Full Figured 7

by Nikki Rashan

  “I shouldn’t be in a relationship with a client.”

  “Why not? People do it all the time.”

  “Sure, if they were already a couple first. But I sought your representation first. It won’t look right on my part.”

  “Well lie and say we were already a couple, then. That’s a lie I’m willing to uphold forever if it means we can be out and proud.”

  “No,” she replied.

  “What is it, Ace? You can’t possibly be that damn paranoid. I’ve seen you in action; you know how to smooth over any situation and mold it just how you want it. You can’t keep hiding behind the same line that this is bad for our careers. It’s got to be more than that.”

  Franco interrupted. “Ladies, my ladies, cool this shit for a minute. I’m going to get a drink.”

  I directed my anger at him. “You know we don’t get our own drinks,” I spat. “What would Sugar’s man look like at the bar?”

  “I bet the same way you looked at the bar that night in the club,” he responded with sarcasm, his voice its usual higher pitch. “We all saw the pictures.”

  “Different occasion. Tonight is my night and none of us goes to the bar. We get served,” I reminded him.

  “Well really I just wanted to get from between the two of you, but since you wanna act like I don’t have two legs to walk on . . .” He snapped his fingers at the server passing by, who then came to our table.

  “What can I do for you?” She sounded bothered and hurried.

  “First of all, my glass should never get to empty before I get another drink,” Franco snapped, deep into his snobby husband-of-a-celebrity role.

  Ace would agree with Franco’s statement, as she was also annoyed whenever our service was less than ten, but she never lashed out at staff. If we experienced poor service at a restaurant or hotel, she would place a call to the owner or manager the following day to inform him or her of what occurred, and to ensure that if we ever returned to their venue our service would be impeccable.

  “With that said, Don Julio on the rocks,” Franco told the server. He turned to me. “Sugar?”

  “I’ll have another,” I said, holding up my near-empty martini glass.

  “You do know what she was drinking, don’t you?” Franco challenged.

  Franco didn’t faze the server, a young woman dressed in black slacks and a black blouse. In that upscale environment, likely she dealt with obnoxious patrons often. “Yes, Sugarman, I do remember.” She walked away from Franco.

  He was about to respond to her backside when Ace stopped him. “Stop being an ass, Franco,” she told him. “I’ll make the call tomorrow,” she said to me.

  After my second drink, I spent the rest of the night signing autographs and taking pictures with fans. During the entire time, Nisha and Rock Sandy sat at a table across the room and watched my every move. Finally, as the crowd dispersed and about a dozen guests remained, Nisha returned to my side.

  “May I have a photograph to go with that kiss?” she asked. Her eyes twinkled under the influence. “I framed it.”

  Next to me, Ace inhaled sharply. It was barely audible, but I noticed it.

  “Absolutely,” I told Nisha.

  I began to realize Nisha wasn’t fooled by the façade. Though I hadn’t said or done anything directly to identify my true sexuality, she wasn’t as ignorant of the truth as Ace wanted her to be. She may not have known Ace was my woman, but I was convinced she knew Franco wasn’t my man.

  We stood close to one another, the fronts of our bodies touching, our heads to the side in order to face the camera. Her left hand rested at the top hump of my behind. A slight dip lower and she would have been on the verge of caressing it. I smiled at the thought and pressed my breasts against her body.

  “Mmm,” she murmured in response.

  The photographer snapped the photo. We blinked with the flash. He checked the photo on his digital camera.

  “Another, ladies. Keep your eyes open this time.” He laughed.

  We leaned even closer, our pudgy cheeks touching from wide smiles. That time our eyes remained open.

  “Beautiful,” the photographer told us.

  Before she removed her arm from around my hip, Nisha looked to Franco, who was busy on his phone, then back to me. She whispered softly, “I won’t tell.”

  “You won’t tell what?” I asked innocently.

  She sighed with a soft smile. “Come on, Sugar.”

  One thing my momma always told me was to listen to my gut. Although I had tolerated Ace’s judgment about keeping my sexuality a secret, and committed to silence at least until the single hit the charts, I trusted what my gut told me about Nisha and felt the time had come to set myself free. Whatever happened as a result, Ace could clean up the mess if she was still my manager. And if she was still my lover, too.

  “Thank you for keeping my secret, I appreciate that. But soon enough I’ll reveal to the world just who I am.”

  She smiled. “Anything I can do to help?”

  I thought for a moment and had a crazy idea. “I do believe you can. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” She turned around and nodded to Rock Sandy, who had been waiting several feet away. They were about to leave. “Before I go, I have to tell you.” She paused and took a step forward. “You are definitely the sweetest temptation I know.”

  “Likewise, honey, likewise.”

  Sugar @SugarChitown What a night! You ready to Feel My Love? Soon . . .

  Chapter 7

  Sugar High

  The single was a hit. My fans adored it. Radio stations played it on regular rotation. Because the song was a collaboration and not my record, I didn’t tour with E to promote the album, but he gave me a shout-out at every interview. More than ever, the industry wanted a little more of Sugar, the voice on the hottest track to hit the airwaves all year long. There was already talking of a Grammy nomination.

  I already knew my voice was the shit. The success of the record confirmed it. I was a natural born singer. There was no need for extras like Auto-Tune to correct imperfections because I didn’t have any. Everywhere I went in Chicago, someone, usually multiple people, stopped and asked for my autograph. They wanted to take pictures of me and with me on their camera phones and iPads. They all wanted to know what it had been like to record with such an established star:

  “What’s E like in person?”

  “What was it like in L.A.?”

  “Did everyone drive Bentleys and live in mansions on the hill?”

  “Are you going to leave us for L.A.?” they would ask.

  “I love Chitown, my roots are here,” I would tell them. “I don’t plan to leave unless I get too big for y’all,” I would add.

  “Well Oprah didn’t leave us,” they would tell me, disappointed that I might someday depart from the Windy City to the West Coast.

  “That’s Oprah. I’m Sugar, darling.”

  The few drops of humbleness I had managed to maintain before the record were gone, had vanished. I was a star and expected to be treated like a star. I had already wanted five-star treatment wherever I went and, now, no matter how exceptional the service I received, I expected more. I expected my food to be prepared faster than everyone else’s. When I entered a salon or spa, I dared there be a delay or wait time and expected immediate attention, even if that meant someone else lost an appointment.

  I redecorated my condo. Not that it hadn’t been elegantly furnished; it was already fly with a cheetah-print theme throughout from the rug in the living room to the seat covers in the dining area to the comforter on my bed. I upgraded to a custom-made Italian leather living room set, complete with a sofa, love seat, coffee table, and ottomans. My queen-sized bed was donated and a California king canopy bed rested in its place. I also bought a 2013 Range Rover.

  I hired an assistant, something I should have done years before. Her name was Yoshi, a thirty-seven-year-old, pint-sized Asian woman who had tired of a
boring career as an receptionist in a doctor’s office and wanted to experience what it felt like to be among the famous, which I was. Yoshi made calls, ran errands, and cleaned up after me. She became the first contact anyone had with me, including Ace and Momma sometimes. If I was busy relaxing in my Jacuzzi tub, Yoshi would tell them I was unavailable and would get back to them at my earliest convenience. Yoshi craved responsibility, and wanted to do whatever I asked of her. She was the perfect devotee.

  In my opinion, Ace wasn’t dealing with my success as well as she should have been. She told me I was being extravagant with my spending and pretentious in attitude.

  “You’re on an ego trip, Sugar. Calm down,” she advised.

  “What are you telling me to calm down for? You’re my manager. And you’re my woman. You’re supposed to be my number one hype woman. You should be proud of me. I shouldn’t have to be happy for myself by myself,” I retorted.

  “I am happy for you. I’ve been wanting this success for you for a long time. You deserve it. Just don’t let it go to your head too much. You still have to treat people right, especially the ones who helped get you to where you are. Your fans. And me.”

  I couldn’t deny Ace had been the architect behind the level of success I had reached. Over the years, she had been the one wheeling and dealing contracts and hustling through negotiations. But I was the one who people loved. It was my voice on the record and on the radio. It was me in the music video. It was me who signed autographs and starred in photo shoots. I believed in my heart I wouldn’t be where I was without Ace. I was also convinced I could continue without her.

  For years, we had kept my true self hidden in order to get the world to love me. Now that the fans had affirmed their adoration of me, there was nothing that would stop them from loving me. I was positive about that and ready to squash the doubts she had been standing by all those years. I was going to prove that everyone would still love me, with a secret plan I had concocted without Ace’s knowledge. She wasn’t going to control that part of my life anymore. After the world found out who Sugar really was, Ace could decide if she wanted to stay or if she wanted to go.

  Chapter 8

  Sugar Rush

  Momma didn’t like Nisha. I was sure she didn’t like her mostly because Ace didn’t care for her. I learned the only reason Ace had offered to meet with Nisha was to keep an eye on her to determine what her plan was with me. Momma had told me any woman who wanted to get close to me and my manager was up to no good. What Momma and Ace didn’t know what that Nisha and I were up to no good together.

  Momma was at my side in Ace’s office with me when Ace’s assistant called to tell her that Nisha had arrived.

  “You have to be careful who you allow in your circle of friends at this point, Sugar,” Momma cautioned before Nisha opened the door.

  “I got this, you two don’t need to worry,” I told them both.

  I sat on Ace’s couch dressed in tight leather skinny pants and an Ed Hardy shirt, with my weave pulled into a high ponytail. My makeup, as usual, was flawless. It was nine a.m. on a Monday morning and I was picture-perfect. Momma sat next to me, comfortable in dress slacks, a blouse, and heels. At fifty-one, she didn’t look a day over forty. Money and natural beauty had done us both well. We remained seated in the back of the office, observers to the meeting between Ace and Nisha.

  Nisha walked into the office, fresh and less intense than usual. She wore washed-out, light blue skinny jeans, a T-shirt bearing the face of the great Angela Davis, and peep-toe ankle boots in the middle of July. Her hair was smoothed into a bun at the nape of her neck and she wore minimal makeup. Her appearance was common for an artist; we didn’t need to wear a business suit. That was left for the agents and managers, like the cream-colored business suit Ace had on that morning. As strained as our relationship had become, I always found her attractive and delicious when I saw her, as I did that morning.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Nisha said, acknowledging me, Momma, and Ace. She didn’t seem surprised that there were extra guests at the meeting. She walked back and shook both my and Momma’s hands. She then shook Ace’s hand and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Ace’s desk.

  “How are you this morning?” Ace asked. She generally opened business meetings with casual talk, trying to learn a bit of history about the person who sat opposite her.

  “I’m doing well, thank you. Rock and I were up into the early morning hours writing a song. I’m working on very little sleep but, nonetheless, energized and happy to be here,” Nisha answered.

  “That’s good. As I’m sure you know, there are sacrifices artists must make in order to succeed and survive in this business, sleep being one of the biggest, but easiest, sacrifices. There are others.”

  “I’m used to missing out on sleep, that’s not a big deal. Anything beyond that must be negotiated.” Nisha smiled.

  “Time away from family is a hard one for most,” Ace said. “Do you have family? Or someone special in your life who you’d miss on the road?”

  Nisha adjusted in her seat. “My parents are in Chicago, living on the far south side. I’m the oldest of four. My siblings are much younger, still in high school and grade school.”

  “And are you close with them?”

  “Not exactly,” Nisha responded.

  “Do you mind if I ask why not?” Ace inquired, though I recognized the confident tone in her voice. She already knew the answer and was about to make a point.

  “We’re not close because of my sexuality,” Nisha answered honestly. “They don’t agree with my being a lesbian. I’m not close to my sisters and brother either. My parents don’t want me around them. So being away from my family wouldn’t be a big deal; we’re separated as it is.”

  Ace nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. You do then already understand that even in this day and age, with as much progress that’s been made for gays and lesbians, that there are many who still don’t and won’t condone it?”

  “Yes, I understand that firsthand.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Ace couldn’t resist and glanced at me. I gave her no response in return. She had no idea I already knew Nisha’s life story. She had shared it with me during the many conversations we had been having on the phone.

  “And someone special? Are you in a relationship?”

  “There’s a woman I have interest in, yes. Time will tell where it goes.”

  Ace met eyes again with me briefly. I looked away.

  “Your band? Are the members all lesbian?”

  “No, they’re not. Just me and Rock. But you know, some of the others are curious, but don’t identify as lesbian. They predominately date men but a couple of them may sleep with a woman every now and then,” Nisha told Ace. “That’s how we roll.”

  “I see. How do you plan to handle your sexuality as your band becomes more popular? Ideally, how would you see yourself portrayed?”

  Nisha readjusted in her seat. “Well, I want to be known first for my skills on the bass and guitar. That’s my talent and that’s my passion.”

  “That’s exactly what people should know you for, your musicality,” Ace asserted loudly. “What about your private life? I assume you’re openly gay.”

  “Why do you assume that?” Nisha questioned.

  “The story of your family’s shun. Your being at the gay club.”

  Nisha turned around and looked at me. “Sugar was at the gay club.” She turned back to Ace. “She’s not openly gay.”

  Ace was angered. Whatever angle she thought she would use against Nisha was about to backfire if she was suddenly forced to respond to questions about my sexuality, which Nisha already knew but challenged Ace anyway. I was curious how Ace would respond. If the statement had come from any person other than Nisha, Ace would have laughed and agreed that of course I wasn’t gay and had visited the club just for a good time out with my fans. If she indirectly responded to Nisha, it would seem that she was avoiding an answer, which might
be an admission of guilt whether Nisha knew anything or not.

  Ace peered at me, an intimidating look that stated she had had enough of me. She wasn’t going to make herself look bad by answering the question. “Sugar, you can probably respond to this one yourself.”

  Momma reviewed me suspiciously. Momma and Ace were still in cahoots when it came to keeping my lesbianism a secret. “I have lots of gay fans, Nisha, as you know. I was in the mood for partying that night and that’s where I went. It’s not that I hadn’t been to gay clubs before. I had been to many. That night it was unplanned, that’s the only thing. Just think, if I hadn’t gone that night, we all wouldn’t be fortunate enough to be sitting here in this meeting right now. I’m glad I followed my instincts that night.”

  Ace resumed control of the conversation before Nisha could press that I hadn’t actually responded to what she had indirectly asked: was I gay? Maybe she had decided to leave it alone since she knew the answer anyway.

  “Nisha, as you know, there were pictures of you and Sugar published in a newspaper from that night.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It’s easy for celebrity rumors to spread like wildfire. They have to be careful with every move they make because everyone is watching. It would have been easy for a bunch of gay rumors to erupt about that night. Fortunately, Sugar has me.” Ace peeked at me. “It was easy enough to explain why she was there that night for the reason she just told you. Sugar and I have had this conversation many times and she knows that people can speculate all day long about whatever they want. It doesn’t matter what they think they know, as long as they can’t prove anything. That’s where I come in. It’s my job to do what’s in my client’s best interests at all times. So before you and I go any further, I need to know exactly how you want to represent yourself to the public.”

  “I’m not sure I understand exactly what you mean.”

  “Well, people like labels. Fans will want to know who you are, what you represent, who your friends are, who you sleep with. It’s none of their business but they think it is. So, again, what is it that you want them to know? Do you want to be an out music artist? Or do you want to keep your private life private?”