“Had I known it was a party I would have brought champagne!”
Daniel pulled out a chair and I flashed him a smile before taking it, facing Edith. Pointedly looking at Randall, I said, “What a gentleman. Some folks could learn a lot from you, Daniel. So, what’s going on that I had to miss rehearsal?”
“Never mind the rehearsal,” Edith began. “There are more pressing things.”
“Oh?”
“As you know, The Rich and the Ruthless and the network, per our joint operating agreement, have an Out clause in your contract that allows us the opportunity to reevaluate your performance on the show every thirteen weeks.”
“Yes, of course I’m aware of that, but considering I signed a three-year contract just two months ago, I’m sure that isn’t on any of your radars,” I stated confidently.
“Actually, we’ve decided to exercise the Out clause,” Edith returned.
The words hung in the air, locked by smugness and condescension.
“What?”
“We’re putting you on hiatus,” Edith continued.
“Hiatus?”
“Yes, for the foreseeable future Ruby Stargazer is being back-burnered,” Randall finished.
“You can’t be serious?”
“You heard right,” he said, not hiding his smirk.
“What is this, some kind of punishment for speaking out in the press last night?”
“Of course not,” Edith said. “Frankly, the decision was made weeks ago.”
“Yeah, right, I smell stink all over this.”
“Although I must admit,” Edith began, “the blatant disrespect you showed for the network, The Rich and the Ruthless, and the Barringer family by providing that tabloid reporter with those slanderous remarks really did drive home the point that you’re unhappy here with the R&R family, and as much as we love you, it was high time we reconsidered our association.”
“Family? Love? Are you actually using those two words in the same sentence with The Rich and the Ruthless? Who are you trying to kid, Edith? There’s more love between Angelina and her dad than on this soap.”
“Calm down, Calysta.”
“No, you calm down, Edith. I may not know the ins and outs of corporate America to the extent that you do or the long-term chokehold the financial collapse must have on the show, but one thing I do know is that I bring home your target audience in the millions, not to mention advertising dollars and press, and you want to ‘reconsider your association with me’? R&R was on cancellation watch when I joined and in less than six months we were the number one soap in the country and have remained there! I fought like hell to bring about diversity in front of and behind the camera even though every qualified professional I presented was unilaterally rejected, with one exception, Kimesha Nosegay. You-all remember her, don’t you?”
“Oh brother, here we go again,” Randall moaned. “Can we stay on topic?”
“I couldn’t be more on topic if I tried. A single black mother fresh out of an Inglewood salon, she did more than stuff hair under a wig, lacquer it with Final Net, then claim victory at the Sudsys for Best Hair. Never once did she show disrespect, even though the idiot in charge of the hair department insisted on segregating her due to Emmy’s incessant complaining, ‘It smells when Kimesha presses Calysta’s hair with those medieval combs, even Ethan and Jade think so.’”
Ethan was the ultimate brown-noser. He shifted like the scent of shit in the wind if it meant saving his own ass.
“Stop exaggerating, Calysta,” Randall admonished.
“It’s no exaggeration. Did you know Kimesha was so incredibly competent even Katherine and Veronica Barringer hired her for private affairs? Then poof, just like that she disappeared.”
“I know nothing about that.”
“Sure you do, Edith. You paid Kimesha pennies to tighten your weaves in the privacy of your own home in Pasadena.”
“I have had about as much as I’m—”
“I’m not done,” I snapped. “As much as you pay Danny Boy here to keep it out of the press, this soap is huge in black households, yet there’s barely a black storyline on the page let alone anyone of color on the stage. If the fans only knew how I’ve had to pull tooth-and-nail to get the basics, while you-all scandalously line your pockets with sponsorship dollars, cheese for the camera, and collect yet another NAACP Image Award, which clearly you don’t display in your offices, only the Sudsys. Diversity my butt, Josephine Mansoor is asleep at the wheel.”
“If I give you special attention everyone will want—”
“Excuse me, Edith? Did you say special? Don’t have a soul on the show to do my special hair, dress my special behind, or write my special lines. Who do you think’s doin’ it all—a ghost?”
Edith squirmed.
“Do you honestly believe the viewers are tuning in to watch Phillip McQueen cry over another one of Queenie’s sticky buns? If you’re unsure just check SecretsofaSoapOperaDiva.com.”
“Calysta, shut up,” Edith barked, like my name was Sally Hemings. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
Knowing she did, I wanted to say, “Bitch, shut don’t go up,” but kept the verbiage on the Anglo tip.
Everyone sat there, looking like they were stuck on stupid, and they were. Maybe, just maybe, the truth was finally crystallizing on the noses and eyelashes of the guilty like an early Mississippi frost.
Barely audible, a taciturn Daniel Needleman, who should’ve been drivin’ a Mister Softee truck, spoke for the first time. “Miss Jeffries, we appreciate all your many efforts to assist with marketing The Rich and the Ruthless,” the publicist began.
“Save it, Daniel. You don’t have to thank me for doing your job. I know you were too busy making arrangements for other actors representing R&R at the Nymphette Awards in Monte Carlo, or was it the sixty-third Cliffhanger Weekly cover shoot for Alison? What’s that pat line you give my manager year after year? Oh yes, ‘Brown doesn’t sell.’”
Daniel dropped his head.
“Edith, now you see firsthand the ego we’ve had to endure all these years,” Felicia said with a sneer.
“Ego? How ’bout your envy? You’ve got some nerve, Silverstein, coppin’ an attitude with zero ink in your pen game. Didn’t you win a Sudsy last year off a storyline I wrote and submitted to you on the downlow just so the black cast had some airtime? And didn’t I have to tell you UES meant Upper East Side? You thought ‘all up in my grille’ had to do with burgers.”
Busted.
“You’ve had it in for me since day one. Couldn’t stand that Augustus respected my opinion and consulted with me on a regulah about your tired asinine plots. I rewrote my storyline so my character didn’t have an incestuous lesbian affair with her daughter. Or how ’bout the time you wanted me shackled as a runaway slave in a dream sequence, ‘Ruby Stargazer channels her ancestors,’ a weak attempt to honor Black History Month. Remember that one? I gave this show a gift, on a silver platter. And did it for free because I cared and knew who was watchin’ at home.”
“As usual, your attitude and allegations are offensive, incomprehensible, and befuddling!” Felicia admonished.
“No, as usual I’m callin’ it the way it is. And I’ll tell you what’s befuddlin’. You-all building a core black viewership off of fifteen years of my blood, sweat, and tears, and a grip off of pornographic ads showin’ black chicks caressing detergent like it was a dick, about to have an orgasm—”
“Ohmygawd!” Felicia gasped.
“—and now you’re ready to cut me a deal worth forty acres and recurring? Sorry, ain’t gonna happen ’cause Calysta don’t coon.”
“That word . . . did you hear what she said, Edith?” Felicia asked in tears. “Do something!”
“Calysta, you’re making chicken salad out of chicken fingers—I mean, feathers,” Edith scoffed.
“Guess I should be flattered you tried incorporating another one of my rewrites from last week’s show into your everyday conver
sation.”
Flushed, Edith flexed her jaw.
“Augustus created a monster in you,” sighed Randall. “When I think of all the times I defended you when others wanted you out.”
“That’s rich. Randall, my knight in shining snakeskin.”
I couldn’t help but stare at his new wiry hair plugs. It was rumored his last transplant was monkey hair and had to be removed following a severe allergic reaction. These were no better.
I began laughing hysterically at the craziness of caring too damn much.
“This is no laughing matter,” Edith coldly interjected. “And the network doesn’t share your sense of humor about the situation.”
“I’d like to know what Augustus has to say about all this,” I stated with a stone-cold straight face.
“He can’t help you this time, Calysta,” Randall warned. “Auggie’s health is in a precarious state. He’s in no position to make decisions about his soaps.”
“He’s still senior executive producer and head writer,” I reminded them.
“In name only,” Randall declared. “Augustus coming back to write your storyline this past year was basically his swan song. Pity it didn’t win you the Sudsy.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it breaks your heart.”
“You’ll be hearing about this soon enough, so I might as well tell you now,” he began.
“Hear about what?”
“Augustus signed over control to Auggie Jr. and Veronica, naturally Katherine—”
“Ah,” Edith interrupted, “what Randall is trying to say is that he’ll have creative control of The Rich and the Ruthless . . . eventually.”
A terrifying sense of disbelief washed over me.
“Poor Auggie,” Randall continued. “He just isn’t the man he once was. It’s really sad.”
“I’ll tell you what’s sad: that a shameless, bottom-feeding imposter like you has somehow managed to snow the Barringer family into believing you’re a competent producer. And let me just say this: no matter how sick Augustus Barringer may be, he will always be ten times the man you wish you were.”
“Think whatever you want, Calysta,” he replied carefully. “It won’t change the fact that it’s only a matter of time before I have final say over who’s under contract on The Rich and the Ruthless. I support the network’s decision to terminate yours one hundred percent.”
Augustus couldn’t know about this. Even on his deathbed he never would’ve tolerated my being treated this way.
“We’d love to have you make the occasional guest appearance, on a recurring basis, but that of course is entirely up to you,” Edith suggested.
“How generous,” I mocked. “What? Unwrap Ruby Stargazer like a holiday ornament for Christmas episodes and Sweeps stunts to counsel her rapidly aging daughter about her sexually transmitted diseases? No thanks, I’ll pass.”
“Since you asked,” Felicia spoke up, “the plan is to introduce a younger generation of characters through Ruby.”
“Let me guess, using the old growth serum again?”
“We’re aging Jade to twenty-one.”
“And you wonder why soaps are the laughingstock of the entertainment industry? You people are certifiable!”
“I don’t think you, of all people, want to go there,” Felicia said.
“You know what . . . ?” I stood up, pushing the swivel chair out from under me, moving around the table in her direction.
Randall stepped in between us, a nefarious grin spreading across his splotchy face, knowing he had me where he wanted me.
“Calysta, have a seat.” We stared each other down until his cell phone vibrated. “Excuse me, everyone, I have to take this call,” he said, slithering to a corner.
Omni-eyed, I took in the assembled player haters and said, “To hell with this—I’m out.” Snatching up my metallic Miu Miu handbag, I headed for the door.
As I was about to walk out Daniel Needleman asked, “Ms. Jeffries, what are you going to tell the media? The show would appreciate the courtesy of having time to prepare a brief statement.”
“You mean like the courtesy I’ve been extended here today? Be sure to check out the next issue of Cliffhanger Weekly. It’ll be a page-turner.”
“Calysta, be reasonable,” Edith implored. “Don’t continue on this whole ‘unfair practice’ bandwagon regarding the Sudsy Award voting and all the other things. It makes you look bitter. The voting procedures for all the WBC daytime programs are scrupulous. Evidently the majority of the voters simply didn’t feel your performance was worthy of a Sudsy this year, or for the past fourteen for that matter. I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”
“Of course not.”
“And I’m sorry you spent your own money on hats and gloves and nonsense like that thinking the fans cared about what you wore on the show. We told you from the beginning they’re not interested in your fashion eccentricities. Besides, hats are old-fashioned. As for hair and makeup, the soap offered you a trunk of wigs in various styles and colors; however, you made the decision to go gawd knows where to have some kind of process done at your own expense.”
“For your information, Edith, the fans do care, and since we’re listing, I suppose I shouldn’t take it personal that you’ve never sent me on a location shoot.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she countered.
“Yeah you do.”
“Location shoots are based upon storyline and the demographic we are desperately seeking, especially in this uncertain financial climate.”
This was Edith’s way of saying the show was promoting the white actors. While the soap’s brass plumped up their Nielsen and Madison Avenue ratings on the backs of black households, black soap stars were oh-so-underpaid, rarely benefiting from the audience they pulled in and secured. Yep, R&R mined for gold and stole it in plain sight but couldn’t mine me. Not for sale.
“I’m sorry if you feel you were slighted, Calysta,” Edith added.
“Next you’re gonna ask why can’t I be more like Dell? In an apron, never speakin’ out, ending up with a broken spirit. Or like Jade. Sorry, ‘tragic mulatto’ just isn’t a role you’ll ever get to see me play.”
“You’re off topic again,” Felicia taunted.
“Yes, Calysta, let’s stay focused. To suggest that your ethnic background or anyone else’s has influenced the roles or tenure on our soap is ridiculous. The WBC and The Rich and the Ruthless have always been strong supporters of fairness and diversity. Alluding to a disparity based upon race at the WBC is categorically untrue. I must insist you refrain from making such libelous statements or our legal department will be forced to take necessary action,” a steely Edith warned.
“You can’t expect me to buy into this bull any more than your using intimidation will keep me quiet.”
“Let’s get back on track to why we called this meeting in the first place, shall we?” chimed in Randall. “Sorry for the interruption, my friend’s running a workshop at Sundance and needed some advice.”
“We’ll need your decision, Calysta, in the next twenty-four hours,” Edith said.
“You must be half crazy if you think for one second that after all these years on this soap, I’d accept recurring. Furthermore, there’s no way in hell I’d play a supporting role to that valley girl Jade and a bunch of models learning how to act on my watch.”
“Pick your poison,” Randall said. “As Edith stated earlier, whether or not you choose to accept the terms we’ve offered is entirely up to you.”
“That’s right, if you decide not to accept recurring, there will be no turning back,” Edith finished.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“If I could just put in my two cents?” the publicist nervously interjected, turning to Edith and Randall. “The fans would never accept a recast of Ruby Stargazer. They just wouldn’t.”
“You know, for the first time since this meeting got started someone has actually said something that m
akes some sense. It’s about more than recasting another dispensable tanned actress in Hollywood. And speaking of tanned, I know you-all darken and lighten my skin in postproduction to satisfy advertisers.”
“That’s preposterous,” Edith said.
“There she goes again.” Randall yawned.
“Save it. If you’d cast a black family, y’all wouldn’t have to do it on the cheap, using me like your own digitally correct Paint-By-Numbers kit. Just hire some chocolate up in here and stop the madness! And Daniel’s right, if you recast Ruby Stargazer, fans will turn the dial, and you can take that to the bank.”
“That’s precisely why if you don’t accept the offer we’ve generously presented, we’ll have no choice but to kill Ruby off,” Randall said.
Looking through each of them as if they were glass, I retorted, “Please, not even the people in this room are that crazy. You haven’t recovered from the one million viewers you lost after Derrick Taylor left the show for Pathological Murders. Without Ruby Stargazer the soap dies a slow death. Now you pick your poison.”
“My, you do think highly of yourself, don’t you?” Edith asked, rising, plucking her tortoiseshell glasses off the tip of her nose, using her Betsey Johnson skirt to polish off a smudge. She walked over to face me with her pinched expression and beady eyes.
I couldn’t help but think, if only Nigel Cooperman, Edith Norman’s predecessor, hadn’t left. He had loved me from the start, even writing up a secret holding deal to ensure I stayed with the network. Sadly, he and his family suffered great damage to their Brentwood home in the 6.7 magnitude of the ’94 earthquake, his wife becoming so distraught they quickly moved cross-country to New York, where Nigel now helmed Sesame Street.
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Edith warned me. “As talented and popular as you may be, you’ve made it hard at times for me to remember why I let Augustus hire you in the first place. Your costars and even some of the crew hate working with you.”
“Could it be because I don’t take crap off lazy dumbbells?”
Ignoring me, she continued, “I have in my hand a short list of actors and three crew members who signed a petition to have you removed from the show before the Sudsy Awards. Even Ethan Walker signed it.”
Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva Page 5