by Nikki Carter
“Congratulations again, baby girl,” Sam says. “Spelman ain’t ready for you.”
I decide to drop my irritation for now. “I know, right! Where are you going to college, Bethany?”
She laughs. “I don’t know. I’m thinking Georgia Tech. I tried to get into Spelman, but I guess I didn’t make the cut.”
You dang skippy Bethany didn’t make the cut. I want to laugh out loud. I’d be surprised if she got into any school with her C-average, spotty attendance, and lack of extracurricular activities. I think what she’s doing now is exactly what she’ll be doing next year: Kissing Dreya’s behind and stealing Dreya’s boyfriend.
19
We got to our Jacksonville Beach hotel at eight o’clock in the morning after driving all night long. I’m not as tired as I thought I’d be, because I slept the entire way. After we checked in, Sam and I decided to have a late breakfast in the hotel lobby.
He looks a little bit sleepy as he whips his spoon around in a bowl of grits. “So, I asked Big D about the royalty statements.”
“You did!” I perk up. “What did he say? When do I get paid?”
“He said that Epsilon Records pays quarterly, and the next payment is in September.”
“So, I’ll get a check in September?”
“Actually, no. Your album doesn’t drop until the first week of July, and your singles drop today. The September payment is for March, April, and May.”
I give Sam a blank stare.
Sam continues, “The good news is that you’ll get a check at the end of the tour. It’ll be your pay from the tour.”
“I just want them to rush me all my money. I should get paid as soon as they get paid.”
Sam laughs, “And what? Keep the record company from making interest off of all the money they get from your record sales?”
“Sounds too much like right, doesn’t it?” I ask.
Sam laughs out loud. “At least you’ve got songwriter credit coming on your statement. Your cousin is going to be really surprised when she sees her royalty payout. If she has one.”
“I know. I tried to tell her, but she doesn’t listen to me. I tried to tell Aunt Charlie too. She just said that she was looking for a Hollywood agent for Dreya so that she can get endorsements and movie cameos.”
Sam cocks his head to one side as if in thought. “That’s not a bad idea. After the show comes on BET, all of y’all will be stars.”
“Like I said, I don’t care about all that. I just want them to rush me my benjis. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
Sam steals a piece of my French toast. It really is good, and they gave me two small pieces. He better be glad I like him, because I’d be going upside his head for eating out of my plate.
After he swallows, he says, “You don’t have cooties, do you?”
“No!” I say with a laugh. “But speaking of which, did you know that Truth is messing with Bethany?”
Sam holds his stomach and cracks up. “How is that revelation related to cooties? Are you saying Bethany has them or Truth?”
“Probably both of them! That’s what I was talking about at Applebee’s! I don’t want Dilly to get all into Bethany, and she’s creeping with Truth.”
Tears fall from Sam’s eyes from laughing so hard. When he finally catches his breath, he says, “Yeah, I knew he was messing around with her. He likes playing with fire, I guess. If Drama finds out about that, it’s gonna be crazy.”
Crazy is not quite the word I’m looking for.
More like catastrophic.
20
After my breakfast with Sam, I do start to feel a little bit sleepy. I guess that’s what grits, French toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, and bacon will do to you. All that food is sitting in my stomach and begging me to take a nap.
I kick off my sandals and wiggle my toes. Then, I plop down on the bed on my back. I don’t turn down the covers yet; I’m just resting my eyes for right now.
As I’m drifting off to dreamland, I hear a knock on my hotel room door. I almost don’t get up to open it, but then I decide that whoever it is will just keep knocking and I’ll get even more irritated.
I swing the door open, and Bethany is standing there, looking more nervous than a mug. I step to the side and usher her in. Something tells me this is going to be a conversation that needs to happen behind closed doors.
“Are you going to tell Dreya about me and Truth?”
“How about this? What if I help you with your career? Then, you could leave Truth alone, and nobody gets hurt.”
“You would do that for me?” Bethany asks with a hopeful tone in her voice.
“No. I’d do it for my cousin, though.”
Bethany’s face wrinkles from its pleasant expression to a frown. “Why would you do anything to keep her from hurting? She hates your guts. She was so mad that your performance went well last night.”
I sigh and shrug. “Even if she doesn’t act right, she’s still my cousin. That’s what we do in our family.”
“Yeah, well, whatever. How are you going to help me get a record deal?”
I don’t like the way her voice sounds right now. It’s almost like she’s got this little entitlement thing going, where somebody has to help her. She’s got it twisted.
“Me and Sam will write you a few songs and record a demo for you when we get back home. You’re already around the people who can make it happen, so if you’ve got any potential, Mystique or even Big D will jump right on it.
Bethany shakes her head. “I don’t want to work with Big D. He can’t make any decisions on anything without going through Epsilon Records. I want to work with Mystique.”
I feel myself getting impatient with this conversation. I mean like, dang! You give some people an inch.
“We’ll see what Mystique says,” I reply. “But I’m not going to make any promises. Just like Truth couldn’t make you any promises either. No matter what he told you.”
“Okay, then. That’s what’s up.”
“I’m telling you right now, though, if I find out you still messing with Truth, the deal is off, and I’m telling Dreya what you’re doing.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’m done with him. He’s a lowlife anyway. Plus, I think Dilly might want to holler at me.”
“What about Romell? Are you done with him, too?”
Bethany laughs out loud. “Did you really think I was gonna holla at him after high school? Negative!”
I keep quiet on this one. I don’t know why Dilly tried to holla at Bethany at Applebee’s last night. I kind of got the feeling that he was trying to make me jealous. But I’m not sure. He might really be feeling her.
I do know that if Bethany keeps it up with Truth, she’s not going to like the outcome at the end of the day.
“Bethany, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah,” she replies.
“Would you do anything for a record deal? You’re just putting yourself out there, and it seems a little crazy if you ask me.”
She takes a few long moments before she responds. “I wouldn’t do anything for a record deal. I wouldn’t get hooked on drugs or prostitute myself out or anything like that.”
“But anything else is like fair game?”
She gives a sad chuckle. “Yeah, pretty much. I want fame, and I want the money. I’m not trying to be broke down in some raggedy part of Atlanta for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, I get all that. But you seem like you’re giving up everything, even your friends!”
“I gotta do what I gotta do.”
“Is it worth your soul?”
Bethany doesn’t give a reply to this question. She gives a heavy-sounding sigh and walks toward my hotel room door.
“I’ll talk to you later, Sunday. Get some rest; you’ve got a show later. Looking forward to working with you on my demo.”
She closes the door, and I lie back down on my bed with a heavy heart. It’s c
razy the things that some people will do for the fab life. Bethany thinks she’s on the way to superstar status, but if you ask me she’s making all the wrong moves.
21
Performing on the beach might seem like a really cool thing to do as an artist. But when it’s ninety degrees in the shade and the sun is blazing down on your head, you might have a totally different opinion about it. Especially when the cool waves are crashing against the shore, and you’re drenched in sweat.
If you haven’t already guessed, I’m ridiculously hot, and I haven’t even started performing yet. One of the veejays from 106 and Park is here hosting the concert live as part of a Summer Splash special, and she’s out there getting the crowd pumped. I appreciate her for that, but I’d really appreciate getting this over with.
To distract myself from the heat, I watch the little dramedy going on between Dreya and Ms. Layla. Dreya is refusing to wear any of Ms. Layla’s outfits after the wardrobe malfunction in Birmingham.
“I’m not wearing that hot-looking catsuit. You’ve got me messed up. This stuff looks like somebody bought it at Rave!” Dreya shouts. “This is not couture.”
“How many times do I have to say that you either wear my clothing on stage or you go on naked?” Ms. Layla asks. “There is no other stylist for this concert.”
Big D does the necessary and intervenes. “Listen, Drama, you have to compromise.”
“It’s a hundred degrees out here. I’m not wearing this spandex mess.”
Big D nods. “I can understand that. Ms. Layla, can we get her something a little less suffocating for this show? It is a beach party.”
“It’s not a full catsuit,” Ms. Layla explains. “She would know that if she’d tried it on. There’s more sheer material and cutouts than spandex. It breathes, and it wouldn’t be hot at all.”
“How about something casual?” Big D asks. “Like a bathing suit top and cutoff shorts or something?”
Ms. Layla sighs. “Y’all know nothing about styling a concert. That’s something I would give Sunday to wear. It fits her image. Drama has spent all this time creating an edgy persona, and now you want me to give her girl-next-door clothes?”
Dreya fingers the catsuit monstrosity. She holds it up and looks at the sheer pieces and cutouts. Then, she holds it up to her body, while Big D and Ms. Layla keep arguing.
“Ms. Layla, I just want everyone to be happy. I want you to be happy, because you know I love you and Mystique. But I also want the artists to be happy. If they’re not happy, they are not performing at their full potential, and that messes up my money.”
“Well, you need to explain to Drama how all of this works. She doesn’t seem to understand what it means to have a contract.”
Dreya clears her throat, and Big D and Ms. Layla look at her. “I’ll wear this,” she says. “It’ll do for this once. From now on, I want the right to approve or veto any outfits you think I might wear.”
Dreya carries the catsuit off to her makeshift booth behind the stage, leaving Big D and Ms. Layla looking dumbfounded.
Bethany walks up to me with an irritated look on her face. She was watching the action too.
“Drama is tripping. Why would she take them through all that if she was just going to put the outfit on?”
I laugh out loud. “Because she’s Dreya. And because the cameras are rolling.”
I think that Dreya has decided to own this role of difficult diva. Maybe she thinks it’ll make her the star of the show, like NeNe Leakes on The Real Housewives. It’s whatever! Better her than me.
Dilly walks up and asks, “Can I attach your microphone to your top?”
“Yes. Let’s get this over with, so I can perform.”
Dilly slides his hand under the strap on my halter top. I feel a little shiver go through me from the skin on skin contact.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to molest you. I just had to put this on the right way.”
I laugh out loud. “I don’t feel molested.”
“You look tired, Sunday,” Dilly says as he cocks his head to one side and examines my face. “Aren’t you pumped to perform?”
“Honestly, I wish I could just fast forward this part. I don’t know if you can tell, but I have a touch of stage fright.”
“You do? You sure hide it well.”
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Clearing out my auras, because I’m sure if they weren’t cloudy yesterday, they sure are now.
“You’re on, Sunday,” Dilly says as he hears the intro to my first song.
I jog out onto the stage and look out at the crowd. They’re extra pumped because they’re on TV, and because there are no chairs, everyone is standing up and dancing. It’s a real party atmosphere that kind of takes me back to when I first started singing with Dreya and Bethany. We’d do little performances at people’s parties, and everyone thought we were the bomb.
I hear the intro fade out, and I start singing. Immediately, I can tell something is not right. I can hear me singing, but the microphone is out. Only the people at the edge of the stage can hear me, and the people in the back are starting to grumble.
I hold up one hand to cue the band, and they seem to get the drift. They go into the breakdown part of the song. The backup singers sing their little piece, while Dilly runs out on stage with a handheld microphone.
“Hey y’all,” I say to the crowd. “Seem like we having a little bit of technical difficulty tonight. Y’all ready to party?”
The crowd yells, “Yeah!”
“Thank you for the microphone, Dilly. Y’all give Dilly a round of applause.”
The crowd cheers and claps for Dilly. He beams at me, and I give him a wink and a smile.
“Hey, y’all don’t know about Dilly yet, but he’s one of the hottest rappers coming out of this camp, no doubt. Y’all want him to freestyle for y’all?”
Again, the crowd cheers, “Yeah!!!”
I hand Dilly the microphone, and he chuckles. “How she gone put a brotha on the spot? Give me a good beat.”
Dilly motions to the band, and they give him the beginning of one of his tracks. “Look at Sunday Tolliver/think I’ma try to conquer her./She so popular./On Twitter I’m her follower./Think I’d drop all them chicks for her./Think I could get love sick for her./If I could only just get her/to kick her lame dude to the curb.”
The applause roars when Dilly hands me the microphone back. He takes a deep bow, and I giggle as he winks at me again. Sam is gonna be salty, but he’ll get over it. That freestyle was hotness.
“Give it up for Dilly!” I say, as the band starts the intro to “Inbox Me.”
I get through the rest of my set incident free. Actually, I think I perform better because Dilly helped loosen me and the crowd up. That’s what’s up.
When I get backstage Sam is waiting for me. “Y’all real cute, you know that?” he says.
“He’s just joking. Plus, you and I are not officially together anyway. He could’ve been talking about anyone.”
“Yeah, but he was talking about me.”
I stroke Sam’s cheek. “Don’t get mad. He didn’t mean it.”
“So do you want to get out of here?”
“What, like now?” I ask. “Big D would trip if I leave before the show is over.”
“Nah, he’s cool with it. I told him you were looking tired, and he said if anyone asked about you he’d say you’d gone to lie down.”
“Where are we going? Back to the hotel?”
He nods. “The hotel has a spa with its own private pool and hot tub. I thought we could hang out there. No one will know where we are.”
“Are you gonna try something, Sam? You know I took a basic self-defense class, right? I do know how to put you in a submission hold.”
Sam laughs out loud. “A submission hold? You don’t need to worry about that. I just want to hang out with my friend. Is that okay?”
Sam and I sneak out of the concert area and back to our hotel rooms to chang
e. I put on a very modest one-piece swimming suit. I don’t want Sam getting all twisted. Plus, this is a friend outing.
He meets me outside my hotel room, and we take an elevator to the hotel’s penthouse floor. The doors open to a beautiful and peaceful-looking spa. There are palm trees, and some kind of lemon scented mist is blowing through the air. It’s like an indoor rainforest.
“This is niiiice,” I whisper. I feel crazy talking out loud, because it’s so quiet.
“I know, right. Do you want a spa service? A massage or something like that?”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Um, how much is that?”
“You are cheap, Sunday!” Sam says with a laugh. “It’s only eighty bucks.”
“Eighty bucks! I ain’t gonna be able to do that.”
“I’ll pay for it, even though you can afford it.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No, you won’t. Let’s get in the hot tub. That’ll be just as good as a massage.”
Sam races me over to the huge hot tub. He beats me in and eases into the hot water. I can tell by his facial expression that he got in too fast.
I ease myself in. “Ooh, that feels good,” I say.
I didn’t realize how sore and tired I was until the hot water caressed my body and soothed my achy muscles.
Sam asks, “You excited about college? It’s just around the corner.”
“Yeah, I am, but I haven’t been able to think about it much with this tour and record deal going on.”
“I know. We’ve been more busy than the average high school graduates. But I can’t wait to hit that college campus.”
“No doubt. But it’s a good kind of busy, because we’re making money.”
“That we are. Are you gonna live on campus at Spelman or are you getting an apartment?”
“I couldn’t get one if I wanted to. Freshmen have to live on campus.”
Sam slides down the wall so that he’s up to his neck in the water. “I’m sure they’d make an exception for you. You’re a celebrity.”
“I’m not a celebrity yet.”
“You will be soon. Can you imagine what it would be like as a platinum-selling artist pledging a sorority?”