“Está bien.” Too bad I won’t be going to the sample sale, I think to myself as I close the door. But these days, and until I pay off what I owe my mom, shopping and me are total strangers.
Everyone is quiet when I walk into Mr. Johnson’s office, and they all turn to look at me. They must be early, because I know I’m not late, I think. Nervously, I look at my Miss Wiggy! watch.
“Let’s cut to the paper chase here, Mr. Johnson. This contract is not going to work,” Dorothea says, looking up from her leopard brim and right into Mr. Johnson’s eyes.
“Mrs. Garibaldi, I can assure you this contract is pretty standard,” Mr. Johnson says, smoothing down his bright red tie. “We’re only talking about production costs.”
“According to my lawyer, at the royalty rate you have written in this clause, the only game the Cheetah Girls are gonna be able to afford for the next ten years is jumping jacks!” Dorothea snaps at Mr. Johnson, then leans over his desk.
Bubbles looks at me and puts her finger over her mouth. I can see that I have walked right into another soap opera.
“I am footing the cost of the demo tape, wheeling and dealing to make everything happen for the Cheetah Girls, so it’s only fitting that I’m sitting on the throne and seeing my girls become stars,” Mr. Johnson says, slamming his hands down on his desk.
“You’re going to be seeing ‘stars,’ all right—right after I clunk you with my purse!” Dorothea says, her dark brown eyes getting squinty. “You are no longer going to manage my girls. And, if you ever come sniffing around them again, Mr. jackal, or if you try to release any of those songs with their vocals on it, I’m gonna come back and be so shady the sun is gonna go down on you. Do you understand?” Dorothea says in that scary voice she gets when she is mad. Leave it to my madrina to throw her weight around and show who is the conductor on this choo-choo train.
“What about the girls’ gig at the Apollo? I hooked it up so Mr. Hyena can be there. I mean, I’m digging your concern, Mrs. Garibaldi, but I think you’re making a big mistake,” Mr. Johnson says, swiveling in his fake leather chair. There are little beads of sweat on his forehead, like I get when I’m scared.
“The only mistake I’m making is that I don’t hit you over the head with my pocketbook, you hungry scavenger!” Dorothea says, then motions for us to get up with her.
We all walk out of the office behind Dorothea, and bigmouthed Bubbles says to Mr. Johnson, “See ya around like a doughnut!”
Why can’t I think of the kinds of things that Bubbles says? I start smiling and looking at my crew, but Angie and Aqua look sad.
“It would have been nice to perform at the Apollo. What are we gonna do now?” Aqua says, popping her gum.
“Don’t pop gum in public, darling, you’re too pretty for that,” Dorothea says, then puts her arm around Aqua.
“I’m sorry, Mrs.—I mean Ms. Dorothea. I was just kinda nervous in there,” Aqua explains. She puts the pink blob of gum in a tissue and throws it in the garbage receptacle by the elevator.
“Now we don’t have a demo tape. We don’t have a show. We don’t have nothing. What are we gonna do, Ms. Dorothea?” Angie says, crossing her arms and pouting like a Texas Tornado cheerleader.
“Maybe we missed our last chance, last dance. Was the contract really that bad, Ms. Dorothea?” Do’ Re Mi asks, looking up at my madrina, who is more than a foot taller than her, especially with her high heels on. They are bright-red patent-leather pumps that look good enough to eat.
Eat? Suddenly, I realize that I’m hungry.
“Some Dominican-style arroz con pollo would be great right about now,” I say to Bubbles.
“Darlings, I know this fabulous Moroccan restaurant we can go to around the corner. My treat!” Dorothea says, pulling out her compact. “Listen, Cheetah Girls, don’t get so nervous you’re ready to pounce at the first opportunity that comes along. We’re gonna figure out something, okay? It takes more than one shifty jackal to chase us out of the jiggy jungle, am I right?”
Dorothea looks at us, extends her hands, and does the Cheetah Girls handshake with all five of us.
“You got that right, Momsy poo—we are gonna do what we gotta do!” Bubbles says, egging her on. “Even if we did miss the opportunity of a lifetime, and even if it takes us longer, we’re still gonna get diggity, no doubt. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I hear that,” Do’ Re Mi says, then sighs. She’s trying to keep her spirits up—we all are—but it’s hard not to keep thinking about everything we’ve just lost.
Because we are so down in la dumpa, after our lonchando, Dorothea asks us to come to her store so she can give us a surprise. When we get to the store, my mom is there! I wonder what’s going on.
“What are you doing here, Auntie Juanita?” Bubbles asks my mom. I’m thinking, I hope Mr. Tycoon’s plane didn’t get hijacked! Mom puts her sunglasses on her head, and holds up a newspaper. It’s the latest issue of the Uptown Express. “Did you see this?” she says, handing Dorothea the newspaper.
“Hmmph, the hyenas are circling after all!” Dorothea says, showing it to us. “’Hyena Records Sings Its Last Note, And Its Founder Is Singing Like a Crow to the Feds!’” We all gather around the newspaper, as Dorothea reads us the article blow by blow.
“Seems that Mr. Johnson and Mr. Hyena were in cahoots all along,” Dorothea explains.
“What’s a cahoot?” Angie asks.
“That means they were the okeydokey duo, get it?” Bubbles says. “They were flipping the flimflam together.”
“Oh,” Angie says, shaking her head. “They weren’t doing right by us. I get it.”
“Angie, they were crooks!” Do’ Re Mi blurts out, then plops down on Dorothea’s leopard love seat.
“Seems Mr. Johnson would steer artists to the record label,” Dorothea says.
Before she can continue, Bubbles blurts out, “Signing them to these radickio deals, like the one he was trying to perpetrate on us!”
“That’s right, darling,” Dorothea says, reaching for one of the Godiva chocolates on the counter. “Then Mr. Hyena would cover the royalty tracks, so that the artists never knew how much they were making, and the two would skim the profits out of the company.”
“So Princess Pamela was right after all!” I blurt out, then realize that I should buy some Krazy Glue and stick my lips together permanently.
My mom looks at me like she is already picking out the color of my coffin.
“Juanita, I’m gonna side with Chanel on this one,” Dorothea says, putting her arm around my mom as she explains Princess Pamela’s predictions to her. “She may not be your cup of tea, but she sure knows how to read tea leaves!” Dorothea says, doing the Cheetah Girls handshake with us.
Mom thinks for a minute, her face all serious. “I don’t mind if you see her,” she says to me all of sudden. “You just cannot take any presents from her, or call her Psychic Hot Line—I don’t care if she invented the crystal ball!”
“I told you, Mamí, I won’t take anything from her again,” I say nervously.
“You know what mothers are?” Mom asks me.
“What?”
“Psychics who don’t charge—you can get all the advice you need for free!” My mom smiles, slapping Dorothea a high five.
“Well, I’m glad you all are happy—but we still don’t have a demo,” Aqua says, reaching into the box of Godiva. She must be getting very comfortable around here, because she used to always ask Dorothea first.
“Help yourself, darling,” Dorothea says.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Dorothea!” Aqua blurts out.
“That’s all right, just enjoy yourself,” Dorothea says, smiling.
“Chanel, are you sure those Chihuahuas don’t shed hair?” Mom asks me.
“I’m very sure, because Do’ Re Mi looked it up in a book!” I say.
“That’s right, Mrs. Simmons, I did,” Do’ Re Mi says, helping me out.
“Maybe next weekend, we’ll s
ee if we find one for Pucci’s birthday,” Mom says.
I can’t believe my ears. “Oh, Mamí,” I say, and run over to hug her.
“Don’t hug me yet. If he sheds one hair, he’s going right back to the dog pound,” Juanita quips.
“Why do you have to get a ‘he’?” Do’ Re Mi quips.
“Because Pucci hates girls—except for Bubbles,” I volunteer with a giggle, then sit Toto in my lap. “He’s not like you, Boo-boo, right?”
Ms. Dorothea motions for all of us to sit down. “Now, the reason why I wanted all of you to come back to the store …” She breaks out in a big smile. “I have a little surprise for you, Cheetah Girls.” Dorothea brushes her wavy wiglet hairs out of her face. “Remember I told you Jellybean Nyce was in here shopping?”
“Really!” Angie says. “Omigod, we love her!”
“I know. And I told her about your predicament, and she is gonna hook us up with the producer who did her demo, Chili Dog Watkins.”
“Really?” Bubbles blurts out.
“Really,” Dorothea counters. “But I’m not finished. I, Dorothea Garibaldi, have secured the fabulous Cheetah Girls a spot on The Amateur Hour at the world-famous Apollo!”
“No way, Jose!” I say, my mouth hanging open. “How did you do that, madrina?”
“I did it the way every manager does—I sold you like the second coming of the Spice Rack Girls, that’s how,” Dorothea brags. “You’ll never say I don’t work overtime for my artists.”
“Mom, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Bubbles asks, smiling and putting her arm around Dorothea.
“Darling, one can never be too sure what you’re thinking, but I’ll tell you what I’m saying,” Dorothea says, looking at all of us. “It’s time for the Cheetah Girls to have real management—and you’re looking at her.”
We scream with delight, while Mom just looks on from the counter, amused. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Dottie, because these girls will wear you out!”
“Oh, I know what I’m doing. I’m taking the Cheetah Girls right to the top, where they belong.”
Angie can’t contain her Southern charm any longer, and screams out, “Come on Mr. Sandman, show me your hook, ’cuz I’m ready for Freddy!”
Angie, of course, is referring to the famous bozo with the hook who runs bad acts off the stage if they get booed by the audience. The Sandman kinda looks like a brown clown, but his antics are no joke, for sure.
“All I can say is, I hope Freddy is ready for us at the world-famous Apollo,” Bubbles adds.
All I can say is, la dopa!
“Come on, Cheetah Girls,” Bubbles shouts. “Let’s give the world a taste of our latest, greatest hit!”
We break into “Shop in the Name of Love,” and the whole place is rockin’, customers and all. We look at each other and smile, nodding our heads. Me most of all, ’cuz I’m so glad this all happened. It was all worth it, all the grief, all the tears—just to come out of it with a song like this one.
Yeah—it’s just a matter of time. Look out, world—the Cheetah Girls are comin’—and we are large and in charge!
Shop in the Name of Love
Polo or solo
Gucci or Pucci
Prada or Nada
is the way I wanna live
Ma don’t make me wait
or I’ll gaspitate
till I get my own credit card
and sashay right to the bargain yard!
That’s right, y’all
Honey may come from bees
but money don’t grow on trees.
You may think you’re large
’cuz you charge
But you’re looking good
and sleeping on a barge!
When you shop in the Name Of Love
you gotta ask yourself
What are you dreamin’ of?
What are you schemin’ of?
What are you trippin’ on, love?
That’s right, y’all!
The Cheetah Girls are large
and in charge
but that don’t mean
we charge up our cards
The Cheetah Girls are large
and in charge
but that don’t mean
we charge up our cards
Polo or solo
Gucci for Pucci
Prada or nada
is the way I wanna live
Say what?
Polo or solo
Gucci for Pucci
Prada or nada
is the way I wanna live
You got that?
Yeah. I got that.
Excuse, Miss,
does that dress come in red or blue?
Well, that’s all right
’cuz the cheetah print
will always do!
The Cheetah Girls are large
and in charge
but that don’t mean
we charge up our cards
You got that?
Yeah. I got that!
That’s right, y’all
Honey may come from bees
but money don’t grow on trees.
You may think you’re large
’cuz you charge
But you’re looking good
and sleeping on a barge
When you shop in the Name of Love
you gotta ask yourself
What are you dreamin’ of?
What are you schemin’ of?
What are you trippin on, love?
The Cheetah Girls are
large large and in charge
but that don’t mean
we charge up our cards
You got that?
Yeah. I got that!
The Cheetah Girls Glossary
Abuela: Grandmother.
Adobo down: Mad flava.
Arroz con pollo: Rice and chicken.
Benjamins: Bucks, dollars.
Bruja: A good or bad witch.
Caliente mad: Really angry.
Confirmation: Catholic religion ceremony at the age of thirteen.
Cuatro yuks!: When something or someone is four times yucky.
Do me a flava: Do me a favor.
Duckets: Money, loot.
Down for the ‘do: Ready to support.
Está bien: Awright.
Fib-eronis: Teeny-weeny fibs.
Flipping the flimflam: Acting or doing something shady.
Floss: Show off.
Frijoles: Beans.
Gracias gooseness: Thank goodness.
La dopa!: Fabulous.
La gran fantasía: Living in Happyville.
La wacka: Something that is wack.
Lonchando: Lunching.
Madrina: Godmother.
Majordomo: Legitimate.
Mentira: A not-so-little lie.
Muy coolio: Very cool.
Pinata-whacking mad: When someone is madder than caliente mad.
Poco paz: A little peace.
Qué broma!: What a joke!
Querida: Dear. Precious one.
Radickkio: Ridiculous!
Ready for Freddy: Ready to do your thing, no matter what happens.
Schemo: Idiot
Tan coolio: So cool.
Tú sabes que tú sabes: You know what you know.
Weakness for carats: Someone who is a lifetime member of the diamonds-are-a-girl’s-best-friend club.
Wheel-a-deala: Making moves, both good or bad.
Winky dink: Blink and you’ll miss it.
Yo tengo un coco: I have a crush!
Acknowledgments
I have to give it up to the Jump at the Sun peeps here—Andrea Pinkney, Lisa Holton, and Ken Geist—for letting the Cheetah Girls run wild. Also, Anath Garber, the one person who helped me find my Cheetah Girl powers. And, Lita Richardson, the one person who now has my back in the jiggy jungle. Primo thanks to the cover girl Cheetahs: Arike, Brandi, Imani, Jeni, and Mia. And to all the Cheetah Girls around the globe: Get dig
gity with the growl power, baby!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Deborah Gregory earned her growl power as a diva-about-town contributing writer for Essence, Vibe, and More magazines. She has showed her spots on several talk shows, including Oprah, Ricki Lake, and Maury Povich. She lives in New York City with her pooch, Cappuccino, who is featured as the Cheetah Girls’ mascot, Toto.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by Deborah Gregory
ISBN 978-1-4532-7763-8
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
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Shop in the Name of Love Page 7