by Nikki Carter
Dreya stands looking in the mirror, trying to perfect her hobo-couture look. “We’re about to get paid, Sunday.”
“Do you really believe all that stuff Big D is talking? Platinum sales, millions of dollars, and all that?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna make me a star, for real. That’s why I’m moving out today. I’m moving into Big D’s house.”
“What? Auntie Charlie isn’t gonna let you do that.”
“She can’t stop me. Plus, as soon as I get a record deal, she’ll change her tune. She’s all about the paper.”
“Are you packing anything, or are you just gonna leave?”
Dreya rolls her eyes. “Girl, you know if I pack up and try to have an official move, it’s gonna be a hot, drama-filled mess.”
“So you’re just gonna go with nothing?”
“Truth said he’d take me shopping and buy me all new clothes. I’ll need them anyway, because I have to go with him to all his release parties and performances.”
“And his album comes out when?”
“End of November, but we’re about to start promoting it now.”
All of this is happening too fast. Dreya’s moving in with Big D, promoting an album, and recording her own. I’m holding a ten-thousand-dollar check in my hands.
“What about school?” I ask, thinking that I might already know the answer.
Dreya laughs. “Sunday, you’re the bookworm of the family. I wasn’t ever college-bound, know what I mean?”
“I guess, but I don’t think you should move out yet.”
“Are you hating on me, Sunday? You trying to hold me back ’cause you don’t have a man like Truth, or a record deal?”
“Girl, please. You ain’t even got a record deal yet. This just all sounds too good to be true.”
“And what about that check in your hand? Is that too good to be true, too?”
“It is if it bounces.”
Dreya laughs again and this time grabs up her leather backpack. “I’m out. Don’t tell my mother about me moving.”
I follow Dreya up to the front of the house, where Aunt Charlie is watching a Will Smith movie and smoking a cigarette. Can we watch the news in the morning like normal people, please?
“Where y’all been all weekend?” Aunt Charlie asks.
“The studio,” I reply.
“Well, I hope you got your homework done,” my mother comments.
“Why do you care if I did my homework? You up here spending all of my college money, so I might as well drop out, right?”
My mother sighs wearily. “How many times do I have to apologize to you, Sunday? Plus, I told you we’re getting the money back. As soon as Carlos is back on his feet—”
“If Carlos ever gets back on his feet,” Aunt Charlie says.
“He’s going to, Charlie,” my mother snaps. “Why would you even go there?”
I decide not to comment on Aunt Charlie’s ignorance. I do hope that Carlos gets well, but what’s the point of talking about it? It looks like Big D is funding my college education now.
Both Dreya and I leave the house. Truth’s car is waiting outside for Dreya, and Bethany is standing in front of our house with an impatient look on her face.
Bethany says, “It’s about time. You’re gonna make us miss the bus.”
“We got plenty of time, girl. Come on.”
As we walk, Bethany asks, “Is it true what I heard about Carlos?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“That’s messed up. The whole neighborhood is talking about it.”
This means that Bethany spent the weekend at the mall and at Cascade skating rink telling everybody my business.
When we get to the bus stop, my ex-boo Romell steps up to me, with his boys following close behind. I can tell by that slick grin on his face that he’s got something ignorant to say.
I am definitely not in the mood.
“I heard your mama’s man got shot up. Who’d he do dirty?” Romell asks.
Ugh! I can’t believe I used to be so gone over this boy. Sam only knew me for one day and cared more than Romell does.
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” I reply with the stank attitude dripping from my tone.
“Dang, Sunday. Why you gotta be all like that? See, that’s why I had to bounce your little evil self to the curb,” Romell says.
“You did not kick me to the curb. I bounced you.”
“That’s right. You were mad, just ’cause I gave some other girl my number. Are you still mad?”
“Naw. I’m mad ’cause you up in my face and your breath stank. Bethany, give him some gum, a mint, something.”
Everyone at the bus stop cracks up laughing. I lift one eyebrow, challenging Romell to come at me again. He will never beat me in a war of words, but it might make me feel better.
I guess Romell doesn’t want to take the chance of me embarrassing him further, so he gives me a dismissive shrug and walks off with his boys to the other side of the bus stop.
“So y’all were at the studio all weekend?” Bethany asks. “Are you gonna dish or what?”
“Nothing to dish about.”
“Why didn’t you come and get me?”
“I don’t know. It was kinda last minute. Big D wanted me to come into the studio and write some songs for Dreya’s album.”
Bethany’s mouth drops open. “Dreya’s album? Y’all tripping not keeping me in the loop. She’s got a record deal?”
“Not yet, but Big D said he could get her one as soon as Truth’s first single hits number one. Maybe even before that.”
“The hook we wrote?” Bethany asks.
I laugh out loud. “Stop playing, Bethany. The hook I wrote?”
“Yeah, it’s whatever. I contributed, too,” she says.
“Okay, Bethany.” I refuse to argue with her when she’s being delusional.
“What’s up with Sam? You aren’t trying to step to him, are you?”
I pause before giving my reply. I know that Bethany likes Sam, or thinks she likes Sam, or whatever it is that she does. In her mind she’s claimed him, but nobody else operates off her logic.
Finally I say, “He’s a great songwriter, but I don’t know about stepping to him. We just met.”
Bethany rolls her neck and leans back. Here we go. Let the delusional behavior begin.
“Is that the only reason you’re not stepping to him?” she asks.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“How about the fact that I was digging him first?”
See what I’m talking about? Delusional.
“Bethany, don’t start. Sam was not feeling you at all, and you know it. Why you always gotta do this?”
This is such a repeat story with Bethany. Just about every guy that I’ve dated, including Romell, has caused drama between us. And it’s the same story every time. She saw the guy first, and I stole him. Then she has an attitude until she finds some other guy to like. It’s old, for real. I really wish she’d change the channel on that stupidity.
“I’m not pressed about it,” Bethany retorts. “I just wanted you to know that I saw Sam first. He’s not even cute, so you can have him.”
“Bethany, we all met him at the same time, but whatever. I don’t even care what you think.”
“Yeah, it is whatever.”
Bethany crosses her arms and slumps back in the seat. This is the part where she decides she’s not talking to me for all of like five minutes. This is so repetitive, like my iPod stuck on replay.
“Are you going to the studio again after school?” Bethany asks. I guess the silent treatment is over. What was that, thirty seconds?
I nod. “Yep. Dreya is set to start recording. Sam is coming to pick me up.”
“Is it cool if I come, too?”
“Not if you’re gonna be tripping and embarrassing me.”
Bethany sucks her teeth and pouts. “Now you sound like Dreya.”
“I’m just saying.”
�
�Don’t be acting like I’m not a part of this group, Sunday. I’ve been in Daddy’s Little Girls since day one.” Bethany’s voice quivers as she says this, as if she’s really afraid that we’re going to leave her behind.
“I know, girl. If one of us comes up, you know it’s gonna be all of us.”
I hear the words come out of my mouth, but I wonder…are we all gonna come up? Or is it just going to be Dreya? Maybe the group should’ve been called Daddy’s Little Girl.
Later, in English class, my friend Margit pounces on me as soon as she sees me. “Are you all right?” she asks.
“Yes…”
“I heard about the shooting at your house, and I was just making sure you didn’t get caught by a stray bullet. Was it a drive-by?”
“I don’t think so. This isn’t Compton, Margit.”
“Well, I’m just saying. Bethany was at Cascade telling everybody about it.”
I knew it! Big-mouth heffa!
“And you wanna know what else she was doing?”
“What?”
“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she was all up on Romell during the couple skate, grinding and stuff!”
I give a nonchalant shrug. “I don’t care about that. Romell is yesterday’s news.”
“I know,” Margit replies. “I just thought it was kinda twisted.”
I’m glad that class starts because I’m ready to end this conversation with Margit. If I were still up on Romell, I’d be mad, but it’s whatever. Bethany’s thirsty self can have him, because I’m about to do the dang thing and get this music thing on lock.
8
By the time Sam gets me and Bethany to the studio, Dreya’s already been recording for hours. She didn’t come to school today, so I guess she’s made her choice. Giving up on school for the fab life. I can’t get with that, but I’m not Dreya.
Truth is chilling in the studio lounge, eating a plate of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and collard greens. There’s also a glass of what looks like cherry Kool-Aid on the coffee table in front of him. He looks up at us and grins.
“What took y’all so long? Shelly been burning it up in the kitchen, fryin’ chicken like she Martha Stewart or somebody.”
Bethany asks, “What makes you think Martha Stewart can make good fried chicken? She ain’t even from down South.”
My stomach growls, and I grab it in embarrassment. “Sorry, y’all. I had an early lunch.”
“It’s cool, shortie. You want me to fix you a plate?” Truth asks.
“You gon’ fix me a plate?” I stare at him in disbelief. Truth doesn’t seem like the type to wait on anybody, much less a girl.
He laughs out loud. “Sam, can you tell this girl? I’m a gentleman. You want something, too, Bethany?”
“I sure do,” Bethany says, “and don’t be stingy on that mac and cheese. It looks like it’s slammin’.”
“It is. Shelly can cook her butt off, and with the size of her booty, that’s pretty good.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. I’ve never seen this side of Truth before. It almost makes his ole gremlin-lookin’ tatted-up self a little bit cute.
“I’ll help you,” I say. “You can’t carry everybody’s food. You want something, Sam?”
Sam gives me a bright smile. “You fixing my food now? That is so sweet.”
“Boy…”
“All right, all right. I’ll take some chicken and greens. No mac and cheese, though. It’ll make me want to take a nap.”
I follow Truth into the kitchen. He washes and dries his hands in the sink and reaches for plates.
“I won’t tell your boys how domesticated you are,” I say with a giggle.
“Domesticated, huh? Nah, never that. I’m just taking care of y’all, ’cause y’all Big D’s guests. It’s called hospitality.”
For some reason this reminds me of a scene out of that old-school movie The Godfather. All the gangsters and killers are sitting in a kitchen while this big, fat, thugged-out dude makes a pot of spaghetti. Like for real, gangsters gotta eat, too.
“It’s cool. It’s actually a good look for you,” I comment. “You can’t be thugged out twenty-four seven.”
Truth grins at me and hands me a plate. “You don’t like thugs? I thought all y’all liked thugs.”
“I like for-real people, so if you’re really a thug, do you.”
“Dreya never told me how cool you are, Sunday. I feel bad now for letting you walk to the bus stop all those times. I coulda dropped you off.”
“It’s all good. Me and Bethany weren’t trying to interfere in y’all little morning dates or whatever.”
Truth licks his lips and looks me up and down in a way that makes me totally uncomfortable. I’m not one for doing anything shady with my cousin’s boyfriend. I don’t roll like that.
“You and Sam did y’all thing on Dreya’s album tracks,” Truth says as he finishes making the second plate.
“Thanks. Sam is really good and we’re on the same page. That’s pretty rare, so I’m glad we found each other.”
Truth replies, “Found each other? Sounds kinda romantic. I thought you were talking about writing songs.”
“You sound jealous.”
Truth chuckles. “Nah, not jealous. I can have any chick I want—even you.”
This dude is beyond cocky, I guess because he’s about to blow up in the rap game. And I guess he is kinda built. He’s got muscle tone that won’t quit, and the black tank top he’s wearing isn’t hiding any of it.
But none of that makes me wanna holla at him, because all that thuggishness cancels the good stuff out. I’d take a chill dude like Sam any day. Sam’s swagger isn’t oozing from his pores, but it’s there.
I take the other plate from Truth. “Thanks for the grub.”
“So you just gon’ leave me by myself, making the last plate?” he asks.
“Pretty much. Your ego can keep you company.”
I hear Truth laughing as I turn my back on him and walk away. Dude has left a bad taste in my mouth.
When I get back to the lounge with the plates, Sam and Bethany are both sitting on the couch. Dreya is up here, too, fanning herself and swigging off a bottle of water. I pause because I’m not sure where to sit down. Bethany knows that something might be up with me and Sam, so she should’ve sat on the other couch or chair, because there is not enough room for me on the couch with her and Sam.
I hand Sam his plate. “This enough for you?”
“Yes. Thanks, Sunday.”
Dreya’s eyes dart around the room. “Where is Truth?”
“In the kitchen fixing my food,” Bethany says.
“What?” Dreya asks. She closes her eyes like she’s trying to contain herself. “Bethany, you better be glad I have to preserve my voice, or I’d be cussing your big butt out right now.”
Dreya storms down the hall toward the kitchen and I give Bethany the serious eye.
“You’re dead wrong for that,” Sam says.
“What?” Bethany gives both of us her fake innocent gaze.
Before I get a chance to chime in, we hear some kind of pandemonium going on in the kitchen. Sounds like plates and glasses breaking. I guess Dreya’s in there regulating.
“Are you gonna see what’s up or am I?” Sam asks me.
I put both my hands up and shake my head. “Not me. I don’t do drama.”
But neither of us have to go, because Truth and Dreya both come back into the room. Dreya’s face is about three shades of evil, and I’m not surprised that Truth is not holding a plate of food for Bethany. From all the commotion I heard, I thought that Truth would be wearing that plate of food.
“If you want something to eat, go and get it yourself,” Dreya tells Bethany in a quiet voice. “My man don’t fix plates for nobody.”
Ha! She’s only quiet because she’s still got singing to do this evening. She would so be hollering right now if that wasn’t the case.
Big D comes up the steps and into the loun
ge. He’s got a really intense frown on his face. I’m glad he’s looking in Dreya’s and Truth’s direction with that mean mug, and not mine.
“Dreya, you need to get down here and finish recording this song.”
“I came up here to get some water, and then I had to end up handling something,” Dreya replies.
Big D says, “Sweetheart, I’m not on this today. I just got off the phone with Epsilon Records and they liked the singles I sent them with your vocals. They wanna offer you a deal and you up here on some drama.”
“Epsilon Records wants to offer me a deal? But Truth’s single isn’t even out yet.” Dreya’s hands are trembling so hard that I can feel her excitement from where I’m sitting.
“That’s how it works sometimes,” Big D says. “The industry is unpredictable.”
“She’s always on some drama,” Bethany says.
Sam swallows a bite of food and interjects. “Actually, that might be a good stage name for you, Dreya. You should call yourself Drama.”
Truth gives Sam a fist pound. “That’s wassup, dog! The only way you gon’ blow up is to get the bloggers and paparazzi all up in your bidness. With a name like Drama, you just givin’ ’em an invitation.”
Dreya still looks like she’s not really feeling the idea, although I think it’s a good one. We’re in the A, land of the black celebrities and the bloggers who love to stalk them. We got T.I., Tiny, Janet, Jermaine, Usher, and the Real Housewives. Shoot, last I heard we had little Rudy Huxtable, all grown up and kickin’ it diva-style.
Big D says, “I’m diggin’ this. One-name R & B stars are hot right now. What you think, Drama?”
Dreya’s head snaps up and she strikes a divalicious pose. “Huh? Do I know you?”
Everybody bursts into laughter. Yeah, being a diva is definitely something Dreya can pull off. It’s how she is all day everyday anyway. Now she just has a record deal to go along with it.
“So, Big D,” Bethany asks, “are Sunday and I singing backup vocals on Dreya’s album?”
Big D shakes his head. “Nah, we got it covered. Dreya is gonna sing her own backup vocals.”
“Yeah, Bethany,” Dreya says. “I don’t need you down there trying to hit some Mariah Carey high notes on my track.”