GHETTO SUPERSTAR

by Nikki Turner

  “You're right, Mommy. I just really want this to happen in my life, like finally, for real.”

  “Ow,” Fabiola exclaimed after accidentally bumping her ankle on the table leg.

  “I didn't realize that you twisted it up that bad messing with that hooligan,” Viola said.

  “Well, that was just one more thing to keep me motivated. I can't take any more episodes like last night.”

  “I don't know what you saw in that boy.”

  “Me either,” Fabiola said to her mother as she sipped her tea. “But I don't want to waste one more moment thinking about him.”

  “That's why you can't be dealing with those kind of guys—”

  “Mommy, please,” Fabiola cut her mother off before she could get into one of her drawn-out speeches about how important it was to have the right man. “I already know where you are going, and last night was the nail in the coffin.”

  Viola added, “You do understand something like this could have really destroyed your career before it even took off?”

  “Yeah, Mommy, I totally get it.”

  “Good.” Viola switched gears. “Did you ever speak to your Aunt Rose?”

  “As a matter of fact I did catch up with her.”

  “You never did tell me why it was so important that you spoke to her.”

  “Mommy.” Fab took another sip of tea, not really wanting to tell her mother everything, so she stalled a little bit. “You remember Mr. Casino, right?”

  “Yeah, of course,” she said. “But what does he have to do with Rose?”

  “Well, he was shot, and now he's in the hospital.”

  “That must have been the shooting they were talking about on the news,” Viola said.

  “He got shot Wednesday night on his way to a Halloween party,” Fabiola said. “I went to the hospital the morning of the shooting and it was ridiculous how people were acting.”

  “I can only imagine. He's a pretty powerful man. But why were you down there?”

  “I don't know, Mommy. He's just done so much for us. I felt compelled to see if there was anything I could do for him.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Viola asked, curious.

  “I didn't even think that far ahead. Anything: fluff his pillow, get him water, read him a book, whatever …”

  “I understand more than you may think, Fabiola. The man reached out and helped us during one of the lowest times in our lives and continues to help us every day by allowing us to stay in his property and not asking for a dime. I think it's really sweet of you to want to be supportive of him in his time of need. I'm proud of you.” Viola patted her daughter's hand.

  “I am really glad you understand, Mommy.”

  “I do understand totally, but I don't want you spending so much time there that you take your eye off the prize.”

  The comment her mother had just made wasn't what Fabiola wanted to hear, so she changed the subject. After a moment, Fabiola asked, “Mom, what exactly are we going to do about that daggone Ocean?”

  “What has your brother done now?” Viola asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “I ran into one of his girlfriends last night.”

  “What's so odd about that? If you live in Richmond you're bound to run into one of that boy's friends.”

  “That's my point,” Fabiola said. “It's impossible to try and keep up with all of his women. It's starting to feel awkward when I meet one of his new conquests, because I always end up having to provide an alibi or corroborate a lie. It gets to be too much.” Fabiola shook her head. “Why can't he just have two women like most guys his age?” They both laughed.

  “They're crazy to put up with his foolishness,” Momma said. “He don't look that damn good. I told him that I didn't want to meet any more women until he done bought one of 'em a ring and done proposed.”

  “And that hasn't stopped him yet, has it?”

  The waitress reappeared. “Do you all need anything else?”

  “Are you going to take Adora some food since she's not feeling well?”

  “It's chicken soup at the house, she can warm that up.”

  “Just the check—that's it.” Viola then redirected her attention back to the conversation at hand. “Well, at least I don't have to deal with as many women as I use to,” Viola said. She looked at Fab's plate. “You barely touched your food. What's wrong, baby? You didn't like the chicken sandwich?”

  “Just wasn't hungry.”

  “Wrap it up and carry it with you then.”

  Right on time, the waitress slid through the aisle balancing a tray of dirty dishes in one hand and their check in the other. She dropped the check off on the table facedown and kept it moving toward the kitchen.

  “I just don't like when they try to be my friend, and then expect me to go against the grain when Ocean start acting up,” Fabiola said. “I know Ocean got some bullshit with him when it comes to women but he is my brother, and that's where my loyalty rests.”

  Viola dug into her pocketbook and came out with a few dollars to pay for the lunch. “Always remember that,” she smiled as she laid the money on the table. “Well, my sweets, I am off to find out just how much Mr. Johnny Wiz loves your voice and the ever-so-stunning photos.” They both stood up.

  “Thanks, Mommy.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything: the lunch and just for continuing to make it happen. I don't know what I would do without you.”

  A little moisture formed in the corner of Viola's eye, but she didn't let it get any further than that. “You are so welcome, baby,” she said, leaning in to kiss Fabiola on the cheek. “You seem about five inches shorter.”

  “I'm trying not to put that much strain on my ankle. I need it as strong as possible for when I perform.”

  “You're right, baby, take it easy,” she agreed. “By the way, where are you going when you leave here?”

  “To the hospital,” Fabiola said, “to see Casino.”

  “I'd like to go,” Viola said in more of a question form than a statement.

  “Right now it's immediate family only. Aunt Rose pulled a few strings to get me in.”

  “Maybe when he's a little better then,” Viola said, hoping his fine self would be doing all right soon.

  TRACK 7

  Code Blue

  ODE BLUE!” The nurse was running down the hall screaming at the top of her lungs. “CODE BLUE! CODE BLUE!” Doctors and nurses started rushing from everywhere in response to the emergency call.

  Fabiola had just stepped off the hospital elevator when she heard the commotion. Code blue? In the movies someone was always about to die when they called that out. “Oh my God! Casino?” she whispered. She convinced herself that there was no need to panic, because although Casino seemed to be paralyzed, just yesterday he was alive and he seemed to be progressing. Then she saw three nurses make their way into Casino's room. Fabiola's heart dropped to the soles of her Gucci sneakers. When she tried to enter the room, she was stopped at the door.

  “I'm sorry, ma'am, but no one is allowed inside right now,” a nurse told her.

  Casino's hospital room was a madhouse. The first nurse had sounded off the code blue less than sixty seconds earlier, and now the room was filled with medical attention. Three doctors and seven nurses; it was incredible how so many people could manage to be so efficient to save a person's life without getting in one another's way. The electronic line on the EKG machine barely showed a blip. “Why are his vitals so weak?” a young doctor asked while the primary doctor ripped off the patient's gown, preparing to give him the defibrillator.

  “Three, two, one,” he counted down before applying the steel disc to the patient's chest. “Clear.” The force of the current caused the body to lift several inches off the bed. The doctor who administered the procedure looked at the EKG. No change. “Again.” The doctor tried to jump-start the dying man's heart once again. “Nothing.” The young doctor gave him a shot from a long syringe.

  “We're l
osing him,” one of the nurses said.

  The head doctor in charge was annoyed by the nurse's observation. “Please don't waste what little time we have with the obvious, Nurse Parker.”

  “Y'all let the motherfucker die, huh?” Spade called out. He and Roxy had been in the room the whole time, unbeknownst to the medical staff.

  “Excuse me,” Nurse Parker said, “but the two of you are going to have to wait outside.”

  Fabiola was waiting by the door when Spade and Roxy stepped out. “Is he okay?” Fabiola asked.

  “Muthafucka dead as a doorknob,” Spade said. Fabiola felt a huge lump rise in her throat.

  “How could you be so crude about Casino dying?”

  “Who said anything about Casino? I was talking about the Indian dude … his roommate.”

  Relief flooded Fabiola's body. She had been taken on an emotional 180 in the course of a few minutes. “By the way, didn't I see you up here the other day?” Spade asked.

  “You may have.”

  There was no may have about it; he wouldn't have forgotten someone as beautiful as the woman standing before him if he'd been beaten across the head with a bat and given amnesia.

  “Well, my name is Spade.” He smiled and offered his hand. “I'm Casino's son. What's ya name?”

  “Fabiola.”

  “Fabiola? That's a beautiful name. Did your mother name you that or did you pick it yourself?”

  “My mother gave it to me. She said that God told her to give me that name because I was going to be the fabulous one, and her name is Viola, so she combined her name with Fabulous.”

  “Indeed you are ‘fabulous.’” Spade looked her over and licked his lips.

  “So, how long you been fucking Casino, or do you just suck his dick?” Roxy never was one for a whole lot of small talk when she wanted to know something.

  “Excuse me?” Fabiola turned to the lady that she remembered thinking was Casino's wife the first day she saw her at the hospital.

  “I said,” Roxy repeated, moving her neck a little bit, “how long you been fucking Casino?”

  “I'm not sure what your relationship is to Casino, but I am sure that my sex life is none of your business.” Fabiola didn't back down one inch. Spade was impressed by the way Fabiola handled herself. He knew firsthand that Roxy could be intimidating sometimes.

  “Everything about you is my business when it comes to Casino, little Fab-be-ola.” She let her name roll off her tongue.

  “Then you are talking to the wrong person; it sounds to me like you need to be addressing your concerns to Casino—not me.”

  “Put your fangs away, Aunt Roxy, and be nice to our guest,” Spade finally intervened. Turning his attention to Fabiola, he said, “Ms. Fabiola, please excuse my Aunt Roxy. We are all going through a real trying time right now, so tempers may tend to flare a little more than usual, although Roxy can be a bitch at any time.”

  “Watch who you call a bitch, young man,” Roxy cut in. Fabiola took it all in, and although she was a bit intimidated, she smiled on the outside, as if Roxy hadn't offended her one bit.

  “Now,” Spade continued his conversation with Fabiola, “what did you say your relationship to Pops was?”

  “You all can come back in now,” the nurse said, wearing a haggard smile. The patient had pulled through and it was on to the next crisis. That was the way MCV operated. A lot of years during the late eighties and early nineties Richmond was labeled the “murder capital,” and if it wasn't for MCV's top-notch trauma unit the murder rate would have probably been at least double what it was.

  “I didn't,” Fabiola answered Spade's last question as she headed into the room to see Casino.

  “Well, if it ain't Whitney Houston.” Casino smiled when Fabiola walked through the door.

  “My voice ain't quite as good as Whitney's in her prime, but I'm not on crack either, so maybe one day it will be.”

  “Well, too bad for Whitney, and good for you. Crack is whack.”

  Spade wasn't sure about Fabiola and Casino's relationship, but after hearing the quick banter, and seeing the smile on Casino's face he knew she would be good for his spirits. And he had no intentions of letting Roxy sit there and run interference. “Come on, Aunt Roxy. Let's go down to the cafeteria.” Spade read her eyes. Roxy didn't want to leave the young threat alone with Casino. “Come on”—Spade grabbed her hand—“she's out of Dad's age bracket anyway. She's more my taste.” Spade winked at Fabiola as he and Roxy left the room holding hands.

  Casino already looked better than he did the day before. He was wearing a pair of new plaid Polo pajamas and his hair had been freshly cut. His side of the room was filled with flowers, cards, and fruit baskets. He and Fabiola were alone for the first time, and Casino tried to break the awkwardness. “Are you going to sing for me?”

  “I can. What would you like me to sing?” Fabiola took off her sweat-suit jacket, making herself comfortable.

  “I didn't mean to put you on the spot. You can sing whatever you like, anytime you like.”

  “No problem. I'm taking requests, so you let me know what you want to hear.”

  “You know any Roberta Flack?”

  “Yup,” and she begin to sing “The Closer I Get to You.” Her voiced carried outside Casino's room and a couple of people came into the room to hear her. After she was done with the song, people clapped, and so did Casino.

  “Bravo! Bravo!” He smiled. “Your mother wasn't lying at all. I had no idea you were so talented.”

  “Thank you,” Fabiola said, blushing. Although Fabiola got compliments on her voice all the time, getting one from Casino surprised and delighted her.

  “How did your photo shoot go yesterday?”

  “It went wonderful. We picked up the photos today.” Fabiola was surprised that he remembered.

  “Did you bring any?”

  “I didn't think you would want to see them, but I can bring them when I come tomorrow. My mother sent some of them to Johnny Wiz of The Wizard Entertainment Group. He heard me sing and now he wanted to see how well I come off on camera. You know … what type of look I give off, and if I'm marketable or not.”

  “Your look is one in a billion,” Casino commented.

  “Although you said it with the emotion of a cadaver, I'll take it as a compliment.” She blushed.

  “It really wasn't intended as one—just telling the truth.”

  Just then the StarQuest show came on on the television. “Can we turn the channel please?” Fabiola asked.

  “Sure. We can watch whatever you want to watch, but the sick and shut-in usually gets the remote.”

  “If we were watching anything else I would never ask, but I refuse to help this show's ratings.”

  “Why? I like me some Melon Low.” Casino smiled as he looked at the television. Melon Low was a big star in the eighties who had a big voice like Chaka Khan, the timeless beauty of Janet Jackson, and a banging body like J. Lo in her prime. Casino's response was no surprise to Fabiola, because every man—young and old—seemed to love Melon Low.

  “About a year ago, I was on that show and Melon Low had no love for me, even though the crowd went B-A-N-A-N-A-S for me.”

  On-screen, Melon Low talked about the vision of the show and her passion to help up-and-coming singers.

  “What she's talking is bullshit.” Fabiola sung the word bullshit in the key of A minor.

  “Why? What happened exactly?” Casino asked, unable to take his eyes off Melon Low.

  “The crowd and both of the men judges loved me and the applause meter was off the charts, but she really ripped into me and said I didn't have what it takes to go to the next level, and that my look wasn't marketable.”

  Casino looked Fabiola over and said, “Well, we know that ain't true.”

  “Good thing I didn't have low self-esteem, because I would have never sung another note, not even in the shower.”

  “That's because she hasn't had a hit in—what? Ten or fifteen years?” Cas
ino turned the channel to CNN.

  “I know. I guess my first mistake was singing one of her old songs better than she ever sung it.” Casino and Fabiola both laughed. “One of the judges came backstage and told me that Melon must have saw so much of herself in me and that it was scary for her to see a new and improved model right in front of her face. I reminded her of who she used to be. Thank goodness the other judge talked to me, because between him and my mother's encouragement I was able to get past the incident.”

  “Well, I'm boycotting the show and her jealous-hearted ass, too.” Fabiola smiled at her new friend.

  The two talked for a long time. Well, Fabiola did most of the talking and Casino listened intently. Fabiola had him laughing at her stories about the drama she experienced while doing gigs.

  “I had no idea that your work was that hard,” Casino confessed. He thought it was all fun. Singing and dancing.

  “It goes beyond the stage, you know.”

  “How so?”

  “The delivery is a large part of it, but having the drive to get there is the harder work, keeping not only my voice in tip-top shape but my body as well, staying fit, not eating chocolate or things that could break me out. These are things that I have to stay consistent with long after the curtain drops or the band stops playing.”

  “Well, I commend you for that.”

  They continued joking and enjoying each other's company, when Roxy and Spade returned as Fabiola and Casino shared a laugh. “Well, anything that can make two people laugh that hard in this gloomy muthafucka is worth listening to,” Spade said.

  They looked up after hearing Spade's voice. “Our secrets, son,” Casino said.

  “I thought we were a sharing family,” Spade attempted.

  “And you know I carry secrets to my grave.”

  Fabiola started to pack up. “I'm going to get out of here. I'll see you tomorrow.” Fabiola touched Casino's hand, but due to his injury he couldn't really feel her touch. His eyes gave her the embrace back, however. “See you later, and be good, ya hear?”