by Will Davis
We watch her select a Diet Coke and shove the door shut. The way she does it is as though she’s bitter at the whole world. Maybe it’s because I’m feeling happy because of Dad’s visit and can’t stand the sight of someone else miserable, but for some reason I hear myself blurt out: ‘Where’s your visitor? Aren’t they here yet?’
Riana gets to the door and turns back. The cameraman is obviously struggling trying to figure out which one of us to stay focused on. He ends up opting for her, and it’s a good decision, since she replies ‘I don’t have any visitors’ in a low and throaty, bitter voice, dramatic as anything, before exiting.
‘Probably no one else is cheap enough,’ says Dad, snatching an opportunity while the cameraman is changing tapes to say what he really thinks. He winks at me, but all of a sudden I feel strangely protective of Riana, even though I thought she was nothing but a cheap whore when I first met her, too. Without really thinking about what I’m doing I set my mug down and stand up.
‘I’m just off to the bathroom, be right back – maybe you can do some vox pop for the camera!’ I say. I skip quickly out of the kitchen. The cameraman doesn’t follow, so I guess he’s decided to take me up on my suggestion. I head up the stairs to the dorm. Sure enough, there’s Riana, lying on the bed taking sips from her Diet Coke and staring at the ceiling. Her chest heaves, and those huge boobs of hers look like mountains during an earthquake.
‘Riana?’
‘What?’ she mutters, snapping her eyes in my direction as if I’m nothing but a hassle to have to deal with. It’s rather insulting, especially considering how hard I worked with her last week. I can’t help bristling a bit.
‘Actually I just came to see if you’re okay,’ I say coldly.
Riana doesn’t reply to this, just rolls her eyes back to the ceiling. I feel myself starting to get mad at her. Here I am being perfectly considerate and charitable and having it shoved right back in my face.
‘Well?’ I say.
‘Well what?’ says Riana.
‘Well, are you?’
A slow smile snakes its way across her cheeks. It’s one of those mean-spirited smiles that I used to see on girls in the corridor at school when I passed them on the way to class. The sort of smile you get from slackers and sluts, from the ones who whisper behind your back and give you rude nicknames that stick around for ever. I just remind myself they’re jealous of me because they don’t have the same passion and drive that I have.
‘Let’s not pretend you care, shall we?’ says Riana, sounding bored. It’s an absolutely maddening thing for her to say and I have to struggle like crazy not to lose my temper. But that’s clearly what she wants me to do and I’m going to be the better person. Because no matter what she says, that’s what I am.
‘I care,’ I say as calmly as I can. ‘I’m a nice person.’
I expected to sound cool and dignified, but it comes out sounding just stupid. What’s worse is that it comes out sounding like it isn’t really true. Like I’m trying to convince myself that it is.
‘I’ve got to go now. My dad is waiting.’
But I don’t move. It’s almost as though I’m under a spell, watching that huge bosom as it rises and falls.
‘That’s right, run off back to daddykins,’ trills Riana. ‘Give him my love, won’t you?’
In a flash I’m so furious I can’t think straight. I’ve never known anything like it. I want to slap the arrogant fucking bitch silly – the fake-chested nigger whore from hell! I step forward, feeling my face burning up with anger. But I mustn’t attack her – that’s probably what she’s hoping for. Probably she’s got it all planned, how she’ll say I’m violent and get me kicked out of the contest even though she goaded me into it. Instead I rack my brains for the most cutting thing I can possibly say back. The trouble is I’ve never been much good at retorts, which is why those girls at school always seem to get the better of me. But suddenly I have a flash of inspiration, so brilliant I know for sure it’s come from God.
‘It’s no wonder you don’t have any visitors!’
It comes out sounding amazing, a million times as nasty as all the things I’ve ever had said to me at school. I say it with a sneer and turn and begin to swagger away, just like a femme fatale from one of those black and white movies. But then the great feeling is interrupted by a jarring screech of pain, which comes out of my own mouth. Riana is up and on her feet and she’s taken hold of my hair and is yanking my head backwards.
‘What the fuck would you know?’ she hisses right in my ear. ‘You’re nothing but a spoilt little daddy’s girl who’s never had to work a day in her whole fucking life!’
She drags me towards the bed. I fight her all the way, before it occurs to me to just throw myself backwards into her. I use all my strength and knock her off balance so that she lands hard on her bottom on the carpet with me on top of her.
‘You’re for it now!’ I shriek. ‘After I tell them about this, that’s it! You’ll be out! Out like you deserve!’
I wrestle with her, kicking and clawing. She’s still holding my hair, practically tearing it out at the roots, and hot tears of pain are forming in my eyes, but somehow I manage to break free and leap to my feet. I head for the door, turning round at the last minute in case I need to shield myself from a blow to the back of the head.
Riana is standing, too, only she hasn’t moved forward and her head is bowed and her eyes are closed. It looks like she might actually be crying. It also looks like she’s off guard, and snatching the opportunity I leap quickly forward and give her a resounding slap that sends her face whipping towards her left shoulder. My hand tingles from the sensation. It feels wonderful. Riana’s head stays in the place I’ve knocked it to for a few seconds, frozen like in a cartoon where the character suddenly discovers the ground has disappeared and remains stock still while the realisation they’re about to fall sets in. Then, as Riana slowly turns her head back towards me I lift my other hand and prepare to give the other cheek a good hard slap. She catches my wrist before I can strike, so I lift the other one again, but then she catches that too. I try to twist away, but she won’t let go, and all I end up doing is twisting myself closer to her, so that I end up pressed right up close against those ridiculous great tits and that smug knowing face. I struggle and squirm against her but she holds me rigidly, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m laughing manically, just like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I can taste blood in my mouth, and there’s adrenalin rushing through my veins like crazy, as if I’m onstage giving a performance. Being so close to the hateful black bitch turns everything upside down. I can’t think straight. All I can see is her mouth. Those massive negro lips just a centimetre or two from mine.
For a second I think she’s going to kiss me. Not like she did last time in the corridor after our duet, but properly, like a real kiss. I stop laughing, stop moving, stop struggling, stop trying to attack her, and hold my breath.
Then I feel the pressure of her hands loosening on my wrists and then I’m pulling away, staring at her and trying to think of something to say. But nothing comes. Riana’s looking back at me with this ghost of a smile, like she’s just found out something deeply personal and secret about me, and I’m burning up with anger and shame. I realise I’m still holding my breath and take a great gasp of air.
‘Louise—’ says Riana, but I’m already leaving. I hurry out the door, stumbling and catching my sweater on the handle. There’s a tearing sound but I don’t stop. I keep on going until I’m down the first set of stairs and on the first-floor landing. Only then do I pause to breathe some more and wait for my stupid heart to stop its ridiculous incessant pounding.
‘Victory’s so close I can practically taste it. There’s four of us left and we all want to be here for the final. Everyone’s really bringing it now. But I’m not scared, cos I’ve come to realise something over the last week – that I’m here to win!’
Right, announces Emma, it’s time to get this
party on the road!
Everyone starts rushing round, running brushes through their hair and checking their faces for spots that might have sprung up since they last gawked at themselves in the mirror five minutes ago. While Rebecca wrestles with a tangle and Joni screams that her left earstud’s fallen out, I shove all the shit on my bedside table, the lippy, compact, comb, hair pins, security pass and other junk, in my handbag. Then I slump down on my bed and lie back, fucking exhausted already.
That means now! yells Emma, who’s got a whole lot more bossy over the last week. Being a judge’s obviously gone to her head. It’s pretty funny in a way, seeing as when you think about it we’re basically in the same place she once was when she was a few years younger, only difference being the band we’re trying to be part of is a thousand times better than Kissy Piss Piss or whatever it was called. Can’t help but wonder if it doesn’t make her the smallest bit bitter.
Come on Riana, she orders. This isn’t like you! I don’t know what’s got into you this week, but you’d better snap out of it. If you don’t perform tonight – you’re out!
The camera dude trotting along behind her stops for a quick shot of me. For his benefit I mouth the words Blonde Bitch to her back and then haul myself to my feet. I’m hit by this head rush so bad I have to sit right back down again. Thing is, that blonde bitch has a point. It’s the first time since the beginning of this competition I’ve genuinely felt nervous about going out on stage, and I’ve got good reason cos tonight there’s nothing stuffed down my boot to give me that extra bit of umph I need to get me through. Not even the chance of some Dutch courage – seeing as how alcohol was forbidden on day one by our bastard joy-hating judges. Jesus, what I wouldn’t give to be able to knock back a couple of JDs. All week long I’ve been battling the headache from hell, not to mention hot and cold flushes. You’d think I was up the duff or menopausal the way I’ve been off and on. Guess maybe Eddy had a smidge of a point yelling at me all those times that I had a problem, cos by Wednesday I honestly thought I was going to have to jack it all in and haul ass like Ella, just so’s I could get hold of a pinch and shut up those fucking squeaks and groans scrambling up my brains. It was only the knowledge that my place in Purrfect is within licking distance that stopped me. That’s why I can’t afford not to get through tonight. Not after all the shit I’ve gone through. No matter what it takes, I’ve got to go out there and dazzle them, give it one million per cent and bring home the bacon. And I can do it too, I know I can. Funny, but I guess there’s some truth in what Edgar said earlier this week after all – that true stars’ve got the ability to stand up and perform no matter what kind of crap is going down behind the curtains. Cos if this competition has made one thing clear to me, it’s this – I’m going to be a star. A fucking supernova. Just wait and see.
Right – we’re leaving! declares Emma. I snatch up my bag and fall into line behind her. We all troop down to the front drive where the limo is waiting to take us to the studio. Louise waits until Joni and Rebecca have got in behind me before climbing in herself. As she does I catch her eye and give her my saucy welcome-comrade smile. Silly little madam instantly jerks her head away like she’d just been flashed. For the past two days she’s been avoiding me like she thinks if she comes too close I’ll turn her into a raving lesbian. Yesterday when Patty paired us up for stretches she even faked a muscle strain that neatly lasted just up until the end of the class, when she suddenly magically got better for singing with Edgar. It’s pretty hilarious. I probably ought to explain to her that our little tiff the other day was only cos my temperature was out of this world, and cos I was at an all-time low and missing my girlfriend like chronic – only leaving out the girlfriend part, obviously. But seeing as she won’t let me within five feet of her I’ve not exactly had the chance. It was obviously a major deal for her, probably the closest she’s ever come to experiencing pent-up sexual tension. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised seeing as she carries herself round like she’s never so much as copped a feel. Tragic, really. It’d be kind of delicious to give her a tour of what the other side has to offer, force it down her throat till she surrenders, and under normal circumstances I’d probably have a ball playing with her. I remember the first time I nearly kissed a girl and all the mixed emotions that went on in my head. The fear of what other people would say versus this incredible need I had to touch her. Realising I might actually be gay – or bisexual, since that’s how you always start off – was the ultimate head-fuck. Sometimes I wonder what Mum’d say if she’d lived long enough for me to come out to her. I like to think she’d be supportive, even if every other decision I ever made disappointed the hell out of her.
Here we go! cries Rebecca, biting her lower lip as we draw up outside the studio. There’s this weird humming sound coming from outside. As we pass through the gates I realise it’s a small crowd of people making woos outside the main doors. Some of them are holding banners and when I look closer I’m amazed cos that’s when I see the people are here for us. The banners say things like BRING BACK ELLA! and I FANCY RIANA! and BECCA 4EVER!!! People I don’t even know have taken their evenings out to come and stand round in the cold, just for my sake, so’s they can cheer me on.
I straighten up in my seat and prepare a big smile. Fact is, I never got a chance to tell Mum about being gay. It’s sad, but there you go. And as for this thing with Louise, well these’re not normal circumstances. Mum’s dead, and Louise is competition. Just got to get over it and on with it, doncha?
Girls, says Emma, because tonight is special you’ll be thrilled to hear there’s a treat in store. World-renowned make-up artist Shelly Summers and her team are on their way to the studio. That’s right, everyone – the make-up artist of the stars is going to be working on you. No blaming hair and make-up if it all goes wrong!
I laugh along with everyone else, but I can’t help noticing no one’s laughter sounds quite like they mean it. Looks like I’m not the only one that’s nervous about tonight. Good – cos that means everybody else’s vulnerable too.
We get out the limo and the woos of the crowd turn into cheering. For a small group of people they make enough of a din to fill a fucking stadium. As we’re led down this path with barriers along either side of it to keep them out, I have this sudden feeling like I’m a gladiator going into battle. Flashes are going off left right and centre. For the benefit of the crowd I push my chest out and try to wiggle my arse a bit as I move. As I do I hear this young voice calling my name, and I turn and see this little girl with her mum. The girl’s got skin dark as coal and a large squat nose. She’s totally dwarfed by the massive pink bomber jacket she’s wearing, which makes her look cute as a button, like one of those old-fashioned trolls everybody was raving about back when I was her age. I go over and crouch down.
Hello there, I say. What’s your name, then?
Her name is Rose, says the girl’s mum in a deep Caribbean accent. She your biggest fan, ent you Rose? She watch you on TV and want to be just like you!
Rose, I say, giving her a big smile. What a beautiful name. You really my biggest fan, Rose?
The little girl gazes up at me, mouth open and eyes all big and starry. I want to pick her up and cuddle her to death. I imagine how I must seem to her, and for the first time I have this realisation that as the only black girl in the show I really do have a responsibility. Who else are little ’uns like this Rose going to look up to when they watch telly? Ha, goes Eddy’s voice in my head. Responsibility to what? To be a role model so she grows up with the ambition to jiggle her bits around onstage? But I force Eddy’s voice to shut up. She’s not here, and she doesn’t get it. She never has. That’s why I couldn’t invite her to come and visit me like all the other families last week. Couldn’t risk her going off on one and ruining this for me.
Mummy, Riana’s nose is dripping, pipsqueaks Rose.
I look down and see a dark spot has appeared on my jeans, like a tiny black button. Another one appears. From behind the girl
comes the flash of a camera, blinding me. Quickly I dig out a tissue from my back pocket and shove it over my nose to catch the blood. As I get my sight back I see Rose’s staring at me open-mouthed. I pat her head and step back. Some role model.
I look round and see the other girls are all signing autographs and Emma is watching us at the entrance to the studio. Her face is all hard and serious, like she’s seen all this before and knows it’ll only end in tears.
Come on, come on, she calls. We haven’t got all night!
We all follow her in, waving to the crowd, blinking away cos of the strobe effect of all the flashing cameras. A security guard shuts the doors behind us. In the entrance hall Michelle is waiting, clipboard held in front of her chest like a piece of body armour. Tonight she’s dressed head to toe in dark purple, and with her pale white skin and red lips bears more than a passing resemblance to the Joker. You can’t help but wonder where she gets her style tips from. She peers at us down her nose, as if she was hoping that, like Ella, we’d all have quit by now, sighs like she can’t believe what she has to work with and tells us to follow her. Emma just has time to wish us good luck and say she’ll see us onstage before we take off with Michelle.
The make-up team will be here in ten, says Michelle briskly as we power walk up some stairs. While you’re waiting get yourselves into costume. The clothes have already been selected. They’re labelled and on the rail.
She makes a couple of ticks on her pad and turns a sharp corner. The camera dude, who’s stopped to fiddle with his camera, gets lost behind us. We turn another corner and Michelle comes to a screeching halt in front of a large red door with a gold star on it. She turns the handle and throws it open.