cindi had big brass balls. There was no way she could have stood up there in front of all these men in such a tiny outfit, shaking her ass at the camera. But Cindi was acting like she’d done it a hundred times before.
Then, out of nowhere, he walked in. Damon P. Donnell. The Man himself.
Liberty jumped to attention. Damon P. Donnell was in the same place she was, and she wasn’t serving him coffee. This was a first.
People were fussing all over him, seeing he got a director’s chair to sit in, high-fiving him, generally kissing his butt.
‘Is Damon Donnell something to do with this record?’ she asked one of the assistants, who’d been hanging around her trying to score a date.
‘Mr Big Time. Yeah, Slick Jimmy’s on his label.’
‘No kidding?’
‘Wanna meet him?’ the assistant asked, sidling closer.
‘Sure.’
‘If you hook up with me later I’ll arrange it.’
‘I’m engaged,’ she said, backing away.
‘Don’t see a ring.’
‘That’s ’cause it’s through my husband-to-be’s nose.’
The assistant scowled. ‘You’re one of those smart-ass girls, aren’t you?’
‘I try to be,’ she answered coolly, watching Damon across the set. He seemed so laid-back and in control, with a look that screamed success.
After a while he got up and strolled over to the Craft Service table. Realizing this was her opportunity, she almost flew across the se
t. ‘Mr Donnell,’ she said, approaching him boldly, trying not to limp, wishing she’d fixed herself up more instead of just jeans and a T-shirt.
‘Huh?’ he said, turning round. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I’m Liberty. I serve you breakfast every day in the coffee shop across the street from your office,’ she said, her words spilling over each other. ‘But in the real world I’m a singer and I’m good. All I need is a chance, and I was, uh…hoping you could find the time to listen to my demo.’
He looked her over very slowly with his dark smoky eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him without his shades, she decided he had the most soulful eyes she’d ever seen.
‘Yeah, I know you,’ he said at last, tapping the diamond stud embedded in his left ear. ‘You’re the girl took a fall. You doin’ okay?’
She was shocked that he actually did remember her. ‘Uh…that’s why my arm’s bandaged,’ she stammered. ‘It’s only a surface burn. I’m feeling better already, my—’
‘What you doin’ here?’ he interrupted, reaching for a carrot stick.
‘My cousin’s one of the, uh…dancers.’
‘You like the song?’ he asked, taking a casual bite of carrot, dark smoky eyes still checking her out.
‘The truth, or should I lie?’
‘Go ahead,’ he said, faintly amused. ‘It’s a hit whatever you gotta say.’
‘Then why ask me?’ she countered, recovering her composure.
‘’Cause I wanna know.’
‘Love the beat, hate the lyrics,’ she said quickly.
‘You do, huh?’ he said, pinning her with his eyes. ‘An’ why would that be?’
‘They’re sexist.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘I’m wrong?’ he said, surprised she would dare to argue with him.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you gotta think the whole rap world is sexist.’
‘Most of it is. I mean, it’s all about violence an’ putting women down.’
‘It’s about freedom, baby.’
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