by Nikki Carter
She responds with a huge smile. “It was. Epsilon thought ‘Inbox Me’ would be more radio friendly. It’ll be the follow-up, though.”
Either Mystique doesn’t see or doesn’t care about the stank look on my face. She greets some of her fans, gives some hugs and air kisses, and has Benji hustle her off the dance floor.
I want to continue mean mugging everybody and hightail it to the house, but now, people are congratulating me on my single. The beat is bumping really hard, and it seems kind of weird to hear my own voice blaring out the speakers.
Inbox me/Don’t want everyone to know-ow-ow/Inbox me/Get up on this dance floor/Inbox me/Don’t leave it on my wall/Inbox me/You don’t even have to call….
From the way the club is jumping now, this is sure to be a hit, with Mystique getting paid a grip. Watching the crowd getting pumped and dancing hard off this tune is almost enough to make me be okay with losing a songwriter royalty payout at the end of the day.
Almost.
Suddenly, in the middle of the dance floor, there is a ruckus. I’m nosy, so I crane my neck trying to see what’s going on. I still can’t see so I move a little closer.
Then the chanting begins.
“Go, Charlie; go, Charlie; go, Charlie; go, Charlie.”
It can’t be!
OMG, it soooo is my Aunt Charlie, dancing hard on the dance floor! She’s grinding on some dude that’s got to be young enough to be her son. Her short shorts look extra petite as she dips it low, picks it up slow …
I can’t believe this is happening.
Clearly, someone has alerted Dreya because she’s front and center with extra attitude. She yells something that I can’t hear because the music is so loud. Aunt Charlie looks back at her, laughs, and keeps dancing.
Next Dreya loses her mind and tries to snatch Aunt Charlie by the arm. My jaw nearly drops to the floor when Aunt Charlie mugs Dreya in the face and makes her stumble back into the crowd. Then Aunt Charlie goes right back to her new boo!
Dreya tries to lunge again, but Big D is there now, and he picks her up by the waist and carries her off the dance floor.
I don’t have to worry about any drama being fabricated about me on our reality show! Dreya and Aunt Charlie are giving enough real-time adventures for a hundred reality shows.
Hot mess’dness to the infinite power.
14
Packing for this tour is not easy, but basically the next six weeks of my life, I’m going to be living out of my suitcase on a tour bus. I’m thinking that I should be more excited than I am.
My mom pops her head into my room. “You ready to go over to the studio?”
“Yep. I think so. If I’ve forgotten anything, I’ll have to get it on the road.”
“Okay. Your Aunt Charlie is coming too.”
I let out a little chuckle. “Does Dreya know? I don’t want her getting all riled up like she did at her party.”
My mother shakes her head. “That didn’t even make any sense. Charlie was just having fun, trying to celebrate her daughter’s birthday.”
“Mom. Aunt Charlie is embarrassing! I see why Dreya was mad. I would’ve been mad if you were doing that!”
My mom puts one hand on her hip and twists her neck hard. “So you’re saying that you don’t want me going to the club? I’m grown and so is Charlie.”
“I’m not saying that, but Mom, please! Charlie was grinding on a dude. The BET cameras were getting it all on tape.”
“And what? Like I said, Charlie is grown. I wish you would think about putting your hands on me like Dreya did Charlie. She owes her mother an apology.”
“I would never do that, but I would be just as upset if you were embarrassing me like that.”
“Humph! We’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this one, I see. Y’all turning eighteen and thinking you can run up on y’all own mamas?”
Aunt Charlie steps into my bedroom as well. As irritating as she is, she looks fly with her weave flipped in the front like how Tiny wears hers. She’s got on skinny jeans and a halter, which is nowhere near age-appropriate, but at least she’s got the body that she can still rock clothes like that.
“Where you going all dressed up, Charlie?” my mother asks.
“To my BET debut,” she replies with a laugh. “My next baby daddy might see me on this show.”
My mother laughs out loud. “The last thing you need is another baby.”
Manny bursts into my room from the hallway and pushes past his mother to stand in the middle of my bedroom floor. He looks fly too, with his miniature Sean John apparel that Dreya bought him.
“Did I hear my mama say she was havin’ a baby?” Manny asks. “I vote no. I’m the only baby up in this piece.”
“Why don’t you take your little grown-acting self to the potty before we leave?” my mother says.
“Potty? I don’t use the potty, Auntie Shawn. I’m too grown and sexy for that.”
My mother smacks him on his behind for his smart mouth, and he runs out of the room—toward the potty. Little man need to stop playing! He can barely aim in the big, grown folk toilet.
“Charlie, you act nice when we get to the studio,” my mom warns. “We don’t want no mess out of you and Dreya.”
“She betta act like she got some sense! She put her hands on me again, I’m gonna beat the tar off her. Think I’m lying? I’m the mother; she’s the daughter. She betta recognize.”
So it doesn’t seem like we’re going to have a stress-free episode, at all. I’ll just do what I’ve been doing—make sure I see where the cameraman is pointing and run the opposite direction when the ish hits the fan!
15
The tour bus is enormous! As we pull up to Big D’s studio, I take in the huge fifty-five-passenger bus with our faces on the sides! It says EPSILON RECORDS SUMMER TOUR and has me, Dreya, and Truth’s promo photos. It also says, SPECIAL GUEST, MYSTIQUE. As far as I know, she’s not showing up at any of the concerts. That’s probably just a way for her to get more publicity.
According to Big D, Ms. Layla will be in every city with her costumes, but she doesn’t ride the bus. Not with a multimillionaire for a daughter. She flies from location to location, even if it’s less than an hour away by plane.
I finished my last final—English Lit. And I aced it! Even though I have to miss graduation, I’m officially a graduate! Yeah, baby! My mom is a little bit bummed about me not crossing the stage, but I just reminded her that she’ll get to see me graduate from Spelman with honors. Nothing is keeping me from crossing that stage.
The BET camera crew is out in full force! They’ve added two extra cameras, probably because of everything that popped off last night at the club.
Sam sees us pull up and jogs over to my mom’s car. “Hey, Sunday. Are your bags in the trunk?”
“Yep! But you’re not a roadie. You’re the assistant music director! Let somebody else get the bags.”
He grins. “I don’t mind getting your bags, Sunday. Roadie or not.”
My mother smiles and elbows me before she gets out on her side of the car. “I told you to keep him!”
I shake my head and open my car door. It looks like I’m the last to arrive. Everyone else is already here.
“Why is she here?” This is my mother’s voice, and it’s nearly frantic with anger.
I follow her eyes to see where her glare is going, and then I want to kick myself for not thinking about this. Dilly is standing near the bus with his big sister LaKeisha.
This is all bad.
Before I can stop my mother she’s storming over in their direction, and the cameras are trained on her, probably because she looks ready to explode.
My mother bellows, “LaKeisha, you’re like a cockroach, always showing up where you’re not wanted!”
“Don’t be mad, Shawn! Your little songwriter is ‘bout to get us all paid,” LaKeisha taunts. “Me, Bryce, and Dilly can’t wait to start spending the money y’all makin’ us.”
My
mother stops in her tracks, two inches from LaKeisha’s face. “Dilly is your brother? What kind of name is that? Sounds like what y’all mama was to keep popping out all this ghetto trash.”
Dilly looks like my mother just hit him. She’s got a right to be mad at LaKeisha, but dang, why Dilly got to take the wrath too?
“Mom, it’s cool,” I say when I finally catch up with her. “Dilly’s on the label; he’s just going along as a roadie.”
My mother looks him up and down. “A roadie? Couldn’t make the cut, huh? Trying to blow up off of someone else’s talent?”
Dilly opens his mouth to say something when LaKeisha interjects, “He’s got talent! Way more talent than these two heifers. They’re lucky to have him.”
Dilly presses his sister back, since the last thing she said was spoken so close to my mother’s face, that my mom is wiping LaKeisha’s spit off her nose. This is about to get ugly for real.
“Whose picture do you see on the side of this bus, trick? That’s my daughter up there!”
LaKeisha laughs. “I don’t care who’s picture is up there as long as I keep cashing checks.”
Aunt Charlie apparently has had enough. She flies past my mother so quickly that no one could stop her if he or she wanted to. She pulls LaKeisha down to the ground by her hair. Or should I say by her weave? And it wasn’t in too good either, because a huge section of it tears off in Aunt Charlie’s hand.
“My sister can’t beat your butt, because she works for the gov’ment,” Aunt Charlie says before jumping on LaKeisha. “But I’m about to wipe the street with your ghetto self.”
As Big D and Sam pull my Aunt Charlie off of LaKeisha, I can hear her laughing. She spits at Aunt Charlie, and misses. She better be glad too, because not even Big D could’ve held her back if any of that saliva had gotten in Aunt Charlie’s premium Indian Remy hair.
“You and your sister are gutter rats,” LaKeisha says. “I’m ‘bout to be out of here.”
She slowly gets up and wipes the dirt off her clothing and smoothes down her hair. Dilly stands frozen, as if he doesn’t know what to do. I’m sure he wants to help his sister, but he’s about to get on a tour bus with us. He’s not trying to mess up his big break over their drama. I don’t blame him.
“This ain’t ova, Charlie,” LaKeisha says as she stumbles toward her car.
“What, you and your fake gangsta brother gonna come and shoot me too? Try it and both of y’all gonna be up under the jail.”
My mother says, “Charlie. That’s enough.” She narrows her eyes and glares in LaKeisha’s direction even after her car has pulled off. Then she gives Dilly the most evil-looking face that I’ve ever seen her give anyone. That’s so not fair. He hasn’t done anything.
“Mom, I meant to tell you …”
She gives me the hand, and says, “Sunday, don’t even. I can’t believe you would put yourself and your family in harm’s way by going to prom with him. LaKeisha and Bryce’s brother?”
“Mommy, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be angry.”
“I’m beyond angry, Sunday. I’m hurt. You know how they hurt me with what they did to Carlos.”
“But that wasn’t Dilly! He didn’t pull the trigger.”
My mother shakes her head in disgust. “You can thank yourself if something else goes down.”
I watch speechlessly as my mother, Aunt Charlie, and a sobbing Manny go back to the car.
I feel a troubling sadness overwhelm me. I never meant to upset my mom like this. That’s just all bad. Plus, I was trying to stay out of the spotlight. Now, I’m front and dead center. Dreya and Aunt Charlie’s fight at the club pales in comparison to this.
I’m starting to think that being immortalized on film is never a good thing.
16
While we’re on the road to Birmingham, Alabama, for our first show, everyone is giving me my space. Even Dreya, who would usually find a reason to capitalize off my embarrassment, is laying off the wisecracks.
This tour bus is tricked all the way out! The seats are soft and spacious, and when you recline them, it feels just like a bed. There’s a mini kitchen in the back with a microwave and an oven. I wonder if we would’ve got this fab life treatment if the BET cameras weren’t on the road with us.
I’m sitting here listening to Lauryn Hill on my iPod. Her melancholy voice is matching my sour mood, but her lyrics are soothing my spirit.
After singing along quietly to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” I look up and see Dilly standing in the aisle next to my seat.
I pull the earbuds out of my ears. “What’s up?”
“Can I sit down next to you?” he asks. “I don’t necessarily want the whole bus to hear our conversation.”
I scoot over next to the window and let Dilly have a seat. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” I say.
“I just want you to know that I’m not trying to have a come up off of you.”
“I don’t even think that, Dilly, and my mother doesn’t either.”
Dilly sucks his teeth and pokes out his lips. “Yeah, right. Your mother hates my guts, and she doesn’t even know me.”
I don’t even know why Dilly is going here. He knows what’s really good concerning that shooting, so I know he’s not gonna try to sit up here and act like my mom is the villain of this episode.
“Dilly, don’t play. You know why my mom has beef with your siblings. Don’t make me put it out there like that while we’ve got a whole television crew on this bus recording our every word.”
He sighs. “I know what y’all think went down, and like I told you before, you don’t know the entire story.”
“I’m sure neither of us do, so I don’t think we should be taking sides,” I reply in a calmer tone.
“But you have taken sides, right? You’ve taken Carlos’s side.”
I think about Carlos standing in my bedroom looking like an escaped convict, and I can’t help but feel some pity for him. Whatever went down between him and Bryce is irrelevant. Bryce is walking the streets free to do whatever, and Carlos is living hand to mouth.
I place my hand over Dilly’s hand. “Weren’t you the one who told me that their drama didn’t have anything to do with us? Let’s just have fun on this tour and worry about all that when we get home.”
He looks up at me and almost mesmerizes me with those big eyes and long lashes. “As long as you’re cool, I’m cool.”
“I’m cool, boy. Now let me listen to my music.”
Dilly gives me one last smile before he gets up and goes back to his seat. I think he’s optimistic about us being friends, and maybe hopeful that we’ll be more than friends. But when I think about the look on my mother’s face when she saw LaKeisha, I can’t be sure of either one. I’m all about collabos and making paper, but breaking my mother’s heart is not on my agenda.
17
Tonight is our first show in Birmingham, Alabama, and I’m a ball of nerves. You would think this was my first time ever performing! I’m having fears that I’ll forget the words to my songs, forget the dance steps, or worse, slip and fall on my butt trying to do Mystique’s complicated moves.
The BET camera crew is set up backstage to record all of our pre-concert activities, and everyone is doing their usual pre-show routine. Truth is in the corner mumbling lyrics and drinking lukewarm water. Dreya is making demands and sipping out of a can of Sprite. I’m doing breathing exercises trying to calm my jitters.
Ms. Layla just got here and is directing a small crew around several racks of clothing. It’s just one show, so I don’t know why she has all this inventory here. It’s like she wants to have a backup outfit, and a backup for the backup, and a backup for the backup’s backup. Just ridiculous if you ask me.
Since I’m performing first, she starts holding pieces up to me and either shaking her head or nodding and smiling. I’ve already tried all of this stuff on, so I don’t know why she can’t just hand me something.
> “How are you feeling tonight, Sunday? Are you feeling positive energy or negative energy?” Ms. Layla asks.
I lift one eyebrow and shrug. How am I even supposed to answer that question? She takes my wrist and taps it about twenty times.
“There, that’s better. Your aura is brighter now.”
Okay … um … yeah.
I don’t think Dreya likes me getting attended to first, because she storms over to Ms. Layla’s racks of clothing.
“Where is my outfit?” Dreya asks. “I need to see what I’m supposed to be wearing, because I might need to make some changes.”
Ms. Layla drops my wrist and slowly turns toward Dreya. She gives her an up and down look. “Your aura is dark; pick something black from over there.”
Ms. Layla waves at the far rack and goes back to picking out my outfit.
Dreya fusses, “I can’t find anything on these messy hangers! Someone needs to help me immediately. Sunday can wear anything. She’s the opening act. I’m one of the headliners.”
Ms. Layla sighs and says, “Sunday, please excuse me. I’ll be right back in a few moments. Take some deep breaths. Inhale deeply; exhale slowly. You seem nervous; your heart is racing. Find your center.”
Find my center? What is this? Am I the Karate Kid, and she’s Ms. Miyagi? But, maybe there is something to this, because the breathing is helping, and I definitely didn’t tell her about my feeling nervous.
I watch Ms. Layla quickly put together an ensemble that Dreya approves. It reminds me of a black spacesuit. Actually, it looks like Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” jacket, but as a bodysuit. Yes, attempt to visualize that with me.
Ms. Layla comes back and hands me a half T-shirt and a pair of cargo jeans. She strokes her chin like she’s thinking and decides to finish off the outfit with a black baseball cap with HOT GIRL spelled out in rhinestones.
“Put on those Converse sneakers with the outfit,” Ms. Layla says. “I don’t want you trying to dance in heels on your first time out.”
