Bubba jumped back into the limo with a small plastic bag in his hand. “Man, I could get used to this.”
Triage laughed. “You guys have got to be hungry by now. And you really should go to bed early, Deborah Anne,” he said as he squeezed her hand. “You want to be in top shape for tomorrow.”
“I’m always down for eating,” Bubba said. “Where are we gonna go?” he asked.
“Why don’t we eat in the hotel restaurant?” Triage suggested. “They have great food.”
Within thirty minutes, they were sitting in the opulent Beverly Hotel restaurant. Deborah Anne instantly knew why Triage had recommended this place. From the moment they’d walked through the front door until they were seated at the crystal- and silver-covered table, she had counted at least five celebrities. Angela Bassett was sitting at the table across from them, and she waved at Triage. Even though the restaurant was filled, no one seemed to notice the stars. Everyone behaved as if they saw these people all the time—which they probably did.
Deborah Anne’s eyes opened wide when she opened the menu. “Triage, this might be a bit outside our budget.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Deborah Anne. All of your expenses are being taken care of.”
“I know, but I don’t want them to think that I just came here to spend all their money.”
“You mean they’re paying for everything?” Bubba asked, placing the bag from Spike Lee’s store next to him.
Deborah Anne rolled her eyes, and Triage laughed.
“Man, I wish I could sing.” Bubba shook his head.
A woman dressed in a sleek black knit dress came to their table. She smiled, then asked, “Are you ready to order?”
Deborah Anne raised her eyebrows. The woman wasn’t dressed like a waitress, and she didn’t have a pad. How is she going to remember it all? Deborah Anne wondered.
All three took Triage’s recommendation and ordered the jumbo peppered shrimp, though Bubba added clam bisque and stuffed mushrooms to his order. They chatted about Villa Rica, their parents, and Mother Dobson as they enjoyed their delicious meal. As the conversation turned to the Lakers and the Laker Girls, Deborah Anne became quiet.
Triage reached across the table and squeezed Deborah Anne’s hand, but kept talking to Bubba, who hadn’t seemed to notice her sudden contemplative silence.
Through dessert, Bubba bombarded Triage with questions about his career, his music, and women.
“Man, I bet women are throwing themselves at you all the time!” Bubba said, his eyes glassy with envy.
“That gets old quick. I’m getting to the point where I’m thinking about my future—settling down and starting a family.”
Bubba shook his head. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t get married at all. What would be the point?”
“Maybe Triage is more mature than you are, Bubba,” Deborah Anne snapped. “Maybe he knows that the way God set this plan, men and women are supposed to be together.”
Bubba waved Deborah Anne’s words away. “Whatever. I’m just saying that with all the babes in LA, this is heaven enough for me.”
Deborah Anne wanted to tell Bubba that no “babe” would want his country behind, but instead she wiped her mouth and placed her napkin on the table.
“I think you guys should be going up to your rooms now,” Triage said.
“Why?” Bubba looked at his watch. “It’s too early.”
“It might be, but Deborah Anne’s audition is pretty early. She should be well rested, especially with the jet lag and everything.”
Bubba’s eyes darted between Deborah Anne and Triage, and Deborah Anne could tell that her cousin was waiting for an invitation from Triage for just the two of them to hang out together. Deborah Anne nodded, agreeing with Triage. Bubba sulked as they all walked from the restaurant to the elevator.
As they waited, Triage hugged Deborah Anne and told her, “You’re going to do great tomorrow. I’ll be here around seven-thirty. We can go over to The Nosh, and have breakfast before we go to the studio.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be hungry.” Deborah Anne wrung her hands.
“I will be.” Bubba laughed, the cheer returning to his voice. “So we’ll be ready.”
Triage shook Bubba’s hand, then waited until the two got into the elevator.
Deborah Anne and Bubba were silent as the elevator rose to the seventeenth floor. They both gasped with pleasure when they opened the door to Deborah Anne’s suite, which looked more like an expensive studio apartment than a hotel room. The hotel had already placed Deborah’s bags on the luggage rack, and a bowl of fruit waited for her on a side table next to a luxurious-looking chaise lounge.
When Bubba finally closed his mouth, he said, “This is nice, but I still have to check everything out.”
Deborah Anne frowned as Bubba got on his knees and peeked under the bed.
“What are you doing?”
Bubba didn’t say a word as he walked into the bathroom, checked the shower, then returned to the bedroom. Finally, he said, “I read that you should do this in every hotel. You never know who might be lurking, and Uncle Eli would never forgive me if anything happened to you.” He slid open the wide closet doors, checking both sides of the closet’s interior. “Everything is clear.”
“Well, thank you for protecting me.” Deborah Anne grinned.
“No problem.” He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and shifted his feet. “Deborah Anne, you sure you want to go to bed this early?” he asked, hoping that Deborah Anne would agree to call Triage back. Bubba had been more than eager to accompany Deborah Anne on this trip because he’d had visions of LA nightclubs, shaking hands with celebrities, and hanging out with Triage.
“Bubba, if you want to go out, go on. I’m going to take Triage’s advice and get some rest. I’m here for business, remember?”
After a few seconds, he said, “All right. Well, I guess I’ll just watch some TV. Call me if you need me.”
She kissed him on the cheek, then closed the door behind him.
As soon as she turned the lock, she wanted to call Bubba back. She thought she’d be happy to finally be alone, but now she realized too much thinking time loomed in front of her—time that she knew she’d spend speculating about tomorrow.
Deborah Anne went to the balcony window. She’d never been this high in a building before; this was the kind of place she’d seen only in magazines. It was dark now, but Deborah Anne could tell that the city had renewed life. Cars moved through the street beneath her window like it was the middle of the day. Lights glowed as brightly as a Christmas tree.
She looked at the king-size bed, but it really was too early to use it. She picked up her Bible and sank into the chaise in front of the window. She’d been studying Psalms, and turned to the 119th. The words were familiar to her, but tonight the 105th verse stood out in her mind: “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”
With the Bible still lying open on her lap, she closed her eyes. That was what she wanted to do—have God guide her through every part of her life.
“Please, Lord,” she whispered. “I know this is of You. The way this has come together, I see Your hands all over this. Now please help me to do what I have to do. Light my path, Lord, so that I perform tomorrow in a way that glorifies You and this gift you’ve given me. I pray, Father, that I do well. This has been my dream, the desire of my heart, and I pray for You to guide my steps. . . .”
Deborah Anne reached up and turned off the floor lamp next to her, instantly turning the room into a quiet dark haven. She sat that way for hours, meditating, thinking, and spending time with the Lord.
CHAPTER 8
TRIAGE EXTENDED HIS HAND, HELPING DEBORAH Anne from the car that had been sent to the hotel by Lavelle. She tried to take steady steps, even though every part of her was shaking. She knew Triage could feel her sweaty palm, and she was grateful he didn’t mention it. She’d heard enough “It’s going to be okay”s
and “You’re going to be all right”s to last for the rest of her life. From her parents to Willetta, and even Bubba, who was waiting back at the hotel, everyone was sending her their prayers. She was grateful for their concern, but this morning she didn’t want to talk much and hoped that everyone understood her silence.
She smiled stiffly when Triage held the studio door open. He squeezed her hand. He signed them in at the security desk, then led Deborah Anne down a long narrow hallway to a door at the far end.
When Triage opened the door, Deborah Anne stepped into a very large room with maple paneling and hardwood floors. A stage lined with microphones was set up in the far corner of the studio.
The room was filled with people, but her eyes immediately focused on Lavelle, who was the first to come toward them. “Hey, Triage. What’re you doing here?” he said.
“I told Charles I was coming down with Deborah Anne,” Triage replied as they shook hands. “Lavelle, I want you to meet one of the best singers I’ve heard in a long time.”
Lavelle’s wide smile made Deborah Anne’s shoulders relax. “That’s quite a recommendation, young lady.” He took her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
She quickly took inventory of the man who held her future. He wasn’t wearing one of his trademark sequined jackets. Instead, he wore jeans, a white shirt, and a navy blazer that hugged his large frame. His light brown eyes smiled under his thick eyebrows, and it took only a moment for Deborah to decide that she liked him. “It’s nice to meet you, Lavelle.” She wanted to tell him that she loved his music and videos, but she feared she’d sound like a gushing fan.
“Hi, I’m Vianca Lake.” A petite woman came from behind Lavelle and extended her hand. “I’m one of the singers.” She was dressed in a pair of black stretch pants and a matching midriff top. Very chic, very LA, and very much the thing that made Deborah Anne cringe and wish that she’d worn something else instead of her mid-calf-length navy wool suit.
“I’m Deborah A—Deborah Peterson.”
“Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the gang.”
As she and Triage followed Lavelle, Triage whispered, “So you’re Deborah now?”
She rolled her eyes at the smirk on his face. “I’ve always preferred Deborah. My family just insisted on calling me Deborah Anne,” she hissed.
“I see.” He chuckled.
The next minutes were filled with introductions of far too many people for Deborah to remember their names.
“Where’s Emerald?” Lavelle asked, looking annoyed as he scanned the room.
“Here I am. What do you want?”
Deborah turned to the voice and watched as a tall woman strolled toward them. She was model-thin, dressed in a black unitard and a sheer leopard-print jacket. It wasn’t until she was right in front of them that Deborah realized her hair was a mass of micro-braids, pulled back into a long ponytail.
The woman shook Deborah’s hand firmly. “I’m Emerald Taylor,” she said, rolling her eyes at Lavelle. “I don’t know what the fuss was about.”
“I want everyone here for support.” Deborah noticed Lavelle’s sharp tone, but he smiled when he turned toward her. “Are you ready?”
Deborah looked at Triage, and he gave her a slight nod.
“Just go over there and tell Tyrone which song you’re going to sing,” instructed Lavelle as he pointed toward the stage.
The heels of her low pumps clicked against the floor as she took the twenty-foot walk. It was the silence behind her that made Deborah begin to tremble. How was she supposed to sing in front of all these people?
Tyrone smiled, and his shoulder-length brown locks swayed gently as he nodded reassuringly. “Which song?”
“‘Born for You,’” she whispered.
His smile widened. “You want me to play it just like the sheet?”
She nodded, not really understanding his question. How else would he play it? I guess I have a lot to learn, she thought.
She stood behind the microphone.
“Just nod when you’re ready,” Tyrone whispered.
Deborah looked at the eyes focused on her, and she froze. There was no way she’d be able to perform in front of Lavelle Roberts and his entourage.
But this was the moment of her dream, so she had to do it. She closed her eyes and imagined that she was at Mountain Baptist Church, preparing to give praise to God. Deborah Anne could see the church’s beautiful stained-glass windows as well as the smiling faces of its parishioners. These were the people who knew she could sing, and would never be disappointed with anything she did.
She opened her eyes and cleared her throat, nodding to Tyrone. She began. The words came easily, the rhythm was smooth, and she swayed to the beat, feeling each note, stroking each word. She lifted her arms and moved her hands, conducting the orchestra within her.
Her eyes were closed as she sang the last note and held it as long as her lungs allowed. It wasn’t until she heard the clapping that her eyes snapped open.
Her vision was blurred, and she blinked several times to bring the group into focus. Triage led the applause, whistling to show his appreciation. When Lavelle stood and walked toward her, his smile was even wider than before.
“Deborah, that was just great! I don’t know if I should love you or hate you. I don’t want nobody who can sing the song better than me.” His smile belied his words. The others echoed his approval, and Deborah breathed a sigh of relief.
Triage hugged her, then turned to Lavelle. “I told you, man. Isn’t she something?”
Lavelle nodded. “Your tape does nothing for you. Listen, give me a moment. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Deborah blinked.
When Lavelle and five others left the room, Deborah asked Triage, “What’s going on?”
“They went to the office to talk over a few things. He’ll be right back.”
She breathed deeply.
“Girl, you tore it up! I’m proud of you.”
Deborah smiled. “I was scared at first, but then it just came naturally.” She paused as she wrung her hands. “How long do you think it’ll take him to let me know if he liked me? A week?”
Triage raised his eyebrows, but before he could utter a word, Lavelle walked back into the room.
“Deborah, we want to try a song with you, to see how you sound with us.”
Her heart was thumping when she nodded.
She followed Lavelle’s instructions like a zombie, taking her place on Vianca’s left side, while Emerald was on Vianca’s right. When the music began, she sang her part, grateful that Lavelle’s steps were simple to follow, unlike many of the hip-hop steps she’d seen so many new artists perform. Thank God for rhythm and blues, was the last thought she had before the routine ended.
There was a moment of silence before Lavelle turned toward her. “Deborah, it’s going to be a pleasure having you as part of the family.”
For the second time in twenty-five minutes, she stood frozen on the stage.
Triage rushed to her side. “Congratulations, Deborah. I knew you could do this.”
“I-I . . . don’t understand,” she stammered.
The confusion was clear on her face. “Girl, you did it; you got the job.”
“Just like that? They don’t have to call me back?”
“Girl, you’ve been in Corporate America for too long. It’s not easy to find someone who will fit in with a group, and when you meet that person, you have to gobble them up before someone else does. Trust me, I know.”
“Congratulations, and welcome to the group,” Vianca drawled. “It’ll be good to have a homegirl by my side.”
“Are you from Georgia too?”
“No, girl. I’m from the real South—Birmingham.”
“There’ll be time enough for chitchat. Right now, Deborah, I need to go over some things with you and Charles.”
She looked at Triage, and he motioned her forward, saying, “Go on, I’ll wait for you out here.”
<
br /> Deborah tried to focus as Charles filled her in on the details. She would have to move to Los Angeles within the next few weeks; the fifty-one-city tour would begin in June; it would be divided into two parts because they would record an album in between. . . .
“Wait a minute,” Charles said suddenly. “Deborah, no one has asked you if you are interested in all of this.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You’re kidding, right? Who wouldn’t be? Yes!”
Lavelle and Charles laughed. “Well then, here’s the offer. It’ll take us a day or two to draw up the contract, but you’ll start at eighty thousand dollars a year, which I know is low, but it’s based on experience. . . .”
Deborah almost fell from her chair. If Charles thought that was low, what kind of money were the other singers making? She could show them some scanty salaries—just one look at her current pay stub, and he’d never use the word “low” again.
“. . . and that’s just about it. Any questions?”
Deborah just shook her head. “Everything sounds fine to me. What do we do now?”
Charles said, “There’s nothing else right now, but you can call me anytime if you have any questions. You still have my number, right?”
She nodded, and extended her hand toward Lavelle. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”
He playfully pushed her hand away. “Girl, we’re family now.” He pulled her close, crushing her against his chest and rubbed his hand along her back. Deborah frowned and abruptly pulled away from him, but Lavelle just gave her a bemused smile.
“So we’ll see you in a few weeks?” Lavelle licked his lips.
She nodded and quickly grabbed her purse. Charles led her back to the studio, while Lavelle stayed in the office.
Triage and Tyrone were the only ones left in the studio. “So is everything set?” Tyrone asked.
She nodded.
“We’ll get that contract out to you in a few days,” Charles said. “Welcome aboard.”
Triage hugged her again. “I’m really happy for you, Deborah,” he kidded. “You’re going to love Lavelle. It’s like a family here. He’s not one to put distance between himself and the people he works with. He’s approachable, one of those hands-on stars.”
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