“I understand, Ms….”
“Just call me Dorothea, darling. What do you think—could you give it a whirl?”
We can tell the lady is warming up to Ms. Dorothea, just like everybody else does. ”I’II see what I can do,” she says. “But you see all these people on line—they’re invited guests of Mariah’s, so I really can’t promise you anything.”
The lady walks away, and Galleria starts to chuckle. “Mom, you are just shameless.”
“Well, shame on her for not inviting us in immediately!” Ms. Dorothea huffs.
“Back to the waiting game,” I moan, leaning on the wall and getting comfortable again.
“Sing a song for us, Tiffany,” Chanel says to Dorinda’s half sister.
Poor Tiffany looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Lord forgive us, but we would rather be chased by a wild pack of coyotes than have to listen to her sing another song—her voice is terrible!
“Why don’t you sing the new song you wrote about Dorinda and me?” Tiffany answers, smirking. “Bet you didn’t know I knew about that one, huh, mamacita?”
That really gets us laughing—but not for the reason Tiffany thinks. She sounds so funny when she tries to talk like Dorinda and Chanel! Tiffany opens her pink knapsack and pulls out a pack of Twinkies—the third pack she’s eaten since we’ve been at the concert! Since we’re all pretty hungry, we stare at the Twinkies like they’re lamb chops dripping with mint jelly!
“You want one?” Tiffany asks Nestor, who seems like he’s gonna chomp it right out of her hand.
“Yeah!” he says, grateful.
“Okay, so lemme hear you sing the song,” Tiffany says, not letting us off the hook.
“Okay, here’s our song—I wrote it especially for you and Miss Dorinda,” Galleria says, motioning for us to get into singing formation. “Are you ready, Cheetah Girls?”
“Ready for Freddy,” I reply. And we start to sing:
“Dorinda’s got a secret
and it’s cutting off her flow
(Is that right, girlita?)
According to our sources,
She thought we didn’t know
(Kats and Kittys, you’d better take notes)
Today for the first time (the very first time)
Do’ Re Mi found out that she’s not alone
(What are you saying?)
She found out she’s got a sister
And it’s making her moan and groan!
Do’ Re Mi on the Q.T
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
(That ain’t swell)
Do’ Re Mi on the Q.T.
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
(Why won’t you tell?)”
Dorinda’s foster brothers and sisters are clapping along, and they seem to enjoy it as much as the other people waiting outside Mariah’s dressing room. Tiffany is beaming from ear to ear, too.
See, Galleria whipped up the lyrics to this particular song after Dorinda met Tiffany for the first time. Tiffany had found out she was adopted, and had a half sister in foster care, so she went and tracked Dorinda down. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to have a sister suddenly pop up out of nowhere—and a white sister at that!
It must be real confusing for Dorinda sometimes, to keep up with all that goes on in her family life. Anyway, Dorinda didn’t tell us about meeting Tiffany—not until Tiffany showed up at the Battle of the Divettes competition at the Apollo Theatre and waited for us outside. (There is always some drama going on with the Cheetah Girls, that’s for sure.)
“Wow, you are such a dope songwriter!” Tiffany exclaims to Galleria.
“Well, thank you, mamacita!” Galleria riffs back, imitating Tiffany.
“You girls are good!” says this lady wearing a caftan—kinda like the ones Daddy’s girlfriend, High Priestess Abala Shaballa, wears.
“Yes, we have a singing group called the Cheetah Girls,” I tell the lady proudly. Usually Galleria is the one who speaks for us, but it feels good speaking out myself for a change.
“Are you waiting for Mariah?” the lady continues. “Is she gonna help you?”
Now I feel embarrassed, and the words get stuck in my throat.
“No, we’re just here on a social tip,” Galleria says; piping up.
Suddenly I feel stupid. Galleria is always the one who knows just what to say to people. Just like her mother.
“I design the dancers’ costumes, so let me know if you need any work done,” the lady goes on to explain.
“Our manager makes our costume,” Galleria says proudly, pointing to Ms. Dorothea.
“Oh, is that right?” the lady says, like she’s embarrassed. Then she heaves a deep sigh. “I wish they would hurry up so I can get Mariah to sign her album for my grandson—he just loves her to death.”
“We do too!” Tiffany blurts out. “Maybe you can help us meet her.”
Dorinda seems uncomfortable about what Tiffany’s said. “Well, maybe we’ll just go home after all—it is getting late.”
Just then, the door to Mariah’s dressing room opens again, and the lady with the clipboard motions for Ms. Dorothea. She whispers something in her ear, and the next thing we know, it’s like Moses parted the Red Sea—because we’re being ushered inside!
I grab Angle’s hand real tight. “We can stay for five minutes,” Ms. Dorothea whispers to us. On that cue, Galleria pulls her camera out of her bag, and we move our caravan forward. Mrs. Bosco motions to Nestor and Shawn to keep everybody quiet. We are so excited we can hardly stand it. My heart is thumping in my chest!
When we get inside Mariah’s dressing room (which feels like it’s half the size of the arena), the first thing we see is millions of flowers. At first we don’t see Mariah, because a crowd of people are fussing around her. “She has to go to the Angel Ball as soon as she leaves here,” the clipboard lady tells Ms. Dorothea.
Now I catch a glimpse of Mariah—she is wearing a beautiful pink taffeta gown covered in silk butterflies!
“I bet you that’s a Dolce & Gabbana gown,” Galleria says, eyeing it carefully. Galleria knows a whole lot of stuff about fashion that Angie and I don’t—but we sure can tell from here that the gown looks like “diva material.”
We wait quietly until the lady motions for us to be introduced to Mariah. Mrs. Bosco is introduced first, and Mariah’s face beams brightly as she shakes Mrs. Bosco’s hand and looks at Gaye. She bends over to talk to Gaye, but Gaye tries to hide behind Mrs. Bosco’s dress. Mariah stands there like a statue, and finally Gaye looks at her. “Hi, Gaye,” Mariah says softly.
Gaye stretches out her arms for Mariah to hug her. I feel the tears forming in my eyes. After they finish hugging, the lady introduces us to Mariah. I am so nervous, I can’t even hear the sound of my voice.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Mariah says to us. She is so pretty, we can’t stop staring at her. I can’t believe we are standing here with Mariah Carey!
“Um, girls, let me take a picture of you with Mariah—if that’s all right with you, Miss Carey?” Ms. Dorothea asks. Thank goodness she knows how to be professional while we stand there gawking!
“Of course.” The five of us stand with Mariah, and Ms. Dorothea takes a picture. Galleria motions for her to take another.
“Hold your horses, darling—I’ve been at this rodeo before,” Ms. Dorothea chuckles as she snaps the second picture. That causes Mariah to giggle.
“Can we take one, too?” Nestor asks.
The lady with the clipboard motions for Mrs. Bosco and Dorinda’s foster brothers and sisters to stand with Mariah, so that Ms. Dorothea can take a picture. After that, the lady tells us, “Ms. Carey has to get to the ball now. Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for singing!” Chantelle blurts out.
“You’re welcome.” Mariah beams at her.
“Um, excuse me—can my, um, sister take a picture with you, too?” Dorinda squeaks and looks at Tiffany.
The lady with the clipboard is tryin
g to be nice, so she lets Tiffany and Dorinda take a picture with Mariah. Tiffany is grinning more than the Easter Bunny does when he’s delivering his eggs. I mean, she is grinning so much, her cheeks are red!
When we get back outside Mariah’s dressing room, we look at the people standing there waiting, and we feel like we’ve won the lottery! The lady with the clipboard tells the security guard that no one else will be allowed into the room, because Mariah has another engagement to attend.
“What is the Angel Ball?” Galleria asks her mom as we walk away. “Sounds like we should be there.”
“If you had a thousand dollars to buy a ticket, you could attend, darling,” Ms. Dorothea quips.
“A thousand dollars?! What kind of ball is it?” Chanel asks.
“It’s a charity benefit, thrown by songwriter Denise Rich, and all the monies raised are donated to cancer research,” Ms. Dorothea explains. “Ms. Rich’s daughter died of cancer at a young age.”
“I can’t wait till we can go to balls,” Chanel says wistfully.
“As long as you don’t pirouette down the red carpet, Chuchie,” Galleria riffs, reminding Chanel how she injured herself. “I can’t wait to see the pictures we took with Mariah. “Can you get the film developed tomorrow?” Dorinda asks Galleria.
“I’m on it, doggone it,” Galleria heckles. “I know you can’t wait to get your grubby little paws on the photo ops!” When we went to Houston, Dorinda bought a cheetah photo album, and she is now officially the keeper of the Cheetah Girls scrapbook.
“Can I have a copy too?” Tiffany asks nervously. “I want to show it to my mom. She’s not gonna believe I got a picture with Mariah Carey!”
“A picture is worth a thousand memories,” Ms. Dorothea says, beaming at us.
“This one’s gonna be worth more like a trazillion!” Galleria heckles.
“And a whole lot more!” Angie says, joining in the afterglow.
Once we get to the street, we kiss each other good night. “See you in the morning,” I yell after Galleria, Chanel, and Dorinda.
“See you later, mamacitas!” Tiffany shouts after me and Angie. Mr. Garibaldi is dropping Tiffany off at home, and she sure seems happier than a pig in a poke.
“Daddy, I think we should plaster our bedroom with copies of the photos, don’t you?” I kid him as we climb into a cab.
“Let’s just start with the poster, and we’ll see,” he says calmly.
It sure is hard getting a rise out of him. I guess he’s older, so he doesn’t know what it means to us, to meet someone as important as Mariah Carey.
Almost as if reading my mind, he pipes up, “I’ll never forget the time I saw Miles Davis playing at Smokey Johnson’s Cafe. Man, now that was something to see.”
“When was that?” Angie asks.
“Oh, a long time ago, when I had another life—before y’all were born,” Daddy says, like he’s unsure of himself.
“What do you mean, ’another life’?” I ask.
“Just what I said—another life,” Daddy says, and doesn’t continue.
Angie and I look at each other, then shrug our shoulders. I guess he means when he was younger. He sure is acting strange tonight, though—not at all like himself. Maybe it’s because he isn’t feeling well.
“Did you like the concert?” Angie asks, yawning.
“Yes, I did—she sure is something special.”
“She sure is….” I say, closing my eyes and letting myself fall asleep.
When we reach our house, I wake up out of my stupor, and realize I was dreaming about the scary Bogo Mogo Warrior Mask that High Priestess Abala Shaballa gave Daddy as a present. It’s this big ugly mask that looks like the head of a space alien, with bright-red marks across the cheeks. Daddy hung it up right at the foot of the stairs, so every time we go up or come down, it scares me to death.
High Priestess Abala says when the markings change colors, it means it’s time for Hexagone to reign once again, and the world will become a more magical place. In the meantime, it’s supposed to watch over us and keep away evil spirits. Well, I know that’s not true, because High Priestess Abala is still here, hanging off Daddy like he’s a prize she won at the county fair!
Up in our bedroom, Angie and I say our prayers, then tape our prized Mariah Carey poster up over the bureau. We stare at it from across the room in our twin beds, then turn off the night lamp.
“Can you help me with my math homework tomorrow?” Angie asks in the dark. I like math and chemistry more than she does, which is why I would make a good forensic pyschologist—because I like to analyze things to death.
“Yeah, I will,” I sigh, then lay my head down on my pillow, thinking about what Daddy said to me at the Garden. “Daddy told me we can invite Dorinda and her family over for dinner—after he redecorates the living room with High Priestess Abala. Can you believe that?”
“Believe what—that he’s gonna let eleven kids eat in our dining room?”
“No, that he’s going to redecorate the living room!”
“No, I can’t believe it!” Angie moans. “And I must say, I’m getting awfully worried about that woman coming around here too much. I don’t like it one bit.”
“Neither do I—and I don’t see why she has to be all up in our business—after all the work Daddy did, and all the money he spent decorating this apartment the first time.” I can feel myself getting more upset by the minute. “Daddy just doesn’t seem like himself anymore.”
“He sure doesn’t,” Angle says, concerned.
“Maybe that’s why he’s letting Abala talk him into bringing more ugly things into this house.”
“We’d better mention it in our prayers,” Angie says. And so we climb down from our beds and kneel on the floor to say our prayers—again.
“God, please don’t let Daddy bring home any more Bogo Mogo Warrior Masks, or kooky decorations,” I say.
Angie finishes the prayer for me. “Because we like everything just fine the way it is.”
And then we both say, “Amen!”
Chapter
4
Of course, we can’t wait to gloat to everyone at Drinka Champagne’s Conservatory about our fabulous evening with Mariah Carey. We start in bragging as soon as we come through the door—with the receptionist, Miss Winnie. She has the same name as our deceased paternal grandmother, so you know we just love her to death—ha, ha, that’s just a joke!
“You girls keep it up, and soon we won’t be seeing any more of you,” Miss Winnie says, peering over her silver-rimmed glasses. “You’ll be sending us postcards from the road, complete with little red kisses in the corners!”
“Yeah, right—we haven’t even heard a quack attack from Def Duck Records,” Galleria says, waving her hand. “Now that Chanel is on crutches, it’s just as well.”
Poor Chanel looks sheepish when Galleria says this, but Miss Winnie doesn’t say another bo-peep.
“Don’t you worry, Miss Winnie, we won’t be getting any bigheaded ideas like that any time soon—not as long as I still need work on my upper register,” huffs Dorinda.
“I know what you’re saying,” I say. Then I notice the hurt look on Dorinda’s face.
“I’m not that bad,” she huffs back at me.
“No, I didn’t mean you—I meant all of us need practice!” I say, embarrassed that Dorinda took it the wrong way. I just hate to hurt anybody’s feelings, least of all Dorinda’s. From the beginning, she has been nothing but kind to me and Angie—even when Galleria and Chanel were making fun of us. (We’ve never said anything, but we know they used to call us “the Huggy Bear twins” behind our backs!)
Miss Winnie smooths over the situation quickly. “Honey, after hearing Mariah Carey sing, we all should practice for ninety-nine years before we even step up to a microphone and call ourselves cute.”
I almost open my mouth to say, “I know what you’re saying” again—but Angie pokes me in the side. Thank goodness my better half knows how to shut my mou
th sometimes.
Luckily, Dorinda is chuckling right along with Miss Winnie. “Were you a singer, too?” she asks, curious.
“Was?” Miss Winnie says, primping her hair. “I still give them fever—in church, anyway.”
“Hi, Miss Winnie,” announces Danitra, one of the other students who takes vocal class with us. She has hot-pink hair, and is in a group called Think Pink.
“Hi, Danitra, how are you doin’?” I ask.
“I could puke,” Danitra blurts out. “We just found out there’s another group called Pink, and the lead singer has pink hair!”
“So go yellow, mellow,” Galleria tells the poor girl.
Danitra waves her hand, and runs her fingers through her hair. “How are you doing, Chanel?” Danitra asks when she sees the crutches. It’s the first Saturday since she had the accident that Chanel has been back to vocal practice.
“Fine!” Chanel says excitedly, then practically attacks Danitra with her crutches as she tells her every last detail about the Mariah Carey concert.
“You did not get to meet her!” Danitra squeals with disbelief.
“Sí, mamacita!” Chanel counters. “You shoulda seen all the flowers in her dressing room, and the butterflies fluttering on her gown—not the one she performed in, but afterward.” Chanel makes it sound like we went to the party with Mariah!
“How did you get free tickets?” Danitra asks, still trying to figure out if we are telling a fib-ulous tale. If you ask me, I think Miss Pink-haired Danitra has been bitten by the green-eyed monster.
I just hope Chanel doesn’t blurt out the truth. Dorinda is already mad enough at us for telling everybody at Kats and Kittys about her foster home situation. See, at our last meeting, the Kats members voted for Dorinda’s foster mother, Mrs. Bosco, to receive a charitable donation from our volunteer fund, to be used for Gaye’s welfare. Dorinda almost blew a gasket afterward. We felt terrible.
Luckily, we are saved by the bell—or rather, by the director of the conservatory herself—the former disco diva, Miss Drinka Champagne. “I see you girls are getting into the mix with your usual tricks,” Miss Drinka says, chuckling, when she sees us cackling with Danitra.
In the House with Mouse! Page 3