Drinka finishes her song and does another split. “Now you can see, you ain’t got the best of me cuz I’m still sippin’ when I’m not tippin’!”
“I’m going to be singing that song all night,” Aqua says, chuckling when Drinka leaves the stage. But we should have known Drinka would be back for more. The crowd screams for an encore. Drinka goes back onstage and does a rendition of her other hit single, “Champagne Bubbles of Love.” Then Drinka squeals with joy into the mike, “Hello, people! I just want to say thank-you for twenty-five years of support. And, honey, I’m not faking, ’cause I’m still shaking it! Just remember, Miss Drinka will never stop sippin’ success until she meets her Maker!”
Constellation gets back onstage and seconds that motion. “I heard that. What I would give for that figure—Miss Drinka, you are poured into that jumpsuit, girl! I don’t care what time I have to get up tomorrow morning, I swear I’m heading out to a disco. Let them fire me, girl. That’s right—I’m going to grab all my girlfriends and say, ‘Girls, it’s time to hit the door so we can work the floor!”’
Constellation starts dancing, but her heel gets caught in her gown’s mermaid train, so she stops and chuckles. “If I trip on this train I won’t be sippin’—I’ll be slippin’, and Ms. Dorothea will read me four ways till Sunday. But we have someone who will provide you with all the entertainment you need. Ms. Juanita Simmons is a former Ford Model, who some of you may remember from back in the day. Well, honey, she hasn’t changed a lick, and after you see her belly dancing, you’ll agree. A fan of Middle Eastern dancing for the past five years, Ms. Simmons—whose daughter, by the way, is Chanel, one of the Cheetah Girls. Chanel show us your growl power!”
Chanel giggles and holds up her arm and cups her fist.
“Like I was saying, Ms. Simmons has practiced Middle Eastern dancing as a form of exercise—and you will see, honey, it has paid off in spades. Darlings and darlings, please welcome, Ms. Juanita Simmons to the stage!”
Deejay Frankie Feelgood cues an exotic Egyptian music track—with a tight and tasty thumping beat. Ms. Simmons enters from stage left. She is wearing a purple belly dancing costume with gold sparkles and trim. Chanel is grinning ear to ear. We all clap our hands to the beat as she takes the stage. I stand there gagging at Ms. Juanita belly dancing—for real.
“That looks real hard,” Angie says, her mouth hanging open.
It does look hard. Ms. Juanita told us that all the control is in the tummy. Well, she is definitely working her belly button. I guess she should know how: every time I’ve ever been to Chanel’s loft, Ms. Juanita is in the studio, belly dancing up a storm. Right now, Ms. Simmons starts shaking the jingly bell things she has in her hands, and then starts twirling her hips at about ninety miles an hour—faster than a cheetah—I’m serious! If I didn’t know Ms. Juanita was Chanel’s Mom, I would think she was younger than she really is.
Now Chanel is staring over at Princess Pamela until they make eye contact. I can tell they’re exchanging a few giggles together. Meanwhile, we are still sneaking peeks at the entrance, praying that the Def Duck Record executives will come any minute. All of a sudden, Ms. Simmons gets off the stage and makes her way through the crowd, belly dancing. Some of the guests start taking out dollar bills and sticking them into the waist of Ms. Simmons’s harem pants. “Oh, that is real funny!” squeals Aqua. Ms. Simmons comes past us and wiggles her scarf in our face. We giggle like a pack of goofy cheetahs.
After Danitra, Malcolm Extra, and Fredericka Fabulina each perform their solo numbers, it’s showtime for the Cheetah Girls. Ms. Dorothea comes running over to us and exclaims, “They’re here!” We were so busy getting hyped about our performance, we stopped eyeing the entrance. I look over by the door, but it’s too crowded to see any of the Def Duck Record executives.
“Right there,” Galleria says, pointing at a group of people standing by the banquet table. “Bingo—that’s them.” I look again and then realize that the guy with the bald head is Tom Isaaks, the A&R executive from Def Duck Records. “Oh, he looks different,” I mumble, realizing that he has shaved his head.
“Well, the difference is they’re here, so I need you girls to get up there and show your spots, okay?” Ms. Dorothea says, her face shiny from perspiration.
“Do we ever do it any other way?” riffs Galleria.
Constellation Jones takes the stage again and announces us. “Now, I told you before that the growl-licious girls you are about to hear are the ferocious force behind this benefit.” Everybody in the crowd starts clapping. “That’s right—they pulled this whole benefit together, with the help of a lot of other helping hands, including Ms. Dorothea. The five members of the Cheetah Girls came together through the Kats and Kittys Klub, a nationwide social organization for teens that provides skills in leadership, learning, and following your dreams. Here to demonstrate their growl power—which I have been told is the brains, heart, and courage that every true cheetah girl possesses to make her dreams come true in the jiggle jungle—Whew, did I say it right?” Constellation says. “Darlings and darlings, could you please welcome to the stage this year’s Harlem School of the Arts first-place talent show competition winners, THE CHEETAH GIRLS!”
Ms. Dorothea is at the side of the stage holding Toto. We take our places and do the song that is a real crowd-pleaser, “Wannabe Stars in the Jiggy Jungle.” All of our Drinka Champagne Conservatory peeps and Kats and Kittys Klub peeps know the lyrics to the song and sing along with us:
“Some people walk with a panther
or strike a buffalo stance
that makes you wanna dance.
Other people flip the script
on the day of the jackal
that’ll make you cackle.
But peeps like me
got the Cheetah Girls groove
that makes your body move
like wannabe stars in the jiggy jiggy jungle.
The jiggy jiggy jungle! The jiggy jiggy jungle! The jiggy jiggy Jungle!
Ms. Dorothea releases Toto onto the stage and he does his little twirl on two legs. Just like at the Harlem School of the Arts competition, everyone loses it! They start cheering wildly. “Encore, encore,” the audience screams when we leave the stage.
We run back out and Galleria takes the mike, “A true Cheetah Girl judges others by their character, not the color of their spots—that’s what we’ve been trying to tell people with our groove. Well, one of the Cheetah Girls has character to the max.” The crowd starts clapping. “Her name is Dorinda—Do’ Re Mi to her cheetah crew. I wrote this song for you,” Galleria says, turning to me, “about all the peeps who make up your family. A family that we feel is worth fighting for.”
I feel my cheeks turning red, but I make myself smile.
“So, if everybody here will bear with us,” Galleria says, whipping out pages and handing a song sheet to each of us, “we’re gonna sing ‘Dorinda’s Family Groove’ on the a cappella tip, checking out the music sheet if we lose our place, ’cause this is fresh from the cheetah farm where we produce lyrics, okay?”
“Work it out, Cheetah Girls!” screams Malcolm Extra who is near the front of the stage.
Striking our five-member posse pose, we let it rip:
“Let me tell ya about a cheetah named Dorinda Do’ Re Mi/She’s bursting at the seams with her dreams and leads her own family posse/That’s right y’all there’s ten little Indians she tries to keep in line/Starting with Shawn the fawn who is on like popcorn even though he’s shy and just turned nine/Then there’s a little tottie tottie who blabbers like Abba but don’t forget the R and to call her little Arba/Because there’s another shortie named Kenya who can do even more than her other—Can ya rhyme, can ya tell time, Can ya tie your own shoes/Yes I can, yes, yes, ma’am, cause I’m alive at FIVE/Figure that’s all there is in this Cornwall house, then you’re wrong about the long arms on Nestor the little man at NINE-taking no jive/He can grab your attention, do his math and think so fast you’re sippi
ng Nestle’s Quik/Then you can start getting thick with glee over the other brother Topwe/African born and set to adorn the world with his mighty strong blaze/Don’t be amazed at what he can do just cause he’s only EIGHT and up in your face/And if you’re feeling sorry about the space situation just shelve it/Cause Monies not in the middle of this whole entire family riddle/She’s just at the top of her game, SEVENTEEN and lean and mighty mean if you slip up on a dis/So it’s better to kiss their other sister Chantelle just around the bend and more than just TEN/Can you tell she’s reading everybody from cover to cover and more than books/But maybe Corky is the real lover in this house because he’s mighty cute but more than just looks/With his curly hair and cutie eyes, there’s fun to be had at five cause he’s got a same aged sister/Twinkie loves her shrinky dinkie more than other kids her same/So in the end you can see this is more than just a name game/It’s much deeper, more profound than any smooth move/See we all know what it is—it’s Dorinda’s family groove!”
At the end of our performance, we do a Cheetah Girls handshake, then hug each other for a minute. Now I could kick myself: what I was so worried about? I’m hanging with my crew, so how could this not be the best birthday I’ve ever had in my life. Little did I know what I was in for.
After our performance, Constellation Jones does a closing speech, begging Mrs. Bosco to come up onstage. I can’t believe it when Mrs. Bosco gets up from her seat and lets Ms. Dorothea help her onstage.
“Mrs. Bosco, I want you to know that our prayers are with you as you move forward in your fight for what you believe is right,” Constellation says, giving her a hug. The photographer from the Amsterdam News crouches by the stage to snap a picture, but Mrs. Bosco shakes her head, “No, don’t do that…”
Constellation Jones picks up on Mrs. Bosco’s discomfort and tells the photographer to stop taking pictures. Stepping back to the mike, she says, “I want everyone to stay and enjoy the buffet, drinks, and snatch one of the fabulous goody bags on your way out. And make sure you watch my show, Say, What?, which airs every weekday at 11:00 A.M. Drinka, girl, you’d better come on and show us how to stir it up after forty Lordy! And Ms. Simmons—consider yourself a guest, too! Okay, good night, everyone. I think y’all will agree—we have definitely ‘brought it on!’ Am I right?”
All the guests cheer as Constellation leaves the stage. Now Ms. Dorothea runs up onstage and grabs the microphone to say, “On behalf of the Cheetah Girls and myself, we can’t thank you enough. You are the New York ‘darlings and darlings,’ as Constellation would say, that we love. Now, if you will just be so gracious to join us in our birthday girl, Dorinda Rogers’s celebration.”
I almost gasp because I can’t believe it when everybody starts singing “Happy Birthday!” Galleria looks at me and I can tell she had this planned all along. I never had a birthday party in my whole life. And now that I am finally having one, I want to disappear into the floor.
All of a sudden, Mr. Garibaldi comes from the back with a big cheetah cake, with thirteen lit candles, that says, “To the Number One Cheetah Girl, Dorinda. Happy Birthday. We love you.” The crowd parts as he walks over to me with it. Galleria pokes me. “Make a wish!”
I close my eyes real tight and I think about what I really wish for: God, please let the Cheetah Girls get a record deal. No, that doesn’t feel right. Then I realize I know exactly what I want to wish for: God, please don’t let them take Corky away from us.
I blow the candles out with all my might. Twinkie giggles.
After we stuff ourselves with cake, Ms. Dorothea grabs us to make a beeline for the Def Duck Record peeps. “Freddy, thank you for coming,” Ms. Dorothea gushes to Freddy Fudge, the A&R executive who specializes in R&B artists in the East Coast office. I guess he must have sneaked in while we were performing, because I didn’t see him before, and he is not the kind of person you miss in a crowd. Freddy Fudge has short, blond, fuzzy hair, like Pepto B., and a chocolate-brown complexion to match. Actually, they look like they could be brothers, if you ask me.
“You girls were tight,” Freddy says enthusiastically. Then he takes Galleria’s hand and places it in his. “We’re still waiting for the demo from Mouse Almighty. I understand you’re going back into the studio with him soon.”
“Well, I don’t know if he sent you a smoke signal communiqué from the rain forest, because we haven’t heard anything from his tepee!” Ms. Dorothea says dramatically.
“Well, yes, he has to finish the Kahlua project,” Freddy says, like he is being real careful selecting his words. “It’s slated for release in the second quarter.”
I don’t know what he means by “second quarter,” but Ms. Dorothea clears that mystery up real quick. “Oh, I see—next spring. Well, the winter will have thawed, the birds will be chirping, and we’ll be wilting!”
Tom Isaaks, the West Coast A&R executive interrupts and congratulates us. “The addition of the dog—” he says, shaking his head. “What can I say—you girls just keep getting better and better.”
“Thank you. Gracias!” coos Chanel.
Next, Haruko, Freddy’s assistant, and Chunky Carter, one of the talent coordinators we met during our meeting at the Def Duck Records office in New York congratulate us too.
By now my jaw is hurting so much from smiling, I have to get something to drink to thaw it out. After we schmooze with the Def Duck peeps for another twenty minutes, the Cheetah Girls storm the banquet table because we’re all feeling the same way—taxed to the max. “Wow, this is really off the hook!” I exclaim to my crew while trying to slurp down some soda.
“How much did we raise?” Galleria asks her Mom excitedly.
“We had two hundred twenty paying guests,” Ms. Dorothea says, satisfied. “So let’s just say that after expenses there will be more than enough for Mrs. Bosco to give that foster-care agency a run for their money.”
“Qué bueno! That’s good,” Chuchie sighs, nodding her head, then meekly asks, “but that means we don’t get any leftover goody bags, huh?”
We all cackle till we can’t laugh anymore. Looking around at my crew, I smile like the most satisfied cheetah cub in the jiggy jungle. I knew I was right: it will be a long, long time before I ever forget my thirteenth birthday.
Chapter
11
Just like we planned, Mrs. Bosco met with Ms. Dropkin, the attorney, on Monday, and gave her $1,200 as a retainer fee. I’m not sure how much we raised, but let’s just say, after her attorney fee, there were still a few duckets in our bucket. As for me, Do’ Re Mi, I’m still walking around on cloud nine, and today is Friday. Even Mrs. Bosco seems different. It’s almost as if she is back to her old self—smiling and getting around without limping. That’s partly because, on Wednesday morning, we get the call we have all been waiting for. Ms. Dropkin served the Administration of Children’s Services, with a motion to delay. In order to do that, she had to file an injunction against the agency, then she submitted a motion for Mrs. Bosco to be considered for adopting Corky herself.
“Now the real battle is gonna begin, but I’m ready for those folks. They’re not taking this child without a fight,” Mrs. Bosco says, repeating herself. As if her ears are ringing, Mrs. Tattle, from the foster-care agency, calls. I can tell that she is giving Mrs. Bosco a real “horse-and-phony show” on the phone.
“Well, you should have asked me before you went and gave that man custody. Don’t that seem logical to you?” Mrs. Bosco talked to Mrs. Tattle without backing down. “Uh-huh, but you ain’t asked me nothing. You just went and did it, so I did what I had to do. Well, that is up to y’all. No, no. That’s not gonna help, because we want to adopt him now. No, no, I’m not supposed to be even talking to you about it. Hmm. Hmm. That’s what the lawyer said. So why don’t you ask her instead of asking me. You never ask nobody nothing.” Even though Mrs. Bosco is trying to keep her voice calm I can tell she is real upset, because she keeps repeating herself.
When Mrs. Bosco gets off the phone she says, “W
e ain’t gonna let her stop us from celebrating. At least Corky ain’t leaving here this week.” Mrs. Bosco shakes her head. “Lord, that woman sure don’t know what she’s talking about. She trying to make it sound like I shouldn’t have gotten a lawyer, because they would have tried to work it out with me. She must think I was born yesterday.”
I wait a few minutes for Mrs. Bosco to calm down. “Go on, Dorinda, go take Corky and meet your friends.
“Awright,” I say, grabbing my cheetah backpack off the couch. I’m meeting Chanel and Pucci at five o’clock at the American Museum of Natural History. They have a frog show that Corky and Twinkie have been dying to hop to. Like I said, there were a few extra duckets, so Mrs. Bosco made me take forty dollars of the money we raised from the benefit so I can take Corky and celebrate. I figure hanging out with a bunch of frogs is as good a place as any.
“You sure you don’t want to go?” I ask Kenya again before I leave the house.
“No. I don’t like any stupid frogs. I want ice cream,” she says.
I hate to say it, but I’m secretly glad that Kenya isn’t coming. I just don’t have the energy to deal with her today. And besides, I want to make sure that Corky has a good time, since he is the one who deserves a special celebration.
When we get downstairs to the lobby of our building, we see several police standing around. My heart stops. Oh, no, don’t tell me they are here to take Corky. For one second, I think about running, but I have already made eye contact with one of the police officers. I just stand there frozen, holding Corky’s hand real tight. Suddenly, one of the police officers moves toward the elevator, and right behind him is Ms. Keisha. “Dorinda!” she whispers loudly.
Oh, no, I think. Maybe Ms. Keisha has opened her big mouth and now the police are coming to take Corky away! Why else would Ms. Keisha be acting so secretive and motioning for me to come over. But I just stand there, because I don’t know what to do.
Bring It On! Page 10