All I Want is Everything

by Daaimah S. Poole

  “Yes, but I thought you would like it. I got caught up with my mom.”

  “And when I call you, answer your phone. All right?”

  “I will. Now you want to look at our car?” I asked as I dangled the keys.

  “Yes, I’ll look at it.”

  As we went out to the car I explained that the payments were only nine hundred a month including insurance. It was like a sparkling toy. I got in the passenger seat and let him drive. He loved the car as much as I did. When we pulled up to the light I gave him a kiss and sang softly in his ear.

  I’d been looking at houses for three weeks. I could not find anything in south Jersey for less than $300,000 to $500,000. I thought I would be able to get something nice for $200,000, maybe even $100,000, but I hadn’t seen anything. I’d been looking in every county in New Jersey. I had this new home guide and a real estate agent named Tina. She was always friendly and cheerful.

  I’d seen houses I wished I could afford for $800,000, with super-lengthy driveways. I’d have to upgrade to that type of house—maybe next album. Right now I just wanted a house that my family could feel comfortable in. I wanted a four-bedroom house. I’d already estimated that whatever I bought, my payments were probably going to be at least $2,500 a month. Plus I had to pay homeowners’ insurance and property taxes. It was a lot, but as long as I was doing shows and I had a deal, we would be okay. I just wanted my family to have somewhere nice to live. My mom deserved it.

  John was with me as I walked around the latest house Tina was showing us. She tried to have us follow her, but we were giving ourselves the tour. The house was located in a development called Waverly Estates in Burlington County. The house sat on the end of the block and was surrounded by green grass and beautiful flowers. It was a decade-old single-family home with a mixture of brick and aluminum siding. “This is really nice,” I said as I took off my sunglasses to get a better view. “Why are they selling it?”

  “Well, their children are grown and they don’t need anything this big anymore.”

  There were two windows in every room, double closets, a balcony and a man-made lake was in back of the house. There was a deck and a garden with all types of flowers. Downstairs there was a finished basement. I could see having a big flat-screen television on the wall and a big fish tank along the other wall. I went back upstairs and started envisioning where I would put everything.

  “Mommy can have this room,” I said as I walked into the master bedroom, John following behind me.

  “No, you should take the master room. It’s your house. You’ll need this big closet for all of your clothes and shoes.

  “Okay, you’re right, and Marcus will be here too! His stuff can go over there.”

  “Marcus is not going to stay in this house with Mommy and the kids,” John said.

  “Yes, he will when he sees how beautiful it is. And this is just the beginning. When I start making money from touring I’m going to get another house for me and him.”

  “Well, Mommy can have this room,” I said as I pointed to the second-biggest room. “I’m going to buy it.” I said admiring my possible new home.

  Tina heard the word “buy” and came running in the room.

  “You want to put a offer in?” she asked.

  I made an offer on the house and it was accepted. I was all ready to go to settlement. I had to use stated income and get a no-document loan because my credit was so new, plus I hadn’t been signed that long, so the interest on my loan was going to be higher, but I didn’t care. I had a house. I had to put $30,000 down. That withdrawal was going to hurt my bank account. I’d checked my account balance. I had already spent about ten thousand on my down payment on my car and five thousand on miscellaneous things like gifts for my family and me and Marcus. My money was going fast, and I was still going to have to buy furniture for the house. But I told myself I was going to do one thing at a time, I couldn’t do everything just yet. Plus, that house was so beautiful I would sleep on the floor until I was able to buy furniture. But I was about to be a homeowner.

  I was in the middle of getting dressed. I was about to leave the house and go to settlement when Marcus began asking me why was I buying my mother a house.

  “Are you sure you want to buy a house? I mean, you just bought a car. She already has a house.”

  I wished he would stop counting my money. I resented him asking me why I was helping my family out.

  “You can move in too,” I assured him.

  “You know I can’t leave my dad. It’s like everything that you have been doing has been about your family. You act like I’m not your family,” Marcus complained. He was obviously upset.

  I went up to him, hugged him and said, “Baby, you are my family, but I needed somewhere for my mom to live, and I told you we can live there. And plus I’m going to be in New York and we’re going to have to get another place eventually, okay.”

  “Yeah, but it just seems like you’re moving too fast for me, you are doing too much.” he said.

  I looked Marcus in the eye and said, “This is the way I want to spend my money.”

  After that he didn’t say anything.

  Tony informed me that the label said I had to pull out my extra tooth. I knew it was going to hurt. I hated the dentist—that’s why I never went. They always want to poke and drill shit. He also suggested I enhance my cleavage.

  I walked into the doctor’s office. I didn’t want plastic surgery. The thought of having something foreign in my body made me cringe. I mean, yeah, I have been getting teased about my breasts—or lack thereof—all my life. But implants seemed like the ultimate fakeness. I felt like all I needed was some blue contacts and a long blond weave and then I could hang out with Pamela Anderson. I didn’t want to be fake, but if it was going to help my career, then I had to do it.

  “Okay, how does this help my career again?” I asked Tony. He had to explain this to me as we waited for my consultation exam.

  “The men who are going to buy your songs are going to judge you by your appearance, not your singing ability.”

  “I don’t care about men buying my albums. I want my songs to be about women overcoming. My songs are for women. I want to be like Alicia Keys and Mary J. Blige.”

  “Well, we want men sales, too,” Tony insisted. “They’ll be the ones who will say, ‘She is so hot—I have to buy her album.’”

  “She is so hot,” I repeated, imitating him.

  He laughed.

  My name was called and the doctor came into the room and introduced himself. I told him I wanted believable breasts. He told me I was an A cup and he was going to bring me up to a C cup.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asked.

  “Yes. How long will I be out of commission?”

  “Each person varies, because I have had patients who take weeks to recover and others who start feeling better in a few days.” He sat down on his rolling stool and said, “What we have to do now is determine the size you’re going to be.” He showed me the saline breast versus the silicone breast. I decided on the saline because they seemed the safest to me.

  The day of the surgery Marcus took off work and drove me to the hospital. I didn’t tell my mom—she could yell at me after it was done. I was already scared and didn’t need anyone screaming at me too. I was feeling very anxious and wanted to get it over with. As I dressed I double checked my list. I couldn’t bring any shirts that went over my head. I had to go buy all these loose-fitting sweat shirts that zipped up. I needed pillows for the car ride home. They said I would probably be hungry and want water and crackers.

  We arrived to pre-op. They gave me the anesthesia, and I didn’t remember anything else.

  I awoke so groggy, I just wanted to go back to sleep. Then I looked around and immediately I wanted to sit up. They had me wrapped tight in Ace bandages, and underneath that was white gauze laid directly over my incisions. Every time I moved any part of my body I could feel the pain. They put me in a wheelchair
and Marcus drove me home.

  The next day I awoke to pain so great I wondered, “Why did I do that dumb shit?” I couldn’t sleep on my stomach, I was feeling out of it from all the medicine and I couldn’t take a bath. Marcus gave me a sponge bath and had to change my bandages. He didn’t mind. But I felt a little helpless.

  “Baby, I need my medicine and I need help going to the bathroom. Please.” Marcus was taking his time, moving slowly. I moved one leg at a time and tiptoed into the bathroom. I just wanted to sleep the pain off. Marcus got in the bed with me and tried to comfort me. I felt his every movement when he breathed.

  “Marcus, please get out of the bed. Every time you move I can feel it.”

  The next morning I felt so much better. I saw the tanks in front of me on my chest. When I went to the doctor for my post-op visit three days after the surgery, the surgeon assured me that my breasts would not remain that big. I did not believe him.

  Two weeks later, my breasts were still huge. They went down a little, but they were now the first things you saw on me. I stood in the mirror and felt them—they were not jig-gly. They seemed like big cantaloupes attached to my body. I felt like a freak show. I couldn’t even go to the post office without a man being extra nice and trying to open the door or whistle at me. The dirty old men were the ones who really made me sick. So I started to wear two sports bras just to look normal to hold the puppies down.

  But I didn’t have time to have regrets—what was done was done. I had to move to New York to my new apartment the label was paying for. Marcus didn’t want me to leave, but he understood after we had a long talk about what was best for my career. He was going to come up every weekend to visit.

  Tony and his wife, Liz, moved me in. I just brought my clothes and pictures. The apartment was already furnished and not that big, but nice. I had a doorman and a nice lobby. There were two big windows with white drapes, and a plain bed with cream-colored sheets and a comforter.

  “This place is small. I thought a record label would give her something better than this,” Liz said.

  “This is very good for New York City. Manhattan apartments are so expensive. You know how much it costs to live here? It is good they even gave her this. They want her close to the studio. This is all you need, Kendra. You being up here is about getting that album done.”

  Chapter 14

  Tony and I were waiting in the conference room. We were about to have our first marketing meeting with the label about my image. Tony said they would develop my name and style. I didn’t really want them to put any name on what I do, because once they put me in box I wouldn’t be able to climb out of it. I really didn’t want to be R&B, pop, or neo-soul. I just wanted to be a good singer.

  “I wonder if my breasts and my teeth being fixed are enough for them,” I joked as I grabbed a piece of honeydew melon off a fruit tray on the table.

  “No, you look great,” Tony said.

  “So I didn’t look great before?” I playfully asked.

  “No, you always looked great.” He saw I was being silly and kept reading text messages on his phone.

  “Looking good,” Thomas said as he entered the room and pointed in my direction. Maya and the others followed him inside.

  “Hi, Kendra. I’m Maya Gomez, and I’m in the Publicity Ad Image Department. You are a cute girl. It is so nice to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  I smiled and thanked her and she sat down. I couldn’t tell if Maya was black or Hispanic. She was pretty, about forty-something with a medium cropped bob. She was wearing a blue suit, black glasses and big white pearls. Everyone around the room stood up and introduced themselves. I didn’t remember anyone’s name, but I smiled and said hello.

  Maya started the meeting.

  “So Kendra we love you. Thomas has told us great things about you. And this meeting is basically to get us all acquainted, and decide on your style, brand, and the direction of your project.

  “What have you come up with so far?” Tony asked.

  “We’ve decided on the look we want for you. You’re going to be the modern-day Toni Braxton. We want you to sing ballads but be able to tear up a club with a hip-hop inspired track. Have you thought of a name?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” I said.

  “In our sales meeting we came up with a few ideas.” She stood up like she was proud of herself and she had just made a great scientific discovery.

  “Kendra, we think your name should be Siren. You’re hot, you’re young, and you are on fire. We are going to dye your hair red, and this will be your signature look. This will make you stand out in the crowd.” She revealed a digital picture of me with red hair. Then she continued on.

  “When a fan picks up a magazine and sees the red they will go straight to the article with you in it. They are going to know Siren. She is on fire.”

  “I’m not feeling that,” I said as I looked around the room to see if anyone would disagree. “Like I would prefer to just go by my name, Kendra.”

  Another guy introduced himself as Charles. He had on a light blue dress shirt and a brown tie. He was short with long-trimmed sideburns and a funny block haircut. He was sitting at the other end of the table and asked me my middle name. “Kendra is way too common,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t like Siren,” I said.

  Tony stepped in and said, “Her stage name now is Kendra Michelle, and people know her by that name.”

  “I like it, so you will be Kendra Michelle,” Maya said.

  We discussed my look and style. They agreed that I would be a straight-up R&B singer with a touch of neo soul, and I would not be dying my hair red.

  Today was going to be my first day in the studio. Tony had just called to tell me he was on his way to take me. Tony had moved to New York last weekend. He found a place in Brooklyn. He couldn’t keep going up and down the turnpike every day. It was getting too expensive. He was more excited than me. His plan was to get my career off the ground and get more artists. I could tell that he felt validated by me getting signed. He said Liz was not happy because he’d uprooted her and moved her to New York.

  “You ready, Kendra?”

  We rode down Eleventh Avenue. There was traffic everywhere. Yellow cabs owned the streets. Tony almost crashed three times. The cab drivers would not let anyone in front of them. They kept braking hard and jumping into the next lane, almost making us hit them.

  We arrived at the studio exactly at six. Tony looked down at his directions and the address.

  “You have to go to the fifth floor. Ask for Brian Edwards.”

  “I’ll just wait for you,” I said.

  “No, look, don’t be late. First impressions are everything. Go up. I’m going to park, and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  I went up to the fifth floor and found that there were five recording studios. I walked into studio C and saw two men sitting at the boards. One was a real 3X type of guy—not fat, but not far from it. He was big like a big teddy. He had these long dreads, a light beard and brown skin. He might even have been cute if he cut that hair and lost a little weight. When I walked into the studio he said, “You must be Kendra Michelle. What’s up? My name is Beazie.” He extended his hand for me to shake.

  “Nice to meet you, Beazie.”

  “No, it’s pronounced like ‘be easy.’ Brian Edwards—nice to meet you,” he said, laughing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, be careful. It’s cool. This is Davis, my engineer.”

  Davis came over and said hello.

  Beazie invited me to have a seat so we could plan the album. We waited for Tony to come up, and when he did he came in, shook Beazie’s hand, caught his breath, and took a seat. Beazie began talking about the direction of my album.

  “Thomas wants at least twenty songs. Out of those twenty we are going to pick about fourteen songs to go on the album. He wants you to have an equal number of up tempos, ballads, and club songs. Your project
is scheduled for the second quarter. They want you out by next spring, so we have about three months to get this done. I don’t want to take the entire three months. So when I call you into the studio I need you to get here and be ready to work.”

  “Okay, I will. And here are the songs I wrote.” I tried to hand him the notebook, but he ignored my outstretched hand.

  “We’ll get to them. Listen to these songs and tell me which one you like,” he said as he began playing tracks. He played an array of six beats—some slow, some fast.

  “I like tracks two and six. Tony, which do you like?”

  “Can you play three and five over again?” Tony asked.

  Beazie played them again. Listening to five again, it sounded really good. The drum was loud and I could hear a sped-up guitar in it. There was someone else already singing the songs on the next two tracks he played. He told me to just sing like the girl already on there. It was called “What’s It Going to Be.” It had a real nice groove to it.

  “You ready?” Beazie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Go on in the booth.”

  I walked in the booth and it was just what I’d expected—big and roomy. This was a far cry from the so-called studio where I had first recorded my demos.

  I could see Beazie and the other guys through the glass. I picked up the headphones and looked down at the lyrics. I wanted to get the melody right. I started singing it over again in my head.

  Beazie came across the speaker and said, “Let me know when you ready.”

  “Play the song one more time.”

  The music started playing, and I was still trying to catch the feel of the song. I put my head up and he began playing the track. He started it again and I began to sing, “It’s time for you to make up your mind. What’s it going to be? Who you gonna see? Who you going to make ya ladee?” I sang.

  The music went off, and Beazie came across the speaker again.

  “That was good, but give me a little more energy.”