All the Wrong Moves

by Nikki Carter

  “Who is that big booty girl supposed to be supervising? At least Mystique is there. She’ll handle business at least.”

  “Mommy, why did you sound upset when I first called?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Mommy …”

  “LaKeisha and her crew are at it again. One of them heifers keyed up my car while it was in the driveway.”

  This makes me furious! “Mommy, when I get my check, I’ma get you a new car.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re going to add it to your college tuition. When you get your entertainment law degree, then buy me a car.”

  “Deal. But you should call the police on LaKeisha and them.”

  “I’ve got it handled, baby. Don’t worry about it. As long as they don’t put their hands on me, or mine, it’s all good. I can replace a car.”

  “Okay, Mommy. We have to perform in a few minutes.”

  “All right, tell everyone I said behave. Tell Bethany to keep her clothes on.”

  I laugh out loud. “I will.”

  Mystique is wearing an all sheer bodysuit for her performance. The suit has gold material where her nude body parts might show. From behind, it looks like she’s got on a pair of shiny golden boy shorts. The whole look is too risqué for my liking, but Mystique and her six-inch heels make it look glamorous.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  “You look flawless. You make me want to go back and find something shiny to put on. I feel dull standing next to you.”

  Mystique blinks rapidly a few times, causing her glitter mascara to sparkle. “My man is here. I’ve got to look hot.”

  Zac is on the other side of the room, talking to Dilly. It looks like an important conversation with the way Zac’s arms are flailing about as he speaks.

  “What are they talking about?” I ask.

  “Dilly’s performance. He’s gonna do three songs tonight. The crowd’s reaction is going to dictate whether his album stays on hold or gets released.”

  “Oh. Well, I hope he does well.”

  Mystique winks at me. “He will.”

  Mystique was right. Dilly didn’t just do well—he was fantastic. After the show, everyone congratulates him on how the crowd was eating up his lyrics. Surprisingly, even Sam gives him props.

  “You did your thang out there,” Sam says. “I’d like to work on a couple of songs on your album. I’ve got some beats you’d like.”

  Dilly beams at Sam appreciatively. “Of course, I’d love to work with you. That’s what’s up!”

  “You were soooo good,” Bethany coos. “I think you might even be better than Truth.”

  A hush falls over the group. I guess no one wanted to admit what everyone was thinking. Dilly’s set was much better than Truth’s set. And with Truth having legal woes, it might be easier to do a quick swap and kick him to the door.

  I just hate that the BET camera guy is here for this moment. Now it can’t be taken back, and I guarantee, it’ll be one of the things that shows up on the final cut.

  “They’ve got two different styles,” Sam says, trying to clean it up. “Truth is more dirty south. Heavy on the beats and hooks. Dilly reminds me of East Coast lyricists like Common, Nas, maybe even Notorious B.I.G.”

  Dilly’s cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. “My name isn’t even fit to be mentioned in the same sentence with those great emcees. Thanks, Sam. I didn’t even think you liked me, much less that you were feeling my music.”

  “I don’t really like you,” Sam says with a chuckle. “But I love your flow. It’s off the chain.”

  It’s amazing how calm, quiet, and peaceful it is backstage without Dreya throwing her hissy fits and Truth macking on groupies. This is the kind of tour I want to be on. One where everyone respects one another, and at the end of the day it’s all about the music.

  Too bad Dreya and Truth are meeting us in about twelve hours.

  26

  One would think that once Dreya was reunited with her man, everything would be roses. She was all lemons and vinegar when they finally rendezvoused with us at the hotel lobby in Columbus, Ohio. Big D looks exhausted, and Truth seems shell-shocked. As thuggish as he portrays himself to be, I don’t think he ever set foot in a jail cell.

  “How’d the show go in Charlotte?” Big D asks me.

  “It went well. The crowd really loved Dilly. Zillionaire and Mystique performed too. It couldn’t have been more perfect.”

  Dreya sucks her teeth. “How you gonna say that, Sunday? Me and Truth was supposed to be there, and you gonna say it couldn’t have been more perfect?”

  “I meant for the circumstances,” I explain. “Stop being so dang sensitive.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Why was my mother blowing up my phone too? Why’d you tell them about Truth?”

  I shrug. “I told my mother. I didn’t know we were keeping secrets from our families.”

  “I’m keeping secrets from everyone until I figure out who is the snitch in this camp.”

  Big D shakes his head. “She’s back on that again. All the way here from Charlotte, that’s all she talked about. Snitches.”

  “Dreya, anyone could’ve seen what was in that bag. A hotel bellhop, one of the other hotel staff. How you gonna say for sure that there is a leak in our camp?”

  “I got a feeling, that’s all,” Dreya says, as she plops down on a leather couch situated in the center of the lobby. “Bethany, come over here and take my shoes off. I’ll walk upstairs in my bare feet.”

  Everyone looks at Bethany to see if she will comply. She’s been pretty free the past couple of days, and she hadn’t been made to be anyone else’s slave in Dreya’s absence.

  “What’s the magic word?” she asks Dreya as she kneels in front of her.

  “Now, heifer. The magic word is now.” Dreya closes her eyes, leans her head back, and thrusts her foot into Bethany’s face.

  I can’t take this! If Bethany wants to let Dreya treat her like crap behind doors, that’s her business, but if I have to see it, Dreya’s gonna act like she’s got some sense.

  “Dreya, get your foot out of that child’s face,” Aunt Charlie bellows from the lobby door. “She is not your slave.”

  Dreya snaps up on the couch. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hiring myself as the tour chaperone. Big D, you told me this Ms. Layla was going on tour with y’all. Where is she?”

  Big D stammers, “S-she doesn’t come on the bus or to the hotel with us. She meets us at every venue.”

  “What? The bus and the hotel is where y’all need the chaperones. Dreya, I’m sleeping in your hotel room.”

  “No, you’re not!” Dreya roars. “Big D, get my uninvited mother a hotel room please.”

  “Aunt Charlie, you can stay in my room,” I offer. Bethany frowns as I say this. Maybe she thought we’d be roomies for the rest of the tour. Not.

  Dreya takes off her own shoe, snatches the hotel room key card, and marches toward the elevator, with one shoe off and one shoe on. She’s in that big of a hurry to get away from her mother? Wow.

  Truth’s phone rings, and he eagerly answers it, like he’d been waiting for the call.

  “They did?” Truth asks into the phone. “I am? … Will do … Thank you, sir.”

  Big D asks, “What is it?”

  “The charges got dropped. Someone botched the arrest, so they can’t use anything they seized against me. Without the bag, they have no case. They can’t even bring it up.”

  Big D hugs Truth. “Man, that’s all right.”

  A group of girls, who have been patiently hovering in the lobby, rush up on Truth like they know him.

  “Aren’t you Truth? The rapper?” the first girl asks.

  When Truth nods, she tells her friend, “See! I told you it was him! He’s just as fine in person as he is on Mediatakeout.com.”

  “Thank you, ladies. I appreciate y’all. Did y’all download my song from iTunes?”

  The
y both nod frantically.” ‘What Ya Gonna Do’ is the hottest song I’ve heard in a while,” the second girl says. “Will you give me an autograph?”

  “Okay, you got a CD case, an autograph book, or something?” Truth asks.

  The girl gives him a huge smile. “Better.”

  She rips open her blouse, exposing her heaving boobs spilling over her too small bra. I look away and then peek out of the corner of my eye to see if Sam is looking. He’s not, but Dilly is openly gawking, like a nursing infant at lunchtime.

  The first girl hands Truth a permanent marker, and he looks at it crazy. “This ain’t gonna wash off for a while. You know that, right?”

  “I know! Just do it!” she squeals.

  So, he does. He signs the top of that girl’s breast with his name. This is utter foolishness if you ask me. I’ve never seen anything crazier.

  Apparently, neither has Dreya.

  She walks back into the hotel lobby just as Truth is recapping the pen.

  The girls squeal again. “It’s Drama!”

  Although Drama is usually very benevolent to her fans, I can tell she’s only seeing red. If I were these girls, I would duck and run for cover. She’s got a bottle of water in her hand, which she promptly pours over the autograph-seeker’s head.

  “OMG! OMG!” the girl wails. “I’m all wet!”

  “If you don’t get out of this lobby really quick, you’re going to be wet, bloody, and sore, ‘cause I’ma beat the mess outta you.”

  Truth tries to grab Dreya and do that little thing he always does to calm her down. But this time it is not working. She snatches her arm away while he’s trying to rub on it.

  “I can’t believe I slept in a raggedy Super 8 Motel room for two nights waiting to bail you outta jail. This is the thanks I get for being a down for whatever chick? You pushing up on groupies right here in front of my fam?”

  “It wasn’t like that!” Truth says. “I wasn’t pushing up on those girls. They just wanted an autograph.”

  Big D clears his throat. “Don’t forget y’all are in a hotel lobby. You’re causing a scene.”

  Dreya spins on her now-slippered heel and stalks over to the elevator. Truth and Big D both let out long sighs. I don’t know why they’re sighing now. They’re the ones who created this monster!

  Aunt Charlie says, “I don’t know what the heck is wrong with that girl. I mean, she’s always been a little spoiled, but dang! Y’all in the music business. Groupies come with the territory. Ain’t that right, Bethany?”

  My jaw drops! How Aunt Charlie gonna call her out like that with the cameras rolling? That was beyond foul.

  “I wouldn’t know, Miss Charlie.” Bethany replies. “I don’t really keep track of groupies all like that.”

  Aunt Charlie looks her up and down and says, “Oh, okay.”

  Everyone bursts into laughter as my aunt sashays right over and introduces herself to the television crew.

  “Y’all already met me, but you might not remember, because my hair was different, and I was whoopin’ somebody’s behind at the time. I’m Charlie. You can call me Cha-Cha if you’re fine.”

  Aunt Charlie backs away from the crew and holds a telephone sign up to her ear. She mouths the words call me to Chad the producer and confessional interviewer.

  How is Aunt Charlie gonna ask why Dreya acts the way she acts? She needs to check in the mirror. Dreya is a bundle of hot mess, but that apple sure didn’t fall too far from the tree.

  I’m glad my mother is normal!

  27

  Bis for Baltimore. D is for Drama. As soon as we hit the city the mess hit the fan. And I’m talking big time splatters all over the place.

  We’re not even off the bus yet, and it’s crazy! Aunt Charlie has been chain-smoking all the way here, and so we all smell like a pack of Newports. Dreya and Truth have been bickering back and forth. Big D and Shelly had a little fight.

  Just not a good day on our tour.

  Dreya’s on her iPhone doing her morning ritual of reading the Internet blogs. This is always an intense time for us. Because she’s made herself something of a media slut, she’s on Mediatakeout.com just about every day for something new.

  “I do not believe this!” Dreya sounds angry, but she’s laughing a little bit too. “This doesn’t make any kinda sense.”

  “Let me see it,” I say as I reach for her phone.

  As I start to read the story, I’m sure my eyes are dang near bulging out of my head. It says that while we were in Charlotte that Dreya tried to hook up with Zillionaire, and that she couldn’t get along with Mystique so she had a diva attack and refused to perform. It also says that Truth has beef with Zillionaire now over Dreya.

  Of course this all came from one of their secret sources.

  I guess somebody had to come up with a reason why Dreya and Truth were missing in action in Charlotte. But couldn’t they have come up with something more believable than that? Who would believe that Zillionaire would creep on Mystique for Dreya’s dusty self?

  “There’s not one thing true in that entire article,” I comment.

  Aunt Charlie says, “I’m gonna sue them. I’m tired of them going in on my baby every day.”

  Today Dreya is her baby. Yesterday she was that heifer. Their mother-daughter relationship is so extra sometimes! They get on my nerves.

  “Miss Charlie, you’re not going to sue them,” Big D says. “Even though they are telling a bunch of lies, they are getting more publicity for your daughter. She’s actually getting recognized when we go out now. I may have to get her and Sunday bodyguards.”

  This leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I don’t like the idea of me walking around with my very own personal Benji. That would not be a good look, in my humble opinion, but as long as Big D thinks otherwise, there’s always a chance that it might happen.

  “No, thank you,” I say. “I’ll just take another self-defense class, to fend off my five fans.”

  Big D laughs. “Five fans. Girl, your singles on iTunes have already hit gold. Both of them.”

  “When was somebody gonna share this wondrous news with me?” I ask, somewhat indignantly.

  “I just did!” Big D says.

  “But it almost seems like that was accidental. You didn’t plan to tell me about it. I’m not Dreya, Big D, I like to know where and when my money is stacking up.”

  “Why you gotta get down on me?” Dreya asks. “Isn’t it bad enough the bloggers are taking shots at me? Now my own cousin is doing it too. That was not necessary, Sunday.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I reply. “Please do forgive me.”

  Dreya narrows her eyes and glares at me. “You are beyond phony.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You want to know how you can make it up to me?” Dreya asks.

  “Um, no, but I think you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  She smiles and taps her chin with her finger. “Can you call up Mystique and see if she’d set up a phone interview with me and one of those bloggers, like she did the time they lied and said I dropped out of high school?”

  “I can ask her. I can’t guarantee that she’ll do it.”

  Dreya rolls her eyes as if she’s annoyed. “Just call her.”

  Again, I call Mystique to bail Dreya out of trouble. Mystique is gonna get tired of being the clean-up woman to Dreya’s mess if she isn’t already.

  “Hey, Sunday.”

  “Hey! Can you do me a huge favor?” I ask.

  I hate asking Mystique to do this in front of an audience, but we’re on the bus and everyone is staring.

  “Depends on what you need?” I can hear the smile in Mystique’s voice. She always sounds happy to hear from me, which makes it wonderfully easy for me to work with her.

  “Well, Mediatakeout.com has a completely false story about Dreya in today’s headlines. Something about her having a thing for Zillionaire and a diva meltdown as the reason she didn’t perform in Charlotte.”

  “Yes, I rea
d the story.”

  “I thought you didn’t read them.”

  “I have Google Alerts set on me and Zac’s names. It all depends on what the story looks like if I open it up. This one I opened.”

  I respond, “Then cool, you’ve heard about it. Dreya would like to schedule one of those interviews like we did when the bloggers made up a lie about her before.”

  There is a long, pregnant pause. It’s so long that I think maybe Mystique has hung up the telephone.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  “I’m still here. You want me to set up an interview so that Dreya can debunk an Internet blogger story.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t have to be anything major. Just like that one we did before. Five minutes tops.”

  Another pause.

  “Mystique, are you not thinking that’s a good idea?” I ask.

  “Well, I think that we’ve responded once to the blog- gers. If we keep doing that, it’ll be a never-ending cycle. They might even start making up things, just to get an interview.”

  “So you’re not setting up an interview?” I look at Dreya and shrug. I see her face hardening into a frown.

  “No. Not this time. If she wants to call them herself, she’ll have to ask around for the numbers. I’m not giving them to her. Dreya is too volatile. I have no idea what she might say.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll call you back later.”

  “All right, honey. Have fun in Baltimore.”

  I press End, and Dreya is standing over me glaring. “What did she say?”

  “Not this time. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Big D’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why not?”

  “She thinks the bloggers are kind of like stray dogs, and that if you keep feeding them, they’ll keep coming back.”

  Dreya fusses, “So, let me get this straight. Mystique gets to decide how I stand up for myself? Is that right, Big D? Does she have the right?”

  “She can’t stop you from taking up for yourself, Dreya,” I say. “She just doesn’t want to be the facilitator of it.”

  “Don’t use words I don’t understand, Sunday. That’s rude,” Dreya says.

  “Bottom line is, she’s not doing it. Is that easier to understand? Is that clear?”