“It’s so quiet here,” Dorinda says, taking in the peaceful scene.
“If you listen real quietly, you can hear the souls whispering,” Willie chuckles, then starts humming a gospel hymn. We all walk down the lane where Granddaddy Selby Jasper’s mausoleum stands. “I’ll be waiting right here for you,” Willie says softly. “Take your time.”
Ma sets the bunch of magnolias down in front of the mausoleum. As we walk up to the entrance, we see that the door is slightly ajar!
“I can’t believe this,” Ma says, freezing in her tracks. “One thing is for sure, someone has been here.”
“Should we go inside?” I ask, quivering. Angie is holding my hand. Chanel has grabbed Galleria’s, and poor Dorinda is just standing in the background, like she’s ready to run if she has to. We look around, but there isn’t one person in sight except us and Willie.
“I think we’re out here all by ourselves,” Angie says. Taking a big gulp, she folds her arms across her chest, like she’s bracing herself for whatever comes popping out from behind a tombstone.
“Well, let’s get to it,” Ma says, pulling on the heavy mausoleum door.
The door creaks all the way open, and a few cobwebs fall on Ma’s head. We peer inside behind her, but we can’t really see anything, it’s so dark. “Can you see anything, Ma?” I ask, shuddering.
“No, but—aaaah!” Ma screams, then takes a step back. “I heard something—I think it’s a mouse!” We are all deathly afraid of mice, more than of any ghoul or goblin, that’s for sure.
“I think we need a flashlight to go inside,” Ma says, backing out.
We hear a rustling sound again. There’s definitely something crawling around in there! “Hello!” Ma yells deep into the mausoleum. “Is anybody in there?”
We hear more stirring. “Ms. Walker, I don’t think that’s a mouse, ’cuz it moves every time you say something!” Galleria says, squinting her eyes and trying to get a peek.
“I think you’re right—and I have a feeling I know exactly who it is,” Ma says sharply. I can tell she isn’t afraid anymore. “Skeeter—I know you’re in there, so you can stop hiding!”
We wait for what seems like years, and then we hear a noise again—this time it sounds like a bottle rolling on the ground inside.
“Skeeter, I’m not playing. Whatever is wrong, we can work this out,” Ma says, determined not to back down.
“All right …” we hear a man’s voice grumble. “Shoot, it figures you would find me!”
Ma gasps, and puts her hand over her mouth. Tears well up in her eyes. “Skeeter—Omigod, I can’t believe this!”
“Yeah, I can’t believe it either. I’ll be right out.”
We back away from inside Granddaddy Selby’s mausoleum and wait. And wait …
“Maybe he’s not gonna come out,’ Angie whispers.
But a moment later, like a ghost from Thanksgiving past, Uncle Skeeter emerges from the mausoleum. Believe me, he looks like a ghost!
We try not to let the shock show in our eyes, but we can’t help it. Uncle Skeeter’s eyes are bloodshot, his face is full of whiskers, and his clothes are all wrinkled. He scratches his head, like he has lice or something, and asks sheepishly, “Who are all these people?”
“These are Nettie One and Two’s friends from New York,” Ma says defensively, then she bursts into tears. “Why didn’t you come talk to me, Skeeter?”
“I was finished talking for a while,” Skeeter says, looking down at his feet. I guess the sun is hurting his eyes. “How did you find me?”
“I didn’t—the girls did,” Ma says, pointing to all of us.
“Yeah—you two were always the smart ones. You could be detectives,” Uncle Skeeter chuckles, scratching his head some more. Maybe he really does have lice!
“Well?” Ma says, like she’s waiting for an explanation. “Daddy would turn over in his grave if he saw what you’re doing to yourself.”
“Yeah … well, that’s why I guess I decided to join him, for a little peace and quiet. I’m tired of everybody telling me what I should be doing,” Uncle Skeeter says defensively.
“So, that’s your solution? Give up on your life and hurt all of us, just because we care about you?” Ma screams at the top of her lungs.
Uncle Skeeter breaks down, crying like a baby. “I thought maybe Daddy could give me some answers, Junie. I-I-I didn’t know where to look anymore,” he says, barely able to talk.
“What answers do you need, Skeeter?” Ma cries back.
“What to do with myself! I hate my life—my job—all of it. I don’t want to pick up people’s garbage anymore. My wife hates me. I can’t afford to take care of my kids …”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Skeeter!” Ma cries out.
“I’m so ashamed that y’all have to see me like this,” Uncle Skeeter says, looking at us with embarrassed eyes. “These are your friends I heard about?”
Angie and I start crying. We’re too choked up to answer.
“We’re from New York,” Galleria pipes up.
“I can see that,” Uncle Skeeter says, peering at Galleria, Chanel, and Dorinda.
“Uncle Skeeter,” I cry, running up to him and hugging him tight. “Don’t leave us, ever again.”
Uncle Skeeter heaves a deep, long sigh. “I won’t, Nettie One. I promise. Not until the Good Lord takes me.”
Chapter
11
Now that Uncle Skeeter is safe and sound, all we can think about is the Karma’s Children benefit concert. We have taken two hours just to get ready, and it shows in the way we “prowl” to the backstage entrance of the Turtle Dome Arena.
The pathway is lit with beautiful Chinese paper lanterns that brighten the sky. Dragonflies swirl around the globes of light, giving off twinkle-dinkle sparkles every now and then.
As we push our way through the crowd to get to the “talent entrance,” people are staring at us. “Oooo, look at their outfits!” we hear them saying. We smile at them, and Chanel even raises her hand into the “growl power” sign, which causes quite a few giggles.
“Are y’all performing?” one little girl asks us, as we try to move past the hordes of ticket holders.
“Yes, ma’am,” Galleria says, leading the way behind Ma.
“Wait till Mr. Chips Carter gets a whiff of what’s cooking!” I tease Ma. Since her cheetah-fied escapade worked, we talked her into wearing a leopard silk scarf around her neck tonight. She looks real pretty—and she even did her nails!
“Never mind, Nettie One—you just concentrate on getting your turns down right, and not hitting anyone with that fake money,” Ma says, kinda bossy.
She can say whatever she wants—I know there is something cookin’ between her and Mr. Chips Carter. And why not? He may not have money, but he has music. Besides, he’s not bad-looking. He’s not too old for Ma—and at least he has all his teeth!
“Do you think Uncle Skeeter is gonna show up?” Angie asks, concerned.
“He gave us his word.”
“How old do you think those two are?” Dorinda interrupts, staring at Houston’s own kiddie rappers, Miggy and Mo’.
“They must be about Egyptian and India’s age, ain’t that right, Angie?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“Who’s Egyptian and India?” Chanel asks, obviously intrigued.
“They are our cousins,” I exclaim. “Uncle Skeeter’s daughters. You’ll meet them, and Big Momma, and everybody else at Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Ain’t this like a dream come true?” Angie yells over the noise of the crowd.
“I’m not sure yet—wait till we get inside,” I holler back. If we don’t make our way through this mob and get into the arena soon, this night could turn into a Nightmare on Kemah Boardwalk!
“All these people paid fifty dollars for concert tickets?” Galleria asks in utter disbelief.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, as we approach the promised land—the backstage door. There we’re s
topped by a ten-foot-tall Mighty Man security guard. “Can I help you?” he asks.
“We—they—are perfoming for the benefit,” Ma says, pointing to us. The Mighty Man looks us over, then lets us through. Even a dodo bird can see we are performing. Why else would be parading around in cheetah outfits?
Once we’re back in the talent holding room, we plop down on the couch and wait for instructions. We wave hi to Miggy and Mo’. They are still wearing pigtails, and I can tell they’ve put makeup on to try and cover their freckles, but you can still see them!
“Hey!” yells Mr. Fred Fish, coming over with his arms outstretched to greet us.
“You ladies are the reason we are here,” Mr. Chips Carter starts in. I look at him, puzzled. I wonder if Mrs. Fenilworth told him we got them into the show—but then I realize, he’s just flirting again.
“’Cuz if you ladies weren’t here, me and Fred woulda went and caught some deer!” Mr. Carter says, laughing loudly at his own joke. “’Cuz I got the lost-woman blues!”
Ma is just beaming from ear to ear. Mr. Chips Carter takes her hand and kisses it, like he’s found gold! “That was some fine dinner last night, Ms. Junifred.”
“Why thank you,” Ma says. “We’ll have to do it again sometime….”
“Ahem. I wonder where Karma’s Children’s dressing room is?” Dorinda asks, diverting our attention from the grown-ups.
“You can bet it ain’t in here, lovely lady,” Mr. Fred Fish says, chuckling loudly, “’cuz stars always get dressing rooms as big as the Taj Mahal!”
“I wonder if they’re here,” Galleria muses.
“You’ll know when they’re here,” Mr. Fish says, “because I have a notion there will be lots of commotion in the ocean!”
“Y’all are like rappers,” Dorinda says, looking up at Fish ’N’ Chips, amused.
“Lovely lady, before they even invented the word rap, we were rapping,” Mr. Chips Carter says. “That’s what the blues is all about—speaking your mind.”
“And before you had rap, we had the snap and the tap,” Mr. Fred Fish says, snapping his fingers and tapping his foot wildly. “Yessiree. We always had to find the rhythm somewhere.”
“I never thought about it that way,” Galleria says, getting excited. She whips out her Kitty Kat notebook and starts scribbling in it madly.
“Yo, Galleria—you’re like the mad scientist of lyrics,” Dorinda chuckles.
“He’s here!!” Angie says excitedly, pointing to the door.
Now it’s my turn to scream. “Uncle Skeeter!”
“Ooh, look how nice you look!” Angie says, touching Uncle Skeeter’s wild flowered shirt. He’s also wearing a straw hat, and his shoes are spit-polished just the way he likes them.
“Fish ’N’ Chips,” I say excitedly, combining their names, “this is my Uncle Skeeter. He’s into the blues too!”
Uncle Skeeter starts blushing, “Well …”
“Let’s hear what you got!” Mr. Fish says, cutting him off. He whips out his banjo, and Mr. Carter takes out his tambourine.
“What’s your name?”
“Skeeter Jasper,” Uncle Skeeter says, pulling a harmonica out of his pants pocket.
“Omigod, I remember that thing!” Angie says.
I’d forgotten that Uncle Skeeter used to play the harmonica. Like I said before, he was always playing something. Mr. Fish and Mr. Chips pull up three chairs, and Uncle Skeeter sits on the one in the middle.
“Okay, now, Skeet—I’m gonna start in, then Chips, then you follow us,” Mr. Fish starts strumming, nodding his head like he’s in heaven. Mr. Chips joins right in, shaking his tambourine, tapping his foot. Uncle Skeeter starts blowing on his harmonica. Then Mr. Chips starts singing, “‘I woke up this morning with a bad case of the lost-woman blues …”’
“‘I said I woke up this morning …”’ Mr. Fred Fish cuts in.
We start clapping our hands together, and Miggy and Mo’ and the guys from the Moody Gardens band come over and join in. I look over at Ma, and I can see the tears welling up in her eyes.
All of sudden, we hear screaming. Dorinda runs to the doorway to see what’s going on, then she comes running back. “They’re here! Karma’s Children are here—in the room right next to us!”
Uncle Skeeter and Fish ’N’ Chips keep playing, but I have to run out and see if I can catch a glimpse of Karma’s Children. I crane my neck, but all I see is a crowd clogging up the hallway. “Can you see them?” I ask the girl standing in front of me.
“No. They went inside the dressing room, and there’s a security guard blocking the doorway.”
“Too bad.”
I go back and listen to Uncle Skeeter and Fish ’N’ Chips do their thing.
“Look at how happy Uncle Skeeter looks,” Angie says, squeezing my arm.
“I know. His whole face just lights up when he plays the harmonica.
“He’s good, too.”
“Well, of course,” Ma butts in. “He’s a Jasper!”
Miggy and Mo’ come over and sit by us, eating tuna sandwiches and nodding along with their heads. Uncle Skeeter and the dynamic duo, Fish ’N’ Chips, finally stop playing, and we all clap real loud, and scream, “Woop, woop,” too.
“Well, Mr. Chips,” Mr. Fred Fish says, “I think tonight Fish ’N’ Chips is gonna be going on ‘with special guest, Skeeter Jeeter.”’
“Jasper!” Ma shouts out, proud of her maiden name.
“Well, now, that’s Jasper to you, but Jeeter to us,” Mr. Fish says, nodding at Uncle Skeeter and Mr. Chips, and showing off those empty spaces where his front teeth used to be. Now I wonder what Fish ’N’ Chips’s real names are …
“Oh, word, I get it—a stage name! That’s what he means,” Dorinda says, smiling.
“Well, I like it,” Ma says, nodding her head in approval.
We run over and hug Uncle Skeeter. “Well, I guess this has turned out to be a family affair,” Ma says, smiling. Then, looking at Dorinda, Chanel, and Galleria, she adds, “Now don’t forget that y’all are family too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Walker,” Dorinda says, touched by Ma’s generosity.
“Call me Junifred, sweetie,” Ma tells her.
Galleria hands us each a batch of fake Benjamins. “Y’all, we should each hold on to our own Benjies.”
“You said ‘y’all!”’ I tease Galleria.
“I reckon I did, Miz ‘Aquanetta does it betta!”’ Galleria shoots back.
“I could sure use some of your eggnog right about now,” Dorinda says.
“Wait till you taste mine” Ma says proudly. “We are going to have a good-time Thanksgiving, trust me!”
“Oh, no! We’re first!” I moan, looking at the lineup for the warm-up acts. “I wish Ms. Dorothea were here. She’d set them straight! No offense to you, Ma.”
“No offense taken,” Ma quips back.
“We hate going on first,” offers Miggy.
I just look at her. She’s only nine or ten years old. How would she know? They’ve probably only been performing all of two days!
As if reading my mind, Angie asks Miggy, “How long have you two been performing?”
“Five years,” Miggy says proudly. “We started when I was five and she was four.”
“Oh,” says Dorinda, shrinking into her chair.
“Listen, we’re gonna be doing this gig at the Okie-Dokie Corral—” Mo’ says.
“What’s that?” Dorinda asks, squinching up her nose.
“It’s the first urban rodeo,” Miggy says.
“It’s gonna be in Fort Bend County,” Mo’ volunteers.
“And they’re looking for more talent—if you wanna try out for it,” Miggy says, shrugging her shoulders.
“Let’s do it!” Chanel says excitedly.
“Um, sorry,” Ma tells them. “But these girls are headed back to New York City on Sunday.”
“Ain’t y’all from here?” Miggy asks.
“Originally,” I say quickly, wanti
ng to stop the conversation right there.
“Uncle Skeeter, Fish ’N’ Chips—y’all should try out for it!” Angie exclaims, motioning for them to get the information.
“Well, why not? I always wanted to be a hot diggity cowboy!” Mr. Fish cackles loudly.
Now that show time is just around the bend, Galleria commands us, “Let’s do the Cheetah Girls prayer!” We join hands and do our chant, which ends, “Whatever makes us clever, forever!” Then it’s time to get into position backstage.
Uncle Skeeter winks at me and Angie. “Don’t wear them out, Nettie One and Two. Leave some applause for us!”
We are ushered past production crew and guests standing in the hallway. I’m clutching the fake “Benjies” tightly in my hand. I feel jittery and jumpy. No matter how many times we’ve performed, whether it’s in the church choir or at the Apollo Theatre, it’s always scary.
Mrs. Fenilworth has taken the stage. “We have a long tradition of helping our own in Houston,” she says, “and tonight we continue that tradition, by giving these singing groups the chance to show their talents. If there’s anything we have here in Houston, it’s Texas-sized talent.”
The crowd roars, “Yeah, Houston! Yeah, Texas!”
“Our first guests are the Cheetah Girls, a singing group that hails from right here in Houston.” (Now the rest of the Cheetah Girls know how Angie and I feel every time an M.C. says we’re from New York.)
When we get onstage, I take a real good look at the crowd. I can’t believe how many people there are! When the music track kicks in, Galleria opens her umbrella, Chanel and Dorinda huddle under it with her, and Angie and I stand next to them. After two beats, we begin singing “It’s Raining Benjamins.”
At the onset of the chorus, we throw the fake money into the audience and bounce around onstage:
“It’s raining Benjamins,
for a change and some coins
It’s raining Benjamins
I heard that
It’s raining … again!”
The crowd goes wild! People are pushing each other trying to grab the fake “Benjies” that are floating through the air. After we finish the song and take our bow, we hightail it off the stage, just as we’ve been instructed. They’re still applauding, long after we get backstage!
Growl Power! (The Cheetah Girls Book 8) Page 8