Chapter
9
Just as we’re all leaving our apartment to go to Ms. Dorothea’s for dinner, the phone rings. It’s probably Ma, I think to myself. She must be crawling with crickets because we didn’t call her today!
Angie rushes to answer the phone, but I wrestle it from hen I’m sorry, but I still don’t trust Angie to talk to Ma yet. She might tell her about what happened, even though Daddy said not to.
“Hello?” The blood drains from my face like a vampire when I hear the voice of High Priestess Abala Shaballa, the woman who hurt our Daddy in the name of love.
“Daddy doesn’t want to speak to you anymore, so please don’t call our House,” I mutter into the phone. I know Daddy can’t hear me, because he went to get his Cadillac out of the garage, but I still feel nervous about messing in grown-ups’ business.
The High Priestess starts talking, in that breathy voice of hers that makes her sound supernatural. “Well, I do declare, um—”
“It’s Aquanette,” I say politely.
“Well, Aquanette, perhaps you’d better let me speak to your father. I can see you don’t understand—”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, we understand all right. As a matter of fact, we overstand, because we don’t take too kindly to you putting a stupid love spell on our father. He’s through with you and your brews,” I shout. “So go park your broomstick somewhere else! Good-bye!”
“I see,” Abala says, like she’s embarrassed. “You’re quite mistaken, but perhaps I’ll call—”
“No, you don’t understand,” I huff, “if you call here again, we’re reporting you to the FBI, the CIA, and UFO headquarters!”
“UFO?” Abala repeats, balking.
“Yes, ma’am—because you’re definitely from another planet! Personally, we suggest that you go back to Hexagonia for a brushup course, ’cuz your witchcraft skills stink!”
High Priestess Abala Shaballa hangs up in my ear.
“You think shell call back here?” Angie asks as we walk to Daddy’s car.
“I don’t think so,” I answer firmly. “She has definitely flown the coop!”
By the time we get to Galleria’s apartment on the Upper East Side, we have forgotten all about High Priestess Abala—and I hope she has forgotten about us! We’re excited, because this is the first time we’re having dinner at the Garibaldis’. I plan on having a good time, and maybe even being nice to Miss Galleria after yesterday’s drama.
“You’re not still mad at Galleria, are you?” pesty Angie asks me as Daddy’s parking the car near Galleria’s apartment building on Sixty-seventh Street.
“She can have Eddie Lizard if she wants,” I say, acting nonchalant. “He’s too skinny for me anyway.”
Angie chuckles her silly little laugh, and leaves me alone. I swear, she has a mind like a meat cleaver!
“Wazzup, buttercup?” Galleria says, when she opens the door and sees me and Angie. I feel myself cringe inside. Is this another one of Galleria’s Southern slanders? She probably thinks we make butter out of buttercup flowers in our backyard!
“Hi, Galleria,” Angie says, giving her a kiss on both cheeks the way Mr. Garibaldi does it. Galleria giggles, and does it to me. I kiss her back—on both cheeks—because I know I’m being ree-diculous.
Mr. Garibaldi’s face lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees us. “I’m so happy to see my caras again—especially sitting at my dinner table,” Mr. Garibaldi says, kissing us both twice on each cheek, which causes us to giggle again. “And how are you feeling, Mr. Walker?”
Daddy clears his throat and nods his head, saying, “Fine, fine.” I think Daddy must be embarrassed that Mr. Garibaldi picked him up from the hospital-even though we’ve assured him that we didn’t tell Ms. Dorothea or Mr. Garibaldi one bo-peep about his love spell, or uncrossing the hex.
It’s funny, but in the four months we’ve known her, we’ve never been in Galleria’s apartment before—we always hang out down at Ms. Dorothea’s store, Toto in New York—or at Chanel’s mom’s loft, which has its own dance studio. The Garibaldis’ place is just like I imagined it—the most beautiful animal kingdom in the world. “Oh, this is real nice,” I tell her quietly as I look around.
“Ooo, look, even the candles are cheetah!” Angie exclaims, pointing at the huge cheetah wax candles in their cheetah candlestick holders.
Galleria’s face lights up, like she just got an idea. “Wazzup, buttercup—that could be a line in the new song I’m writing!” She picks up her Kitty Kat notebook and plops down on the couch, scribbling away. Dorinda and Chanel are sitting on the couch, too—playing Scrabble.
“Don’t get up!” I shout at Chanel. She breaks into a big grin. “It sure doesn’t take much for you to start hopping around—and we don’t want that!” Then I turn to Dorinda.
“Dorinda, where is your, um, family?” I ask, surprised when I see that she is by herself.
“Mrs. Bosco called and said she’ll bring the kids another time. She wanted me to spend time alone with my crew,” Dorinda says, breaking into a grin. I can sure tell that she’s relieved she isn’t “baby-sitting” tonight. “We got the Mariah photos,” she adds proudly, pulling out the Cheetah Girls scrapbook that she has started for us.
“Oooh, she looks beautiful even in the photo,” I gasp, as I look at the picture of us with Mariah Carey in her dressing room.
“Lemme see!” Mr. Garibaldi says excitedly. He stares at the photos, exclaiming, “Ah, ché bella!”
“We do look dope together, right?” Dorinda says proudly.
“Ay, Madonna! I forgot the clams oreganato!” Mr. Garibaldi cries, then runs back to the kitchen to get his Italian creation out of the oven.
“Daddy should have his own cooking show,” Galleria says, looking up from her notebook for a second.
“I saw you yesterday with Eddie Lizard,” Chanel whispers in my ear. “Aqua has her first crush!”
“I do not,” I whisper back. I cannot believe she is saying this with Galleria sitting right over there on the sofa! “You have a crush on him.”
“I do not!” Chanel says, her brown eyes getting bigger than Ring Dings. ”Well, maybe for a second—but then I remembered, I’m saving myself for Krusher!”
Angie snickers, and I cut my eyes at her. Krusher is Chanel’s favorite singer—but not ours.
Meanwhile, Ms. Dorothea drops a pan, and it makes a loud noise, almost scaring us to death. We’re all still jumpy after the weekend’s events. Ms. Dorothea sticks her head out of the kitchen and snaps, “Galleria, please put the good glasses on the table like I asked you to. And get your nose out of that notebook!”
Galleria reluctantly obeys.
“It would be one thing if you were doing your homework, but I know you’re writing a song,” Ms. Dorothea continues, shooing their dog Toto into the kitchen to eat his dinner from his bowl. “My goodness, you probably have enough songs to give to the Goodwill by now!”
Oooh, I know that hurt! I never heard Ms. Dorothea fussing at Galleria before about writing songs. I guess Galleria must have done something to upset her mom, and I’m sure we’re gonna hear about it later tonight, when we go into the chat room on the Internet for our Cheetah Girls Council meeting.
“Done, diddly, done, Mom,” Galleria says, jumping up and plopping her Kitty Kat notebook on the chair. “Someone find me the key to the doghouse, pleez!”
“Well, one more phone call from that amphibian boy, and you’ll be living in a snake pit!” Ms. Dorothea hisses. “Back in my day, a boy called the house once a day to keep the doctor away—not every hour, like he’s on the admitting team in ER!”
We gather from the tone in Ms. Dorothea’s voice that Eddie Lizard must be wearing out his welcome with Ma Bell—at least at the Garibaldi residence! Galleria clams up, and keeps rubbing one of the glasses with a napkin, like she’s removing an invisible spot.
“That’s enough, Galleria!” Ms. Dorothea snaps. “You’d think you were rubbing Aladdin’s lamp
to make three wishes!”
“The glasses are beautiful,” Dorinda pipes up. “Thank you—we got them at the Galleria,” Ms. Dorothea says, then lets out a little smile.
“Oh? When did you go to the Galleria?” I ask, surprised. I know Ms. Dorothea wanted to come down to Houston for Thanksgiving, but had to stay and work on her winter collection for her store.
“Darling, I mean the Galleria in Milan.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “I didn’t know they had a Galleria in Milan—um, Italy?” I know Bubbles was named after the Galleria Mall in Houston. Ms. Dorothea told us that the first time we met her.
“Oh, you didn’t know, Aquanetta?” Mr. Garibaldi says, his eyes lighting up. “The original Galleria is in Milano—it’s been there for centuries. The one in Houston is copied after that—the gigantic, glasslike roof, the marvelous cafes, everything. But they are both beautiful, of course!”
“We didn’t even know that, and we’re from Houston,” Angie exclaims, impressed.
“Are you ready for a feast?” Mr. Garibaldi says, “because this is one you’ll never forget.”
“Yes, we are!”
Finally, Ms. Dorothea plops herself down at the head of the dining room table, and massages her temples like she has a headache. “What a day I had Queen Latifah’s stylist came in, and worked my store over like a rattlesnake in sand! I mean, she left not one grain unturned. I have nothing left to sell but a few boas!”
“Word?” Dorinda responds, amused. She majors in fashion design at school, so she’s very into it, and laps up everything Ms. Dorothea says like a cat with a bowl of condensed milk.
Mr. Garibaldi sets all the food on the table, and we start salivating. Whatever he calls the dish he’s made, it looks dee-licious.
“Lobster fra diavolo, just like my mother used to make for us on Sundays,” Mr. Garibaldi says proudly. “Believe me, this recipe has been in the Garibaldi family long before that other Garibaldi freed Rome!”
“What other Garibaldi?” Angie asks, curious.
“In Italy, he’s like our Martin Luther King. You know, a hero who fought for the people and led a revolution,” Galleria explains proudly.
“Is that right?” Daddy asks, sucking up his pasta dish. I can’t believe how much Daddy is eating—like a horse after winning the Kentucky Derby!
The phone rings, and Galleria jumps up to get it. “No, I’ll get it,” Ms, Dorothea says firmly, standing up—and almost touching the ceiling because she is so tall. “I’m warning you now, Galleria, if that Lizard boy is calling you again, then I’m calling Batman and having him thrown out of Gotham!”
“What’s he calling for?” Dorinda asks, raising her eyebrows innocently Bless her heart, I don’t think Dorinda even knows exactly what’s going on!
“Oh, he just wants to talk about a little something, something,” Galleria says, without looking up from her plate.
“Yeah, well, it sounds like a whole lot of nothing, nothing, if you ask me!” Ms. Dorothea huffs as she picks up the phone.
Angie and I look at each other, and I know we’re thinking the same thing: Can you believe the telephone is cheetah, too?
“Hello?” Ms. Dorothea says, in her sweet phone voice.
I look at Galleria, but she’s trying to act like she doesn’t care who’s on the phone.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Mouse Almighty! Pardon me for saying this, but fancy hearing from you at dinnertime on a Sunday night!”
I almost choke on the strand of linguini I’m sucking into my mouth. Now all five of us look at each other, like, “She did not say Mouse Almighty, the producer from Def Duck Records, did she!?!”
“Oh, we’re just having some lobster fra diavolo, clams oreganato, and homemade gelato with chocolate cannolis for dessert—but nothing special, just another Sunday dinner.”
Ms. Dorothea walks back to the dinner table with the phone. “Oh, heavens, no. I couldn’t cook an egg with a timer. No, my husband gets all the credit. Perhaps we can tempt you… . No? Okay, but I insist you come another time. Yes, yes, I understand. It must be difficult. Yes, the girls will be delighted. Ill check with their schedule and get back to you. Hmm. Hmm. Good-bye.”
We stare at Ms. Dorothea like she has swallowed the fortune cookie with the fortune still inside.
“Was that the Mouse?” Galleria asks, like she’s holding her breath.
“Yes, Mouse is definitely in the house,” Ms. Dorothea says slowly, picking up her fork to resume eating her dinner.
“Where is he?” Galleria asks, like she’s bursting.
“He’s in the park, feeding pigeons,” Ms. Dorothea says, smirking. “Where do you think he is—in the studio, where we have to go see him!”
“Omigod!” I say, letting out a big sigh.
“I must say, these music biz people are strange birds,” Ms. Dorothea says, shaking her head. “He says he’s been up all night finishing Kahlua’s album, but in the next breath he says he’s ready to get the Cheetah Girls into the studio. I don’t think he knew what day of the week it was, or what time.”
“Well, we know what time it is!” Galleria shrieks, beside herself—and believe me, she’s not alone! Angie and I can barely sit still in our chairs! If our daddy wasn’t here, we would get up and start “whoopin’ and hollerin’.” ’Cuz believe me, this news is something to get excited about. Hee-haw!
“So, when are you girls available to go into the studio?” Ms. Dorothea asks, but she already knows the answer.
“Tomorrow at sunrise!” Galleria shouts out.
“Well, we have a little matter that I didn’t want to discuss with Mouse,” Ms. Dorothea says, looking right at Chanel. “There is no need for Mouse Almighty to know about Chanel’s little ballet escapade.”
Chanel turns five shades of red, and begins to protest. “But, Madrina—”
“No buts, Chanel—especially after you landed on yours during that audition!” Ms. Dorothea continues, like a locomotive couldn’t stop her if it tried. “We’re going to wait until Chanel can walk without crutches, which shouldn’t be more than another week.”
“I can walk without them now! Te juro—I swear! I only use them because Mamí makes me!” Chanel’s big brown eyes are pleading like a puppy dog’s.
“Well, I’m going to call Mouse back tomorrow, and make an appointment for next week. That will give you all time to practice together, and for Chanel to get her balance back. Is that a deal?”
“A wheela-deala!” Galleria says.
“Ma che fortuna! Look at the luck that Sunday dinner together brought you,” exclaims Mr. Garibaldi. He’s waving his fork and knife in both hands, like a kid who just got a big, shiny, red Mack truck for his birthday!
“You are right, Mr. Garibaldi—this is a feast well never forget!” I say. I’m so grateful for everything—for being in the Cheetah Girls, for helping Daddy come back to his senses, and for living in New York City—even though we miss Ma terribly.
“At long last, we’re in the house with Mouse!” Galleria says, reaching over to hug her mother. “And that definitely means mo’ betta chedda for the Cheetah Girls!”
Do’ Re Mi on the Q.T.
This is Galleria and this is Chanel
We are coming to you live
From Cheetah Girls Central
Where we process the data that matters
And even mad chatter
But today we’re here to tell you
About our friend, Do’ Re Mi
(That’s Miss Dorinda to you)
Kats and Kittys, the drama
Has gotten so radikkio
Just when we thought we knew our crew
Bam! The scandal was told!
There’s a new girl in town
That’s Miss Dorinda to you,
She bounced into our lives
But now she’s part of our crew
Do’ Re Mi on the Q.T.
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
(That ain’t swell)
Do’ Re Mi o
n the Q.T
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
(Why won’t you tell?)
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 she’s not alone
(What are you saying?)
She found out she got a sister
And it’s making her moan and groan!
There’s a new girl in town
That’s Miss Dorinda to you,
She bounced into our lives
But now she’s part of our crew
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?)
But we peeped you!
And now we beeped you!
So what you know about that, huh?
Let’s tell Miss Dorinda
That she’s got all the flavor
And when she keeps things to herself
It’s Do’ Re Mi that we savor
Don’t turn quiet on us
Like you got nothing to say
We found out you got a sister
So why can’t she come out and play?
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, tell, tell!)
We said Do’ Re Mi’s on the Q.T
(That’s the sneak tip)
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
(That’s the down, down low)
Do’ Re Mi on the Q.T
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
Do’ Re Mi on the Q.T.
Who you trying to be?
Do’ Re Mi on the D.D.L.
That’s right, you know that’s fowl
In the House with Mouse! Page 8