“What y’all fretting me about anyway? He’s got some new girlfriend,” Ma says, nodding her head like a psychic making a prediction.
“He told you?” I ask, being nosy. I can’t wait to hear all about this mystery woman who may wreck havoc in our lives.
“He doesn’t have to. Why else would he be wearing that awful cologne?” Ma shoots straight from the hip, like she always does when she knows something is true.
Now Angie and I are trying so hard to squelch out giggles that it looks like a pair of twin canaries are hiding in our cheeks. Finally, Angie lets out a loud cackle, and I join her.
“Hush now,” Ma warns us gently as the elevator door opens into Mouse Almighty’s reception area.
Ms. Dorothea’s diva radar goes into full rotation when her eyes set on Ma. “Welcome to the Big Apple!” she says, stretching out her arms like a big cheetah ready to pounce. “Just what we need—another ‘Mamacheetah’ in the jiggy jungle!”
Ma chuckles, then steps daintily into Ms. Dorothea’s “fold” for a fierce embrace.
We can’t help but notice how teeny-tiny Ma looks next to Ms. Dorothea, who is six feet tall. She looks more like a baby bear hugging a mama bear instead of a “Mamacheetah.”
Dorinda notices, too, because her dimples have deepened. She turns to smile at me, because she is so tickled at the sight before us. I smile back faintly. I feel like a pecking hen for insinuating that something was going on, like there was a Cheetah Girls conspiracy, or something.
“The girls said you were larger than life,” Ma says, beaming up at Ms. Dorothea. “But they were wrong—you’re even larger than that!” Suddenly, Ma blanches from embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Ms. Dorothea says. “I can’t tell you how much it means to all of us that you came up here so the girls could finish the demo.”
“Thank you,” Ma says humbly.
“Let’s just say you’ve earned a lifetime supply of cheetah points for this passage,” Ms. Dorothea gushes earnestly.
“I’ll consider that an investment for my stock portfolio,” Ma says, sounding very businesslike.
“I see we’ve made an investment in Cartier as well,” Ms. Dorothea says approvingly, mesmerized by the diamond-covered face on Ma’s wrist-watch.
“Well, let’s just say my boss made an investment—in my future, Ma says proudly. “Honey, I told him in advance he’d better come up with something better than a Timex for my Christmas bonus this year, or it was time for me to take my record-sales history somewhere else!”
“Speaking of records, I want you to know your daughters are pushing this demo over the cheetah meter!” Ms. Dorothea says, pursing her lips with approval.
“Do you think it’s good enough for the record company?” Ma asks hopefully.
“Time will tell,” Ms. Dorothea says wistfully.
“Speaking of time,” Chanel says, imitating Ms. Dorothea, “can I look at your watch, too, Mrs. Walker?” Gazing at Ma’s prized possession, Chanel gets starry-eyed from all the diamonds. “Wow, you’ve got more karats than Bugs Bunny!”
“Don’t you worry, Chuchie—one day we’re going to get a few twinkles for our troubles,” Galleria says confidently, then reaches into her cheetah backpack and pulls out a cheetah-wrapped present. “Here’s a Christmas present for the fabulous Walker twins—just our way of saying thank you for not leaving us to the wolves.”
Galleria hands the present to me, and tears form in my eyes. “Why, thank you, Miss Galleria, Miss Chanel, and Miss Dorinda!”
Angie pokes me in the side.
“Oh, and thank you, Ms. Dorothea,” I add quickly, handing the present to Angie, since I know how much she likes to hold presents.
“Well, open it!” commands Chanel.
I carefully pull at the corners of the cheetah wrapping paper so that we can recycle it later. “Oh, it’s Seal!” I exclaim at the four CDs by the recording artist we met a few weeks ago right here in Mouse’s studio.
“Wow—he really is famous,” Angie says, ogling the CD collection.
“We can’t wait to listen to them,” I say, extending my hand for a Cheetah Girls’ handshake.
The intercom at the reception desk chimes, and Cindy answers it. It’s Mouse Almighty’s voice telling her to send us back.
“Okay, girls, it’s showtime. Today let’s try and remember that you’ve got to give a few twinkles to get a few,” Ms. Dorothea instructs, ushering us all back to the sound studios. “I expect you to shine like shooting stars today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dorinda says, imitating us.
“Oooh, this is exciting,” Ma says enthusiastically.
Galleria nudges us, “You’re coming over on Christmas, right? Daddy will lay a cannoli if you don’t!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Angie and I say in unison.
“Wait till you meet Mouse Almighty—the genius at work,” Ms. Dorothea declares to Ma.
I cringe inside, however, when I see what the “genius” is wearing today—a white oversized T-shirt that has the face of an old-time black man with big red lips and the words “Buy Black!” in big bold letters right below it.
“Oh, no!” I want to moan. Ma hates this kind of black Southern memorabilia. She thinks it’s real offensive. Angie pokes me in the side while we stand there uncomfortably. Ms. Dorothea picks up on the situation quickly, like she always does, and goes into diva mode playing the hostess with the mostest. “Um, Mouse, this is the twins’ mother, Mrs. Walker—who is visiting for the holidays from Houston!”
Mouse Almighty carefully places his long dreadlocks behind his ears like he knows they aren’t “Ma-approved” either. Then he gently extends his hand to shake hers. We hold our breath as Ma quickly studies Mouse before shaking his hand, then says, “Nice to meet you. That’s a very interesting T-shirt.”
“Oh, yeah—I had this artist’s image silk-screened onto my shirt because I dig the painting so much but I can’t afford it,” Mouse Almighty says softly. It’s obvious that Ma doesn’t like it. “As a matter of fact, he’s from Texas, too—Michael Ray Charles—you know, his paintings be clockin’ about sixty-five thousand these days.”
Ma nods her head. Knowing her, she probably can’t stand the way Mouse Almighty talks, either. Now I realize Ma probably doesn’t understand how, well, different people in the music business are from other folks.
“Oh, word, I never heard of that artist before,” Dorinda says curiously.
I never heard of the artist before either, but I don’t say a word.
“His stuff looks like the stuff we’ve seen at the Black Collectibles Fair back home,” Angie says, because the silence is unbearable.
Ma still doesn’t say anything, but I know what she’s thinking: Nettie Two, have you lost your mind. You know I hate that “Mammy-looking” mess they have at the Collectibles Fair!
“Well—would you like to hear what the girls have been working on?” Mouse asks Ma hesitantly. We’re not used to hearing him sound like that. Usually he is so gung ho.
“Yes, sir,” Ma replies.
Angie holds my hand as we head into the sound room to listen to the playback. That means she wants us to bow our heads and say a silent prayer, because she feels scared, too, about Ma liking our music. My prayer is, Lord, please let Ma like our music! (Later, I’ll ask Angie what she said in her prayer, but I bet you it’s the same thing.)
“I’ve been working with this songwriter—Midget Man—who’s been wrecking shop with his floetry style,” Mouse says.
I cringe again. Lord, help us. From the look on Ma’s face, I can tell she doesn’t have any idea what on earth Mouse Almighty is talking about!
Mouse Almighty picks up Ma’s judgmental look, too, because he motions to Son Seven, the engineer, through the glass window. “Cue up—‘It’s a Jungle out There.”’
I guess he realized explaining music production to Flipper would be easier than trying to explain it to Ma.
Galleria cuts in. “Mrs.
Walker—he’s trying to say that the Midget Man cut is the jointski!’
A sly look creeps across Ma’s face as the song plays—kinda like a fox let loose in a henhouse, wondering what the poor little critters are up to. I try not to watch her face as the song continues:
Don’t take your toys and go home
and leave me alone in a world
that doesn’t care about my rhythm.
Just keep watching my back
and I’ll watch yours—because
that’s what friends are for in this
crazy world of a mixed-up jungle
of a jumbo size inside of a Cracker Jack box.
At last Ma starts tapping her foot. I shoot Angie a gleeful look: Thank God, she likes it!
But when Ma opens her mouth, I realize that I leaped for joy too soon.
“Don’t you think that song is too mature for the girls?” Ma asks defensively.
How can she think that? What does she want us to sing about—bobbing for apples?
Ms. Dorothea comes to our rescue: “Junifred, let’s go over here for a second and have a little cheetah chat.” While the two of them have a hushed conversation for a few minutes, I smile at Mouse Almighty. He whispers at us, “She doesn’t like my vibe.” Then he pulls out a handkerchief and pats the perspiration on his forehead.
“It’s not easy being greasy,” Galleria says, smirking.
Mouse Almighty flashes his big grin, baring his oversized white teeth. I chuckle quietly. I know what Galleria is saying—and she’s right. It’s not easy being different. Sometimes people won’t like you. I guess our prayer didn’t work.
When Ms. Dorothea and Ma come back from their little “cheetah chat,” they sit down while we are instructed to take our places at the microphones.
“We’re going to mix the song one more time,” Mouse instructs us.
“For each of the songs on the demo, we do two different versions—one that has a radio-friendly format, and the other one is a little more creative,” Mouse explains to Ma, who nods her head like she finally gets it. I guess Mouse Almighty has finally figured out how to talk to her—just keep it plain and simple.
After we try five takes on the song, Son Seven instructs us through the headphones: “Let’s take five. Could you girls come out of the studio, please?”
“We must be doing something wrong,” moans Chanel, taking off her headphones like she’s bidding them good-bye.
An even worse thought than Chanel’s pops into my head: maybe Ma has put her foot down and is yanking us out of Mouse’s studio!
“Say hello to the Ghost of Christmas Past,” whines Galleria, putting on her famous pout. As usual, I’m not sure exactly what Galleria means, and I don’t feel like asking her.
“Hold up about the ghosts or ghouls—or even the Sandman. We’ve come too far for tricks—now it’s all about the treats,” Dorinda says nervously, before asking for approval. “Right, everybody?”
Instead of answering, I march behind Galleria and Chanel, wringing my clammy hands together.
Now Chanel starts humming the melody from The Wizard of Oz, which makes us snicker down the hallway.
“Cheetahs and Prada and glitter, oh, my!” Dorinda throws in for good measure.
When Son Seven comes out of his booth and follows us into the reception area, we know something is up. He never leaves the production booth.
Ms. Dorothea and Ma are already waiting for us in the reception area. Mouse Almighty is standing with a man we’ve never seen before. He is wearing a chartreuse sharkskin suit that almost matches his eyes. I also notice that he has hair growing out of his ears like a Dr. Seuss creature from The Cat in the Hat.
Judging from the blank look on Ms. Dorothea’s face, I can tell she doesn’t know what’s going on, either. It seems we’re all waiting with bated breath for the reason Mouse interrupted our recording session.
“I was feeling so good about the work you girls have been doing that I sent some of the songs to Def Duck already,” Mouse Almighty starts in.
“Oh, really?” Ms. Dorothea says, obviously impressed.
“Yeah—just give them a taste, since I’ve got to jet to Amsterdam next week,” Mouse goes on, rubbing his goatee.
I glance over at Ma and she seems more relaxed than before, thank goodness.
“So let me introduce you to Frankie Fly, the new A&R executive at Def Duck Records. Well, I’ll let him do the talking.” Mouse moves over and motions for Frankie Fly to take the floor. My stomach sinks again. I guess he’s here to tell us that we may be cute, but there isn’t any room at the label right now for our cheetah-ness, “blah, blah, blah. Good-bye. See ya!”
As soon as Frankie Fly starts in, I realize that I may be right.
“Before I begin, I just want to apologize in advance,” Frankie Fly says, then stops for a minute while he suppresses a cough. “Excuse me, but I haven’t gotten used to this weather yet.”
While we’re waiting with bated breath for Frankie Fly to finish his speech, Ma asks him, “Um, where are you from?”
“Miami,” Frankie replies, putting his hand over his mouth to suppress yet another coughing spurt.
“We love Miami!” Galleria says nervously, like a windup doll. We’ve never even been to Miami. I guess she is trying to soften the blow.
At last Frankie Fly continues, “I would have liked to have had the opportunity to meet with you girls before, but there is no time like the present, and we’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another.”
Mouse Almighty jabs Frankie Fly in the side and blurts out, “Would you go ahead and tell them before they fall off the couch!”
“Ladies—um,” Frankie Fly starts in again, then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to welcome you to Def Duck Records.”
The five of us stare blankly at Frankie Fly, wondering what he means.
“He’s signing the Cheetah Girls!” blasts Mouse Almighty, snapping us out of our daze. “A little jumping up and down is in order, please!”
“OMIGOD,” screams Galleria, jumping up and grabbing Chanel.
“We did it, mija,” Chanel says, staring deeply into Galleria’s eyes, then grabbing my hand while Dorinda grabs Angie’s.
“Together forever!” we scream loudly in unison, then throw up our hands over our heads.
“Okay, now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, here’s the real deal,” Mouse Almighty says, putting his arms around us. “It’s gonna be a lot of work, and there are no guarantees, but we’ll hang in there like pros until we go platinum, or bust.”
“Oh, this is so blazin’—it’s amazin’,” Galleria chants.
Frankie Fly breaks out in a big grin. “You girls have a way with words.”
“Praise the Lord for that,’ Ma says, tears welling in her eyes, and putting her hand to her chest.
“We’d better call Daddy and tell him,” I blurt out.
“And Big Momma, too!” Angie adds.
“And my dad, too!” Galleria chimes in.
“And Mrs. Bosco, too!” adds Dorinda.
“Okay, put away the cell phones—hit the switchboard,” Mouse Almighty commands us, pointing to Cindy. “The only reception you’re gonna get on cell phones in here is to Mars.”
“Well, let’s get back to earth, shall we?” Ms. Dorothea says, motioning for Ma to use the phone. “Guests go first.”
Ma dials our home and speaks to Daddy. “I think Def Duck Records’ newest recording artists deserve cuter bedspreads,” Ma says, starting in. “Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. Really? Is that right?”
Now we wonder what Daddy said on the phone to make Ma go, “Really?”
“Well, you tell them yourself,” Ma says, handing us the phone.
“Hi, Daddy!” I scream into the receiver.
“I’m proud of you girls. I knew you could do it,” he says, then pauses. “Um, there is someone here who wants to talk to you.”
Angie looks at me like, What is going on?
I shrug my shoulder
, waiting for Daddy to put, I guess, Big Momma on the phone.
“All hail the fabulous Walker Twins!” Drinka Champagne shouts into the receiver.
“Drinka?” I exclaim, shocked beyond belief.
Galleria’s ears perk up. “What’s up, buttercup?”
“Well, there is no reason to keep it a secret any longer, but your father and I have been dating,” Drinka informs me while my mouth hangs open. “Your grandmother is a mess—and so is your Uncle. We are all going to be waiting for you, to celebrate when you get home!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, still dumbfounded. I hand the phone to Angie and shake my head.
“I knew it. I told you so!” Galleria says, jumping up and down.
Mouse Almighty and Mr. Frankie Fly stand around smiling like Cheshire cats, until we clue them in on the latest goings-on in Cheetahville.
Angie screams when she gets off the phone: “I won the bet!”
Now I cave in. She did win the bet. Fair and square.
“Seems like we’ve all won the bet.” Mouse Almighty chuckles. “I gambled on you girls because I knew you’d come through. So I want you to know, we’re in this together.”
“I don’t mean to get giddy like P. Diddy, but can we give ourselves a shout out?” Galleria asks.
The five of us put our hands on top of one another’s and join her in a group scream, “TOGETHER FOREVER!”
Twinkle, Twinkle, Cheetah Stars
Being fierce is no child’s play
We work hard at it every day
That’s why Sunday is not our fun day
Because we can’t always get our way
So if you think we’re at our wit’s end
And that drama and kaflamma will make us bend
You’re wrong about the message we send
As a matter of fact we’re here to mend
What some say are our puffed-up ways
We’re here to tell you that we got a payday
Through Def Duck Records
And something better
So here we are with our sneak preview
That’s just for you
Our mighty-tight fans
Through and through
Both far and near
We’re simply here
Twinkle, Twinkle, Cheetah Stars Page 10