I'll Be Good to You

by Christine Gray

  “How can I be of service?”

  Her question creates a chain reaction in my mind. A smile slowly forms on my lips.

  Now I see.

  Johnny’s lies don’t hold up in the light of this new knowledge.

  “First off, thank you for taking my appointment at such short notice. I’ll get right to it. My employer requires a designer. You would be commissioned to create multiple rooms in the hope of both you and him winning the celebrity reality show, Celebrity Devine Design. Have you heard of it?”

  TIA

  This woman is going to have to forgive me for the awkward stare on my face. My eyes are bulging while I look as if she’s just sprouted two heads. Do I know the show? The question is almost laughable. Of course, I know about the goddamn show. Oh, my fucking lord! This isn’t happening to me. There is a person that wants me, me to lead up their team in an attempt to not only win the title of season two but also a million dollars to the designer along with a spread in Architectural Digest. That title will set my business up.

  I’m a fake. Well, let me explain that. I am a designer, a damn good one, but a soon to be broke one. Old Uncle Sam came a knocking to collect on my student loans. I have a teenage daughter that I’m trying to care for, while my mother does nothing but talk bullshit. I’m hemorrhaging money to keep up this façade of being great. I learned long ago, for the clients I want to net, I have to give off the illusion that I’m able to meet their expensive taste…to a degree. They don’t want a basement operating designer, and I really don’t want to work for a customer that can’t open the doors and pay me my worth.

  “Yes, I’m aware of the show. I watched it actually, but I thought it wasn’t going to return for a second season,” I answer, at last.

  “That might be so, but with my employer deciding to sign on, let’s just say the network is ready to get to taping.”

  I arch my eyebrow. “And who is your employer.”

  “He desires to remain in the dark until a designer is found, and the contract is signed. I will say that he is a top-selling singer, producer, and songwriter.”

  Fuck, that can be anyone.

  “Not knowing makes things very difficult, but I understand. He doesn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. Well,” I pause to think. “How about we chat. I 'll be happy to show you some of my work, then we’ll go from there,” I suggest.

  “Perfect.”

  Where the hell is Ryann with the drinks? His slow ass is probably worried about chipping a nail. I get to my feet, “Let’s move over here. It will make viewing the books easier.”

  I have on my confident smile when I’m shaking in my boots. Thankfully, I applied a double dose of Degree just encase I was meeting a heavy hitter, today. We’re halfway through the first scrapbook before Ryann appears.

  “You have a talent that couldn’t have all come from the classroom.”

  “Thank you,” I beam.

  Chana knows her shit. She plays dumb to get you in that spot of ease, but she’s watching and listening to every word. While some may dismiss her for not having what the masses considered beauty, she’s nothing but. Olive colored skin tone, a bit on the lanky, tall side, then you notice her Thicke, wavy black hair, freckles, and a Barbra Streisand nose that I find really cute.

  “Thank you,” she looks up from the book to take her tea. “Um, I think I’ve seen enough.”

  I make sure to steady my hand when I remove the scrapbook album from her legs. Never let them see you hungry. I say that, but I’m already mentally preparing a speech to beg for a chance.

  “Great! I’ll give you a couple of days to discuss things with-“

  “No need. I’ve been authorized to offer you a contract if I liked what I saw…and I like what I see. You can draw it up, sign it, and he will return it back to you this evening. He’s requesting to meet with whomever I pick, this evening over dinner. Taping starts in a matter of days. Will that be a problem?”

  “At such short notice,” I mumble. I let the silence into the room as if I’m worried about Brittany knowing damn well my Mama lives with us. “I’ll make a few calls, but sure.”

  Chana holds up her hand, “I know you said you’ve seen the show, but let me say a few things, okay. This is reality T.V., which means there will be drama. Add the desire to win, and you damn sure know there will be a lot. I you to be aware this is a two month commitment.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I can give it as good as it’s given with class and a smile,” I interject.

  “For some reason, I know you can,” she beams. “Also, you will be a team…working together. I’ll tell you now, he likes to win.”

  No duh, so do I, I nod.

  “Also, there will be cameras, following you, in your face, you understand me?”

  “I understand,” I nod.

  “Wonderful. Well, if you can get the contract, we’ll get this dream team formed,” she laughs.

  You don’t have to ask me twice. I slide from the expensive chair that I’m still making monthly payments on to head for my desk. This is the time when the small talk enters the room. It’s all the normal topics. How did you get into design? Where did you study? What is your list of clients? I keep up the chatter while I start up my computer to generate the contract. I have to force my fingers and my brain to remain engaged when all I want to do is get these people the hell out so I can jump, shout, and call my Mom to tell her the news.

  “Make sure to send Yosef a gift basket.”

  I chuckle at Chana’s comment. “Oh, I for sure owe him a solid.”

  “How did you two meet?” She asks.

  I don’t slow my pace while I answer. “I tutored him years ago.”

  “Oh, really? You went to Eleanor Roosevelt High? We did, too?” Chana informs me a bit excited.

  “No, no, I met Yosef at Castle Hill Middle. I needed a job after graduating. I still helped him out when he was in high school, too,” I trail off into a mumble as I concentrate on making sure the verbiage is all correct in the document.

  CHANA

  I’m having a hard time closing my mouth. For her to have tutored Yosef in middle school would mean she’s way, way older than what she looks. Glancing to my left, I do a double-take at the college diploma on the wall.

  “Hey, what does that say? The date? What’s the date?” I whisper in a rush while tapping Richey’s leg. He’s much closer to the frame on the wall than I am.

  “Class of 2004.”

  Okay, that narrows it down a little, but not enough. I tap my painted finger on my leg. I got it.

  “It’s a good thing you were able to help him out. Lord, knows I could have used some of that. Did you go to Roosevelt? If so, were you there when Coach Mitch was there?”

  “Old handsy Mitch,” I huff. “Yeah, I was there. Actually, it was my senior year when he was caught in the locker room with that girl giving him sloppy head. Oh, please excuse me.”

  I wave off her break from business attitude. Tia could have said Dumbo flew by the window, and I wouldn’t have cared. I wait until she turns her head back to her laptop before I shake Richey’s arm frantically.

  “She’s-“

  “I know.”

  “No, she’s-“

  “Shut up,” he whispers, jerking his arm away.

  “TEN YEARS older than-“

  “Alright, here you go.”

  Tia’s announcement causes us to break apart as if we weren’t just talking about her. I stand to approach her elegant desk while the printer located on the shelf behind her spits out the pieces of paper.

  “I’m signing my portion now.”

  I watch her hand glide over the signature line indicated for her name to leave a flowing, flowery signature. I take that moment to marvel over her body, her hands, her lowered head once again. Damn, the woman didn’t age one fucking bit. She can very easily pull off being in her early to mid-twenties.

  “Here you are.”

  “Thank you,” I beam. “I’m sure it will be s
igned before your evening meeting.”

  “Great. Am I to be still kept in the dark as to who I’ll be working with?”

  “Oh, I’m not going to ruin the surprise…and I’m calling Yosef, so don’t try to pry it out of him,” I tease. Reaching out my hand, I’m in a much better mental space to give her a firm shake. “It’s going to be so much fun working with you.”

  I’m not lying, either. I’m damn near giddy thinking about it. My brother has met his match.

  TIA

  I stand transfixed long after the door to the reception room is closed. I count until about 13 before I let out a scream of excitement.

  “You did it.”

  “I did it!” I repeat in a shout.

  Like kids, Ryann and I jump up and down with clasped hands.

  “Hold my mule. I’m going to shout right here,” I say, repeating a line from Pastor Sherly Ceasar.

  “Ryann held out his arm for support for me as I do my Holy Ghost dance in place.

  “Praise Him! Praise Him! Go gurl,” he sings.

  Out of breath, I stop. “We better stop playing like this, but thank You Jesus,” I shout.

  “Okay, okay, what’s the job?” He presses.

  “Weren’t you listening at the door?” I wonder.

  “Nah, I got a call on my cell,” he huffs, rolling his pretty contact eyes.

  “Well, you’ll never believe it.”

  “If you told me, I just might fuckin’ will,” he sasses.

  “It’s a spot on that designer reality show.”

  His mouth falls to hang gaping. “Bitch, you lying.”

  “No, hoe I ain’t.”

  Ryann stumbles back to flop into one of the waiting room chairs.

  “That, that show that comes on the E Channel? The one with that good-looking Spanish guy…that show?” He questions while waving his hand in the air.

  “Yes, YES, Celebrity Devine Design,” I reply in a rush of excitement.

  Ryann’s eyes bulge as he works his slack mouth, but no words, just sounds of disbelief are coming out.

  “Yes, Boo- Kitty…I know right,” I beam.

  “You know what this means for you?”

  “What it means for us,” I correct him as I wag my finger between us. “It means that we are going to be on TV. It means that we will be working with and meeting famous people. It means that we are going to bleed this for all it’s worth, and we’re going to make a name for ourselves.”

  “That’s right mama,” remarks Ryann in only a way a dramatic trans can. “We are going to Cardi B the shit out of the opportunity. Not only are we going to win, but we are going to be flaming bright. So, who’s the celebrity we’re teaming up with?”

  I shrug. “Hell, if I know, and who gives a fuck. I’ll let you know after I have dinner with the guy tonight.”

  “True dat. Wait, so it’s a guy. Oh, gurl! What if you can work that shit and make some kinda love connection,” he comments while getting to his feet. His level of excitement just raised to a new height.

  “Boy, get the hell out of here with that crap,” I frown. “I’m not even entertaining that thought. I’m just focusing on the exposure and winning,” I inform him.

  “You’re right. You’re right. No need to give your candy off the shelves when we need to be focusing on securing the store.”

  “Now, you’re thinking. What I look like fucking whoever this guy is and lose out on this opportunity of really establishing this business?” I explain.

  “We’re on the same page,” he promises. “Now, I need to make sure our clothes and hair are on point.

  “You do that. I’m cutting out early to go home,” I say as I jog towards my office down the hall. “I can’t wait to tell Mama and Brit,” I shout to make sure my words reach him.

  I don’t have to tell Ryann to get his shit and leave. I can already hear him opening and slamming drawers. I have full confidence in his ability to have us camera ready. No doubt he’s going to bless a few of his close friends by asking them to create designer outfits for us to wear. On the first day of filming, he will have pulled together a hair and makeup team, too. This is a come up for not just he and I, but for everyone that’s had our back since day one. Once the door has been opened, it will be up to each and every one of them to make connections of their own.

  “Alright, I’m out,” I bellow as I head for the exit.

  “Okay, oh, ah what put them on your scent, anyway?”

  His question causes me to lean back into the office.

  “Yosef,” I chuckle before walking out to allow the door to close behind me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JOHNNY

  I’m about to pull my hair out. For the last hour, Fatbo- excuse me, Ruban has been closer than my own shadow. Seems that the network had been on the fence about green lighting season 2, but it’s all steam ahead if he can get me to sign on. Needless to say, he’s going to be up my ass till he gets the contract as proof for the network that he isn’t full of shit.

  “Chana!” I sigh in relief. Coming out of the makeup artist chair. “Here she is,” I point out to Ruban.

  “Please tell me you found a designer,” cries Ruban.

  “I sure did,” smiles Chana.

  Don’t think I don’t notice the slickness tied to her smile. She’s holding her tongue. Going into her genuine leather bag, she produces, and hands over the stapled papers.

  “Man, if you don’t step the hell back,” I grumble as I rub my neck in hopes of removing the heat of his breath.

  “S-sorry,” Ruban mumbles while shifting his weight on his feet. “So, um…are you going to sign?”

  “I have no doubt he will,” smirks Chana.

  I ignore my sister to take the pen Ruban is shoving in my face. Giving me his back, I press on it to sign Tia’s contract. Quickly, he produces the network's contract. I put my chicken scratch on that one, too.

  “Yes, oh my God, man! You have saved my ass and the asses of so many people needing a paycheck. Thank you.” He pauses to think twice about bear hugging me. “Yes, right so, I’ll get your filming schedule over to the director.”

  With a spring in his step, he leaves me with Chana with her shit-eating grin. I wait till I turn away to roll my eyes. I know it’s coming.

  “So, the designer checked out?”

  “Oh, you mean Tia,” she mocks. “Checked out as a designer or your next booty call?”

  I ease myself into the chair. “What was your impression?”

  Chana doesn’t answer until she’s leaning back against the pop-up styling table with the huge mirror and bright lights.

  “Tia is an amazing designer. I really think, no, I know you’re going to give the others on the show a run for the money.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” I say with enthusiasm while getting to my feet.

  Chana steps in front of me. “But,” she stresses while holding up her hand to block me from moving way.

  Sighing, I sit back down.

  “As a fuck and suck, no. She’s not the one.”

  I arch my eyebrow. “Not to say that’s my plan, but why not?”

  She scoffs. “Please, John. It’s me you’re talking to, but if you wanna play dumb, go ahead.”

  “I don’t have all day to draw this out. You got something to say, say it,” I order.

  “I think I just did. Tia is not the one. Period.”

  “Why?” My question comes out a little more forceful than I wanted.

  “Because she’s a lot more than you can handle.”

  Oh, shit. Chana just stepped in it. Scooting to the edge of the uncomfortable chair, we’re no longer talking like boss and manager. We’re getting ready to scrap like sister and brother.

  “What that’s supposed to mean?”

  “What it means is she’s got a kid.”

  The tension that was building in me eases up a bit. “I’m not looking for a wife.”

  “And that’s what I’m trying to say. Tia isn’t a playth
ing.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s fucked around,” I tell her.

  “Hell, everyone needs their tires rotated every now and then. Who cares, but that’s a whole lot of woman,” she warns.

  “You think I can’t handle her,” I chuckle. “Man, she must have made one helluva impression on you.”

  “Listen, she has her crap together, at least I think she does. Anyway, this is a great opportunity for her. I don’t think she gonna munk it up with fucking with you. That isn’t a dumb chick riding your jock. She’s a full-grown woman,” she explains.

  “It’s just a little fun, Chana. Tia gets something. I’ll get something. Hell, even Ruban and whatever charity my winnings will go to will get something. We all fuckin’ win at the end of the day.”

  Chana shakes her head, sickeningly. “You’re one low down, dirty, dried-up piece of shit,” she growls. “You remember when you were hell-bent on catching that dumb fish? You wasted weeks out on that fish creek. Then when you finally got it on the hook, you couldn’t reel it in.”

  I chuckle while rubbing my chin. Licking my lips, “I won’t have a problem getting Tia on my pole,” I whisper with a wink.

  “Whatever you say, but just like with that fish, you hooked it then you didn’t know what the hell to do. You lost your pole, ended up being out of 12 dollars worth of bait, and your pride hurt.”

  “Thanks for your input,” I reply with a smirk.

  Chana tosses her hands up in the air. A huge smile causes her face to shine. “No sweat off my back. I just don’t want you to come crying to me and asking why I didn’t try to cock block you. Either way, I’m going to enjoy watching everything go down from my front row seat.”