Singsation

by Jacquelin Thomas

  “What’s going on?” Deborah asked.

  Emerald took a sip of the Coke in her hand, smiled, then walked away.

  Deborah watched Emerald brush past Lavelle and Phoebe, touching them just slightly.

  Vianca stood on the other side of the stage with her arms folded in front of her, tapping her foot.

  Deborah shook her head. The show hadn’t even started, and the stage was already full of drama. Deborah raised her eyes and looked back into the dark arena, returning to her fantasy. It was much safer there.

  CHAPTER 21

  DEBORAH CLOSED HER EYES TIGHTLY AS KIM sprayed the last of the oil sheen over her hair.

  “That’s it!” Kim said, waving her hands in an attempt to clear the air of lingering hairspray.

  When Deborah opened her eyes, she had to hold back her gasp. It was hard to believe that it was her own face staring back.

  She stood and looked at her dress in the full-length mirror. The sleeveless, purple silk sheath stopped right above her knees. It was trimmed with long fringes that fell to the floor.

  “You look great, girl,” Vianca said.

  Deborah turned around and smiled. Vianca was in a two-piece with a bare midriff. The skirt was trimmed in fringe, as was the top, but it left her midriff bare.

  “So do you.”

  Tracy, the stylist, held Deborah’s three-inch slingback pumps in her hand. “You can’t wait any longer. Let’s get these on.” She helped Deborah slide into the purple pumps.

  Emerald opened the door to their dressing room and looked them up and down. A slight smile crossed her face. “You girls do clean up nice.”

  Emerald’s micro-braids had been pulled back into a waterfall of curls that sat on top of her head. Her halter dress was edged in fringe like the others.

  Brent knocked on the open door. “You ladies ready?”

  They nodded and followed him into the hall. Several of the crew members whistled as they passed.

  The closer they got to the stage, the faster Deborah’s heart raced, and she whispered a prayer. “Thank You, Father, for this abundant blessing. Help me, Lord, to use this gift tonight, in the way You intended—”

  “Okay, ladies,” Brent said. “Take your places, and have a great show.”

  The loud murmur of the crowd filled Deborah’s ears as she took her place on the stage, at the bottom of the gold-painted stairway. Closing her eyes, she replayed the moves in her mind.

  “One minute,” Brent yelled from the side.

  With her eyes still closed, she went through the order of the songs.

  “Ten seconds, nine, eight . . .”

  She opened her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Here we go.”

  As the curtain began to open, the crowd roared, and Deborah pasted a smile on her face. Her body tingled when she raised her hand, stretching it toward the sky. When the music started, smoke filtered through the air, swirling in small circles around the stage. The smoke began to clear, and the audience applauded in frenzy as Lavelle suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase.

  He was dressed in a gold sequin-studded jacket and black tuxedo pants. He glided down the stairs singing “Born for You.” As they had practiced for more than sixty days, when Lavelle got to the bottom, Deborah, Vianca, and Emerald sang the chorus. Swaying, they joined him at the center of the stage and began their second song.

  Deborah looked into the audience for a moment, but it was a sea of black. The heat of the lights warmed the stage quickly, making Deborah drip with sweat. She was relieved when Lavelle paused to talk to the crowd between the fifth and sixth songs.

  The screams were deafening, and several times Lavelle had to stop so that he could be heard. After a few minutes, Lavelle walked off the stage, leaving Deborah, Vianca, and Emerald to sing the one song they performed alone.

  Deborah had been excited when she found out she’d be singing without Lavelle. It wasn’t exactly a solo, but it wasn’t backup either. Now she realized the reason. It gave Lavelle a break—while they continued working.

  By the time Lavelle returned to the stage and introduced his singers, Deborah was beginning the countdown to the final song. It was only the continuous surge of adrenaline that moved her through to their final bows.

  Backstage, they kissed and hugged, but Deborah’s feet screamed for relief. She dragged herself to the dressing room she shared with Vianca.

  “So how did you like your first show?” Kim asked as she helped Deborah out of her dress.

  “It was awesome,” Deborah panted. “But I didn’t expect to be this tired.”

  “What did you think?” Vianca asked. “We were singing and dancing for two hours.”

  Suddenly, the door swung open as they heard a quick knock. “Ladies, are you decent?” Lavelle asked, stepping into the room. Deborah glanced at Vianca, who stood only in her underwear as Lavelle closed the door behind him.

  “I just wanted to give my compliments on a great first show, and to tell you, if you didn’t already know, it was a sold-out performance.”

  Vianca, still standing almost naked, clapped her hands. “Congratulations to us.”

  He smiled. “I’d like to take everyone out for a celebratory dinner and drinks. You up to it?”

  Vianca beamed. “You know I am.”

  Deborah looked at her watch. “It’s almost midnight.”

  Both Lavelle and Vianca looked at her with “So what?” on their faces.

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  “We’ll meet you guys by the door in the back. The same way we came in,” Lavelle said as he left the room.

  After Kim left, Deborah glanced at Vianca as she zipped on her jeans. “I really didn’t plan on doing anything tonight. It’s late, and I’m kind of tired.”

  “Welcome to life on the road.”

  Deborah looked at her watch again. “It’ll be after two by the time we get to our rooms.”

  “That’s about right.” Vianca was staring at herself in the mirror, running her hands through her short curls.

  “What about rehearsal tomorrow?”

  Finally, Vianca turned toward Deborah. “Look, girl, if you don’t want to go, don’t go. But what’s the big deal? This is how we do things. We work late, we eat late, we go to bed late, and we wake up late to start the whole thing over again,” she snapped.

  Deborah stood and snatched her bag from the floor.

  “Hey, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but you were going on and on about nothing—”

  “I’ll meet you in the back,” Deborah said, and closed the door behind her.

  Deborah didn’t know why she was annoyed. This was her first night on the stage. She had expected to feel elated, and while she’d been excited, the exhilaration was missing.

  Emerald was already standing by the door with Tyrone, Charles, and some of the band members. She smiled when Deborah walked up. “So how did you enjoy the first one?”

  She returned Emerald’s smile. “It was great.”

  “You did good, Deborah,” several of the crew piped in.

  Deborah kept her smile pasted in place.

  Within minutes, the rest of the group had joined them and they were taken by vans to the Swan Club.

  As they sat around the large table with plates of assorted appetizers spread in front of them, Deborah tried her best to enjoy the company. Everyone seemed to be boiling over with energy and excitement. Deborah pushed herself to feel the same, but all she really felt was the ache in her tired bones.

  The laughter around her was boisterous, the conversation was bold, and some of the actions were shocking. Deborah dropped her eyes as Lavelle and Vianca kissed deeply, though no one else seemed to notice. She shifted in her seat as the waitresses, dressed in scanty skirts and halter tops, continued to flood the group with a variety of cocktails that they eagerly consumed, with Emerald leading the way.

  As the first hour turned into the second, Deborah continued to pick at the calamari and smoked salmon, p
raying that the night would come to an end.

  “You don’t have any panties on, do you?”

  Deborah’s head snapped up at Lavelle’s question. At first she didn’t know whom he was talking to, but Vianca’s giggles filled her in.

  What am I doing here? Deborah screamed inside as everyone around her laughed.

  “Who wears panties anymore, anyway?” Lavelle continued the game.

  “Maybe we should take a survey,” Tyrone jumped in.

  Oh, God. Oh, God, Deborah chanted in her head. What am I going to do? How can I get out of here? She knew she should just get up and leave, but instead she sat, wanting to fit in.

  “You guys are out of control.” Charles chuckled. “I’m going to head out of here.”

  “Party pooper.”

  “I’ll go with you, Charles,” Deborah said quickly.

  He nodded as he stood, and took her hand, helping Deborah step over a chair that blocked her way.

  “Hey, Charles,” Lavelle called out. “Maybe you can hit that tonight.”

  The laughter followed them to the front door, but neither Charles nor Deborah turned around.

  “Sorry about that,” Charles said, as he helped Deborah into a cab.

  She waved her hand in the air. “I know it’s just fun.” She tried to smile, but inside, her screams had not subsided.

  They rode to the hotel in silence, and Charles escorted Deborah to her room. She held her breath; with what she’d seen tonight, she didn’t know what to expect. But she gratefully exhaled when Charles said good night at her door.

  Even though it was almost two and she was bone tired, she paced the floor. “This is just how it is,” she said aloud. “This is just how they do things in this business. You cannot be such a prude. There’s no room for a goody-goody in this place,” she continued to lecture herself. This was another moment she’d always tried to imagine in her dreams: her first night after her first show. The reality was far from her fantasy. Exhaustion didn’t allow her to think any more about it, though. She undressed and crawled into bed. It took only moments for her body to reward her with the relief of a sound sleep, but not before one last thought: “Welcome to the road, Deborah. Welcome to your dreams.”

  CHAPTER 22

  DEBORAH SLEPT LATE AND WAS AWAKENED BY A call from her parents, anxious to hear the details of the first show. She filled her story with the good parts and left out most of the disturbing details.

  Deborah crawled through rehearsal, then returned to her room to rest before leaving for the Garden.

  By showtime she had blocked out most of the previous day, and her euphoria returned. She moved with the smoothness of an expert, but once she left the stage, exhaustion returned with a vengeance, and she chose to return to her room instead of repeating the previous night’s escapades.

  “I’m just too tired, and if I start off this way, I’m afraid it’s going to get worse,” Deborah explained to Vianca.

  Vianca was sitting in front of her mirror, fluffing her hair. She pulled up her tube top and stood. “Do whatever you want, Deborah. You don’t have to explain anything to me. But I’m going to hang out with Lavelle.”

  As she rode in a cab to the hotel, Deborah wondered if she’d made the right decision. She knew it was important to be part of the group. But last night had made her so uncomfortable—she knew that with rest she’d be able to handle it all better.

  By the time Deborah was covered with bubbles as she soaked in the full-sized tub, she thought she’d made the right decision. Thirty minutes later, when she was lying on the chaise with her Bible in her hand, she knew she’d been right.

  When the phone rang at midnight, Deborah frowned. She hoped it wasn’t Vianca, demanding that she join them. But her doubts shifted to smiles when she answered the phone.

  “Triage!”

  “How’s it going, Miss Superstar?”

  She laughed. “Is that what I am?”

  “From what I heard—”

  She lay on the bed. “Who told you that?”

  “Girl, you know I have my sources. How’re things going? What are you doing in your room?”

  “Things are going great, and I’m in my room because you never told me how tired I’d be.”

  “I thought you guys would be hanging out.”

  “They are. I’m the only one who returned to the hotel. But before you say anything, I know I should hang out and get to know everyone, and I will—in time. So how is Los Angeles without me?”

  “Not the same. I miss my best friend, but I’ve been busy. I’m leaving tomorrow for a promotional tour for the movie, but I’ll be back in a week to begin recording again.”

  “You’re making me tired all over again.”

  They laughed.

  “Have you had a chance to write in your journal?”

  She brushed her fingers against the leather book that she had sitting on the nightstand. “No. I’ve wanted to, but haven’t had time. But I’ll write something before I go to bed. Have you read your Bible?”

  “Okay, you got me. But I promise that the next time I call, we’ll be able to chat about that guy John.” He laughed. “Well, I just wanted to check on you, Deborah. I’ll call you again when I get back to LA.”

  It took a few minutes for them to say their final good-byes, and by the time she hung up the phone, it was almost one.

  She sighed. So much for getting to bed early. But it was still earlier than it would have been if she’d gone out. She pulled back the covers and slid between the smooth sheets. Before she turned out the light, she picked up her journal, dated the first page, and made her first entry: “In New York . . . Triage called.” Then she closed the book and went to sleep.

  CHAPTER 23

  FROM NEW YORK THEY TRAVELED TO ATLANTIC City, Philadelphia, and then Richmond. Deborah’s system had adjusted to the performer’s schedule, but it was the road antics that she could not get used to.

  In Atlantic City, they’d gone to the Trump Hotel, after their performance, for “dinner.” Deborah watched the drama unfold while sitting at the long table with eleven others.

  “Where’s Lavelle?” Vianca said suddenly.

  “He went to get something from the bar,” Tyrone responded, then asked, “Does anyone want to go gambling with me?” He nudged Deborah. “Come on, Deborah.”

  “I don’t gamble.”

  “That’s why you should come with me. You’ll be my good luck charm.” He put his arm around her shoulders, and though Deborah felt uncomfortable, she only smiled.

  “I don’t see Phoebe, either.” Vianca’s eyes had narrowed as she looked around the large room.

  Deborah saw Emerald exchange an amused glance with Tyrone.

  “I’m going to look for him,” Vianca said.

  When Vianca stood, Deborah followed her, as much to get away from Tyrone as anything. “I’ll go with you,” she called after her friend. When they were away from the table, she asked, “What do you need Lavelle for?”

  Vianca looked up at her. “I need him to be with me.”

  Deborah wanted to tell Vianca to be careful, but before she could say anything, they saw Lavelle with Phoebe, pushed against the wall next to an elevator.

  “Oh, no,” Vianca said, pulling off her earrings. “She’s about to go down!”

  Deborah pulled her back. “Vianca, come on. You can’t handle it this way.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Lavelle said that he loved me. That is was different with me than the others.”

  Deborah put her arm around Vianca’s shoulders and led her in the other direction.

  “Things would be better if Phoebe didn’t have to be here. She’s a slut!”

  Deborah nodded, not knowing what to say.

  “She doesn’t care about Lavelle; tomorrow she’ll be with someone else.”

  It took Deborah thirty minutes to convince Vianca to return to the hotel. Once there, Deborah sat in Vianca’s room listening to her talk about Lavelle until her friend fell asleep.
Only then did Deborah drag herself to her own room, where she slept until almost noon.

  The next night, just as Vianca had predicted, Phoebe was wrapped around the drummer while Lavelle was kissing a smiling Vianca.

  In Philadelphia, Deborah declined Vianca’s request to spend the few free hours they had before the first show touring the city. Deborah hoped for some time alone and went to the hotel’s restaurant, seeking refuge from the theatrics that followed the others.

  But as soon as she entered the hotel’s restaurant, she saw Emerald sitting at one of the front tables, studying the menu. Deborah hesitated, then turned away. But before she had taken two steps, Emerald called her name.

  Deborah smiled as she approached the table. “Hi. I didn’t see you.”

  “Sure.” Emerald smirked and motioned for Deborah to sit down.

  “I don’t want to disturb you—”

  “No, I could use the company, honey.”

  Deborah nodded and took a menu from the waitress. She’d never spent any time alone with Emerald and didn’t feel particularly comfortable now. So much for her peace.

  “I’ll just have a Caesar salad,” Emerald said.

  Deborah nodded. “I’ll have the same, with a grilled turkey breast.”

  “Would you like anything to drink?” the waitress asked Deborah.

  She glanced at the teacup that Emerald had. “I’ll just have some tea.”

  “Are you enjoying yourself ?” Emerald asked.

  Deborah nodded stiffly. “It’s not what I expected, though.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve been doing this for three years, and I’m still surprised at some of the stuff that goes on.”

  Deborah was grateful for the waitress’s interruption, and she stirred Sweet ’n Low into her tea, trying to stall.

  She took a sip. “So how long have you been singing with Lavelle?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “I just told you—three years.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know if you’d toured with anyone else.”

  Emerald shook her head and sipped her tea. As she put down the cup, she said, “Lavelle Roberts is the only man for me.” She pushed her chair back from the table. “Excuse me.” She picked up her purse. “I’m going to the rest room.” She stumbled slightly and grasped the side of the table.