Triage was right. The studio was already open. Although she heard voices, the only person in the large room was Emerald, who once again looked like she’d stepped directly from a page in Cosmopolitan. She wore cream leather pants with a zebra-print tank.
Deborah looked down at her own outfit. It was an improvement, but still nowhere near Emerald’s ensemble.
The sound of Deborah’s heels clicking on the parquet floor made Emerald look up from the LA Times.
“Deborah, you’re here early.” She smiled.
Deborah dropped her bag against the wall and took a seat across from Emerald, who returned to reading the paper. She looked up once again and gestured with her chin toward the far wall. “There’s coffee and Coke over there.”
Deborah frowned—Coke so early in the morning. She nodded slightly and smiled. “Any tea?”
“I don’t think we have any tea drinkers, but make the request and it’ll be here in the morning.” With her last words, Emerald dropped her eyes back to the paper.
Deborah got up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered one wall. There wasn’t much to see—the building was surrounded by other concrete masses, hiding the little sun that was trying to break through.
As she waited, she wished that she had stayed at home. It was harder here.
“Good morning, everybody.”
Deborah turned around. Vianca bounced into the room, once again in black leggings, but this time wearing a long T-shirt over them and a gold belt around her waist. Deborah smiled, feeling a bit better. “Hey, Vianca,” she called out.
Vianca laughed. “Girl, you’re in LA now. You can get rid of that hey stuff.” As Vianca rushed over to the coffee, she didn’t seem to notice that the smile disappeared from Deborah’s face.
A moment later, Lavelle walked in with a few of the musicians. He simply waved at Deborah like he’d seen her yesterday, then sat in the corner with Charles.
Vianca slumped into the chair next to Emerald and picked up the part of the paper that Emerald had tossed aside.
Deborah sighed. She’d expected a different reception. What was she supposed to do? A moment later, another woman, dressed in a yellow unitard, came into the room; both Emerald and Vianca looked up and gave the woman a single wave.
The woman looked around the room and moved toward Deborah, her blond waist-length locks swaying as she walked.
“Hi, I’m Tisha, the choreographer. It’s just going to be you and me this morning.”
Deborah recognized Tisha as the woman who arranged the dance routines for The Color of Black, a popular variety show. She smiled. This was the first good news since she’d arrived. Deborah eagerly followed Tisha into an adjacent room.
“You’re not going to try to work out in that?”
Tisha’s voice was filled with such amazement that Deborah had to look down to see if she’d worn something terrible.
“No, I brought clothes to change into—”
“Well, tomorrow just wear them, or get here early and change. This show goes on the road in two months, and there’s no time to waste.”
Deborah nodded, lifted her bag, and asked for the bathroom.
Tisha looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Girl, please. Just drop your pants and change. No one is looking at you. And anyway, you’d better get used to it. There are no private changing rooms for backup singers. No rooms for prima donnas.”
Deborah opened her mouth to explain, then changed her mind. As she quickly removed her top and leggings, tears burned her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her feelings. It would just take some getting used to—Villa Rica, this wasn’t.
“Okay,” Tisha said once Deborah had changed. She had wrapped her locks into a large bun. “Let me show you some of the basic steps that we do for all the songs. Then, the rest of the week, we’ll work on specific songs and things that you’ll have to do.” She paused, tilted her head, and looked Deborah up and down. “Lavelle said that you move well. Have you had any dance training?”
Deborah nodded. “I took dance classes until I was sixteen, and then I’ve watched all of Lavelle’s videos.”
Tisha looked doubtful. “Uh-huh,” she grunted, then sighed. “Well, let’s see what you got.”
Tisha’s locks bounced as she demonstrated steps, then moved aside for Deborah to follow. They worked that way for an hour before Tisha smiled.
“Well all right, girl. It looks like Lavelle gave me something to work with.” She clapped. “Okay, let’s take five.”
Deborah, breathless, nodded and slid against the wall.
“Oh, tomorrow, bring a water bottle with you, but for now, there’s a fountain in the hall.”
Deborah tried not to stumble as she went for a drink. She leaned against the fountain, taking small sips every few seconds.
Tisha peeked into the hallway. “Come on. I said you were okay, but we still have a lot of work to do.”
They worked for another hour without stopping until, finally, Vianca came into the room. “Lunch is here,” she announced.
Tisha wiped her face with the towel hanging from her belt around her waist. “Don’t you heifers eat too much; you know how you are.”
Deborah’s eyes opened wide. She opened her mouth to tell Tisha that there was no need for her to speak that way, but before she could say a word, Tisha added, “Deborah, I suggest that you just have some fruit. It’ll be easier to keep working after lunch. I’ll see you back here in an hour.”
Deborah only nodded.
“And one more thing, Deborah. Do you work out?” Tisha asked.
Deborah frowned slightly. “A little.”
“Well, I suggest you work out a lot. You need to build your stamina, and it wouldn’t hurt to get some of those jiggles toned, if you know what I mean.”
Deborah glanced down at her size-eight frame.
Vianca laughed. “Don’t worry, Tisha. I’ll take her to Bally’s with me tonight.”
Tisha waved, and left the room through the other door.
“Come on, let’s eat,” Vianca said to a dazed Deborah. “It looks like you’ve had quite a workout.”
“Yeah. I should’ve prepared for this.”
“There’s nothing you could have done. Tisha’s tough, but she’s so good, she’ll have you in shape in weeks.”
When they came back to the main part of the studio, only Emerald and Tyrone were there, practicing a song. Taking Tisha’s advice, Deborah took only an orange from the food table that was covered with sandwiches, chips, and cookies. Then she slouched into one of the chairs. She wasn’t hungry anyway; she was too tired to eat.
Vianca sat next to Deborah. “Don’t worry, it won’t be so bad this afternoon. Emerald and I will be joining you.”
Deborah peeled the orange and slowly let the juice squirt inside her mouth. “Is it like this every day?”
Vianca nodded. “Especially as we get ready to tour. The heat is on, and everyone has to work hard. Lavelle is great to work with, but he’s a perfectionist and only hires people who are the same way.”
“How long have you been with him?”
Vianca looked up as if she were searching for the answer in the ceiling. “Just a bit over a year.”
“You like it?”
“It’s hard work, but you can’t beat it—especially if you love to sing. And you can sang, girl.”
Deborah looked over to where Emerald sat next to Tyrone. They were singing one measure of a song over and over again. “Will we be practicing with Lavelle this afternoon?”
Vianca shook her head. “No, I think this week is going to be devoted to you, Emerald, and me getting our steps and moves in the groove. Once we’re a package, then Lavelle will step in.”
Deborah nodded but remained silent. Behind the scenes wasn’t exciting at all.
When Tisha came into the room to get them, Vianca bounced and Emerald sauntered, while Deborah wanted to crawl behind them. The hour wasn’t long enough to refresh her.
Emerald and Vianca were winded and moved as if they had just completed a long aerobics class. Deborah, on the other hand, ached, and her calves throbbed with each step she took.
“Deborah, do you have any plans for tonight?” Vianca asked as she put her bag over her shoulder.
She shook her head. “No, I just want to go home and go to bed.”
Vianca nodded knowingly. “Okay. I was going to invite you to go shopping with me, but I understand. But you can’t go home yet; you have to join the gym.”
“When do you have time to work out?”
“Either we get up early in the morning or work out after the session here. Whatever, we have to get the time in. There’s an image we have to protect.”
Deborah shook her head. It didn’t seem fair that the women had to look a certain way while Lavelle could remain as large and out of shape as he wanted. But it was his group, she guessed, and he called the shots.
“Come on, I’ll take you to the gym. It’s not far from here. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow night.”
Deborah followed Vianca’s red Acura to Bally’s and was pleased to see that it was only a few blocks from her apartment.
Her muscles seemed to pulse even more after the saleswoman asked if she wanted a tour of the gym.
“No, thank you,” she said as politely as she could. “I already know that I want to join.”
Vianca nodded her approval. In twenty minutes, the papers were signed, the check had been passed, and Vianca and Deborah were chatting in the full parking lot.
“I’ll be here at six in the morning if you want to join me. There’s a hip-hop aerobics class that I love.”
Deborah knew that she’d sleep tonight and, with any luck, wouldn’t wake up until noon. “Probably not tomorrow. When I get up, I’ll have to figure out what to do with my hair. But I’ll try for Wednesday.”
Vianca cocked her head to the side. “Is that your hair?”
Deborah frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know, is that a weave?”
Her frown deepened. “No.”
“Girl, you get offended easily, don’t you? I was only asking because it looked like it was your hair, and I was going to suggest that you get a weave.”
“Why would I do that?”
Vianca sighed like she couldn’t believe Deborah’s question. “Because you’ve only been working for one day and already you’re a prisoner to your hair. This business is hard on our locks, so people either cut their hair short like mine”—she paused as she ran her fingers through her curls—“or they get braids or a weave. I didn’t think you’d want to cut your hair, and Emerald wears braids. So I suggest a weave.”
Deborah shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll be able to handle it.”
Vianca shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She tossed her bag into her car. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”
By the time Deborah got to her apartment, it was almost eight-thirty. She flopped onto the daybed. It was too late to call her parents, which was fine, because she didn’t want them to hear the distress in her voice. Five minutes later, the phone rang.
“Hey, girl, how was the first day?”
She tried to force a smile into her voice when she heard Triage. “Okay. I just got in.”
“I figured that. Most people think this business is all glamour, but I don’t know many people who work harder, especially when you’re preparing for a tour.”
“I knew it would be work, but I didn’t know it would hurt.” She told him about Tisha, and how she’d danced for four hours. “I didn’t even get a chance to sing.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll be doing plenty of singing.”
“I hope so.”
“Anyway, do you want to grab something to eat?”
“No, I just want to fall into bed. It’ll be better for me tomorrow if I have some rest.”
“Okay, but call me tomorrow when you get in. You know my grandmother will want a full report on how you’re doing.”
When she hung up the phone, Deborah looked around the small apartment. She had wondered how it would be the first night after work, and it wasn’t this.
Deborah stripped off her clothes and dropped them in a corner of the room. She didn’t even bother to take her shower. After pulling out the sofa bed, she reached for her Bible, but she was too tired to do her nightly reading. Instead, she simply turned off the light and fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 13
IT WAS DAY THREE AND DEBORAH WAS WORKING AS hard as she had the first day. But it was getting easier, and last night, when she’d spoken to her parents, she’d even felt encouraged about the future.
It was after seven when Tisha clapped her hands to end their session. Deborah leaned against the wall and sank to the floor to take off the pumps she’d been practicing in. After the first day, Tisha insisted that they wear shoes similar to the ones they’d wear onstage.
“You need to get used to moving in heels. I’d hate to see you fall on your face on the first night.”
Deborah had groaned at Tisha’s words as that vision played in her head. But then, she’d said a quick prayer, making sure that would never happen.
Vianca walked over to where Deborah sat and put one of her legs on the dance barre against the wall. “It’s still tough, huh?” Vianca asked as she stretched.
Deborah nodded. “But it’s much better. The first day it was my calves, yesterday my quads, and today my butt. At this rate, by next Monday I’ll have a headache, and then this will all be over.”
Vianca laughed. “Well, it might be tough, but you’re looking good, girl. Anyone watching would never be able to tell that you’re the new one in the group.”
“Thanks.” Deborah grinned.
“Hey, I’m going shopping. Do you want to come along?”
Deborah shook her head. “No, I was thinking about going over to the gym. I haven’t gone since I joined.”
Vianca shrugged her shoulders. “Okay.”
Deborah chewed on her lip. Vianca had asked her to go somewhere every night, but she always turned her down.
“You know what, Vianca, I changed my mind. I’d love to go with you. Where are you going?”
Vianca smiled brightly. “To the Beverly Center. I’m going to a party this weekend and want a knockout dress.”
“Okay.”
They decided to leave Deborah’s car and take Vianca’s.
“Is this your first singing job?” Deborah asked.
Vianca nodded as she turned onto LaCienega Boulevard. “The only singing I’d done before was in church. My uncle knows Lavelle, and that’s how I got the audition.”
Deborah smiled and turned in her seat, facing Vianca. “I sang in my church also,” she said excitedly. “What church do you go to? I want to join one as soon as possible.”
“Girl, I don’t go to church anymore. Sundays are the only days I get to sleep in.”
Deborah turned back in her seat.
“So you found out about Lavelle through Triage Blue, right?”
Deborah nodded. “He heard me singing in church and recommended that I send in a tape.”
“So, tell me the real deal. Are you and Triage an item?”
Deborah frowned. “Not at all. We’re just good friends.”
“That’s not what the papers are saying. Look on the backseat.”
Deborah turned around and underneath Vianca’s gym bag was the National Intruder. She grabbed the paper and read the front-page headline: “Triage Blue Brawls and Makes His Girlfriend Bawl.” Underneath the words was a picture of her and Triage—the one taken at the airport after her mother had gotten on the plane.
“This isn’t true! They can’t make something like
this up, can they?”
“Well, if you say it’s not true, then obviously they can make it up.” Vianca paused. “Are you sure there’s absolutely nothing going on between the two of you?”
“No. He’s like my brother.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m sure he wanted something for hooking you up with this gig.”
Deborah questioned Vianca with her eyes.
“You know . . . did you sleep with him?”
“No!”
“Ooh! I think the lady protests too much.”
Deborah wished she had gone to the gym. “Vianca, I didn’t sleep with Triage. I’m not like that, and neither is he.”
Vianca’s laugh startled Deborah. “Yeah, right. You probably haven’t heard the truth about Mr. Blue. He gets around.”
Deborah crossed her arms in front of her and was relieved when Vianca turned into the mall.
“This is my favorite place to shop,” Vianca said, as she led Deborah up the long escalator.
The distress Deborah felt at Vianca’s words faded as she strolled along the high-glossed floors, past the upscale shops.
“This is where I want to go,” Vianca said, pointing to a store. Gold letters spelling out “Imaginations” were stretched above the store.
Deborah found the unusual window display interesting because the mannequins were dressed in plastic bags. The reason became evident once she stepped inside the store. The dresses, suits, pants, and jumpsuits that lined the walls were risqué and racy. Most of the outfits looked like lingerie.
“Oh, look at this one!” Vianca was standing in front of a mirror, holding a short black dress in front of her. “Do you like it?”
Deborah tried to hold back her shock. “Vianca, there are holes in that dress.”
“That’s what makes it so sexy. Not to worry; it covers what it’s supposed to.”
“You won’t be able to wear any underwear with that,” Deborah whispered.
Vianca laughed softly. “Girl, please! I don’t wear underwear half the time anyway. I don’t think Lavelle would mind, do you?” She laughed again at the look on Deborah’s face. “Honey, you’ve got to get with it. You’re a pro-fessional singer now. There’s a certain image we have to uphold for Lavelle. We can’t look like country bumpkins when we’re offstage.”
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