Not A Good Look

by Nikki Carter

  “Well, I invited his mother and sister over here for our Thanksgiving lunch. I don’t even know if they’re coming, though. They didn’t respond. But can you clean up for me, in case they do?”

  Luckily I’ve already packed for the tour, so I do have a few hours of free time on my hands. I start with the bathroom. I clean every fixture and remove Aunt Charlie’s ashtray that’s filled with cigarette butts and ashes. Then I empty the overflowing trash container. I wipe down the shower curtain, fluff out the little floor carpet, and spray some air freshener.

  Then I move to the living room, Aunt Charlie’s favorite hangout spot. I put away all of her bedding and sweep all the crumbs off the leather couch. I hate that Aunt Charlie’s body has left permanent indentations in the couch, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

  I do a full dusting, sweep and mop the ceramic tile floors, and make sure the glass coffee and end tables are shining. Aunt Charlie doesn’t move an inch to help either. She just lifts her feet up when I go by. That’s just trifling.

  “You could help,” I say to Aunt Charlie.

  “Girl, that’s why me and your mama had kids, so we wouldn’t have to do housework.”

  “Wow, okay. So y’all had kids so they could be slaves?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, I don’t see your daughter doing any housework,” my mother calls from the kitchen.

  Aunt Charlie laughs. “Y’all know Drama is too much of a diva to do housework. She don’t roll like that. I ain’t mad at her, though. She can’t go on the stage with dish-pan hands.”

  “Mommy, are y’all coming to the show?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Baby, you know I can’t go up in that club. LaKeisha will probably be there with her brothers, just waiting to pop something off.”

  “Do you think the girls are in any danger?” Aunt Charlie asks.

  My mother shrugs. “I don’t know, but I don’t like them going to that club either.”

  “Big D will make sure nothing happens to us. LaKeisha’s brothers don’t have any beef with us.”

  Aunt Charlie replies, “Big D is a nice-size dude, but he can’t stop a gun, and we know those fools up at Club Pyamids are packing heat.”

  My mother rolls her eyes at my aunt’s insensitive words. “Charlie…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing! Let’s just get ready for this Thanksgiving lunch.”

  Everyone’s here for the Thanksgiving luncheon, except Dreya. She had to do a final rehearsal down at the studio. Big D told her she’d have time to eat after the show. Plus, he didn’t want her eating a heavy meal that would make her groggy, sleepy, and sluggish.

  I invited Sam to join us, since he’s gonna be on the road, too. He even brought a dish. A sweet potato pie that he made himself.

  “That pie looks good, Sam,” my mother says.

  “I hope so. I used my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “He can cook, Mom!” I say. “He makes this lasagna and pound cake that is off the chain!”

  My mother kisses him on the cheek. “Well, my daughter is greedy, so I’m sure she appreciates a boyfriend who can cook!”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, Mom. He’s my friend.”

  My mother smiles. “Well, he should be your boyfriend! What’s wrong with you?”

  “That’s what I keep telling her,” Sam says.

  “Sam knows that he’s not my boyfriend, because I have to concentrate on my grind right now. Just like he needs to concentrate on his grind.”

  “Who are you?” my mother asks. “I never knew you were so focused on making money. But maybe that’s my fault.”

  I lift my eyebrows at my mother. “Maybe, just a little bit.”

  Sam laughs and puts his arm around my waist. He whispers in my ear, “Your mother is funny.”

  Manny pokes Sam in the leg. “No, sir. No whispering in our house. That is rude.”

  “You’re right, little man. I’m gonna go over here and sit on the couch until we get ready to eat. Is that okay with you?”

  Manny frowns. “You can sit on the love seat and Sunday can sit on the couch. Ain’t no hanky-panky going on at our Thanksgiving lunch!”

  I spank him on his little behind. “Boy, what you know about hanky-panky?”

  “I know enough. And where is my sister?”

  “Manny, Dreya is practicing for her show tonight,” Aunt Charlie says. “She couldn’t take time out to eat with her family.”

  Aunt Charlie sounds a little bit upset that Dreya’s not here, but she better get used to her daughter being ghost, because Dreya plans on moving out of here in a few months. As soon as she turns eighteen.

  “Everyone can come to the table now,” my mother announces. “The turkey is ready to be carved!”

  Everyone sits down at the dining room table, which usually only seats six. But we’ve added the extension piece and some card table chairs so that everyone can fit, including Carlos’s mother and sister, who’d shown up, but don’t look very happy. Even Manny gets to sit at the big-people’s table today.

  My mother brings out the hot turkey and sets it in the middle of the table with all of the other goodies.

  My mother says, “Since I’m the only one who goes to church here on a regular basis, I guess I’ll say grace.”

  A few snickers come from around the table, as we bow our heads.

  “Dear God, thank you for bringing us together on a holiday that’s all about giving thanks. We are grateful that you have provided us with this bountiful feast, friends, family, and health. We pray for Carlos’s safety, and that wherever he is, he comes home to us soon, because we all miss him. Especially me. Amen.”

  I glance at Carlos’s mother after my mom is done praying and she’s got a really strange look on her face. I can’t really decipher what she’s thinking, but it makes me reconsider what Aunt Charlie said. Maybe they have helped him hide out from the guys at the club. That’s cruel if they know he’s alive and aren’t telling my mother. That would be too crazy.

  My mom slices the turkey with her electric knife. While she’s doing that, we start passing the other side dishes around the table. Carlos’s sister and mother both have sour expressions on their faces and neither of them say a word. I guess they don’t really want to be here, but maybe felt obligated because my mother asked them to come.

  “I hear your daughter has a show at Club Pyramids,” Carlos’s sister says to Aunt Charlie. “How can you deal with that club after what happened to my brother?”

  Aunt Charlie scoffs. “This is my daughter’s big break, and I don’t have any beef with those dudes.”

  “Well, I have beef!” my mother says. “They shot my man.”

  “Exactly,” Carlos’s sister says. “But still you let your daughters go there?”

  “Let’s just eat this beautiful dinner that Ms. Tolliver has prepared,” Sam says. “We’re not here to talk about the shooting.”

  Aunt Charlie says, “You got that right. We’re here to be thankful. And I am thankful that my daughter has a three-record deal with Epsilon Records. That little ghetto mess that Carlos has going on is not going to block my baby’s success. You can best believe that.”

  Now everyone at the table, besides Manny, is looking crazy. Why can’t we just have a decent family dinner without this hood soap-opera mess? I scoop huge helpings of everything on my plate and try to enjoy my food, but this little argument has put a horrible taste in my mouth.

  One thing I do know for sure, though, is that Aunt Charlie is not going to let Carlos or anybody else keep Dreya from blowing up. She’s got big spending plans herself. I overheard her talking to one of her friends about the whip that her daughter was going to get her when she gets her first royalty check. She’s talking about a powder blue Lexus truck, and a two-story house in Lithonia.

  It seems like everybody’s hopes and dreams are resting on Dreya acting like she’s got some sense and being the artist that Epsilon has signed her to be. I hope that sh
e doesn’t let everybody down, including herself.

  20

  Club Pyramids is jumping, jumping tonight. The majority of our crew is only allowed in a special nonalcoholic VIP section and backstage. Epsilon Records had to get special permits to allow underage artists to perform, and were only able to pull it off at Club Pyramids and Club 2020 in New York City. The rest of the stops on the tour will be mall shows, sponsored by whatever record store is in that particular mall.

  It won’t be glamorous at all, so Dreya definitely didn’t need to spend three thousand dollars on clothes. The highlight of the tour will definitely be the 106 & Park appearance and the after party at Club 2020.

  “Sunday, where’s my other boot?” Dreya fusses.

  “On the other side of your chair.”

  For once, I understand why Dreya is a bit annoyed. This dressing room isn’t bigger than a closet, and it’s even smaller with Dreya’s several outfit selections and Bethany and myself crowded in, too.

  Dreya locates the boot and pulls it on. “Help me spike my hair, Bethany. You know how to do it with the gel, right?”

  Bethany jumps up. “Of course, Drama. Do you want me to do your makeup, too? I don’t know if the makeup artist is going to make it.”

  Dreya sucks her teeth. “That’s what happens when I let Big D hire the help. When was the ghetto makeup artist supposed to show up?”

  “An hour ago,” Bethany says. “But it’s all good. I can have you looking fine.”

  “You better.”

  “Yes, Drama. I will.”

  I gag and almost throw up in my mouth at Bethany’s antics. Yes, Drama. Of course, Drama. Ugh! Doesn’t the girl have any pride? Plus, she’s not even getting paid for any of this. Her mom only let her come because she’s just as thirsty as Bethany is for fame. Epsilon Records refused to pay another salary, and said that if Dreya wanted to give Bethany some money she could. Yeah, as if that’ll happen.

  Big D pokes his head in the dressing room door. “Drama, sweetie, you’ve got five minutes. Need anything? Water?”

  “A Sprite if you can get one. Thanks.”

  “I’ll go and get it,” I volunteer. It’ll get me away from Bethany.

  I weave through the crowd and to our VIP area, where there’s a waitress. I ask her, “One Sprite, please. It’s for Drama, and she only has a few minutes till stage time.”

  “Coming right up. Do you want me to deliver that to the dressing room?”

  “If you could, that would be great.”

  “Sure.”

  The waitresses in this place are all built similarly to Shelly: thick, with big behinds and long hair weaves. I wonder if they have to put their measurements down on the application. And their uniforms are off the chain, too. They’re all wearing tiny French maid costumes and fishnet panty hose. Pretty stank looking if you ask me, but the guys are loving it and the waitresses are getting some pretty nice tips.

  “Is Drama almost ready?” Sam asks. “The crowd is pretty pumped.”

  “Yeah, she’s almost ready. Dreya is a natural performer. She’ll get pumped right with the crowd.”

  I head back toward the dressing room and notice that the waitress is on her way, too, with the Sprite. I do her a favor and take it from her. She doesn’t need to hear any fussing that Dreya might do, about it being too cold, too flat, or whatever. Dreya’s gonna drink this soda and be happy with it.

  “Here you go, Dreya,” I say as I hand her the Sprite.

  She closes her eyes and takes a long sip. “It’s flat,” she says.

  “This is all they had.”

  “Well, next show I want you to make sure to have a twelve-pack of Sprite in my dressing room.”

  “Why do you need a twelve-pack? There’s only one of you.”

  Dreya rolls her eyes. “Don’t stress me, Sunday. Just do as I ask. You’re the assistant.”

  “Okay, whatever. A twelve-pack. It’s your money.”

  “And while we’re on tour, I want you to call me Drama. Everyone else does. It makes us seem too familiar when you call me Dreya.”

  “That’s your name.”

  “Anyway. Call me Drama.”

  Let me get out of this room before I get to blowin’ up on this girl. There’s not enough room in here for me and her ego.

  Backstage, I pull up Twitter on my phone and post a status update from Ms. Drama.

  Showtime ATL. Club Pyramids is da spot 2nite. If u ain’t here u need to be.

  I wonder how many people really think Dreya is writing these Twitter messages. The responses from her “fans” are crazy. People talking about how much they love her, guys posting their numbers for her to call. Crazy.

  Sam and I called a couple of the numbers and had me pretend to be Dreya. It was funny as what. One of the guys was somebody from our school. I went off on him, saying he should be ashamed because he knows he’s got a girlfriend. If his girl only knew!

  I hear Sam’s track blasting through the speakers and see Truth take the stage. He looks extra shiny in his wifebeater, like he’s rubbed baby oil all over his arms. It makes him look even more cut up than usual, and it makes the shirt stick to his torso. The women are hollering in delight, like he’s not nineteen.

  Dreya sashays out with a microphone in her hand. She says, “Y’all ready to party with my man, Truth?”

  The crowd hollers back at her. She grins and sings the hook to the song. While she’s singing she ignores the choreographed moves of the dancers and does her own moves. She’s got the guys pumped by how she dips to the floor and pops her booty on the way back up.

  How could she not be embarrassed to dance like that with Aunt Charlie in the audience? My mama is never gonna see me doing stripper moves on the stage. No, ma’am.

  When they get through with “What Ya Gonna Do,” Truth launches into a few more tracks off his album. He’s really good, and energetic. He’s got the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.

  Since Dreya’s not on any of his other songs, she doesn’t really need to be out on the stage still, but she stays for the whole set, entertaining the crowd with her gyrations. When they finally leave the stage, they get a thunderous round of applause before the DJ takes over.

  Backstage, Big D pops a bottle of champagne. “Y’all ripped it up out there! If y’all can make it in Atlanta, then every other city will be cake! This was the test.”

  “It was hot, wasn’t it?” Dreya asks.

  Big D kisses Dreya on her sweaty forehead. “Drama, baby, they were eating you up! You didn’t tell me you could move like that, girl! You didn’t do any of that in rehearsal.”

  “I guess I feed off the crowd,” she replies. “They were getting me pumped, so I just put my back into it.”

  Truth says, “I thought I was gonna have to off somebody the way you had them dudes drooling, baby. You were on fire.”

  Big D says, “The tour bus is waiting outside. We’re leaving for Birmingham in a few. Take a quick shower here and be on the bus in twenty minutes.”

  “Bethany, you staying here to help Dreya?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course. Drama, what do you need?”

  “Can you just put away all of my stuff and please bring my clothes to me so I can change in the shower area?”

  “Yes, Drama. I’ve got it covered.”

  I’m tripping that I heard Dreya say please. She must be happy from having a good performance, because she’s given her evil persona a take five. I hope she keeps that evil heifer in the bag until we get off the tour bus at the hotel in Birmingham, because I’m not trying to deal with her.

  Sam and I go outside to get settled on the bus. He’s already claimed our seat near the back, so we can collaborate and chill without being bothered. Truth and Drama have separate, extra large areas at the back of the bus with full beds, while the rest of us have to try to catch our shut-eye in the bus seats.

  “Did you like the show?” he asks me, once we get settled in our seats.

  “Well, I thought Truth did
a great job, but I could barely hear Dreya’s vocals over the track.”

  “Yeah, her voice doesn’t really carry far. And I don’t know why she thinks she has to dance all hard like that. She doesn’t have the wind to dance and sing at the same time. It looked hot, but she sounded a mess.”

  “See, I wasn’t even gonna say anything, because I thought they would say I was hating. But her vocals sounded crazy to me. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought that.”

  “I’m gonna talk to Big D about it and see if he wants you to back Dreya up on stage. Actually, you and Bethany can be out there like backup singers, but Bethany can just lip-synch. Then it won’t be too obvious that your voice is helping Dreya.”

  “We don’t have anything to wear on stage, though.”

  “Most of these shows are in malls. Your jeans and baby tees should be good enough. I’m especially worried about 106 & Park, though. That’s going to be televised, and Dreya can’t be on there sounding like a wounded raccoon.”

  “What do you think Big D will say?”

  “He’ll agree, but you’ll have to go shopping in New York. You’ve gotta wear something fly on the show.”

  I’m down with this, but why does Bethany have to get a chance to shine, too? I know Dreya only invited her on this tour to make me mad. Dreya can’t even stand Bethany, and I’m starting to join that crowd. I can’t believe we were ever besties.

  One by one, everyone loads onto the bus. It’s not a huge entourage, but several of Truth’s homeboys are with us, a couple of Big D’s associates, the makeup artist—who finally showed up—and a hairstylist. Dreya and Bethany get on the bus last, and Dreya looks tired as what. She’s scrubbed off all her makeup and has her short do in a head wrap.

  Aunt Charlie is with them, too. I hope she doesn’t think she’s going on tour with us. That is not what’s up!

  “Didn’t my baby work it out?” Aunt Charlie asks no one in particular.

  Since she doesn’t get a response from the exhausted road crew, she gives one herself.

  “Yeah, Drama, girl, you are the stuff! You ’bout to make this paper!”