1 Night Stand

by Amaleka McCall

  “You sneaky little spook. You’re always being a sneaky, disgusting, nappy-headed little bitch,” Ava spat cruelly. She grabbed Harmony by the arm. “Get downstairs! Now!”

  Harmony knew what that meant. “No, Ava. I’m sorry. Please.”

  “Oh, you’re going to be more than sorry when I get through with you,” Ava hissed.

  Harmony took one last look at Melody, and she could’ve sworn her sister was smiling.

  “Get in the corner. You know the drill,” Ava demanded.

  “Please don’t,” Harmony whimpered.

  “Not only did you eat candy when I don’t allow it, but you stole it too. You put us all at risk. You put your sisters’ careers at risk.” Ava reached down into the silver umbrella holder she kept in the corner of the foyer and retrieved her leather belt.

  “This hurts me more than it hurts you,” Ava said as the belt came down with a fury on Harmony’s back. Ava said that same thing every time she gave Harmony a whipping for just being alive.

  * * *

  “Harmony? Are you okay?”

  Murray was at her side, trying his best to help her up from the floor. Harmony had Ava’s leather belt gripped so tightly in her left hand that her knuckles paled. Her chest heaved, and she could feel sweat rolling down her back. Ava was always careful to hit Harmony in a place that wouldn’t show if she had to perform.

  Being back in the house reminded Harmony just how much she had given up. She had often wondered what being a normal kid with a childhood filled with laughter, tears, play dates, candy, and best friends was like. Ava didn’t allow Harmony, Melody, and Lyric to do normal kid things. They couldn’t eat candy because a rough piece might pierce their throat muscles or ruin their pristine smiles. They couldn’t go swimming because it would ruin their chest muscles and voice boxes. They couldn’t even eat foods that kids liked. Ava only allowed them to eat salads and very lean meat because they all needed to be perfectly proportioned. Fat girls, after all, would never make it in the music industry. Harmony, Melody, and Lyric never went to the movies or amusement parks—that would be a waste of their time and a strain on their voices. Forget the zoo, class trips, and eventually even school. They were all homeschooled by a lady Ava hired and brought home with her after she’d been on the road trying to breathe life back into her own fading career.

  Harmony had only attended public school for three years, from age five to seven, before her mother had pulled her out. Melody and Lyric never got a chance to attend school and meet other kids their age. The girls had no friends, but they did have each other and their music. According to Ava, that was all they needed.

  Harmony was the songwriter, Melody the lead performer, and Lyric, well, she was kind of forced to be a part of the group so she just fit in where she could.

  “Let me get all of this out of your way,” Murray said, noticing the tears rimming Harmony’s eyes. He gently eased the belt out of her hand and shoved it back down into the umbrella holder.

  Harmony blinked a few times. That’s the past. That’s the past. That’s the past. You are not your past. You are not your past. She stood up and ran the flats of her hands over her clothes. She held her head high and used her thumb to make sure her tears didn’t fall.

  “I’ve got some things laid out in the living room.” Murray jerked his chin toward the doors.

  Harmony waited until he was done cleaning up her mess. She was, after all, a guest in Ava’s house now.

  When Murray was done, he slowly inched the rest of the way down the hallway to the French doors leading to the living room. Harmony followed him inside. She stood stiffly like a stranger. Everything seemed so old now. Harmony looked to her right and noticed Ava still had the tall, glass-encased stereo system with the record player on top and shelves of LPs on the bottom. Ava would turn it on every morning before the sun came up to make Harmony and her sisters practice. It was covered with a thick, gray layer of dust now. Harmony could tell it hadn’t been used in years.

  “Sit. Sit,” Murray said invitingly. “I just pulled out some old pictures here. You know, in case you girls wanted to do a program for the services.”

  Harmony sat at the very edge of the leather couch. She instantly remembered how happy she was when she, Melody, and Lyric had gotten their first advance check from the record company. It seemed like so much money back then. Ava had rushed out and bought all brand new furniture for the house, but the couch, the leather couch, had been Ava’s prize. According to Ava, leather furniture meant that she had made it in life.

  “Look at this one. She was a real beauty in her day,” Murray mused.

  Harmony reached out and took the picture from his hand. She stared at it. She twisted one side of her mouth and shook her head slowly, blown away.

  Ava’s personality certainly contradicted her looks. Outwardly, Ava was a stunning woman, in a regal, Lena-Horne-mixed-with-Diahann-Carroll sort of way. She had blemish-free butterscotch-colored skin. Her eyes were striking, both slanted and deep set. She had perfect heart-shaped lips, and even after three kids, her body had remained a shapely hourglass, boasting a flat stomach, round hips, and cellulite-free legs.

  Harmony narrowed her eyes at the picture, recalling how Ava never left the house without a full face of flawlessly applied makeup. Her hair was naturally long, and most of the time she wore it in a regal chignon, only letting it hang when she went on a date. Ava preached that real women always wore heels and makeup. Ava never wore flats or sneakers; instead, she donned the most fabulous stilettos and pumps. Her shoe collection could give Imelda Marcos a challenge.

  Murray laughed out loud and extended another picture in Harmony’s direction. “Now these were the days. She always said she was the most happy when she was performing.”

  Sure wasn’t most happy being a mother. Harmony swallowed before her thoughts turned into words. She was trying to remain polite, so she took the picture. In it, Ava smiled beatifically as she stood with Donna Summer and the husband-and-wife duo Ashford and Simpson. Ava wore a short black mini dress with a feathered bottom and a beautiful pair of sparkly, silver T-strap dance shoes.

  Harmony knew about her mother’s career, but she couldn’t recall ever really seeing Ava in action. According to stories Harmony heard growing up, Ava Love had been a chart-topping disco diva in the late ’70s early ’80s. Ava had graced every major stage in every major city in the United States, but she never got any further than an opening act for Donna Summer. Getting pregnant with Harmony had dashed her dreams, and in Ava’s assessment, changed her life for the worse. Ava had never failed to remind Harmony of the burden of her existence.

  Harmony passed the picture back to Murray.

  “And this one,” he said.

  Harmony put her hand up. “I’ve seen enough, Murray. I’m just going to wait for my sisters so we can get all of this over with,” she said flatly.

  Just then, Harmony and Murray both heard tires squealing, car doors slamming, and the buzz of voices outside. Murray and Harmony exchanged a furrowed-brow look. Harmony stood up first. She rushed to the two floor-to-ceiling windows in Ava’s living room. She pulled back the dusty, moth-eaten curtains and peeked out of the window. Harmony sucked in her breath.

  “Melody has arrived.”

  Chapter 5

  Melody

  “Melody! Melody! Is it true there might’ve been foul play with your mother’s death? When is the last time you saw her? Did she forgive you for firing her? Did she ever accept your relationship with Sly?”

  “Melody! Melody! Did you cancel your tour because of problems in your relationship with Sly?”

  “Melody! Melody! Where’s Sly? Did you break up over his affair with a dancer?”

  “Melody, is Sly going to support you through this difficult time?”

  “Is this the home you grew up in?”

  “Where’s Sly?”

  “Are the wedding rumors true? Did Sly finally propose?”

  The paparazzi were relentless. They had
followed Melody from her Tribeca loft all the way to Brooklyn. From the time Melody’s caravan of vehicles turned onto Ava’s block, the shameless reporters and cameramen quickly jumped from their cars, leaving them haphazardly abandoned, surrounding Melody’s Range Rover like a police tactical exercise to prevent the escape of a fleeing suspect. The fiendish reporters banged on the windows, the doors, and the hood. They hurled questions at Melody like handfuls of mud. Even through the heavily tinted windows, one explosion of flash after another lit up the inside of the car.

  Melody peered out the window at the crowd of hungry photographers. She let out an exasperated breath. There were times she loved the attention and lived for the camera flash, but this wasn’t one of them.

  “V, will you go secure my exit and entry into the house please? I need to make a clear beeline straight inside,” Melody said to Virgil, her six foot seven inch tall head of security. “I don’t want to give them anything printable.”

  “Sure thing.”

  He swung his door open, using his muscular arms and barrel chest to force the throngs of cameramen back before they could push their cameras through the door to steal a picture of Melody.

  “Melody!”

  “Melody!”

  “Melody!”

  Melody leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes behind her dark shades. Sly, Sly, Sly. Every other question the blog, tabloid, and newspaper reporters shouted at her had to do with her boyfriend, Sly. The world was obsessed with their relationship. Every two days, even when Melody took a break from touring and didn’t have any new music out, there was some story about her and Sly. Simple nights out at restaurants always resulted in tons of pictures and speculative stories about them. If they were out together and Sly walked a few steps ahead, the stories about their impending breakup would surely follow. If Melody was spotted out alone, even for a rare shopping excursion in a European city, she’d read about how she used retail therapy to get over Sly’s latest infidelity. It was non-stop.

  Sly was a popular street rapper turned music mogul who owned his own record label and was ten years Melody’s senior. Melody was a beautiful, wildly talented diva who had the entertainment world on lock with her dancing, singing, and acting. Theirs was the type of forbidden love affair that steamy romance novels were made of. Melody had girls everywhere envying her for being with Sly. To the public, Melody and Sly had the perfect love. They even had their own social media hash tags: #Mel-ly #RelationshipGoals.

  * * *

  Melody and Sly had met by chance at an industry party in the city. It was one of the first industry parties Ava had let the girls attend. It was 2009, and Sista Love was in between record deals. Ava thought the exposure from the girls finally participating in the industry nightlife would do some good to breathe life back into the group’s waning popularity. Ava had made Rocky Beats, their new producer, promise he would chaperone and look out for the girls.

  Melody sat on one of the burgundy, high-backed, velvet wraparound couches in club’s VIP section, taking in the sights with Lyric and Rocky when Sly and his entourage made their very noisy entrance. Even over the music, their deep baritone shouts of, “Yo!” and “What’s up?” and “Damn, these bitches hot in here tonight,” could be heard loud and clear.

  Of course, Sly was in the center of a phalanx of dudes, some as big as Shaquille O’Neal, which meant they were security, and at least fifteen more who were either his friends, staff, or just those hangers-on that are so popular with music entertainers.

  Even from a distance and in the midst of his crowd, Melody had noticed Sly. She felt something tingle inside of her. The sensation was so strong it had made her cross, then re-cross her legs. Melody picked up her glass of club soda and sipped it, trying to seem disinterested. In reality, she was stretching her eyes to get a good glimpse of him. Finally, Sly stepped from behind the human wall of his entourage to take a few pictures and was in Melody’s full view. She drank in every detail with her eyes.

  Sly wore a black motorcycle jacket with silver panels on the shoulder, a T-shirt from his clothing brand that read FUCK THE WORLD DON’T ASK ME FOR SHIT, black fitted jeans, and a vintage pair of all-black, high-top Jordan dunks. His long platinum chain hung almost to his belt line, and even in the dark club, his sparkly diamond piece, in the shape of his record company’s logo, sparkled. Melody watched as the scantily clad gold diggers fixed their hair, applied fresh coats of shiny lip gloss, and made sure they were exposing enough cleavage before they rushed over to Sly and his people, begging for attention.

  “Is that Sly? Like, Diamond Records Sly?” Lyric leaned in and yelled over the music into Melody’s ear.

  “I’m not sure who he is, but if you watch the groupies flock, you’d think he was Jesus.” Melody shook her head.

  Melody, of course, knew who he was. The whole world knew Sly. He had the kind of rags-to-riches story that made him an icon. He also had the kind of swagger that made his presence known without so much as a word.

  It wasn’t Melody’s first time being in the same place and the same time as Sly. They’d locked eyes and flirted from a distance at industry events more than once over the years. She’d even gotten word from an A&R that worked at her label that Sly had asked about her age and where she was from. As soon as Ava had gotten wind that Sly had asked about Melody, she had warned Melody that Sly wasn’t good for her image. After all, with some people, Sly had made a name for himself as a misogynist because of some of his music lyrics blatantly referring to women as hoes and bitches.

  Melody put her glass down on the table in front of her and shook her thoughts of Sly. “Harmony missed a good one,” she shouted in Lyric’s ear, trying her best to keep her eyes from roving over to Sly. She didn’t want anyone to catch on that she was even interested in Sly. He was too old for her anyway. She was only nineteen at the time and still a part of a girl group that wore matching beaded costumes and sang about dance moves, having big booties, and boys with cars. Sly was at least ten years older and had gone from drug dealer to rapper to music mogul all probably before Melody could even read a chapter book.

  Melody was lost in thought, listening to her little sister blab about people in the club, when it happened. Sly boldly walked straight over to their table.

  “Rocky. What up, man? I been trying to contact you, man,” Sly yelled over the music, extending his hand toward Rocky for a pound. Rocky stood up, slapped hands, and chest bumped with Sly. “You got me feeling like you been ducking my calls.”

  “Nah, it’s not even like that. Man, you know how it is. Been locked in the lab with these ladies creating some new fire with them and a few other projects got me hiding out,” Rocky replied, pointing to Melody and Lyric, his scapegoats.

  Sly turned his attention to Melody. The heat of his gaze caused her to shift in her seat. After a few seconds, that tingly feeling was back. She quickly averted her eyes away from his, but not before it registered in her mind that Sly was gorgeous. His smooth dark skin, perfect pearly white teeth, and neatly cut, scalp-hugging curls made her bite down on her bottom lip.

  “Ah. These the little chicks that be singing that man-bashing music, right? What was that song they had? Ladies World? Talking about ladies should fight for the right to be on top or something like that?” Sly chuckled.

  Melody didn’t find him funny. She raised one eyebrow and tilted her head sassily. “Yup. That’s us. I would call it man-bashing music only if you’re going to admit to being the dude that makes woman-bashing rap songs. What’s the one song? I Don’t Wife No Bitch?” she snapped back.

  Sly put his hand up to his mouth and busted out laughing. “Yo, sweetheart got balls,” he sang, laughing right after. “And she hella beautiful too. I like her. I like her a lot,” Sly said to Rocky, his voice taking on a serious tone. He kept his eyes trained on Melody the whole time.

  “Who said I like him, though?” Melody turned and said to Lyric.

  She had already gone down the lane of sassy, so the
re was no turning back. Ava had always preached that playing hard to get made men more interested than being an easy catch. So far, it had worked.

  “Oh, I’m not worried about you liking me, ma. They never do at first,” Sly replied as he boldly took a seat at their table, right next to Melody.

  * * *

  “Okay. We got a straight path to the front door,” Virgil huffed as he rushed back into Melody’s vehicle and slammed the door.

  Melody lifted her head and shook off her daydream.

  “For the second time, I’m telling you I don’t want them with any pictures of my face. At all,” Melody said flatly. “I don’t care if you have to smash a few cameras. I’m holding you and your people responsible.”

  “We will do our best.”

  Flanked by Virgil and protected by a wall made up of her security team, Melody exited her car with her head low and her forearm up to shield her face. The cameras still flashed and the reporters still screamed her name and their invasive questions.

  Melody finally made it to Ava’s front door. Murray already had the door held open, waiting for her.

  “Melody, I’m happy you decided to come,” Murray said, smiling weakly.

  Melody noticed how frail Murray looked now. Long gone was the shark of a man who stepped over and on people to get what he wanted.

  “No small talk, Murray. I’m here to take care of business and protect my own interest. We are not friends.”

  Murray coughed and held his hands up in surrender. There was no sense in hiding the fact that they hated each other. When Melody had fired Ava as her manager, she had fired Murray too. He had later sued her for millions based on contracts Ava had made Melody sign. Melody had to ultimately end up meeting Murray in the middle. After that, she wanted nothing to do with him, and it made it difficult for her to deal with Ava too.

  “Everything is laid out in here,” Murray told her, pointing to the doors leading to Ava’s living room. Virgil and three members of her security team rushed into the living room first. Virgil nodded and then Melody entered.