Singsation

by Jacquelin Thomas

  “Are you all right?” Deborah asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, my heel just got caught in the carpet.”

  Deborah’s shoulders slumped as Emerald walked away from the table. She had tried to befriend the woman several times but had always been pushed away. Now, three months into their relationship, Deborah still couldn’t have a regular conversation with her.

  “Here’re your salads.”

  Deborah helped the young woman rearrange the small table so she could set the plates down. She waited for a few minutes, but when Emerald didn’t return, Deborah bowed her head and blessed the food. She took a bite of the salad and looked toward the rest room. Maybe she should make sure that Emerald was all right.

  She picked up her cup of tea, sipped, and almost spat out the drink. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. Just as she raised her hand to tell the waitress that something was wrong with the tea, Emerald stumbled back to the table.

  Deborah stared at the woman she worked with, and when Emerald felt her eyes, she shrugged her shoulders. “What?”

  “Are you all right? You were in the bathroom for a long time.”

  Emerald waved her hand in the air. “I’m fine. I needed to redo my makeup and take care of a few other things.”

  Deborah reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Emerald’s. “If there is anything I can do for you, Emerald, please just let me know,” she said softly.

  Emerald gently pulled her hand away and grimaced. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Deborah pointed to the cup. “I took a sip of your tea by accident, and . . .”

  It took Emerald a moment to understand. “Oh, don’t go making any assumptions about that. I just need something to help me relax before the show. That’s why I mix it with tea, so it won’t be so strong.”

  Deborah nodded as if she understood, but she didn’t believe a word of it. She’d smelled liquor on Emerald’s breath too many times.

  “I’m not an alcoholic or anything,” Emerald continued.

  “Emerald, if you ever need anyone to talk to, or”—Deborah paused—“to pray with, I’m here.”

  Emerald chuckled. “That’s right, you’re the little church girl.” Emerald leaned across the table, and Deborah could smell the alcohol on her breath. “What are you going to do, Deborah? Pray my demons away?”

  Without hesitation, Deborah responded, “Yes.”

  Emerald sat back, startled, then lifted her bag. She pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and tossed it on the table. “I’ve lost my appetite.” She stood and marched out of the restaurant.

  As Deborah watched Emerald stomp away, she said a silent prayer.

  This was one of their early nights. They were retiring early to their Richmond hotel room—it was only one A.M.

  “Deborah, do you want any company?” Tyrone asked as he held the elevator door for her, Emerald, and Kim. Lavelle and the other men laughed.

  “No thank you, Tyrone,” she replied. “Good night, everyone.”

  She said good night to Emerald and Kim at their doors. Before Deborah got to her room, she put her ear to Vianca’s door. Vianca had caught a cold in Philadelphia and had stayed in tonight, filling herself with antibiotics and other pills that worried Deborah. There weren’t any sounds from Vianca’s room, and she knew it was too late to call her. She’d check on her first thing in the morning.

  Deborah took off her clothes and wrapped the luxurious hotel bathrobe around herself. She had just gone into the bathroom to wash her face when she heard a knock on the door.

  She peeked through the door’s peephole and frowned. She opened the door and stepped aside.

  “Lavelle, is something wrong? Did something happen to Vianca?”

  “Vianca? No.” He shook his head and closed the door. “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Without an invitation, he sat in the chair closest to the bed. Deborah tied her bathrobe tighter.

  “I’m waiting,” Deborah said impatiently. “Is it something about the show?”

  “No, I just wanted to spend some time and get to know you better.”

  Deborah looked at him incredulously, and let her eyes rest on the clock. “Lavelle, maybe you didn’t notice the time, but I think we can do this in the morning,” she said firmly.

  Lavelle leaned back in the chair as if he had no intention of leaving. Deborah took a deep breath. She had fought off suggestive remarks and come-ons throughout the tour, but no one had been so bold as to come to her room. Why didn’t she see this coming? Maybe because she thought Lavelle was involved with Vianca.

  She cleared her throat. “I’d really like to go to bed.”

  His smile widened. “Now you’re talking. We can do that together.” He stood and moved toward her.

  Deborah backed away.

  “What’s wrong, baby? Is it Triage? He won’t mind; we don’t even have to tell him.”

  She held up her hands and tried to remember the words of the counselor in the self-defense class that she and Willetta had taken one weekend.

  “Lavelle, I just want you to leave,” she demanded, her tone leaving no doubt.

  He pointed to his chest. “Me? Lavelle? You’re telling me to get out of your room? Baby, do you know how many women would give anything to be in your position right now?”

  She wanted to scream at him to go and find one of them, but she remembered her training—talk to him evenly, and keep the strength in her voice. She wanted to shrink in fear, but she showed her fury.

  “Lavelle, you need to go with someone who wants to be with you so that you won’t have any problems in the morning. Because if you stay here, there is definitely going to be a problem.”

  His eyes blinked rapidly. “You really want me to leave?”

  “Yes!”

  He looked as if her statement didn’t register, but when he shrugged and started toward the door, Deborah sighed with relief. A moment later, he turned back to her.

  “I’ll give you a second to reconsider.”

  She pointed toward the door.

  The moment he stepped into the hall, she bolted the door and leaned against it. This was too much. How could she continue with this tour when all of these things were going on around her? She sank onto the bed. She probably wouldn’t have to worry about this anymore anyway. By morning, she knew, she wouldn’t have a job.

  CHAPTER 24

  WHEN SHE FINALLY CRAWLED OUT OF BED, Deborah had only thirty minutes to get ready for rehearsal. She hadn’t heard anything from Lavelle—though she didn’t expect to. If she were fired, Charles would be the one to call her. Since he hadn’t, she continued to get ready for the walk-through.

  She thought about calling Vianca, but didn’t want to answer her questions about last night. Deborah knew that once she began talking, she’d be tempted to tell Vianca everything.

  When she opened her door to meet the group in the lobby, Lavelle was standing in the hall.

  Deborah sighed loudly.

  “May I come in . . . please?” Lavelle said softly.

  “Lavelle, I don’t want to go through this again. If you’ve come to tell me that I’m fired—”

  “Fired? No way. I want to talk to you. Really.” He looked around the hallway. “Please, I don’t want to do this with the world watching.”

  Deborah hesitated, but then thought about Vianca in the next room, and she stepped back so that Lavelle could enter. She closed the door but stood right there, folding her arms in front of her.

  “What is it, Lavelle?” she asked, fully expecting him to fire her.

  “I came to apologize. I’m really sorry about last night. I’d been drinking, and I just expected that you . . .”

  She kept her arms folded. “I’m not like that. I don’t sleep around. I’m only here to do one thing, and that’s to sing.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t want to have to quit the group, Lavelle.”

  He held up his hands. “I don’t want
you to do that either. That’s why I’m apologizing. I’m hoping that some way we can erase last night, and take our relationship back to where it was.”

  She stood still, not saying anything.

  “Please?” He forced a smile. “Forgive me?”

  Deborah sighed. He had said the word that she’d been taught since she was two years old: “forgive.” She dropped her arms, though she didn’t smile when she said, “I accept your apology.”

  He exhaled. “There’s another favor I have to ask. Could you keep what happened between us?”

  “That’s no problem. It’s not something I’m anxious to share.”

  Lavelle smiled weakly and opened the door. Just as he did, the door across the hall opened, and Emerald stepped out.

  Lavelle mumbled something to Emerald that Deborah didn’t understand; then he rushed away.

  Emerald put her hands on her hips. “And all I did was have a little drink.” She walked away before Deborah could say anything.

  Deborah closed her eyes. It was time to start counting down the days to her return home.

  Everyone was in the lobby waiting for the vans. When Emerald looked at Deborah and laughed, Deborah went into the gift shop. As she wandered through the small store, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “You’re Deborah, right?”

  She smiled. “Yes, and I know who you are. Nice to meet you, Phoebe.” Deborah held out her hand. Outside of a few hello nods, Phoebe had never spoken to her.

  “How are you enjoying the tour? Lavelle’s wonderful to work with, isn’t he?”

  Deborah thought back to last night and forced herself to remember the way he was this morning.

  “Yes, he is,” Deborah said. “I’m grateful for this chance.”

  “From hearing you sing, I know this group is lucky to have you. You have a terrific voice.”

  “Thank you.” Deborah smiled. “You have a great voice too. Congratulations on your solo album.”

  “Thanks. Look, when we get to Orlando, let’s get together for lunch.”

  “Okay.” Deborah watched Phoebe saunter out of the shop and kiss one of her band members. Phoebe’s sexual escapades were the talk of the tour, but it didn’t seem to bother her at all—she seemed to flaunt her frolics.

  Her mother had always told Deborah that people judged you by the company you kept. Yet there was something about Phoebe that made Deborah want to know her better, some hurt or sadness deep inside that drove Phoebe. That could be the only reason a woman would behave the way Phoebe did. What Phoebe needed was a friend, someone to talk to. A friend who could pray for her and with her. That’s what Deborah would be. She looked forward to Orlando.

  They were given a break the first day they were in Orlando, and Deborah had lunch with Vianca. They sat next to each other on the plane, but Deborah remained silent through Vianca’s chatter and gossip.

  Vianca’s prattle continued as they sat in the hotel’s restaurant.

  “He would probably sell his mother for a rock of cocaine,” she muttered as one of Phoebe’s band members strolled by. “And Phoebe’s bad too.”

  Deborah wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I never heard that Phoebe was taking drugs.”

  Vianca smirked. “I don’t know if she is or not, but she doesn’t need to. She’s sleeping with everybody.” Vianca leaned across the table and whispered, “And from what I heard, she’ll do anything with anybody.”

  Deborah shook her head. “This tour has showed me things that I never thought I’d see.”

  “Well, you know what they say, the freaks come out at night.” Vianca chuckled. “Everyone’s talking about Phoebe.”

  Deborah wanted to tell Vianca that everyone was talking about her and Lavelle too. But instead, she said, “I think Phoebe needs a friend. Actually”—she paused and popped a French fry into her mouth—“she asked me to have lunch with her while we’re here.”

  Vianca raised her eyebrows. “Really? I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Her reputation isn’t the best.”

  Deborah looked directly at Vianca. “From what I’ve seen, no one here is a Girl Scout.” She softened her tone when Vianca dropped her eyes. “Between the drugs and the sex, doesn’t anyone worry about AIDS?”

  Vianca shrugged. “That’s what condoms are for.”

  “Everyone knows that condoms are not one hundred percent safe. Abstinence is the only safe method.”

  Vianca laughed. “Well, thank you, Mother Teresa.” She took a sip of her water, and Deborah watched Vianca’s eyes widen. “Deborah, don’t tell me that you’re still a virgin!”

  Deborah lowered her eyes. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because of what you just said. Well, girlfriend, if you are, then more power to you. But you need to grow up. As the world turns, people do drugs, people have sex and lots of it. There’s nothing wrong with it as long as it’s between consenting adults.”

  Deborah bit into her hamburger. She wasn’t going to argue. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. It was like the world had evolved backward, heading toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and no one seemed to care.

  CHAPTER 25

  THE LIMOUSINE TRIED TO EDGE FORWARD AS women screamed and pounded on the window. Lavelle leaned back in his seat, eating his fifth piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken. “This craziness still amazes me.”

  Vianca gave a short laugh. “Remember the woman we almost ran over in Canada? She came close to being road pizza.”

  Vianca and Lavelle chuckled.

  Deborah didn’t find that funny, and she glanced at Emerald, who was pouring a drink from the limousine’s well-stocked bar.

  “Hand me that bottle of champagne,” Lavelle said, laying aside the box that had been on his lap. He filled two flutes and handed one to Vianca. Then he slipped his hand into hers.

  Deborah rolled her eyes and then noticed Emerald looking straight at her, a half smile on her face.

  Deborah turned away to stare out the window. She was tired of the late nights and all the drama. This certainly wasn’t the dream she had imagined.

  When they got to the hotel, Deborah got out first and walked quickly to the elevator. No one seemed to notice that she ran into the hotel without saying a word. All she wanted to do was get away.

  But as she opened her hotel room door, the phone was ringing.

  “Hey, it’s Phoebe. I saw you run upstairs by yourself, and I wanted to know if you wanted to join our group and grab something to eat.”

  Deborah could hear chatter and laughter in the background, but her entire body was engulfed in tides of weariness. “No thanks, I’m kind of tired.”

  “Suit yourself. What about lunch tomorrow? I’ll meet you in the lobby around one.”

  “That sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

  Deborah lay on the bed and covered her eyes with her hands. Tonight, as she watched Lavelle with Vianca, she knew she could never tell her about what had happened. Deborah knew Vianca would never believe her, or worse, that she’d accuse her of coming on to Lavelle.

  No, she would stay away from that. She would just continue to pray for her friend. She sat up in bed. “Vianca, I sure hope you know what you’re doing.”

  With heavy steps, Deborah labored into the bathroom, where she stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was drawn, and she’d lost weight. The lines around her eyes told her that this tour was weighing heavily on her. But she promised herself that she’d find a way to make it through.

  It was too late to call her parents, but not Los Angeles. She dialed Triage’s number, and it rang six times before the answering machine came on, so she hung up without leaving a message. He had his own life; he didn’t need her burdens. But as she lay on the bed, she wished with all her heart that she could talk to him.

  Deborah and Phoebe had taken a taxi to the Palm Court. The restaurant was elegant and expensive.

  “Wow, this is quite a place.”

  Phoebe smiled at the maître d’ and whispered to Deborah as they were led to a
window table. “Don’t worry, I’m paying.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know, but it’s good to go out with a girlfriend once in a while.” Phoebe’s eyes wandered around the room. “Actually, it’s even less frequent than once in a while. I don’t have a lot of women friends.”

  Deborah tilted her head. “I’m surprised. I’d think that lots of people would want to be your friend.”

  Phoebe smirked and replied, “Not women; they don’t like me.”

  “You seem to have a lot of friends on the tour.”

  “What you see are the men. Men look at me with longing, while women look at me with loathing.”

  Deborah took a sip of her water and was grateful when the waiter brought the menus, allowing them to change the subject. Phoebe suggested the Indian salads. “And of course, two Mountain Dews.”

  Deborah waited until the waitress had left the table. “You must love Mountain Dew.” She laughed.

  “Yeah, girl, don’t you?”

  “It’s okay. I grew up on Coke.”

  “But there’s more caffeine in Mountain Dew.”

  Deborah cocked her head to the side. “Caffeine?”

  “Yeah, I drink Mountain Dew to keep me up on the road. I don’t like coffee, and tea’s okay, but nothing can do you like Mountain Dew.”

  When the waitress brought their sodas, Deborah watched as Phoebe drank half the tall glass in what seemed like one swallow, then motioned for the waitress to bring her some more.

  Deborah took a sip of her drink, then asked, “So how long have you known Lavelle?”

  Phoebe laughed. “Almost my entire life. We played in the sandbox together in the Detroit projects.”

  Deborah raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

  She nodded. “With just a little twist of fate, Lavelle could have been singing backup for me.” She laughed. “But he’s good people, and I’m happy for him.”