“Hold up! I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m not walking the red carpet in a gown you whipped up in your basement, Mr. whatever you said your name was.”
Titters of laughter sounded on the other end of the phone. “Jules Miata,” he said, laughing hard. “But call me Jules.”
“I’m sorry, Jules, but I can’t be seen in any of your gowns. I need to be flossing something by a top designer. Smash gotta be crazy, tryna put me in front of the paparazzi looking ’hood rich.”
Titters of laughter came across the phone. “Ooo, chile. We gon’ get along. I like a woman who speaks her mind. Let me worry about which designer you wear to the Grammys, okay?”
“No! I don’t want your gear. I want to get something from the Bal Harbour place with all those designer stores.”
“Ms. Delagardo…is it okay if I call you Misty?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I don’t care how glitzy Bal Harbour is, Smash Hitz would not appreciate it if you accompanied him to the Grammy Awards wearing something off the rack. Okaaay?” Jules sounded gay as all hell.
“So whatchu sayin’? I can’t make my own decision? I gotta wear your homemade junk?”
“I’m saying that I’m a premier stylist. My clientele includes many A-list celebrities. I don’t make clothes…I bring clothes.”
“Oh!” Misty got it. Jules was going to bring her clothing from top designers for her to wear and promote. She wondered why Spydah hadn’t sent her a stylist when they went to the BET Awards.
“Okay, I understand. I’m starting to feel you, Jules,” Misty said with a smile.
“Good. I’ll see you in an hour, chica.”
“Okay.” Misty twirled around like a happy child. Gay boys definitely recognize how to make a bitch look fierce. I’ma be the flyest chick on the red carpet. Now tweet that, ugly-mug Baad bitch!
Smash paid Misty thirty stacks to keep his sudden lust for dick a secret. She broke Horatio off with five thousand. She planned to use most of the hush money to buy something fly from Bal Harbour, but now that she’d talked to Jules, she was happy to keep that money in her purse where it belonged.
“Who was that?” Horatio asked.
“Jules Miata. He’s a celebrity stylist. Smash is sending him over to dress me for the Grammys.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?” Misty made a face and turned her nose up at Horatio.
“What am I supposed to do while y’all out partying…stay back and chill at the hotel?”
Misty shrugged. The nerve of this dick-slinging fool, giving me the third damn degree.
“Can’t I meet up with you and Smash somewhere? You know…after the awards.”
“No, you cannot. In fact, you’re not going to Los Angeles with me. You’re going back to Philly. Smash is a client; he’s not your boyfriend.”
“Yo, I ain’t say he was. I’m not gay.”
“He’s not even your friend, either. So get over it.”
“Can’t I ask a simple question? Dag,” Horatio said, looking dejected.
An hour later, Misty sat in the lobby waiting for Jules Miata. Misty didn’t mind waiting in the beautiful Ritz-Carlton lobby, which had large leather sofas and a golden-glow wall of lights.
Jules walked in. He was very tall and very gay. His swagger put Naomi Campbell to shame. But he wasn’t cute. Not at all, but you couldn’t tell him that.
Misty waved and he rushed over to her.
“Hey, Diva, how are you?” When he opened his mouth, Misty detected an unattractive overbite. I would be so upset if I had buck teeth. Poor Jules. Shame he got an ugly-mug. His love life must suck. With those teeth, his blowjob must be a disaster.
Jules was all smiles, revealing more of his overbite. “Your body is fire.” He appraised her from head to toe. “Oh, girl, those dresses are going to look fabulous on you. My assistants will be here in a few. They’re getting everything out of the truck.”
This is exciting. Jules has a team of people to dress my tiny body!
“Lawd, look at all that hair.” He stepped forward and quickly ran his fingers through Misty’s tresses.
“It’s real,” she said with a smirk.
“I know! I’m just feeling for the kind of style that’ll work with your hair type.”
“You do hair, too?”
“Oh, no. I’ll hook you up with a hair stylist in L.A.” Clipping his chin, eyes squinted, he studied her frame. “When I get finished with you, you are going to look absolutely stunning.”
Though she felt she was already stunning, she smiled anyway.
“You’re going to love the dresses I pulled for you.”
“You didn’t ask me the names of the designers I prefer.”
“Names! Please don’t tell me you’re a label whore.” As he shook his head pityingly, two women entered the lobby, carrying tons of bags on a rolling rack.
“Theses are my assistants…Paula and Venus.” The two women smiled politely.
“Come on, girls, bring the rack to the elevator,” Jules instructed and strutted toward the elevator.
Misty caught up with Jules. “Suppose I don’t like the stuff you got on that rack. Then what?”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“But you said you didn’t bring anything by a well-known designer.”
“There are a lot of red-soled shoes in those bags,” he said with a chuckle. “And other expensive shoes. But the gowns are designed by up-and-coming designers.”
Misty frowned. “Up-and-coming? Ew.”
“Sweetie, you have to put your trust in me. I know what I’m doing. And when I dress you, you won’t see your twin on the red carpet.”
“I would hope not!”
“It happens. But not when you’re dressed by Jules Miata.”
Jules and his assistants set up the living room area of the suite as if it were his personal studio. Paula busied herself lining up the shoes that Jules wanted Misty to see. Venus began pulling accessories out of one of the bags.
“I thought I was going to get my jewelry in L.A.”
“I came across some special pieces that I couldn’t resist,” he said with a cheesy grin.
Venus set out rows and rows of accessories…necklaces, rings, bracelets, and big sparkly, chandelier earrings. “Most of those pieces are from Jennifer Fisher’s line,” Jules said with pride.
“Who the hell is Jennifer Fisher?” Misty was getting sick of this so-called stylist. For all she knew, he could have grabbed these trinkets from a thrift store. Nothing screamed Gucci, Fendi, or Louis Vuitton, or any recognizable names. For all Misty knew, Jules could have pocketed Smash’s money and was trying to cut corners by sending her to the Grammys in Salvation Army wear.
“Jennifer Fisher provided Sarah Jessica Parker’s jewelry for Sex and the City: The Movie. I see you in those gold hoops,” Jules suggested.
After gazing briefly at the jewelry, Misty’s eyes went back to the shoes, which were quite incredible. Looking like they cost a fortune, the shoes were making her lust.
“I want these,” she said, picking up a pair of candy-jeweled shoes with a skinny heel. She read and tried to pronounce it.
“Giuseppe Zanotti.” Jules enlightened her. “Those are fifteen hundred-dollar shoes.”
“I don’t need to look at any other shoes,” Misty said, hugging the glittery shoes to her chest. “Now let’s look at the dresses.”
Jules unzipped black garment bags, and pulled out a variety of gowns and dresses. She shook her head at each item of clothing. And she said, “Hell no” to a pink sequin dress and a black dress with a big bow.
She began to pout. “You picked out this crap? I’m not impressed at all. In fact, I’m starting to get depressed.”
“Now stop sulking, diva. I’ve dressed everyone from Zoe Saldana to Jada Pinkett Smith. Smash chose me for a reason. He values my opinion. I’ve personally selected an array of haute couture designs for you to choose from. Now let’s not
be too snooty, little diva. You’re going to have to trust my fashion taste…like Smash does.”
“Here, try this on.” Jules handed her an aqua dress that had a long split up the side.
Who does this drag queen think he’s talking to? Agitated, Misty walked into the bedroom with the gown. Horatio was lounging on one of the beds.
“Can I get some privacy?” Misty barked.
“Where do you want me to go?”
“Take a walk on the beach or something. Go sightseeing or something. I don’t care where you go.”
Lazily, Horatio got off the bed. He clicked off the TV and slammed the remote on the dresser.
It’s time for Horatio to go back to Philly. He served his purpose and he earned way more than I had originally planned to give him for playing like he was my bodyguard.
After Horatio left the room, Misty tried on the dress, expecting to hate it. Surprisingly, she didn’t. The aqua number was extremely form-fitting. Flatteringly, it hugged the enticing curves of her body. She looked down and frowned. The dress was much too long. Damn, times like this, being a little under five feet tall is a real drawback.
Holding up several inches of extra fabric, Misty returned to the living room. “I really like this. But look…” She dropped the fabric and let it puddle around her feet on the floor.
Jules waved his hand. “That’s nothing. My seamstress can take off those extra inches. Remember, I still have to measure you so that this dress fits you like a glove.”
With a hand on his hip, his knuckles pressed against his chin, he studied Misty. “Let me see how the gown looks with those shoes you’ve become attached to.”
Paula helped her try on the jeweled shoes. Misty walked over to a mirror.
Jules clapped his hand. “Work it, diva. Work it like you’re on the red carpet, girl.”
Misty looked in the mirror. Her eyes lit up. “I look beautiful!” she shouted as she spun around.
Jules wagged a finger. “Be careful with that delicate fabric, sweetheart. Wait until my makeup stylist gets finished with you…” He shook his head. “All those other hoes might as well sit down. Mark my words, Ms. Delagardo…tongues are going to be wagging after Grammy night. You might have to retain me as your personal stylist because you’re not going to like the work of any other stylists…not in Philly, not in L.A., and certainly not in Miami…because I run Miami.”
CHAPTER 48
Invitations had been extended to only ten neighbors. But everyone took the liberty of bringing along a friend who also brought a friend. Brick and Thomasina’s tiny row home was filled up…wall-to-wall…with a pack of strangers.
While Thomasina was busy directing the caterers, Brick caught a shifty-eyed crackhead trying to slip in behind some of the invited guests.
“Yo! Beat it,” Brick said, blocking the smoker’s entry.
The man wore a filthy green Eagles jacket. The once shiny fabric was dull with multiple stains. “Can you spare some change for a hungry brother?” the man asked.
“Nah, man. This ain’t the soup kitchen. Go ’head with all that begging.” Angry, Brick closed the door in the drug addict’s face. Damn, it’s fucked up when the town beggar be tryna squeeze up in yo’ crib.
The caterers were harried and overwhelmed as they tried to squeeze through the throng of loud-ass, ignorant people while carrying trays filled with glasses of white and red wines.
Billy from down the block came in wearing grubby work clothes and a big old, ratty-looking coat. When Thomasina offered to take his coat, he declined, complaining that it was freezing in her house.
“What’s to eat?” Billy asked, taking a seat in a newly purchased light-colored suede chair.
It killed her to see Billy squatting in her chair; she wanted to point him over to one of the folding chairs that she’d rented for the occasion, but didn’t want to appear to be rude.
Thomasina looked over her shoulder. “The food’s coming out now.”
“It’s gonna take a couple dozen of these lil’ things to fill me up,” Billy said, laughing. With a big meaty hand, he grabbed as many bite-sized hors d’oeuvres as he could hold.
“What kind of TV is that…plasma?” a neighbor named Sarah asked.
“No, it’s 3D.” Thomasina tried to keep her voice even-toned; she didn’t want to sound boastful.
“Umph. Somebody moving up in the world. A gift from your daughter?” Louisa from two doors down inquired.
“Yes, Misty is very generous.”
“What exactly does she do for a living?” Sarah asked, eyebrows squeezed together.
“She works with the stars.”
“Doing what?” Louisa, a big drinker, guzzled her wine and reached for another when one of the caterers inched through the throng.
“Misty does consulting work,” Thomasina said, sounding vague because she had no idea what Misty’s job actually entailed.
“Uh-huh…” Louisa murmured with a question mark in her voice, expecting Thomasina to provide more details.
“Excuse me,” Thomasina said, when she noticed Billy standing up and frowning down at the seat he’d been sitting in.
“I forgot I had my tools in my coat pocket,” Billy said.
Thomasina looked like she was about to go into cardiac arrest when she saw the rip in her cushion.
A screwdriver had poked its way out of Billy’s coat pocket. With all the twisting movements he’d made as he grabbed food and wine, he’d ripped up her chair. He stood up and shook his head at the damage he’d done. “I know a guy who can patch that up for you,” he said and moved to one of the folding chairs.
“I don’t think the chair can be patched up,” Thomasina whispered to Brick.
“Sure, it can. We paid extra for that wear and tear plan. All we have to do is call the company. They’ll come and pick up the chair and fix it. It’ll look like new.”
Relieved, Thomasina kissed him on the lips as if he had personally repaired the chair.
That one little gesture of affection caused all conversation to stop. All eyes on Brick and Thomasina. So Brick gave his wife a lingering, tongue kiss. Thomasina was very uncomfortable, but didn’t pull back.
That intimate, prolonged kiss was more than any nosey neighbor had bargained for. A burst of nervous chatter suddenly erupted.
Misty was a vision on the red carpet, but murmurs from the neighbors about her scandalously revealing dress put a damper on Thomasina’s spirits.
The three-hour Grammys show could have been more enjoyable had Thomasina listened to Brick and kept the viewing private.
Still, the camera loved Misty. Throughout the night, her expressions were highlighted. When Smash Hitz won an award for Album of the Year, the camera stayed on Misty’s face until Smash climbed on the stage and began his acceptance speech.
One by one, the neighbors finally started trickling out. A few people had broadied the bottles of wine that hadn’t been opened.
“How much did you spend on those caterers?” Sarah inquired. “You know, the average person wants to eat some real food when they come to any kind of event.”
“I figured that anyone coming somewhere at seven o’ clock should have already eaten dinner,” Thomasina replied.
“If you took the time to get to know some of us, you’d realize that we work together.”
“Mmm-hmm.” The dig that she and Brick were not very sociable with the neighbors didn’t go past Thomasina, though she didn’t comment.
“I could have headed up a food committee and we would all have been eating good in here tonight. We woulda pitched in and cooked up some fried chicken, pork chops, potato salad, and whatnot. The kind of food that sticks to your ribs. That stuff them caterers served was attractive, but it don’t stick to your ribs.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for the next event,” Thomasina said, taking note that Sarah had helped herself to a large heaping of hors d’oeuvres and had foil-wrapped the finger food. Thomasina could see the silver wrapping tucked inside
Sarah’s gapping pocketbook.
Misty wore an aqua-colored chiffon Elie Saab gown to the Grammys. Being Smash Hitz’ date for the event had unexpected perks. Misty’s choice of the aqua chiffon number with the crotch high-split was no accident. She’d already envisioned the paparazzi attention she’d get when it “accidentally” revealed her neatly shaven landing strip.
At Misty’s request, Spydah didn’t get an invitation. It had to be killing Spydah to be sitting at home while Misty got to enjoy the show and all the after-parties she and Smash were planning to attend.
Getting niggas blackballed was an unexpected perk for procuring sex for Smash Hitz.
Spydah is lucky that all I did was suggest that Smash rescind his Grammy invitation. He better pray that I don’t whisper in Smash’s ear, mention that it seems like Spydah is frontin’ like he’s bigger than the man that made him. Shit, if Smash Hitz gets mad enough, he’s liable to hold back the release date of Spydah’s next album. Might not release it at all. Smash could use a tax write-off…couldn’t he?
Misty was acting as a decoy on Smash’s arm.
She found out that his main squeeze—a hot Latino tranny named Raquel—was stashed away in the same Los Angeles luxury hotel where Misty was staying. Raquel had a body that was crazy sexy and would put most women to shame. Unfortunately, Raquel couldn’t control her caliente temper.
While Misty was holding on to Smash’s arm and smiling for the cameras, Raquel was back laying up in her suite, holding a cold pack up to her jaw.
Bitch wanted to go to the Grammys. Wanted to walk the red carpet with her arm linked proudly through her man’s. Smash laughed in her face. Raquel had a tantrum. Started talking reckless…cussing in Spanish, demanding that Smash upgrade her from hidden in the shadows to limelight status.
Raquel had the nerve to come at Smash with her fingers clawed. Berserk bitch was running toward him, scratching the air, growling, with a bunch of spit spraying out of her mouth. Though Smash would never admit it, Misty could tell that Raquel’s wild animal behavior had him shook.
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