by Nikki Carter
“Really?” I ask. “Let me hear what you got.”
Piper sings the first few lines of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” Actually, she murders the first lines of the song. I have never heard such screeching in my life.
“You’re kidding, right?” I ask.
Piper laughs out loud. “Wow. You are straight hating on my skills.”
“I witnessed no skills,” Gia says.
“Me either,” Meagan says.
“Oh, guess what? The Gamma Phi Gamma girls are straight jocking me!” Gia says. “They want me to choreograph their routine for the spring step show.”
Meagan replies, “That doesn’t mean they’re jocking you! They just know that you put together a slamming routine. It doesn’t mean that they want you in the sorority either.”
Gia laughs. “I don’t care one way or the other. I was just sharing the news.”
Piper asks, “Are we studying or aren’t we? I’ve got to make sure I get good grades on these midterm exams. I’ve got a few scholarship applications pending, and I need to make sure my grades don’t slip.”
“Scholarships?” Meagan asks. “But you’re already in school. You’re still looking for scholarship money?”
“Yes, of course I am. I would like to stay in school and finish,” Piper says. “Plus, my financial aid stuff is totally up in the air. I still can’t find my mother.”
“You should report her as a missing person,” Gia says. “Will that help? How long have you not been able to reach her?”
“Since my senior year in high school. But my grandmother said she came through about a month ago and robbed her of her Social Security check, so it’s not like she’s hiding away in rehab or anything like that.”
Meagan is always highly uncomfortable when we talk about Piper’s family situation. She says, “I can’t imagine growing up with a meth addict for a mother.”
“Well, she wasn’t always a meth addict,” Piper explains. “She started off just drinking and smoking weed. Then she graduated to heroin, and when that got too expensive she downsized to crack and meth. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s still alive.”
“You don’t sound sad about it,” Meagan says.
“I am numb to it,” Piper says. “She’s not ever been around, so I know that she gave birth to me, but she doesn’t feel like my mother.”
My heart goes out to Piper. She tries to act so strong about her mother being on drugs, but I know that it hurts her. She’s lucky to have her foster parents.
Piper says, “Listen, change the subject, okay? Talking about Stella is a real downer. Plus, I might be dating someone new, so that’s a more fun thing to talk about, right?”
“Who is the someone new that you might be dating?” Gia asks.
“Remember the guy from Truth’s entourage that asked me out on a date the night of the awards show?” Piper asks. “Well, he’s in Atlanta and he goes to Georgia State.”
“Get the heck out of here!” I say. “Truth has friends that go to college?”
“Turns out he’s not really Truth’s friend. He’s Truth’s cousin. He sometimes works as Truth’s assistant on the road, because Truth knows that he can trust him. His name is Anthony and he’s really nice and smart. He’s a sophomore, and he’s going to school for civil engineering.”
I guess you really can’t judge a person by their family. What if someone judged me because of Dreya? Yuck.
“Okay, so Truth has a nice cousin. That is possible,” I say. “I would just be careful kicking it at any of Truth’s events.”
“It’s tripped out that you have only negative stuff to say about Truth, because according to Anthony, Truth has nothing but great things to say about you.”
I lift my eyebrows in surprise. “I’m shocked that he has anything to say about me at all.”
My cell phone buzzes. It’s my mom calling. “Hello, Mommy,” I say.
“Sunday! You need to get home, right now.”
My heart rate quickens. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, honey, nothing wrong at all. I just got home from work and you have some mail from Epsilon Records today. It looks like a check.”
“Did you open it?”
“No. Do you want me to?”
“Of course!”
I get up and walk away from my friends, because I don’t want them to see the expression on my face when my mother reads me the dollar amount.
I hear her rip the envelope open, then I hear her scream, and then she drops the phone.
Finally, she picks the phone up, and says, “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus!”
“How much is it?”
“I have never seen this many numbers on a check. It says one million, six hundred, eighty-eight thousand, four hundred fifty-seven dollars, and twenty-three cents.”
Next, I scream! Mystique told me that the check would be huge, but I had no idea that it would be that big.
“Mommy, that’s almost two million dollars.”
“Yes, it is. What do you want to do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, let’s not do anything yet. Let’s pray, and then meet with a financial adviser tomorrow.”
“That’s a good idea. Okay, Mommy. You know you can give notice at the post office now. You don’t have to work there anymore.”
My mother laughs out loud. “Two million dollars of your money is not enough to cause me to quit my job. That’s why people end up broke again after they get a windfall. You can help me out, but there’s no way I’m quitting my job yet.”
“But, Mommy ...”
“No, I won’t hear of it.”
“Okay, Mom. Dreya’s calling me on the other line. Maybe she got her check too.”
“Go ahead and talk to her, and come over here tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, bye.” I click over to Dreya. “Hey. What’s up?”
She’s crying. Oh no. Not a good sign.
“Did you get your check?” Dreya asks.
“Yes, I did. Did you get yours?”
“Yes,” she bawls. “It was only for thirty-two thousand dollars! That ain’t no money.”
“Thirty-two thousand? That can’t be right! Your album went gold.”
“Big D said that I spent thousands of dollars against my advance on my apartment, clothes, and my car. He said that because I didn’t write any of the songs, I only got about twenty-five cents on each sale.”
“But ... I mean, it’s thirty-two thousand dollars you wouldn’t have had before, Dreya. You should invest it. You’re moving to New York with Evan, so you won’t have any expenses, right? Just save your money.”
“Big D said that you and Sam made more money off my record than I did, because y’all had songwriter and producer credits on my record and on yours.”
So that’s why my check is so large. I made money off of her sales and my sales. I want to feel sorry for her, but I can’t because everyone told Dreya she was spending way too much money on everything.
“Well, maybe on your next record you should try to get some songwriter credit. Like you should take a stab at writing some of your own lyrics. That way when it’s time to get paid, you’re more than just an artist.”
“Yeah, it’s whatever. Everyone wants to treat the artist like crap, and there wouldn’t be a project without the artist. I started this off for you, Sam, Big D, and everybody else. If it wasn’t for me hooking up with Truth, none of y’all would have anything popping. But I’m the one looking like Boo Boo the Fool.”
I don’t know how to respond to Dreya’s rant. Part of what she says is true. Her dating Truth was the catalyst to this thing with Epsilon Records. But we’ve worked hard—much harder than she has. No one is going to keep thanking her for our success. I know I’m not, and I know Big D isn’t either.
“Dreya, I don’t know what to tell you. If you need anything, you know I got you. Just say the word.”
She laughs out loud. It’s a dry, hurt, and bitter laugh. “You got me? Y
ou got me? That’s real funny, Sunday.”
“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say, Dreya. Do you want me to be sorry about the money I made?”
“I don’t want anything from you, Sunday. You always find a way to come out on top and make me the underdog. But trust and believe my time is coming. All of y’all are gonna be coming to me for favors.”
“All right then, Dreya. I have to study for an exam. I’ma have to holla at you later.”
I disconnect the phone call, but I stand here in total shock. Dreya lives in some kind of fantasy world where the entire universe is out to see her fail. I only want her to succeed, but I can’t convince her of that fact.
All I know is that after I see that financial adviser tomorrow, I’m taking my mom shopping for whatever she wants. And then maybe, just maybe, I’ll get a little something for me.
I’m a millionaire!
19
“First, we’re going to set you up with some very safe interest-bearing investments. We’ll put a portion of your portfolio into some of the riskier and more volatile stocks.”
My mother interrupts the financial planner. “No, sir. I don’t want any of her money at risk. I’ll just put it in a savings account at the Bank of America down the street, if you talking about putting her money at risk.”
“No, ma’am, not at all. We would never risk anything higher than earnings that she makes on her more stable stocks. We will not ever put her base million dollars into that pool of risks. That money will be collecting interest as always.”
“Why does any of it have to be at risk at all?” my mom asks.
I answer this one. “The riskier stocks have higher reward. They make the most money.”
She gives me and the financial planner some serious side eye.
He continues, “We’re going to set up a retirement account for you, Mom, as a tax shelter for some of Sunday’s money.”
“What does that mean? Tax shelter?”
“The more money Sunday has liquid, the higher her tax liability at the end of the year. Money in a retirement account is not taxable.”
Big D sent us to his financial planner, the one that he trusts. Evan also called with a recommendation, but I just felt a whole lot better with Big D’s person.
“I’m sorry I have so many questions,” my mom says. “We’ve never had this kind of money before.”
“It’s fine, Ms. Tolliver. I will answer every question to your satisfaction. I want you and Sunday to feel like you made the right decision trusting us with your portfolio.”
I understand a lot more than my mother does, but I don’t let on. I don’t mind her asking questions. I think ever since she lost my college fund, she’s been guilty as what. Now, she’s just trying to make sure that I’m never in a bad spot again.
“Are you planning on making any large purchases?” the financial planner asks.
“Yes, I want to take my mom on a huge shopping spree, and at the end of my freshman year at Spelman, I want to buy a condo.”
“How huge of a shopping spree are you talking?” my mom asks.
“However much you want! We can spend a hundred thousand dollars if you want to.”
My mom pops me in the back of the head. “What are you thinking?” she asks. “Do you want to end up like Dreya, trying to figure out how she’s going to stretch that little bit of money? No shopping sprees for me. She can buy her condo when she’s ready.”
“Ma, you don’t even want a new car?”
“Nope. My car rides just fine.”
She’s going overboard with this not-wanting-to-spend-money thing. We’re millionaires, for goodness sakes.
“Mom ...”
“Sunday, I’m done talking about it.”
“Well, I’m going to buy my boyfriend a gift. And I’m going to write a check to Spelman to pay one of my friends’ tuition for the semester.”
“Gia needs help paying her school bill?” my mom asks.
“Not Gia. Piper. She can’t find her mother to sign off on her financial aid, so they’re going through a legal process to state that she’s an independent student. It takes a minute, so she was going to have to sit out next semester.”
My mother hugs me. “Sunday, that is incredibly generous. Did she ask you to do this?”
“No. She has no idea that I’m going to do it. It’s a surprise.”
“Well, it’s a big one! She’s going to be so happy.”
While the financial planner explains how a mutual fund works to my mother, I send Sam a text. Are you in ATL yet?
He replies: Yep. Flight just landed. Can’t wait to see you. Let’s go blow some money.
LOL! My mother is tripping like she doesn’t want me to shop.
Whatever. I’ll meet you back at your dorm in two hours. Got a couple of stops to make.
I can’t wait to see Sam. We haven’t spent time together since the American Music Awards a couple of weeks ago. His check was just over a million dollars. He didn’t get the additional artist portion added to his, because he’s not an artist. He’s already hooked his mom up with a new house and car. I think she moves in this weekend.
After the meeting with the financial planner, I take my mom to lunch at Pappadeaux’s.
“This isn’t too expensive is it, Mom? Or do we need to go to Denny’s?”
She laughs. “Okay, Sunday, I get your point. I just don’t want you to blow all this cash.”
“Mom, when have I ever been that foolish? Have a little faith in me! Didn’t you raise me to always handle my business?”
“Yes, I did.”
As we walk into the restaurant, I hear the screams of teenage girls. “OMG! OMG! That’s Sunday Tolliver! We love you, Sunday!”
I smile, and hope that they’ll calm down before everyone around them starts to stare. “I love y’all too!”
After I sign a couple of autographs, we go into the restaurant and are seated almost immediately. That’s one of the perks to being a celebrity, I suppose. I never have to wait for a table anymore.
Once we’re seated, I open my iPad. Time to check the blogs for the daily gossip. Some artists don’t do this, but they’re not related to Dreya. I have to check to make sure my name is not in the news.
“Oh my goodness,” I say when I read the headline.
“What is it?”
I can’t even read it out loud because I’ve got my hand over my mouth. The headline says ZILLIONAIRE’S LOVE CHILD REVEALED.
With much hesitation, I click on the link. Inside there is a picture of a toddler that looks a whole lot like Zac, down to his big hazel eyes and dimples. Actually, the baby is a dead ringer for Zac.
The story says that the little boy is two years old. Zac and Mystique have been together for four years. Anyone can do the math. If this is Zac’s baby, then he’s been unfaithful to Mystique.
The waiter comes up to the table and asks, “Are you ready to order?”
My mom orders her favorite fried fish platter.
“And for you, miss?” the waiter asks me.
All of a sudden, my stomach is tumbling and the butterflies are dancing a jig. “Can you just bring me some water with lemon and that’s all?”
“Aren’t you hungry?” my mother asks.
When I think about the fallout of this little news tidbit, my stomach lurches. The biggest question hovering in my mind is who told Mediatakeout.com about this baby? Who was the source of this story? Only someone with insider scoop would dare leak this information.
Someone with insider scoop who hates Mystique’s guts.
I hope that it’s not Dreya, but something tells me she was behind it all.
Things are ’bout to get ill.
20
Mystique storms angrily through the living room of her Atlanta penthouse. She’s rarely ever here since Zac’s mansion is bigger and better than her spot. But today, the day after that blog post went out to the Internet world, she doesn’t want to be anywhere near Zac.
She�
�s invited me here, along with her mother. I’m not sure why my presence is needed, but I’ll do what I can. I have no idea what advice to give in this situation.
“The baby looks just like Zac,” Mystique says, pointing at the still-open blog post on her iPad.
Ms. Layla studies the picture closely, “Well, it looks a little bit like him, but really, this could be anyone’s baby.”
“What did Zac say about it?” I ask.
“When I asked him, he said he couldn’t believe that I would think that a gossip blogger was telling the truth. Now, he won’t take my calls.”
Hmmm ... that sounds really suspicious to me, but I don’t know if I should say this to Mystique. If it’s not the truth why would he stop talking to her? Sounds like he’s guilty to me.
“Where did the story come from?” I ask. “Knowing who started the rumor will help you get down to the truth of the matter.”
“I already had my assistant email the bloggers. No one is giving up their source.”
“Well, what does that mean?” Ms. Layla asks. “Don’t they know how important you are? You are the biggest star in R & B.”
“You only as big as your last hit,” Mystique says.
“Okay ... so if the baby is Zac’s, then what? Are you going to leave him?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
Call me crazy, but if she’s going to stay with Zac whether the baby is his or not, does it make any sense to have all this drama?
“So why not just let the story die down? People will forget after a while, and then it will go away. Don’t address the rumors.”
Mystique stops pacing and stands in front of me. “Do you think that I’m worried about Zac having a baby? That is the least of my worries.”
“Well then what is the issue?” I ask.
“Most people love me. I don’t have enemies. At least I didn’t think I had enemies, but whoever put this information out is deliberately trying to hurt me.”
Ms. Layla shakes her head. “Maybe Zac has an enemy. This makes him look bad, not you.”
Mystique shakes her head back and forth in frustration. “No, Mother. No! Anyone who would have this secret and tell the bloggers is trying to destroy me and Zac’s relationship. That’s a woman thing to do, not a guy thing. This is a swipe at me.”