Getting to the Good Part

by Lolita Files

  “Calm down! Damn! I do like her. She’s going to L.A. Rowena’s been working on doing some things out there for a while now, and they’ve finally come through. She’s got a part in a new Hughes Brothers film.”

  “For real?” I marveled. “Wowwww.”

  “Yep. She’s wanted the big screen the whole time. Stage was just a little ol’ playground for her.”

  “Man,” I sighed, “do you think—”

  He cut me off, smacking me on the leg impatiently.

  “Stop asking so many doggone questions! Look, I think you should try out for the part of Mimosa.”

  I stared at him for a second. Like he was the man in the moon.

  “Quit being stupid! How the Warn I supposed to try out for her part?!”

  Julian frowned at me.

  “Who’s the one being stupid now?”

  I clucked my tongue and turned away from him.

  He stood and moved around in front of me, leaning on the counter where I kept my makeup. That big pelvic bulge of his was all in my face.

  “Nice flowers.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled, playing with the leaves on one of the tulips. I was glad we were changing the subject.

  “No, Miss Thang,” Julian said, reading my mind. “I’m not through with you.”

  “Julian! Quit it! This is nonsense!”

  “It is not! I’ve worked with Rowena and Gordon for a long time. I know her talent. And in the little bit of time we’ve been working together, I’ve come to know yours. I think you should do it. I want you to audition for the part.”

  “But how can I… ?”

  He shook his head.

  “Uh-uh, Miss Thang! Don’t sit there and lie to me and say you don’t know the part. You’ve watched her rehearse more times than I have. You probably know her role better than she does.”

  I sat there, looking up at him.

  “Get outta here,” I said tiredly, pushing him off of my counter and out of my face.

  “The audition is at eight in the morning,” he replied in a whisper. “Tomorrow. And you’d better have your ass there! We can hook up tonight, if you want, and I’ll go over the part with you, bit by bit.”

  “Uh-uh,” I refused, shaking my braids wildly. “If I’ma do this, it’s gon’ be on my own. Fair and square. No legs up from you or anybody else.”

  He smiled down at me. Obviously proud.

  “I can’t believe you even suggested that,” I mumbled. “When I first started, you were the main one accusing me of fucking somebody to get in the show. Remember, you clearly said to me, You have to earn your breaks with me, Miss Thang. ’Member that?”

  Julian grinned at me, pleased as punch.

  “I remember. I’m just glad you did. I was hoping you were going to refuse my help. I see I trained you well.”

  “Who you trained?!” I exclaimed, working my neck. “I came here prepared! Now, get outta here before you put somebody’s eye out with that big ol’ nasty bulge between your legs!”

  He laughed, patting me on the shoulder.

  “Now, that’s how I like to hear you talk!”

  He made moves to walk away.

  “Five minutes till regular rehearsal,” he reminded me.

  “I’ll be there, nigga,” I answered, smiling slyly.

  “I know you will, Miss Thang. I know you will.”

  He disappeared.

  Damn!! Rowena was leaving the show. And I was going to be trying out for her part.

  How the sam hell did all this just happen?

  And how the hell was I going to pull it off?!!!

  All that night, I sat up, wondering, worrying, trying like a mug to meditate on it all.

  I had my incense and candles burning, listening to Erykah Badu. Her music was smooth enough to allow me to think and groove at the same time.

  I sat in the middle of the living-room floor, folded up in the lotus position. I had rubbed some peppermint oil around my temples, in an effort to relax.

  Lord. What was I thinking? How could I try out for Rowena’s part? That woman had experience and presence for days. Whoever played Mimosa couldn’t be half-steppin’. The crowds had come to expect too much.

  To be able to step into that role, you had to come correct.

  I didn’t have any of the skills it took to be a lead.

  On the floor in front of me was a business card.

  M.C.D. Acting Lab. “Where the hidden talent is cultivated.”

  Well, that was me. My talents were about as hidden as they came.

  I’d been given the card a while back by one of the other dancers, Marlisa.

  She said the instructor, a young brother named Michael Cory Davis, was really good.

  She said he was fine, too. A well-known up-and-coming filmmaker and actor with business savvy to spare, this Michael guy was a sexy thang with a nicely carved body and a head full of locks.

  I stared at the business card long and hard.

  Naaaah.

  The last thing I needed was to take acting lessons from a good-looking coach. It would be too easy to predict how that story was going to end. And, no doubt, it wouldn’t be with me getting any real acting lessons. Not any that could be used on the stage, that is.

  My phone rang.

  I snatched the cord and dragged it over to me. My caller ID was in the bedroom, but I didn’t care who it was at this point. Even if it was Misty, I wouldn’t have been too against talking to her right now.

  In fact, I needed to hear her voice more than anything, assuring me that I wasn’t crazy for trying out for this part.

  “Hello?”

  “What you doing?” his smooth voice crooned.

  “Trying to concentrate,” I replied, annoyed.

  “Having trouble relaxing?” Donovan asked. “I got something for that.”

  “I’ll just bet you do. Maybe another time. Tonight’s a full night for me, I’m afraid.”

  He made a moaning sound on the phone.

  “But I really wanna see you, baby. I can be there in a coupla minutes and make everything okay.”

  I sighed into the phone. Real loud, so his ass could hear it and make no mistake.

  “Not tonight, Donovan,” I repeated. “What’s up with you? Shouldn’t you have dipped on me by now anyway? Ain’t that your M.O.? Why you still hanging around, taking my abuse?”

  I heard him chuckle on his end.

  “ ’Cuz, girl. You got me sprung. You my little chicken thigh. Light meat.”

  “Hmmph! Well, this little chicken thigh gotta go. And for the record, thigh meat is dark.”

  I hung up the phone on his ass without a goodbye, then waited a second to make sure he was off, and picked it up.

  I activated call block to keep him from ringing me up again.

  The last thing I needed was his behind harassing me the night before something as serious as this audition. I wondered if he knew about Rowena leaving the show.

  I had been fooling around with Donovan ever since the Maxwell concert. And while he was damn good at what he did, he wasn’t the smartest, most conversational rapscallion (and I mean that like my grandma says it) in the world.

  It would have been nice to have a serious boyfriend. I hadn’t had one in a while. And while none of the guys I’d dated in the recent past were jerks, none of them was anybody I would consider getting serious with.

  In fact, what I really wanted more than I would ever admit was my own husband. A strong black man who let me be me, and who took pride in having a strong black woman by his side. Not someone who just gave a lot of lip service to the fact that that’s what he wanted. And not some shell of a man who was all front and no substance, like the things I watched Misty date over the past few years.

  I wanted someone like Tyrone was for Tyrene. Someone who could truly be my partner, and always have my back. I had high ideals, and I was more than willing to hold out for them.

  A part of me, although I hate to say it, envied the fact that maybe that’s wha
t Misty had found in Rick. That’s one of the reasons why I was angry with her, and why I kept secretly hoping her shit turned raggedy.

  As callow as it sounds, I didn’t want to be out here alone, with no one for me.

  Well… for right now, Mr. Rent-a-Dick would do. And Donovan served the purpose of just that. He could slang it like a pro and give a girl just was she was itchin’ for.

  But sistah-girl wasn’t itchin’ for nunna that tonight.

  I breathed deeply, in and out, and rubbed my temples again.

  “Certainly” was now pouring from the speakers. I hummed along with the words.

  “Who… gave you… permission to rearrange me”. Certainly not me.”

  True dat, girlfriend. True dat like a mug.

  I sat there, breathing and singing, trying to talk myself into doing this thang.

  I mean, really, there wasn’t any question about whether I would do it. Fear didn’t drive me to the point of not making a move.

  But I was terrified on the inside. Terrified of what it would mean if I didn’t get it.

  And what it would mean if I did.

  My phone rang again.

  I answered it quickly.

  “How’s my Tweety doing?” Grandma Tyler cooed.

  “Hey, lady!” I exclaimed, genuinely pleased to hear her voice. It was right on time.

  “How’s that show going? You making waves? I know you are!”

  I smiled to myself. I loved her so much. Like Misty, she felt me and usually knew when to call when I most needed her.

  “You psychic, ain’tcha?” I kidded. “C’mon… tell me. ‘Cause otherwise you wouldn’t know to ask me that.”

  Grandma Tyler let loose with her raspy laugh.

  “You was just on my mind, baby. I could feel you going through some changes ‘bout something.”

  I paused for a quick second, then blurted it out.

  “I’m trying out for the lead tomorrow, Granny.”

  “Oooooh, Tweety!!” she squealed. “See there, baby!! Already, they can see how talented you are!!!”

  “I’m scared,” I said in a small voice.

  Grandma Tyler got bold on me. Her voice dropped down, all deep and scolding.

  “What you talkin’ ’bout, you scared?! I don’t never wanna hear you say that! You know you good, Tweety! Always been able to dance from day one!”

  “But, Granny, this is more than dancing,” I whined. “I’ll have to sing, and do some acting.”

  “Chile, you know you can sing! You was singin’ long before you ever started walkin’. And don’t talk to me ‘bout no actin’! Baby… you’s a natural at that if there ever was one!”

  I smiled to myself, listening to her.

  “Yeah, but Granny, it’s one thing, having your grandma tell you that you can sing and act. It’s another to be tryna do it in front of a bunch of folks who know what singing and acting is really all about.”

  “Umph,” she muttered. She smacked her lips.

  “What’d you say that for?” I asked.

  “Tryna get the taste back in my mouth. If I’m not mistaken, you just slapped the shit outta me.”

  I laughed.

  “What you trippin’ ’bout, Granny? Ain’t nobody slap you!”

  “You may as well had. Tellin’ me I don’t know nothing ’bout no singin’ and actin’!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, trying to recover.

  “Well,” Grandma Tyler rasped, “point is, you don’t think I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  I sighed heavily.

  “Listen to me, Tweety,” she began. “I’m seventy-five years old, and if there’s one thing I done learned in life, it’s this …”

  “What’s that?” I asked, feeling a lecture coming on.

  “If you let me finish, gotdammit, I’ll tell ya!” she said sharply, sucking her teeth.

  “Okay,” I giggled.

  “Now listen to me: good is good. Don’t matter who it is sittin’ back saying so. If something is a winner, everybody can see it, and go outta they way to try to get next to it.”

  “True dat,” I agreed.

  “Hot-ta-mighty-no, chile!” Grandma Tyler exclaimed. “Hush for a minute and just listen!”

  “I’m listening,” I mumbled.

  “All right, then. Just the same as good is good, shit stanks. And if it’s shit, you don’t see nobody running up tryna figure out what it is. They just move as far ‘way that smell as they can git.”

  I chuckled, nodding my head. My grandma and her Tylerisms, as she called them. Words of wisdom.

  To me, they were as precious as gold.

  “You hear me?” she asked.

  “I hear you,” I replied softly.

  “Now I’m seventy-five years old.”

  “You said that already,” I muttered.

  “I know I did!! You the one take gingko biloba, not me. My mem’ry’s fine!!”

  I hollered with laughter. Wasn’t no one like my Granny.

  “You ain’t got no sense, Granny! You know that?!”

  “Well, I got sense enough to know shit from Shinola. And you ain’t neither.”

  “Hmmph,” I chuckled.

  “You tugar, baby,” she cooed. “Taste toe tweet.”

  “Thanks, Granny. I needed to hear that.”

  “I know you did, Tweety. That’s why I called.”

  “I gotta go,” I said, blowing her a kiss into the phone. “Love you, ol’ lady.”

  “Love you, too, Tweet-tweet,” she rasped. “And don’t you worry your braided-up head. You gon’ get this part. Mark my words.”

  “We’ll see, Granny. We’ll see.”

  “Mark my words,” Grandma Tyler repeated. “Bye, baby.”

  “Bye,” I said, and hung up the phone.

  I sat there for a minute in that lotus position, listening to Erykah singing about how she couldn’t believe that we’re still living. “Drama.” My cut.

  I let the song wash over me, lulled by the music, her words, and my grandma’s confidence.

  Finally, I shook my shoulders, untucked my legs from underneath me, and stretched like a cat.

  I let out a long feline squeal while I was stretching.

  “I’ma do this,” I declared out loud. “For me, my grandma . . .”

  I thought for a minute, wondering if I dared to say it. I did.

  I got up from the floor and walked into the kitchen, singing with the music along the way.

  Thank goodness for Erykah’s music. It helped me chill and put everything in perspective.

  I was there, bright and early the next morning, ready to do this thang.

  “Good to see you,” Julian whispered, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  “How many people are trying out?” I asked, trying not to appear nervous.

  “Just two,” he replied, giving me a serious look. “This part really only boils down to two people who could take it on. You and Tamara.”

  “Tamara?!!” I asked, not ever once having considered that the competition would be only one person, or someone that held such a grudge against me.

  Tamara H. was this chick in the show that Donovan used to mess around with. No one knew, or perhaps cared, what the H stood for—it was her attempt to give herself some sort of pompous air, like Madonna or Cher, I suppose. She was the last person Donovan had been seeing, before he and I started hittin’ it on the regular.

  She also happened to be the very same girl who elbowed me and got the other part when we first auditioned.

  In true stupid-female-with-misdirected-anger fashion, ever since she found out about me and Donovan, she had been taking verbal stabs at me on a daily basis.

  Shooting me nasty looks. Standing around with some of the other girls, whispering as I passed their way.

  I couldn’t care less whether she liked me or not. But I certainly didn’t care for being turned into the bad guy.

  Tamara still continued to flirt with Donovan, as if he wasn’t the
one who did her wrong. The more he igged her, the meaner she was to me.

  And now she and I were going to be in a face-off for the lead part. One of those and may the better woman win things.

  If that wasn’t a metaphor for something else, then I don’t know what a metaphor is.

  The deal was, the two of us would do the audition at exactly the same time.

  We would sing the parts, in tandem, dance the dances, and pretty much act out the role as though there was only one of us on stage.

  However, really, the both of us would be there. Putting an unbelievable amount of pressure on each other and ourselves.

  I mean, how can you really concentrate when you’ve got someone else beside you, doing the same damn thing, but putting her own spin on it?

  You’d have to try your damnedest not to focus on that person’s act, and try your best to lose yourself in your own.

  Gordon, Julian, Dreyfus, Rowena, and an older brother I had never seen before were going to be checking us out and making the decision.

  Turns out, the older guy was Gordon’s partner. He only showed up for serious stuff. Otherwise, he was invisible.

  I watched the five of them, sitting out there in the audience, staring up at the two of us on stage. We were about to get this show on the road.

  Tamara shot me a nasty look. I didn’t give it much consideration.

  In my head, I said a quick little prayer. (Not for Tamara to break her ankle, or anything like that.) I just prayed that God would grant me the ability to be the best that I could be, and that He let me, no matter how this thing turned out, become a stronger person as a result of the experience.

  I thought about my grandma and her encouraging words from the night before.

  Also, for some odd reason, thoughts of Misty shot into my mind. Why did I suddenly feel her presence, of all people, as I stood there waiting?

  Weird thing about it was, the thought of her was comforting. I didn’t try to push it out of my head. Something told me that if she could see me doing this right now, she would be very proud.

  “Okay, Tamara and Reesy,” Julian shouted from the shadows, “we’re going to take this thing from the top. Just do it the way you know it. If you don’t know it all, then act like you do!”