How could God let all our dreams get shattered just like that?
On Sunday mornings we are usually so happy to get up, because we go to church and we go to Hallelujah Tabernacle, and they let me and Angie do two-part harmony songs on “teen Sundays.” Also, during convocation season, we get to sing in the choir sometimes.
Right now, my hair looks a mess. I was so upset last night, I forgot to put the stocking cap on my head to keep my wrap smooth. I hate when I do that!
“Angie, those are my shoes!” I yell, as she tries to sneak her feet into my black pumps instead of hers. She can be such a copycat sometimes—trying to act like she doesn’t know her things from mine. She’s always trying to switch stuff—especially when she loses a button, or scuffs her shoes bad.
I know Angie is real upset, because she doesn’t even pretend like she didn’t know she was putting on my shoes. She just sits on the edge of the bed and waits for me to put on my clothes.
I reach for the navy blue dress with the gold buckle, because that’s what we decided we would wear. When we go to church, we always dress alike, and we can’t wear pants. “Do you think Daddy is gonna let us be Cheetah Girls anymore?” Angie asks, real quiet.
“I don’t know, Angie, but I bet you he’s gonna call Ma and tell her we lost.” I open the bottom drawer of the white chest of drawers to get out a pair of navy blue panty hose. I feel so bad, my head hurts when I talk. I hold up the panty hose and run my fingers through them.
“Dag on, Angie, these have a run in them!” Sucking my teeth, I throw the panty hose in the white wicker wastebasket under the night-stand. “It’s a good thing I checked before I wasted my time putting them on. I told you not to put tights back in the drawer if you put a run in them!”
“I musta not noticed!” Angie exclaims, getting real defensive. Then I give her that look we have between us, and Angie cracks a little smile. She knows I know when she’s lying. I don’t know why she even bothers sometimes.
“Don’t forget,” I mutter. “It’s your turn to clean Porgy and Bess’s cage.”
I can smell the bacon frying downstairs. High Priestess Abala came over this morning, and she’s cooking breakfast for us. She’s going to church with us, too, believe it or not! I think that’s pretty strange, considering all her weird rituals and stuff. To tell you the truth, I wish she wasn’t here, because I don’t feel like being nice to anybody this morning.
“What if we had been on that stage by ourselves, Angie?” I ask, as walk out the bedroom door to go downstairs and eat breakfast. “We woulda frozen solid like a pair of icicles!”
Angie just nods at me. I know that means we’re both thinking the same thing—what will we do if we aren’t the Cheetah Girls anymore?
The spiral staircase in our duplex is real steep, so we always come downstairs slow and careful. (I’m afraid of heights. So is Angie.)
“Omigod!” Angie gasps when we get to the bottom landing. “I know the Evil One is in our house now.”
“What’s the matter, Angie?” I ask, trying not to bump into her from behind.
“What is that thing?” Angie asks.
I take a few steps forward, so I can see what it is she’s talking about. Then I let out a loud, surprised scream. This ugly thing—some kind of huge, horrible mask—is hanging on the wall in front of us. It gave me such a fright it almost scared me to death—right into Granddaddy Walker’s funeral parlor back home!
“Good morning, ladies,” High Priestess Abala Shaballa says, walking from the kitchen into the living room. Angie and I get our manners back real fast, because we know that Abala musta had something to do with this strange thing hanging on the wall. It’s just as weird as she is.
“Good morning, Abala,” I say politely, making myself be nice to her, even though I don’t want to. I hope Daddy didn’t tell her that we lost the Apollo Amateur Hour contest. How could we lose that? I still can’t believe those boys won! “The devil is a liar,” just like Big Momma says.
“Do you know what this is?” High Priestess Abala Shaballa asks, pointing to the thing on the wall.
“No, I—we—don’t,” I say, looking at Angie for some support. Now that Abala is Daddy’s girlfriend, it just seems like we never know anything anymore.
It’s not like before. At least, in the old days, Daddy, Angie, and I got to learn things together. Now it seems like everything new he knows, he learned from her.
“It’s a Bogo Mogo Hexagone Warrior Mask,” Abala says proudly.
No wonder it’s strange, I think. It’s something named afterher.
“You see the markings here,” Abala continues, pointing to the bright red marks across the cheeks of the big mask, which looks like the head of a space alien.
“Yes, I see them,” I respond, trying to act interested, even though I know there is something deep-down weird about this thing.
“When the markings change colors, it means it’s time for Hexagone to reign once again, and the world will become a magical place. With Bogo Mogo here, you will have someone to watch over you all the time now.”
Oh, great. Now we not only have Daddy, we have this thing’s beady eyes watching us, too. I try not to look scared.
“You do believe in magic, don’t you, Aquanette?”
“Yes, High Priestess Abala,” I say. I don’t tell her what I really think—that she needs some more magic lessons, because Mr. Teddy Poodly didn’t come out of his shoe box to help us win the contest. So why should this mask do anything—except maybe scare me in the middle of the night when I come downstairs to get a snack?
“Well, let’s go eat. I’ve fixed a divine feast for the two of you,” High Priestess Abala says, outstretching her arms the way she does, like a peach tree with big ol’ branches. (Grandma Winnie had one in her backyard, with the biggest, juicy peaches we ever ate … then it just withered up and died when Grandma did.)
“Good morning, Daddy,” I say as we join him in the kitchen. I’m still not able to look him in the eye. I wonder if he told High Priestess Abala that we lost the contest. Dag on, how could we?
Angie and I sit down at the dining room table real quiet, and High Priestess Abala serves us some ham, eggs, biscuits, and fried apples. Then, for herself and Daddy, she pours some green stuff from the blender into two glasses.
I can’t believe that’s all Daddy is eating for breakfast! He used to eat a whole plate of bacon and tin of biscuits, with a whole pot of coffee! Daddy looks into Abala’s eyes all goo-goo-eyed, and they clink their glasses of green goo together. Yuck!
“To you, my divine Priestess—because I’ve never felt younger,” Daddy says, then gulps down his shake.
I just hope he doesn’t start looking younger, or I’m gonna call Granddaddy Walker to come up here and make sure Abala’s not slipping embalming fluid in Daddy’s blender! (Granddaddy Walker says that’s why dead people look so good—sometimes even better than they did in real life!)
Thank God, the phone rings before these two lovebirds fly over the cuckoo’s nest together. Daddy answers, then hands the phone to me. “It’s your friend,” he says.
“Hello?” I say, taking the receiver.
“Aqua, you’re not gonna believe this,” Galleria says, without even saying hello. I can’t believe how much better she sounds!
“What?” I reply.
“Mom just had her hair done at Churl, It’s You! and Pepto B., her hairdresser, told her that he’s hooking up Kahlua Alexander’s braids later!”
“Really?” I answer, but I still don’t understand why Galleria is so excited.
“So guess who he’s gonna hook us up with?”
“No! Kahlua?” I gasp. You know I’m surprised, but now I’m getting excited, too.
“That’s right, dee-light. We have hatched a plan. Mom says for you and Angie to be ready by six o’clock, ’cuz’ Operation Kahlua’ is in full effect.”
“Okay,” I respond, even though I’m still not sure what she’s talking about.
“
And Aqua—don’t wear the same clothes you and Angie wear to church, okay?”
“I know that, Galleria.”
“Wear the cheetah jumpers and the ballet flats, okay?”
“Okay, Galleria. Bye!”
When I hang up the phone, I’m smiling from ear to ear. Angie, of course, knows something is up.
“Galleria is picking us up at six o’clock,” I say, smiling at Daddy. “We should thank God we have Galleria, because I’ve never seen anyone rise from the dead faster than her!”
Now Abala is looking at me like she approves, but I don’t want to give her the wrong idea. “That’s just an expression Granddaddy Walker uses,” I explain. “She didn’t really rise from the dead.”
“Your granddaddy is wise, because there are more ways than one to levitate your fate,” Abala says, sipping on her witches’ brew. “There is nothing for you to worry about, my dears. Bogo Mogo magic is working for you. If not today, then surely tomorrow.”
Well, I sure hope Mr. Bogo Mogo can do his wonders from the bottom of a garbage can, ’cuz that’s where he’s ending up.
Chapter
6
It’s so nice of Galleria’s folks to offer to pick us up and take us to Pepto B.’s salon, Churl, It’s You! Otherwise, Daddy would have probably insisted that he drive us. He thinks seven o’clock is kinda late for us to be out without a chaperone! Dag on, even Chanel can come home unescorted up until nine o’clock on school nights, and her mother is kinda strict. Our Daddy takes the cobbler, though.
I shoulda known something was up, though, when Galleria rings the bell at six o’clock. We’re not due at the salon till seven thirty, and it only takes ten minutes to get there.
“Toodles to the poodles! You fab-yoo-luss Walker twins, we’ve got a surprise for you!” Galleria says in her funny Southern accent.
She is definitely feeling better because she’s acting like herself. And when Galleria acts like herself, the whole world is a brighter place. Even the cheetahs in the jungle are probably smiling right now.
Angie and I have been feeling better too, because Reverend Butter’s sermon at church today did us a world of good. We crowd the front doorway of our building, waiting for Ms. Dorothea, Chanel, and Mr. Garibaldi to come in.
“You’re so lucky you don’t live in an elevator building,” Dorinda comments, coming in and kissing us hello.
That’s the truth. I would be scared to have to go up in an elevator every time I wanna get to my apartment. Like I told you, Angie and I are afraid of heights. That’s why Daddy got a ground floor apartment in a town house.
It’s quiet on our block, and we got a nice view of Riverside Park, so at least it feels a little like back home. I don’t know if I could take all that noise over where Dorinda lives. It’s good to hear a pigeon chirping every now and again.
Ms. Dorothea is taking some garment bags and stuff from the van, and Chanel is helping her carry them inside. Chanel works part time at Toto in New York … Fun in Diva Sizes, ’cuz she has to pay her mother back all the money she charged on her credit card.
See, I think Chanel lost her mind after we did that first show at the Cheetah-Rama. She started shoppin’ till we wuz all droppin’! I guess Chanel thought everything was gonna come real easy. But it’s not—you gotta work real hard just to hold onto your dream. By the time she came to her senses, Chanel owed her mother a whole lot of money! Lucky for her, Ms. Dorothea offered her the job at her store.
“What’s that?” Angie asks, pointing to the garment bags.
“You didn’t think we were gonna let you wear just plain ol’ anything to meet the biggest singer in the world, did you?” Galleria asks, batting her eyelashes.
“Now, I was gonna surprise you girls with your new outfits after you won the Apollo Amateur contest. But that was their loss. And anyway, now we have bigger prey to pounce on,” Ms. Dorothea says, all optimistic and funny like she is. Opening the garment bag, she pulls out matching fake-fur cheetah miniskirts and vests.
“Oooh!” Angie exclaims, putting her hands on her cheeks, like she does after she opens her Christmas presents.
“We’re gonna go in there looking like a real group,” says Galleria, all proud. Then she pulls a tube of lipstick out of her cheetah backpack. “Look at the new shade of S.N.A.P.S. lipstick we got. It’s called Video.”
“Oooh—it’s got silver sparkles!” I say, grabbing the tube. I never saw silver lipstick like this before. “So what are we gonna do at the hair salon—act like we’re getting our hair done?” Knowing Galleria and Ms. Dorothea, there has to be some plan.
Galleria, Chanel, and Dorinda look at each other like I just ate a whole peach cobbler pie without offering them a slice.
“No, silly, we’re gonna go in there and sing while Kahlua’s getting her hair done,” Galleria pipes up.
“Ohhhhh,” Angie and I say in unison. “That’s right. That’s a good plan. Then what?”
“Then Miss Kahlua Alexander will be so inclined to wave her magic wand—and have her fairy godmother help us … I don’t know, get a record deal … or at least a Happy Meal!“Galleria says, waving her hand like it’s a wand.
“We know that’s right,” I chuckle. Kahlua Alexander is the biggest singer, and she can do just about anything with all her “magic powers.”
“Operation Kahlua will be in full effect,” Galleria says, smiling. Then she whispers to me, “Ask your Dad if it’s okay for us to practice here.”
“Right here?” I ask, smiling. That’s Galleria—when she has a plan, there is no telling what she’ll do to make it happen!
“Come on. We can sing two songs—’Wanna-be Stars,’ because we know it so well, and the new song, ‘More Pounce to the Ounce.”
I hesitate a little, because I don’t know if we’re ready to sing Galleria’s new song yet.
“Come on, Angie. We’re ready. We’ve been practicing it for two long weeks!” Galleria begs me, reading my thoughts.
“I’ll ask Daddy!” Angie says all excited, running toward the den, where Daddy is sitting with High Priestess Abala Shaballa.
Dag on, she’s over here a lot now. Doesn’t she have some new spells to practice at home?
Daddy and his High Priestess come into the living room with Angie tagging behind them. “Greetings, sacred ones,” Abala greets our guests.
She gives Ms. Dorothea a little bow. Those two met at Dorinda’s adoption party, and I don’t think Ms. Dorothea likes the High Priestess too much. High Priestess is even taller than Ms. Dorothea, if you can believe that—even with Dorothea’s new hairdo, which is higher than a skyscraper! Abala is so tall she looks like a weeping willow tree, ready to sway if the wind blows in her direction!
Abala turns to Galleria, Dorinda, and Chanel. “Tell me, sacred ones,” she says. “Did the Vampire Spell work?”
Abala does look real pretty today—kinda like a … well, a High Priestess I guess. She does have real pretty eyes too. I guess I can see why Daddy likes her so much.
“No,” I volunteer sourly. Daddy musta told her by now that we lost the contest. Why is she asking us if the spell worked?
“Then either you didn’t follow my directions, or High Priestess Hexagone has bigger plans for you,” High Priestess Abala Shaballa says solemnly.
Galleria mumbles under her breath, “Whatever makes you clever.”
Finally, Daddy senses the situation is a little tense, because he pipes up, “Listen, girls, I know you have to get ready. My home is yours, and do whatever you need to do to get ready. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Come on, Abala,” he says, touching her arm gently.
That makes me feel real proud. Daddy still believes in us! He never says much, but I guess that’s just his way.
“Aah, che bella!” Mr. Garibaldi says, looking at Daddy’s snow globe collection. “May I touch?”
“Go ahead,” I say with a smile, looking at Galleria, who is rolling her eyes to the ceiling. I think her Daddy still loves the snow.
>
“Just don’t start collecting them, Daddy,” Galleria giggles.
***
After we practice for one hour, we climb into the van. I guess, you could say, we are ready for Freddy—and definitely for Kahlua Alexander!
“I can’t believe how high Pepto teased my wig this time!” Ms. Dorothea says, looking in the mirror on the dashboard. “It looks like a torpedo ready for takeoff!”
We just chuckle and look at each other. I mean, Ms. Dorothea’s hair does look a little like a skyscraper, but if anyone has the personality to carry it off, she does.
“Honey, he is so lucky I didn’t pull a diva fit! But then he let the glass slipper drop—that Miss Kahlua is in town, to make a movie called Platinum Pussycats, with Bertha Kitten. He also let it slip that he is giving Kahlua a new ‘do, because Bertha, or ‘Miss Kitten’ to you, said ‘those braids have to go.’ So I just started pouncing instead of pouting.”
“But how did you angle an intro?” Dorinda asks.
Angie and I look at each other, like, “there they go again, saying things we don’t understand!”
“Pepto was complaining about how his mother just couldn’t find the right dress for her thirtieth wedding anniversary,” Ms. Dorothea explains. “So, naturally, I volunteered to make the dress of Ms. Butworthy’s dreams—for free! Darling, Pepto and I have played this cat-and-mouse game for years, and believe me, his mother is no Happy Meal. She’s such a pain, she’s probably banned from every diva-size department in the country.”
“Ohhhh, so that’s what the B stands for,” Dorinda says, smiling.
“Mr. B. speaks way too fast to get his whole last name out!” Ms. Dorothea says smiling. “You’ll see.”
As we pull up in front of the Churl, It’s You! hair salon on 57th Street, Ms. Dorothea takes a deep breath, and announces, “Okay, girls, it’s time to give them more ‘pounce for the ounce!”
“Ooh, look at how la dopat this place is!” Chanel exclaims as we approach Churl, It’s You! “I’m gonna bring Princess Pamela here!”
Hey, Ho, Hollywood! Page 5