Not A Good Look

by Nikki Carter

  I’m totally enjoying this until I think about the fact that my mother is at the hospital with Carlos and he might not even make it through the night. How could I be out here laughing and joking when all this drama is taking place?

  Sam hands my phone back to me and surprises me by giving me a hug. “It’s gonna be all right. You know that, right?”

  Okay, dang he smells good. And wow, I’m completely attracted to him right now, even though he ain’t the cutest dude. I mean, Romell’s got him whipped in the looks department, but I know he’d never hug me and tell me everything’s gonna be okay.

  “I won’t forget to call,” Sam says, and then kisses me on my forehead before leaving.

  I stand in the doorway and watch as he walks away. He stops to say something to Aunt Charlie and then gets into his car. I can’t stop looking, even after he’s driven up the hill and I can’t even see his car anymore.

  Okay…Romell who?

  5

  When I wake up in the morning, the first person I think about is Sam. He called me when he got in and told me to have sweet dreams. Is it selfish of me to be thinking of a potential crush when my mother’s man is in the hospital? Maybe so, but I can’t help it.

  My mother is home now. She’s sitting at the table holding on to a cup of coffee for dear life. She looks exhausted, but she still has on her clothes from yesterday.

  “Mommy, what’s the latest on Carlos?”

  “No change. They say he could wake up at any time, or he might not. His family is up there with him.”

  “Why don’t you get some rest? You look really tired.”

  “I am, but I’m more angry than tired.”

  “You’re angry because Carlos got shot?”

  She nods. “Definitely because of that, but even more because they robbed Carlos before the fight got started. It was all a setup to begin with.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  My mother frowns. “That’s why LaKeisha was up at the hospital apologizing. She told her brother that she was mad about Carlos being over here with me, and that she wanted to get him back for leaving her. They were never gonna let him be a part owner of the club.”

  I’m tripping that my mother is even telling me all this. She usually doesn’t share “grown-folk business” with me and Dreya, but she’s giving up all the dirt today.

  “How much did they get him for?” I ask.

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “What? Where did Carlos get that kind of money?”

  My mother’s shoulders slump. “I loaned it to him. The club is already making lots of money, so it seemed like a sure thing. He was gonna give me double the money back.”

  “Mom, I didn’t know you had money saved like that. I thought you only had my college fund and your retirement.”

  My mother is silent now as she sips on her coffee. Then it all comes to me. The reason why she’s telling me all this, and where the twenty-five grand came from.

  “You loaned him my college fund?” I ask.

  She nods. “I promise, honey, I’m gonna find a way to get it back.”

  I think about the Spelman application that’s on the desk in my bedroom. I plan to have it in by November 1st, so that I can get early admission. But how can I do that if I don’t have money? I was already planning to apply for scholarships, too, but what if that doesn’t pan out? What if I need more money?

  The only thing that gets me through this hood existence sometimes is the fact that I’m going to college to get my law degree. When I study entertainment law, no slick producer or record company is gonna be able to scam me outta my royalties and residuals.

  “I don’t know what to say, Mommy. I’m going to college next year.”

  “Yes, you are. I don’t even want you to worry about that. I’m gonna get the money. I just wanted you to know what was going on.”

  My mother and I look up when the front door opens. Dreya walks through the door looking rumpled, crumpled, and like she hasn’t slept all night.

  “You think you grown, staying out all night?” Aunt Charlie asks from her almost permanent spot on the couch. I thought she was still asleep.

  Dreya gives Aunt Charlie the hand. “Don’t stress me.”

  Aunt Charlie jumps up. “Don’t stress you? You done lost your mind, I see! If you’re that grown you can go stay with that boy. Go and pack yo’ stuff!”

  Dreya laughs and shakes her head. “How are you kicking me out of Aunt Shawn’s house?”

  Aunt Charlie looks at my mother, I guess trying to get some backup, but my mother throws both her hands up. “Unh-uh. I can’t do it this morning, Charlie. That’s between y’all.”

  “Oh, you ain’t gon’ back me up, Shawn? You ain’t gon’ put this triflin’ heffa out?”

  “Charlie…”

  Aunt Charlie stands to her feet and her blanket drops to the floor, revealing a tattered nightgown and her ashy knees. It doesn’t help that her legs are so skinny that they look like two pretzel sticks. Not a good look at all.

  “Shawn! If Sunday was spending the night out with some thugged-out boy, I bet you wouldn’t be so nonchalant.”

  My mother sighs and replies, “Charlie, I don’t have the energy today.”

  Aunt Charlie looks my mother up and down. “I know I can’t expect you to have my back. You done gave Sunday’s college money to that ole wannabe thug, Carlos. If you’ll do that to your own child, I know you wouldn’t have my back.”

  “You need to go on somewhere with that, Charlie. If I didn’t have your back, you and your children would be homeless. You betta recognize.”

  “See, why you gotta go there, Shawn?” Aunt Charlie asks.

  My mother asks, “Why you gotta go there?”

  I slide silently off the stool and flee to my bedroom. I can’t even think about eating breakfast, ’cause my stomach is in knots. Even though my auntie and my mama’s drama was a little bit of a distraction, I keep thinking about my college fund. I’ve been planning on going to Spelman since fifth grade, and as far as I know, my mother’s been saving just as long.

  After slamming my bedroom door hard, I throw myself onto my unmade bed and sob into my pillow. This is not fair at all.

  “Sunday, unlock the door—I gotta change clothes!” Dreya hollers from the other side of the door.

  I ignore her and stare at the ceiling. Even when Dreya starts pounding on the door and kicking it, I don’t move. I don’t feel like dealing with her right now.

  The door rattles on its hinges as Dreya continues to kick like she ain’t got good sense. I hope she kicks it in, so my mama can go upside her head. That would be exactly what I need to help get my mind off of this messed-up situation.

  Finally, I walk over to the door and open it. Dreya acts like she’s gonna swing on me and I don’t even flinch. Actually, I almost laugh. Dreya going in on me is the last thing I’m worried about.

  “Girl, please,” I say, “I really wish you would. Today would be the perfect day for me to spank that—”

  “Whatever, Sunday,” Dreya interrupts. “If my man wasn’t outside waiting on me, I’d wipe the floor with your lame self.”

  I chuckle. “Do it, Dreya. We can do this all day er’y day.”

  Dreya rolls her eyes and grabs her clothes. “Big D wants you to come to the studio.”

  She says this all nonchalantly, like it’s nothing major.

  “What for?” I ask, sounding pretty nonchalant myself. Don’t want her to think I’m pressed.

  “He wants to put together an album for me. He thinks he’ll be able to blow me up when Truth’s single hits the radio, just like Ashanti after she did them cuts for Big Pun and Ja Rule.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “A few stacks, I guess.”

  To make this worth my while, I’m gonna need way more than a few stacks. Even with scholarship money, I’m looking at a good thirty grand a year for school. And it sounds like my college fund is dang near depleted after oper
ation Carlos.

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

  “Big D said for you to call Sam and have him come scoop you. He told me to give you his number,” Dreya says.

  “I already have his number. Got it last night.”

  Dreya grins wickedly. “Got them digits, huh? Well, he’s kinda your type, I guess, although he ain’t nowhere near as cute as Romell.”

  “Who’s thinkin’ ’bout Romell?”

  “You were up until five minutes ago!”

  “Whatev.”

  Dreya rolls her eyes and grabs up a few more items and heads to the door. “Don’t forget to call Sam, Sunday. This could really blow us up!”

  As if she cares about blowing us up. She only cares about herself! I’ve never met anyone more out for themselves than Dreya.

  When she leaves, I take out my phone and send Sam a text.

  U gon’ come scoop me?

  It takes all of thirty seconds for him to respond. This makes me laugh out loud. Thirsty much?

  U want me to?

  I take a second to decide how I want this whole thing to play out. And since I don’t know Sam all like that, I’m not gonna let him see me pressed.

  Big D wants you to.

  About a minute after I click Send, my phone rings. Guess who?

  “Hey, Sam.”

  “So you don’t want me to scoop you?”

  I chuckle. “Didn’t say that. But the text was a result of Big D’s request.”

  “Okay. Well, then, yes, I’ll come scoop you for Big D.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t want to.”

  “Didn’t say that. But my scooping you is a result of Big D’s request.”

  Wow. I’m speechless and caught without a comeback. Have I ever intellectually sparred with a guy before? I don’t think so. This could be the start of something.

  “How soon will you be here?”

  “Does forty-five minutes work for you?” Sam asks. “I was kinda in the middle of something.”

  “Really? What are you in the middle of?”

  “Hold on.”

  I can tell he puts the phone on speaker because I can hear shuffling going on in the background. The next thing I hear is music coming from a keyboard. It’s a hot-sounding piano track. A simple melody weaved through a drum beat with the perfect amount of strings and horns. It’s hot to death.

  Sam says, “Did you hear that?”

  “Yep. I like it.”

  “Good. Because Big D wants us to write something to this track for Dreya’s album.”

  “Yeah, I haven’t agreed to doing that yet. We’re going to have to discuss the particulars. I’m not doing a whole album without songwriting credit.”

  “I hear you. I think he’ll give you credit, but he’ll just want his name on there first.”

  “You’re cool with that? It seems kinda undignified.”

  “Well, you can choose to keep your dignity, or you can get your name out there. That’s the way I look at it.”

  “I’ll think about it while you’re on your way to come and get me.”

  “Cool. Is everything okay with you?”

  “Oh, you mean last night? Yeah, I guess. I’ma have to change some plans, but yeah, I’m good. See you in a little bit?”

  “Not if I don’t see you first.”

  I press End on my phone and I’m thinking how can this guy be so corny, yet likable at the same time?

  6

  “Fair exchange ain’t robbery / but I feel like you robbin’ me blind. / Losin’ my mind, losin’ myself / I write the lines while you stack the wealth.”

  —Sunday Tolliver

  I’m bobbing my head to the track that Sam let me hear on the phone. We’re holed up in a little room off the main studio. It’s only a little bit bigger than a closet. The only thing in here is a keyboard, a few chairs, and a computer. Sam calls it his incubator because it’s where his musical ideas come to life.

  “You feeling anything?” Sam asks after playing the track all the way through.

  I nod and sing, “I remember sweet things, like whispers in my ear / I love you was all I used to hear / But I pushed you away from me / ’Cause I was silly and I was not ready.”

  “That’s hot!” Sam exclaims.

  “You think so?”

  Sam smiles and starts to play again. “Now I’m missing you / Wanna take back the way that I hurt you / But you ain’t hearing me / ’Cause you found another one to replace me.”

  “Dang, boy! You on fiyah!”

  I try to hide my excitement just a little bit, but it’s hard to contain with Sam feeding off me like this. I’ve never had a songwriting partner. It’s always just been me. But Sam is the real deal.

  Sam sits back in his chair and cheeses. “This song ought to be on your album. It’s too hot to give to your cousin.”

  “My album? Nobody is trying to give me a record deal right now, but it’s cool that you think I should be doing my own stuff.”

  “You’re a much better singer than Dreya.”

  “Yeah, but you ought to see her perform. She’s got stage presence like nobody’s business.”

  Sam gives me a little frown. “I’m trying to compliment you, and you keep talking about your cousin.”

  “Well, we are working on songs for her album. She’s about to be a star, not me.”

  “You’re already a star.”

  I swallow hard and to keep from answering, I start singing again. “Love is / love does / love’s gone / love was…”

  “My eyes / can’t hide / my tears / good-bye,” Sam finishes.

  We’re silent now, just staring at each other in amazement. We just finished the first verse and hook of a song in less than an hour. It’s mad hot, crazy hot.

  “Whoa,” Sam finally says.

  “Yeah, I’m totally flatlined right now. I’ve never vibed with someone like this.”

  All of a sudden the air is thick, and I think I’m tripping. Sam looks away first, breaking the spell of our intense eye contact. Then the door to the room swings open, completely disintegrating our flow.

  “Y’all coming up with anything?” Big D asks.

  Sam looks at me and nods. He starts playing the track and I sing the first verse. Then Sam and I harmonize on the hook. It sounds sweet…and definitely too good for Dreya. But since nobody’s checking for the next Sunday Tolliver joint, it’s gonna have to go to Dreya.

  “Dang! If I leave y’all in here all day, we gon’ go platinum, no question!” Big D exclaims. “This the bidness, for real.”

  Sam smiles. “She’s good, Big D. Like a muse or something.”

  “Stop playing, boy,” I say, while I’m totally blushing. “You’re good, too.”

  “Hey! No crushing and whatnot in my lab!” Big D says. “This here is about the paper, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, Big D, we hear you,” Sam chuckles.

  Big D stares me down. “I hear you want some songwriter credit, lil’ mama.”

  “Yeah, no doubt.”

  I’m trying to sound cool, but I don’t feel cool at all. I feel like Eminem in that movie 8 Mile and this is like my one shot to blow up. I cannot mess this up. Everything’s riding on this. College, my career. It’s do-or-die time.

  “Your name can go behind mine and Sam’s on the track listing. You’ll get a flat fee of one thousand per song.”

  “One thousand? What if it goes platinum?”

  Big D shrugs. “What if it doesn’t?”

  “So I write ten songs and make ten thousand dollars. That doesn’t seem like a lot. What if I just wait and get my money on the back end?”

  Sam’s eyebrows rise as if I’ve said too much, but Big D looks like he’s contemplating what I’m saying.

  “Tell you what—ten thousand on the first time out, and if this goes platinum, you’re in a good position for the sophomore album.”

  I consider my options. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. At least I know I’ll be able to start my
freshman year at Spelman. But I’ll be sick to death if Dreya’s album goes platinum, which I know it will, and Big D makes millions while I’m still struggling.

  Dreya sticks her head in the door. “Girl, who else is paying you a thousand dollars a song?”

  “It just feels like I’m getting played,” I say.

  Big D replies, “Listen, you don’t get to start out on top, baby. You got to work your way up. Most cats out here on the come-up would write songs for me, for free. I’m paying you because I know you got what it takes to go the distance. But you got to crawl before you walk, baby.”

  I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Sam exhales like he’s relieved. But he’s probably got something riding on this, too. Something tells me I should’ve gotten a lawyer.

  But that’s not how deals go down in the A.

  “It’s a wrap, then,” Big D says. “I’ma let y’all get back to work. Make it hot.”

  When Big D and Dreya leave the room, Sam says, “You cool?”

  “I guess. I feel like I just sold my soul.”

  “Don’t think about it like that. We are about to blow up, Sunday.”

  “But only Big D is gonna get paid?”

  Sam shakes his head. “We will, too. As soon as Dreya gets a number-one hit, everybody will want us to write for them.”

  “Mmm-hmm…”

  “Trust me, girl. I know what I’m talking about.”

  I guess I do have to trust him and Big D. What other choice do I have? I know one thing, though. Dreya better step up to the plate and sing like my college dreams depend on it.

  7

  Getting dressed for school this morning is tough. I spent all day Saturday and Sunday creating and vibing with Sam in the think tank. We came up with not ten, but twelve hot songs, and I’m dog tired.

  I go to my purse and pull out the check. It doesn’t even seem real that I’m holding a ten-thousand-dollar check in my hand. I’m going on my lunch to open a bank account at the Bank of America across the street from my school.