1 Night Stand

by Amaleka McCall

  “Ow,” Lyric groaned louder after another thunderbolt of pain lit up her left side. Her body curled into a fetal position.

  “Get up,” Rebel, Lyric’s on-again-off-again boyfriend, shouted.

  “Stop kicking me,” Lyric growled when she realized that the tip of Rebel’s steel-toed riding boot was the source of her pain.

  “Then get the hell up. Your sister is blowing up your jack. That shit is breaking my concentration, that ringing every minute,” Rebel barked.

  Lyric grumbled an unintelligible complaint. Sometimes even she had to question why she stayed with Rebel, who was a washed up, one-hit-wonder rapper who was always more a stoner than a rapper in the first place.

  “You ain’t ignoring her call this time. She been calling for an hour straight, back to back. Blowing my fucking high for real.” Rebel complained some more. “Now pick that shit up and call her back,” he demanded as he dropped Lyric’s cell phone next to her.

  Lyric squinted her eyes against the pain and watched as Rebel kicked through the empty liquor and beer bottles, old food wrappers, and used drug paraphernalia that littered the floor. It was evident the party had gone on all night.

  Lyric opened her eyes wider when she noticed Rebel digging around in her purse. “Hey,” she croaked as she watched him recover a tiny foil bundle. Just the sight of the bundle made Lyric’s mouth water like Pavlov’s dog.

  “That’s mine,” she rasped.

  She knew Rebel couldn’t hear her over the music. She would have to go fight for what was hers. Lyric tried to sit up, but the cruel pounding in her head caused her to slide right back down. She closed her eyes. She needed to get over to where Rebel stood, or else he’d hit the whole bundle and she’d be left sick and on the hunt to cop.

  This time, Lyric placed her left hand on the floor in an attempt to hoist her aching body. When she lifted her head, she felt something wet and mushy on her cheek. Then the smell shot up her nostrils.

  “Ugh. What the—” she grumbled, touching her cheek. She looked at her hand and realized she had put it in vomit. “Dammit.”

  That didn’t keep her from pursuing what she needed to get right for the day. Lyric used her jeans to clean off her hand. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d woken up in her own bodily fluids.

  “Rebel,” Lyric croaked out, barely above a whisper. Trying to yell hurt so badly. She couldn’t muster enough strength to raise her voice.

  “Re-bel.” Lyric tried again. This time her throat ignited like she’d swallowed a fire-lit sword.

  She coughed until her eyes watered. There was no way Rebel would hear her hoarse pleas. Lyric knew that she would definitely have to get over to him before he hit all of their drugs. With a prayer on her lips and the will of ten men, she rolled onto her side.

  “Oh, shit,” she wolfed as more pain daggered through her skull.

  It hurt so bad it made her dry heave. She should’ve never let her friends Nikki and Gia talk her into having that party. Lyric had gotten so wasted she didn’t even remember half of what she’d ingested.

  Lyric put both of her palms flat on the floor and struggled to her knees. The entire room was spinning. Her stomach swirled and sweat pooled all over her body.

  After several failed attempts, Lyric finally got to her feet. Her legs were unsteady, like she was standing on stilts for the first time. She braced herself against the couch.

  “Rebel.” Lyric found her voice.

  Rebel glared back at her, giving her his back.

  “Rebel, don’t fucking hit all of that. That is mine,” Lyric screamed, wobbling unsteadily in his direction. “Give me that,” she demanded, boldly getting in Rebel’s face. She’d ended up with a black eye the last time she did that.

  “Fuck outta here. I wasn’t going to hit it all, you fiend,” Rebel spat.

  Lyric couldn’t care less about his name-calling. She licked her lips hungrily as he passed her the small tin foil. Lyric held it like a piece of delicate crystal as she dropped down into a wooden kitchen chair. She pushed all of the trash aside and made a spot for herself on the table. She picked up a dirty, used needle and examined it. Lyric placed what was left in the foil into the mouth of a badly burned teaspoon and lit the bottom of it on fire for a few seconds. Satisfied with the consistency of her drug, she made a fist and slapped at the center of her left arm. She didn’t have time to find a belt or shoestring to tie a tourniquet. She would have to search blindly to find a good vein.

  Lyric was a pro now. She pressed her already needle-pricked skin until she felt a ripe vein. She drew the murky liquid into the dirty needle. She sniffled the snot rimming her nostrils and ran her fingertips over her vein one last time to make sure she would hit the right spot. She grunted hungrily and then plunged the sharp, silver tip of the needle into the crook of her arm. She pressed the white plunger on the back of the needle, slowly releasing the special liquid directly into her vein.

  The drugs hit Lyric’s system right away, and all of her pain faded. Her body slumped in the chair, and her head lulled forward. The hit wasn’t enough to bring her that exciting, euphoric, dancing-on-the-ceiling feeling she had experienced the first time she got high, but at least what was left of the bundle had cured her pain. Lyric closed her eyes. Her body rocked and swayed. She felt good—for a few minutes, at least.

  “Yo. Answer this phone.” Rebel’s booming voice brought Lyric crashing back to reality. Her eyes popped open.

  “I’m not going to say it again,” he asserted as he put the phone in her face.

  Lyric sucked her teeth and snatched her cell phone from his hand. She squinted at the screen. She rolled her eyes, although her heartbeat sped up. The entire screen was filled with missed calls from her sister, Harmony. Lyric’s eyebrows folded into the center of her face.

  “Fuck that traitor want?” Just the idea of speaking to Harmony made Lyric want to get high again.

  “Lyric, you have to respect yourself.”

  “Lyric, what were you thinking letting them get pictures of you like that?”

  “Lyric, you can’t keep living like this. You’re destroying yourself.”

  “Lyric, you need to be more responsible.”

  These were some of the last things Harmony had said to her. Lyric’s insides churned just thinking about it. Harmony had become so judgmental since she’d moved out to the suburbs of New Jersey with her little husband and baby. All of a sudden her big sister was so perfect. Well, Lyric wasn’t going to let anyone judge her. It was obvious that Harmony had forgotten where she came from, and in Lyric’s assessment, they had all seemed to forget the sacrifice Lyric made for their fame.

  “Call her back and find out what she wants. I swear if that phone rings again, I’m going to break it,” Rebel promised.

  Lyric knew he meant what he said. She stared down at the phone for a few contemplative minutes, trying to imagine what her sister wanted after six months of no contact.

  Lyric inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly. Her high had officially been blown. She tapped the screen, closed her eyes, and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Lyric? Oh my God, I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday,” Harmony huffed into the phone.

  Lyric twisted her lips and squeezed her eyes shut tighter and didn’t respond. She thought her sister had some nerve. Just like that, Harmony calls after disappearing and expects some wonderful family reunion.

  “Hello?” Harmony inquired, like she was making sure Lyric was still there.

  “Yeah?” Lyric snapped. “What do you want, Harmony? I’m busy.”

  “Lyric, are you alone? I mean, um, is there someone there with you?” Harmony asked, her voice strained.

  “Why? Why does it matter to you now if I am alone or not?” Lyric spat. She could hear Harmony sigh.

  “I . . . I have to tell you something, and it can’t wait for me to travel all the way there.”

  Lyric looked over at Rebel, who was now sprawled out on the couch, snoring. He was a waste. Sh
e might as well have been there alone.

  “Just tell me. Doesn’t matter if I’m here alone or with a bunch of people. I mean, it must be important since I haven’t heard from you in months.”

  “You’re right, baby sis—”

  “Don’t fucking call me that. I’m grown. I’m not a fucking baby and haven’t been for a long time,” Lyric exploded. There were a few long seconds of silence.

  “Okay,” Harmony relented.

  Lyric could tell her big sister was crying. Good. Traitor. You should be crying.

  “Now that we are clear, Harmony, what is it that I need to know?” Lyric asked, her lips twisted. She was trying hard to keep up the angry-girl act when truthfully she was elated to hear Harmony’s voice. Lyric was so lonely since everything that happened. She felt totally abandoned by her entire family.

  “It . . . it’s Ava,” Harmony managed.

  Lyric held her breath. She didn’t even want to think about the big explosion she’d had with Ava the last time she saw her.

  “She’s, um, she’s dead.” Harmony gulped.

  The silence was deafening. Lyric’s ears began ringing. She could no longer hear the music. She could no longer hear Rebel snoring. She could no longer hear Harmony screaming her name on the other end of the phone. Instead, all she could do was keep her eyes closed and think back.

  New York, NY

  January, 2004

  “Oh my God,” Lyric squealed as she exited the long, shiny black limousine that had transported her, her sisters, and Ava from Brooklyn to Broadway in Manhattan.

  “Right. I can’t believe we are standing outside of Elektra Records,” Melody gasped, craning her neck to gawk at the shiny, glass-front skyscraper.

  “This is going to be our big break. I know it,” Lyric said giddily.

  “We are going to be all over the world singing,” Harmony chimed in.

  “And make enough money to shop, shop, shop,” Melody added. All three of the girls were squealing and giggling with delight.

  “Be quiet,” Ava chastised.

  The girls closed their mouths and wiped the smiles off of their faces. “Now don’t start being over confident and go and put blight on this opportunity. Andrew Harvey was a friend of mine back in the day, but I still had to beg him for this chance,” Ava continued. “Nothing in this business is free. Remember that. Now straighten up those clothes, make sure there is no lipstick on your teeth, remember your damn routine, and let’s go. This is that one shot I was never so lucky to get.”

  Harmony, Melody, and Lyric were suddenly back in business mode. Still, the girls walked into the building trying hard to stifle their muffled snickers of excitement.

  When the elevator dinged on the twenty-sixth floor, Lyric felt like her heart would stop. They all exited the elevator in a clown-car jumble, with Lyric bringing up the rear. She stopped and stood in awe of the silver letters on the wall that read ELEKTRA RECORDS, INC. Lyric’s heart throttled up, pumping wildly—a dizzying mixture of fear and excitement.

  “C’mon,” Harmony whispered, grabbing Lyric by the arm so she wouldn’t get lost in the maze of glass, black lacquer, and modular furniture that made up the posh suite of offices.

  “Sit down,” Ava instructed, directing the girls to a beautiful, oversized white leather sofa that was positioned directly across from a tall, frosted glass counter that had ELEKTRA RECORDS etched into it.

  Ava walked up to the glass counter and peered over it at the beautiful receptionist. The receptionist held up her right index finger and continued speaking into the little contraption that extended in a line from her left ear to her mouth. When she was finally done, she smiled warmly at Ava.

  “Hi. Um, we have a meeting with Mr. Harvey,” Ava whispered politely, her voice jerky and unsure. It was not like her at all.

  The receptionist smiled again. “And your name, ma’am?” she asked perfunctorily.

  “Oh, um, Ava. Ava Love.”

  The receptionist hit a few keys on her computer keyboard and squinted at her screen. Her smile faded. She punched a few more keys for good measure.

  “Hmm. That’s strange. I don’t seem to have you on Mr. Harvey’s calendar,” she said apologetically, dragging out the last word as she broke the news.

  Ava shifted her weight on her heels. She ran her tongue over her teeth and parted a phony smile. “That’s impossible. I spoke to Andrew myself,” Ava replied.. She was still trying to smile.

  The receptionist paused, her lips flattened into a straight line. “I’m telling you, you’re not on his calendar,” she said flatly. “I’ve looked in three places and there is no listing for an Ava Love.”

  Ava fanned her well-manicured hand in front of her face. Lyric and her sisters looked on, recognizing their mother’s mood swing.

  “Well, check again. Look up Love Sisters or Sista Love. It’s a singing group. My daughters,” Ava said brusquely. “He sent a car for us, for God’s sake.” She looked over her shoulder at her daughters, shame creasing her brow.

  “I’m telling you—” the receptionist started to argue.

  Just then the door to Andrew Harvey’s office swung open and the sound of men laughing broke up the tense moment between Ava and the receptionist. Andrew Harvey was ushering three men in suits out of his office.

  “I’ll definitely be in touch. Can never have the iron in too many digital fires.” Andrew Harvey laughed, shaking hands with the three men as each exited his office and stopped for one last handshake.

  Ava whirled around and rushed toward Andrew Harvey without regard for his guests.

  “Andrew. Andrew,” Ava shouted.

  Andrew Harvey’s facial features flattened and he shot the receptionist an evil look. The receptionist bounced up out of her seat, standing so fast that she sent her office chair rolling into the wall behind her with a bang.

  “Miss! You can’t just—” She raced around the counter to stop Ava.

  “Andrew, it’s me, Ava Love,” Ava hollered, charging forward. “Ava Love. Donna Summer, All Systems Go tour. Eighty-seven. Ava Love. Plato’s Retreat, Studio Fifty-four.” Ava laid her past and his out there shamelessly.

  Andrew Harvey smiled weakly, clearly embarrassed. He put on a good face for his departing guests. The businessmen all eyed Ava suspiciously but reserved their comments.

  Within seconds the receptionist was in front of Ava, blocking her forward progress. “I told you that you were not on his schedule. I am going to have to ask you to leave now or I’ll call security,” the receptionist threatened, all professionalism out the window.

  Lyric threw her hands up to her mouth. Harmony darted her eyes from her mother to Andrew Harvey, then to the receptionist. Melody stood up with her hands fisted at her sides.

  Ava looked past the rail-thin receptionist like she was a tiny buzzing fly that was annoying her but posed no threat. Ava kept her eyes trained on Andrew Harvey.

  “You told me to come today, Andrew. Remember? You sent a car for us, so why do I feel like I’m begging for a minute of your time?” Ava said, confusion playing out on her face.

  Andrew Harvey darted his eyes over to where Harmony, Melody, and Lyric sat frozen with fear, clutching onto one another like their world was about to end. His frown suddenly eased. He licked his thick lips and flashed his oversized porcelain veneers. Suddenly, it seemed as if Ava’s outburst was acceptable.

  “Yes. Yes. Ava Love. I’m so sorry. It was an oversight on my part,” Andrew Harvey sang, placing a comforting hand on Ava’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sonja. This is all my fault. It’s okay.” He called off his receptionist. She glared at Ava before stomping back to her desk. Ava twisted her lips at the girl, victorious.

  “Ava Love,” Andrew Harvey huffed, taking in the sight of her. He chuckled knowingly, a joke only he and Ava understood. Lyric and her sisters all breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. The wild child, Ava Love,” Andrew Harvey continued dreamily like he was recalling some far away time. Ava blushed, giggling coquettishly.
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br />   “Come on in,” Andrew Harvey said invitingly as he stood aside and ushered Ava toward his office with his left hand. “And bring those little beauties with you,” he said, licking his lips hungrily again.

  Once inside of Andrew Harvey’s office, Lyric, Harmony, and Melody looked around in awe. The wall of windows behind his huge, elevated Presidential-style cherry wood desk offered a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline. It felt like they could see as far a Brooklyn from there. Andrew Harvey had beautiful mahogany shelves filled with music awards. Grammys, American Music Awards, Billboard Music Awards: you name it, Andrew Harvey had one on his shelves. There were also more than ten platinum plaques hanging museum-style throughout the expansive office.

  This is the real deal, Lyric thought as she spun around, wide eyed. At thirteen, she had never seen anything like this. She could tell by Harmony’s agape mouth and Melody’s slow, awestruck pirouette that her sisters were also in awe.

  “So, whatcha got for me, Ava?” Andrew Harvey asked, his eyes stuck on Lyric.

  She noticed. It made her feel tingly inside. She didn’t know if the feeling was good or bad. Either way, she noticed.

  “Well, you remember how in my day I could hold those notes, baby. Mariah Carey who? I had her beat. I was the queen of that whistle register back then. I was something. Remember that time at Studio Fif—”Ava was saying.

  “Um. Yeah, so these are your little girls, huh?” Andrew Harvey interrupted, walking over and examining the girls one by one. Ava quickly shut up and switched gears.

  “Yes. These are my pride and joy,” Ava sang.

  Lyric pinched Harmony’s hand and they looked at each other quizzically. Pride and joy? Really?

  “Yes, sir. This is Harmony, seventeen, Melody, fifteen, and Lyric, thirteen. They sing, dance, act. All three are triple threats, just like their proud mother,” Ava beamed, walking over, fussing over the girls’ clothes. She stepped behind Harmony and pushed against her back, making sure she stood up straight.