Get Over It

by Nikki Carter

  Apparently, Sam is done investigating the club, and he comes backstage again. “Come on, y’all. Do you want to go the hospital with your husband?” he asks Dreya.

  She nods. “Can you bring all of us over there? I can’t do this by myself.”

  Sam ushers us all to the car, like the protector that he is, protecting us from any crowd running out of the club or those who may also have weapons.

  Dreya cries all the way to the hospital, and Bethany looks rather pale and her skin has a gray pallor. “Bethany, we’re gonna get you back to your side of the hospital, just as soon as we drop off Dreya at this door.”

  We get to the hospital door and Dreya jumps out of the car and runs into the hospital screaming uncontrollably. The nurse at the visitation station looks at Dreya and rolls her eyes.

  “You must be with that thug inside.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The nurse says, “Most of the people who’ve come in here look like you. Partygoers.”

  “Well, my husband was shot, and I wasn’t partying, I was working,” Dreya says. “I need a doctor to tell me the status of my husband. Evan Wilborn.”

  “He’s in surgery now, ma’am. You’re just going to have to hold on for a little while until he can get his surgery completed.”

  We all sit nervously holding hands in the visitors’ area waiting for anything or anyone to pop up and say that Evan is going to be fine. Doctors are emerging from all over the place, but none of them are walking toward us.

  Finally, a young female doctor who doesn’t even look as old as us walks up to our huddled together crew.

  “Mrs. Wilborn?” the doctor says. “Your husband will survive. The surgery went well. We were able to reestablish his heart functionality using a vein from his thigh.”

  “So he’s gonna be all right?”

  The doctor says, “It is touch and go right now. I can’t make any promises on whether or not he’s going to make it. Right now, you’ve got about a fifty percent chance.”

  I don’t like those odds, so I call my mother. “Mom?” I ask when she answers.

  “Mom, can you please pay for Dreya and Evan? Evan’s been shot, Mom.”

  My mother screams at the top of her lungs. “What? Where’s Dreya?”

  “Right here sitting next to me. She’s not hurt.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Then I look over to the right at Sam. His arm looks twisted a little in one place and he was limping a little bit.

  “Sam what’s up with your arm?” I ask.

  “I think it’s broken,” he says. “But I’m okay. Let them take care of the life-threatening injuries. I can’t even feel it right now. I think there’s something wrong with my leg too, but don’t worry about it.”

  “Mom, Sam’s hurt too. Put him in on the prayer!”

  I can hear my mother’s prayer through the phone. She’s praying for healing and for strength for everyone involved.

  This is gonna be bad for Club Pyramids, though. They might just get shut down this time. How is it that everyone got checked with their special wand on the floor, and someone still got in here with weaponry? No one even knows who shot first! I just know that weapons got discharged on both sides, and Evan was the only one hit.

  I refuse to put my detective skills to work on this problem, though. I’m saving all of my worry for Dreya.

  “What hospital are y’all at?” my mother asks.

  “Atlanta General. Are you coming?”

  “Yes, and keep the prayer line going.”

  Is she crazy? All we can do right now is pray. We are going to pray and push, and pray some more. Pray until something happens, my grandmother always says. So that’s what we’re doing . . . praying until Evan opens his eyes.

  24

  Shooting at Club Pyramids Leaves More Questions than Answers

  Here at Black Celebrity Gossip, we hate to report on these kinds of stories. To keep it all-the-way real, we like the kind of drama that happens on reality TV shows, but not in real life. Staff from our blog were actually on-site at the Greek Spring Step Show and concert at Club Pyramids over the weekend, and it is unclear what actually took place.

  First, let’s talk about the high points of the evening. The step show was phenom! A really cute sorority came in second place with their slamming step choreographed by Sunday Tolliver’s bestie, Gia Stokes. Sunday sang a dis song at another Spelman sorority, Gamma Phi Gamma, as the Betas stepped. Sunday gets mad respect for having her girl’s back after that unfortunate hazing incident a couple weeks back.

  Speaking of being ride or die . . . wait . . . we hate that expression “ride or die.” Why somebody gotta die? Why can’t we all live and get to spend these millions that we’ve all made?

  Evan Wilborn of Reign Records put on a solidarity concert with his three biggest stars, Sunday, Drama, and Bethany. They sang a few songs together, and it’s clear that these girls have been singing together for years. They blended so perfectly that you almost forgot they were solo artists.

  Now . . . the drama. After Evan gave a rousing speech about his label, shots were fired in the club! Some of the partygoers are being held for questioning along with Sunday’s manager, Big D, who apparently fired his gun when bullets came too close to his discovery—Sunday Tolliver. Sources say that their relationship goes beyond manager and client. Big D thinks of Sunday as his little sister and lucky charm. We hope that Big D will be exonerated, but the fact that he was even strapped in the club is going to cause him some legal issues.

  Evan Wilborn appeared to be the main target of the shooters, and he was shot four times. We’re hearing that he is out of the intensive care unit and in stable condition, which must be a relief for his new wife Drama.

  We’re praying for everyone involved. The violence has got to stop, people!

  I close the laptop and look around my living room. It looks like a disaster area with people sleeping on the furniture and on pallets on the floor. Dreya took herself into my bedroom after I forced her to lie down. She wouldn’t leave the hospital until she was forced either, but the doctor told her that Evan was fine, and that she needed to rest for her baby.

  Sam, who is sitting on the floor in front of me, asks, “You all right, babe? You need me to fix something to eat?”

  I shake my head. “Not all right, and no to the food. Big D is in jail, man. Can we get him out?”

  “Shelly’s working on it. Of course they have the bail money, it’s just that it’s the weekend, you know. A judge won’t see him until maybe Monday.”

  “I’m not going to be okay until he’s out of jail.”

  My phone buzzes with yet another text. My phone has been blowing up since last night.

  It’s Lawrence. Are you guys holding it down? How can I help?

  I ignore the text. I nearly fall off the bar stool when my front door suddenly opens. It was like I was reliving last night and needed to dive under a table or something. But it’s just my mama, Auntie Charlie, and Manny. Manny looks mad as what that someone pulled him out of the bed to come over here at the crack of dawn.

  My mother runs over to me and hugs me tight. “You are not grown! You’re coming back home where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “I’m watching out for her, ma’am,” Sam says.

  She gives him some mother-bear like side eye. “You, along with all y’all other cronies, better be glad none of mine got hurt in that mess.” She turned back to me. “I heard your daddy was there trying to be a bouncer or something.”

  “He was, but he disappeared into thin air before the police got there,” I say.

  “That fool ain’t trying to go back to prison,” Aunt Charlie says. “He’s a dummy fooling with them felons anyway. Where’s my daughter?”

  I point at my bedroom door. “In there.”

  “You got some cereal?” Manny asks. “I’on want no bacon.”

  I rummage in the cabinets until I find a box of Froot Loops that belongs to DeShawn. “You wa
nt these?” I ask.

  “I want some Cap’n Crunch, but I’ll take it.”

  DeShawn comes downstairs, dressed in his workout apparel. He scans the room and his eyes rest on Sam. I think I see a flicker of resentment, but it quickly fades.

  “Anybody need anything?” he asks. “I’m going out for a few hours.”

  “No, we’re good,” I reply before Sam gets a chance to say something ignorant.

  DeShawn leaves and my mother’s eyebrows fly up. “What exactly is going on here? How many friends you got up in here?”

  Sam answers for me. “Only one. The others are tenants.”

  My mother laughs out loud and gives Sam a high-five. “You better get your girl!”

  My mom’s laughter cracks the ice that is hovering around the room.

  I ignore my mom and Sam’s friendly banter for a moment, and I grab my laptop and bring it to the counter. I look down at my arm and see a smudge. I think it’s dirt, but when I start rubbing it, it turns red. It’s blood. I close my eyes and shake my head. It’s Evan’s blood, but it could’ve been mine.

  “Sam, do you have any frequent flier miles?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but why do you want them? You going somewhere?”

  I nod. “I’m going to New York. I’ve got some business to attend to. Lawrence made me a proposition, and I need to respond.”

  Sam looks surprised. “You want to go now? Like today?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ve got finals after that and I need to be done with this foolishness.”

  And by foolishness, I mean the industry. I mean Reign Records, I mean Epsilon, I mean all of it. I don’t want to be a star, if it means I have to be afraid for my life. I’ll take normal and alive over the fab life any day.

  25

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Sam asks. “It’s your career, Sunday.”

  One look at Sam’s cane and arm still in a sling and my decision is confirmed. All of this violence, hating, and competition is not where I want to be right now. I’m above all of it. I’m nineteen, and I want to be nineteen for crying out loud! I don’t want to be a target or in the middle of someone’s war zone. It’s not worth it.

  Turns out, Bryce’s cousin shot at Evan, and then Big D shot back at them into the crowd. A couple of innocent bystanders were hit with stray bullets. No one died, thank God. The biggest injury was to Evan, who is coming along just fine.

  “My career will still be here when I’m all done with school.”

  “You’re determined to do the collegiate thing.”

  “I am totally determined to graduate and get my law degree. Absolutely.”

  Sam puts his free arm around my shoulder and says, “Well, I support you then. I just don’t want you doing this because I got hurt.”

  “That’s part of it, but for real, Sam? I almost got hit!”

  “They were gunning for Evan, not you.”

  “I don’t care. I was in the line of fire, and they shot the gun. It’s amazing you weren’t killed.”

  Totally done with this conversation, I push open the conference room door at the Epsilon Records New York City office, where Lawrence and Caterina, another Epsilon executive, are already waiting for me.

  Lawrence stands to his feet. “Hi, Sunday! Welcome back to NYC. I know you’re a Georgia peach, but I hope you are enjoying your stay.”

  “Well, my tour guide is somewhat disabled, so I haven’t really seen much.”

  Caterina says, “Would you like us to send an intern over?”

  I chuckle and take a seat at the huge conference table. Sam and Lawrence follow suit. “No, I’m fine. It was a bad attempt at humor that obviously failed miserably.”

  Sam and I are sitting opposite Caterina and Lawrence. I can see the looks of worry on both their faces. I haven’t told them why I want to meet. I just told them that it was an emergency and that it couldn’t wait.

  “So, what is so urgent, Sunday?” Lawrence asks, finally breaking the thick layer of ice that covers the room.

  “Well, I think it’s best if I just get to it. I’ve turned in my sophomore album, and I don’t want to sign another contract. Reign Records is finito, and I just want to move on from being an artist.”

  “What about publicity for the new record?” Caterina asks.

  All of the drama that’s gone down with Epsilon, Reign Records, and Big D in the A should be enough publicity for the next ten records for real. No one needs to see my name in the headlines anytime soon.

  “I will be available for limited publicity. No tours, but maybe a few spot shows here or there.”

  “But why?” Lawrence asks. “Aside from the obvious, I mean. Nobody wants to be a part of violent or criminal activities, but you are so close to icon status, Sunday! The thing that we want for every artist could happen to you. It should happen!”

  What they’re not understanding is that I never wanted icon status. I’ve never wanted the celebrity life. This music thing was only great because it was going to pay for the collegiate thing. Guess what? My college is paid in full. I’ve got more than enough money for law school, and if I play my cards right, I’ll never be broke again.

  “My studies are suffering,” I say. “If I want to get into a good law school, I have to focus on my grades.”

  Lawrence and Caterina look at each other as if they still don’t get it.

  “Why work so hard for a job that might pay you six figures a year when you could make eight figures a year?” Caterina asks.

  “Because that’s what I want. I have enough money to live on for the rest of my life. Money doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to everyone around here.”

  “We, of course, want you to be happy,” Caterina says. “But ask yourself, could you truly live with yourself if you weren’t doing music?”

  “Oh, I plan to still write songs for other artists, and I think I’ll still make great money doing that. I just don’t want to be an artist.”

  With Bethany blowing up the charts like she is, she’s poised to be the next Britney Spears. That means more money in the bank without me ever having to grace the stage. Sounds about right to me.

  “What about you, Sam?” Lawrence asks. “What are you gonna do? Sunday not being an artists is gonna cut into your cash flow as well.”

  “We’re still a writing team, so whatever she wants to do will work for me.”

  I think Lawrence was probably hoping that Sam would influence me to keep putting out albums. He obviously is not aware of the fact that I am a Spelman free-thinking woman! No man is going to lead me until I’m someone’s wife, and that’s not happening anytime soon.

  “You don’t have to re-sign with us,” Caterina says, “but if you do decide to do another record, we retain the right of first refusal.”

  Yeah, this part I know. They basically get first dibs on my next project before any other record company. I’m cool with that. I’ve never had an issue with Epsilon. It’s the hood antics that have me shook.

  “You’ll be the first to know if I decide to work on new music, but it won’t be before I graduate.”

  “Well, I guess we’re done here. Unless there’s something we can do to convince you to stay,” Lawrence says.

  “It won’t convince me to stay, but it would go a long way with my opinion of y’all if you could help with Big D’s legal fees on the shooting.”

  “D’s girlfriend has reached out to us on that. As you know, we can’t officially contribute, because Epsilon has decided it would be best for us to not get any more involved in this criminal mess than we already are.”

  “He shot the villains.”

  “Yes, but right now the courts are trying to prove who fired first.”

  I was just asking to see what Lawrence would say. I knew his lame self wasn’t trying to help Big D. We’ve got him covered on his legal fees. Between me and Sam, we’re going to make sure he’s got the best legal counsel money can buy.

  “Even though I can’t help Big D as an age
nt of Epsilon records, I can see what I can do as his friend. Tell him not to worry.”

  I’ll believe this help when I see it. Big D trusted Lawrence once before and it all ended up in a gunfight that almost got me killed.

  I stand up from the table, and Sam does the same. “I guess we’re done here.”

  I walk around the table and shake both Lawrence’s and Caterina’s hands. The gesture seems so final, but I don’t have a problem at all with finality. I see something in Lawrence’s eyes that looks like hope. But he should know that artists are a dime a dozen. He might not find another like me, because I am definitely unique, but he’ll find someone else to keep that money flowing in. Of that much, I’m sure.

  As Sam and I walk down the New York City street, I feel a freedom that I haven’t felt in the past year. Even though I’ve still got finals ahead of me and another five years of school left, my burden is so much lighter now.

  “You want to take a subway ride?” Sam asks.

  I laugh out loud. “So now you want to be a tour guide, huh?”

  “Not really, but there’s one place I really want you to see.”

  My eyes widen with delight. “Is it a soul food restaurant? I’ve heard that there is some really good food to be had around here. How about a Jamaican restaurant?”

  “You know what, I’m in a little bit too much pain for a subway ride. Let’s take a cab where we’re going.”

  A huge smile bursts onto my face when we get out of the cab and I see we’re at the New York Aquarium. “The aquarium? Good choice Sam! This is the place I want to see!”

  We get out of the cab and Sam pays the fare and a tip. It takes him a while to get to the other side of the car on his cane, but he does finally.

  “Are you gonna be okay to walk around?” I ask.

  “When I need a break, I’ll ask you to stop, Sunday.”

  We go inside and start to look at the exhibits. Looking at the fish with Sam takes me back to the early days of our relationship when Sam and I would visit the Atlanta aquarium. It was before the fame, the fortune, the infamy, and the shootings. It was when I was a regular teenager on the come up. A time I long for, a time that I miss.