by Jon Bradbury
* * * *
I was a model before I became a singer, like Cassie Ventura, and Whitney Houston before her. It was a reliable way to make money for school, for things that weren’t covered by my scholarship. Then one day some dude was hanging out at one of my photo shoots and happened to overhear me singing and doing my scales while waiting for the next setup.
His name was Tyrone Williams.
Before you could say record deal, he had me in the studio, recording songs for my first album. I was nineteen. Tyrone was all hot to get my first album released just as fast it could be recorded. My parents, on the other hand, were absolutely adamant that I still go to college and get my degree, resulting in a war of wills with Tyrone. Mom contacted another gentleman named Darryl Strawberry to work with Tyrone. Darryl shared the same concern with Mom, that education be first in my life. As a result, my first album wasn’t released until I was twenty-one, and old enough to not be swept away by all the glitz and glamour I was suddenly exposed to, although I had been exposed to a lot of it already as a model.
Since then I’ve had five more albums come out, all about two years apart, because each album was of course followed by a short tour. It was my fifth album that has been my biggest success so far, thanks to three top-five singles, one of which hit number one. Each of my other albums, while not quite as successful as that one, haven’t done too badly either. And since I had been a model, every company out there making beauty products wanted to film me and photograph me using their shampoo and wearing their lipstick, which I was only too happy to do, as I never have and never will turn down free lipstick or shampoo.
Even as I kept riding my wave of professional success, my personal life became a lie. I kept dating black men, even though I knew I wanted to date white men. Kind of like a bad itch, the desire would not go away.
Sometimes I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t get some white dick.
And what’s wrong with black men? Well, black men seem to have this aversion to eating pussy, at least the ones I’ve dated. They think just because they walk around packing eight inches in their pants, it’ll make women spontaneously orgasm or something.
Sorry guys, it takes more than just a big dick. It doesn’t hurt, but that’s not the only thing. There are many ways to arouse a woman and make a woman orgasm. A veritable smorgasbord of sexual delights, you might say, like kissing. Oh my God, I love kissing. I could kiss a man or a woman, it doesn’t matter. I could kiss all day. Oh, and touching. Too many guys ignore all the many places you can touch on a woman’s body that will make her go from zero to aroused in the flutter of an eyelash. And then there’s a woman’s breasts. It absolutely drives me insane to have someone play with my breasts. And then there’s oral sex. To have someone eat out my pussy makes me wet just thinking about it. But as I said, black men think all they need is their dick.
I knew without being told that if I publicly declared my preference for white men it would send shock waves through Black Hollywood. It was one of life’s little mysteries, that the people most opposed to interracial dating were black people. I just want to roll my eyes every time I hear someone say the black race has to maintain its purity. Tell that nonsense to all the beautiful women and men of mixed race out there. It’s a little late to close the barn door when the horses have quite obviously already gotten loose!
But I’ve discovered that older black folks were especially opposed to interracial dating. The older they were, the more old-fashioned they were and more set in their ways, the more intolerant they were of it. To them, white people were the enemy, to never be trusted. To keep all those negative thoughts bouncing around inside my head like that, I could not imagine living that way.
I’d rather be loving on a white man instead of hating on him. After all, that’s what my songs were about. Lovemaking.
In my age group, black men were dead set against black women dating white men, even though these were the same black men who would date a white woman with no qualms. Black women were at least open to dating a white man, even though they were also unsure about it. I knew why. You couldn’t find a good black man?
This desire for white men was, meanwhile, still there inside me. It colored my life, you could say, in ways subtle and not so subtle. Ironic choice of words, I know.
* * * *
“Danielle.”
Hopefully this tech geek would scratch my itch, salve my wounds, whatever metaphor you want to use. And then maybe I could get some work done. These days I’m working on album number seven. It’s not going very well for some reason. Usually the creative process is so effortless for me.
“Danielle.”
“What?”
“We’re almost home.”
I looked out the window in surprise, to see the front gate not too far ahead. “Oh, good. I need to see Clarice.”
“What about?”
“I need to tell her she can go to the Fashion Room so she can pick out something pretty to wear for tomorrow. The girl is going to have a heart attack.”
He laughed. “I’m sure she can handle it. But, Danielle, about Tyrone.”
“I’m quite sure that Tyrone can handle it, too.” As the car eased past the gate and drove on to the grounds, I gathered my purse and my leather organizer.
“Danielle, I’m a little concerned about Tyrone, all the same.”
“How so?”
“He’s not going to take this defeat lying down. He carries too much pride.”
“Yes, I was noticing that.”
“I think you should let Tyrone out of his contract.”
“Okay. I’m interested in hearing your reasons why.”
“Well, there’s the emotional reasons I just mentioned. Plus his personality is completely the opposite from yours. And he’s not necessary to have around.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“My people could do all the work his people are doing and save you money.”
I regarded Darryl. “I will certainly take your concerns under advisement.”
“That’s all I ask, Danielle.”
“Unfortunately, it’s going to take a good reason to let him go. Especially since he seems to think he’s personally responsible for all my blessings.”
“Yes, well, he also seems to forget that he wanted to make money right away at the expense of your schooling.”
I favored him with a real smile. “But you watched out for me. You got my back.”
“Damn straight.”
Patting his arm, I said, “Indubitably, my dear.”
The car finally stopped. A few seconds later Mitchell opened the door and bright sunshine flooded my eyes. He offered a helping hand. I put my hand in his, got out and walked across the driveway to the front door.
I opened the door and stepped inside, the click of my heels on the hardwood floor loud in the silence. Darryl no sooner closed the door than Naomi appeared, dressed in her usual black-and-white uniform with black patent-leather pumps.
She said, “Welcome home, Miss Danielle.” She gave me a hug.
“Thank you, Naomi. You look very pretty.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Danielle. How was the trip into town?”
“Boring. But those usually are.”
“Would you like a glass of wine to relax?”
“Maybe later.”
“How about if I ran a hot bath for you?”
“Oh, now that sounds good.”
“Shall I get everything ready, Miss Danielle?”
“Yes, please. Is Clarice around?”
“Yes, she’s in your office making a few phone calls for you as you requested. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get that bath ready for you.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll be in my office when you’ve got everything ready.”
“Yes, Miss Danielle.” Naomi went on her way. Darryl went past me into the living room, sat on the couch, kicked back, picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
I said, “It’s too early for the celebr
ity news nonsense, boo.”
“Hey, we’ve got business out of the way. Maybe there’s something on the sports channels about the NFL lockout.”
I rolled my eyes. “I swear, is there one single minute of the year, one single moment of your life when you are not thinking about football?”
Darryl pretended to think about it. Then he said, “Nope. Not really.”
I laughed out loud. “Listen to you.”
Darryl chuckled as he flipped channels, first to the sports channels, which apparently weren’t showing anything he was interested in, because he flipped it to CNN.
Frederica Whitfield’s smiling face came on. “Hi, everyone. We’re back, and with us is Kareen Wynters from Showbiz Tonight with a preview of tonight’s story about singer and model Danielle Evans.” The camera switched to a different view, one of her standing next to a wall-sized flat-panel TV, dressed to the nines. Kareen was on the monitor.
“That’s right, Frederica. It’s been about two years since the release of her sixth studio album, and critics are wondering if perhaps she has reached the end of her career, if maybe she has perhaps lost her relevance in today’s modern music scene.”
Frederica was saying, “Why would people say that, Kareen? I heard one of Danielle’s songs on the radio as I was driving to work.”
I said, “Thank you.”
Kareen gave a shrug. “Well, that’s what the people in Hollywood are saying. We’ll be discussing this and other stories in depth today on Showbiz Tonight.”
“Thank you, Kareen. And finally this hour…”
Darryl suddenly muted the volume. “Don’t listen to them, Danielle. You just heard that other lady. They’re still playing your music on the radio. Hell, I was watching MTV this morning and they played one of your videos. And I happen to know for a fact that you haven’t run out of ideas.”
Despite myself, I smiled. “No, I definitely haven’t.”
He sat back, gesturing. “See, there you go. I’m telling you, album number seven is going to be the best one of all. Those critics will all be eating humble pie.”
I couldn’t help blushing. “Thank you, boo.” I left the living room for the main hall, fully intent on turning his prophecy into reality. I hung a left and ducked into my private office, where my assistant Clarice Carter was seeing to the task I’d set her.
Clarice was a young woman, only twenty-four, about a year out of college. I’d hired her last summer as a favor to my friend Jasmine, who’s been my girl for ages. Clarice looked just like Jasmine, except that her eyes were blue, going with the sleek sleeveless blue turtleneck dress she had on. Her skin was several shades lighter than mine, somewhere between cappuccino and butterscotch. Her hair was brunette, past her shoulders, mahogany with chestnut highlights.
As I walked in and dropped my purse on my desk, she gave me a quick wave and then said, “Great, Vivian. Yes, if you can get Kayla Donovan to take part, Danielle would love that. She’s only seventeen? That is unbelievable. Well, when you’ve confirmed which one of your dancers can make it just email me, okay? Okay, great. See you then, Vivian. Bye-bye.” Clarice hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Hey, you. How did it go with the label people?”
“They were very enthusiastic.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
“I heard you speaking with Vivian Brown.”
“Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, I told her you were absolutely wanting that new girl she’d hired, Kayla Donovan, and Vivian said she would have to ask her first to make sure she would be available before she could say either way.”
“Fair enough. When Vivian emails you, just forward it to me, please.”
“Sure.”
“I want you to pick up our man at the train station tomorrow.”
“Oh! Yeah, of course. Who did you hire?”
“Jeff Humphries.”
“The white guy, huh?”
I blushed. “Yes. How did you know he’s white?”
“I saw his picture from the file that Marlene Hammond emailed to us.”
“What did you think?”
“He’s cute!” We both giggled.
“I want you to wear nice clothes when you pick him up.”
“Of course, Danielle. I wasn’t going to wear just anything.”
“No. I mean really nice. Like, nicer than usual. So I want you to go into the Fashion Room and pick out something.”
“Really? Anything?”
“Yes, Clarice. Anything you want. Just make sure it’s street legal.”
The girl chuckled. “Yes, of course. But you want me to give Jeff something to look at, though, right?”
“That’s the idea. So let’s have you pick out something to wear.”
Clarice got up and followed me out of the office, practically squealing with excitement. Smiling, I led her down the hall, opened the door, and snapped on the lights. Several racks full of designer clothes sat waiting. Then I said, “Get on in there.”
“Ooooh! Thank you!”
I smiled and waited as she started searching.
Clarice hadn’t been searching long at all, when she suddenly came back over to me, carrying two pieces of clothing, both on hangers.
“That was quick. You picked out something already?”
“Yeah. But I wanted to show them to you, just in case.”
“Good idea. What did you pick?”
“This blue satin blouse.”
“Nice. What else?”
“And this navy blue pencil skirt.”
“Don’t forget a pair of pumps. The highest heels you can wear.”
“I’ll go pick out a pair right now!” Clarice went back in and came back minutes later bearing a pair of open-toed blue pumps, featuring sky-high five-inch stiletto heels and quarter-inch platforms.
“Excellent. Would you like to try them all on?”
“Oh! Can I?”
“Yes, let’s see how you look.”
Clarice appeared a few minutes later, wearing the blouse and skirt, stepping slowly and carefully at first in those high heels. “What do you think?”
“I think you look better in my clothes than I do.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t say that, Danielle.”
“I would.”
We went back down the hall to my office after she changed back. “You have all the information for Jeff’s train?”
“Yeah, I saved that from the email the travel agent sent.”
“Good. I’ll also want you to stay in the house, at least for the next few days. Show him around the house, make sure he knows where everything is, that kind of thing.”
“Help him out, too?”
“Yes. Just don’t get attached.”
Clarice blushed. “Of course not. Will that be all, Danielle?”
“That will be all. Make that last phone call. Use my office.”
“Yes, Danielle.” She bent to make the last call, smiling non-stop.
Naomi came in. “I’ve got your bath ready, Miss Danielle.”
“Thank you. I’m right behind you.”
Chapter Three
Jeff
The damned alarm clock woke me up with its usual sudden blaring of the radio.
“Good morning, folks! It’s your DJ Bobby Brown here to bring you the latest and the greatest hits while you’re waking up on this lovely Thursday morning.”
I groaned. “Shit.” I covered my eyes against the sun with my arm. The sun was not only up already but shining brightly through the bedroom windows. I needed to buy some blinds or something.
“It’s six fifteen AM, and the temperature is currently fifty one degrees, along the way to a forecasted high of seventy nine degrees. In the meantime, here’s a seven song set starting with I Love You by Donna Lewis.”
Groaning again, I sat up. Then I tossed the sheets to one side and put my feet on the hardwood floor. Damn, the floor was cold!
Muttering under my breath, I shuffled across the bed
room and into the bathroom, yawning and stretching, scratching my head and rubbing my eyes.
Although I didn’t want to admit it, and not just to Miss Hammond, I was glad for the change in routine. I needed a vacation, really. Not just away from the office but away from work period. I have no life outside the office. You would think that I would have a life at age forty. But they say that forty is the new twenty. Or something.
It was too damned early to be thinking about this crap. Hell, it was too damned early to be thinking at all.
As I sat down on the toilet and did my business, I ran through a mental checklist of things I’d already done. I’d made good use of my unexpected extra free time yesterday afternoon by packing some clothes and a few essentials. So now all I had to do this morning was take a shower and get dressed. Oh yeah, breakfast would be good, too.
A couple of hours later I was outside my house waiting for a cab, carrying both a duffel bag, a wardrobe bag and a metal brief case which held all my tech toys. The cab arrived and I gave him the address for the train station on my ticket.
Another fifteen minutes later we arrived at the train station, where the cabbie helped me load my luggage in the overhead bin in my compartment, and departed with a tip. I might have existed in my own little world but I knew how to tip.
The train departed right on time. I had nothing better to do after that but kick back and watch the world go by as the train headed south for Los Angeles.
“Sweetheart!” I suddenly jerked awake.
I quickly sat up, looking around. “What. What?”
The lady riding with me in the compartment was talking. “We’ve arrived.”
I stood up, stretched and yawned as I looked around. “I guess we have.”
“Yes, we have.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem, sweetheart. You have a good day.” She left.
“You, too. Thanks again.” I got my things out of the overhead bin, and headed out on to the platform. The first thing I saw was a tall black dude, holding a large card with my name on it.
Standing next to him was a beautiful young woman. With brown skin and blue eyes, she had to be mixed. She was wearing a bright blue satin blouse, tight-fitting navy blue pencil skirt and blue open-toed leather pumps with sky-high stiletto heels, brunette hair in a bun.