by Nikki Rashan
“Next time you have a wild idea like this, come to me first. You and Trendy put the camera down.” She laughed. “Seriously, this is a lesson learned I’m sure. The first thing we need to do is address it in some kind of statement. Let me make some phone calls, and how about you and Trendy meet me here at two?”
“We’ll be there. Thanks, Prestin.”
“Anything for family. See you soon.”
Chapter 13
Sugar Fix
Later that afternoon Nisha and I were seated in Prestin’s office located in the west loop of Chicago. It was a small and sleek space, with Cheryl, the pleasant receptionist, seated behind a desk in the waiting area. There were two rooms that made up the rest of the space: one was Prestin’s office and the other a small meeting room.
When Nisha and I arrived, Cheryl had jumped anxiously out of her seat and ran to us both with hugs like long-lost friends or relatives. She then had Nisha take a photo of me and her, and then me take a photo of her and Nisha. “I won’t tweet them ’til you say I can.” She smiled then led us to Prestin’s office.
“I reached out to nearly every LGBT organization and our allies today about this matter,” Prestin told us. “One of the online newspapers is set to publish a statement from you this afternoon. Afterward, the other media outlets will jump on it and reprint it as well. You should expect that most will reprint the picture, but will at least crop it or blur the explicit portion. Right now there’s nothing we can do about people who may have saved a screen shot of the picture or retweeted it themselves, okay?”
Nisha and I nodded.
“Sugar, tomorrow morning you have both local radio and television appearances. Also, I have some contacts and I reached out to E’s reps. They already caught wind of the picture and, as you know, for many celebs any kind of attention is good attention so they’re cool as a fan about this. They don’t care about your picture or who you’re sleeping with, as long as that single keeps climbing the charts. Judging by some movement already, the picture is helping. There was even mention about you joining E on an interview or two.”
“Oh, so now they want me in on the promotions?” We all chuckled.
“Now, Trendy. This is different for you. Mostly everyone just wants to know who the woman is in the picture. Some locals know you and Beau, but not the same as on Sugar’s level. For both of you, people are going to want to know if you’re a couple, especially after the song you performed. How do you want to address that?”
Nisha and I looked at one another. That was a piece of the aftermath we had never discussed: how we would define our relationship after the photos were published.
“I don’t know,” Nisha and I said at the same time.
“We’ll figure that out. For now let’s draft the statement you want to make, Sugar, and get it over to the media.”
For the next hour the three of us wrote my statement to the press. When we were done, Prestin e-mailed it to her contact at a local magazine and we sat quietly, refreshing the magazine’s online site every sixty seconds to see if the story hit. Once it was published, I would send a link to the statement via my Twitter account. After six minutes of wait time, the statement was public. Finally, I had my headline.
HOMETOWN DIVA RESPONDS TO ONLINE TWITTER PICTURE CONTROVERSY
This morning, to the shock of both me and my fans, a photo was released by a Twitter account holder of me in the midst of an intimate moment. I understand that this photo has created disturbance among some, and I would like to address the matter at this time. The photo captured me and another woman, Trendy, a member of the Chicago-based band Beau, sharing what we thought was a private moment together. We regret that an unknown person chose to violate our privacy to capture and publish this photo. Should this person be in possession of additional photos, we ask that he or she respect our privacy and discard the photos. If any additional photos surface, we will take further action to determine the source of this leak.
To my fans, I understand there is confusion surrounding the fact that the photo is of me intimately engaged with another woman. As you know, over the past several years, I have spoken of having a man in my life and have not identified myself as anything other than a straight woman. Out of respect, I will not address my relationship with Franco. He has been an important part of my life and I will continue to honor him as a friend. At the same time, I would like to take this time to confirm that, yes, I am a lesbian and I have always known this fact about myself. This announcement is one I am proud to make and my only regret is that it was not stated sooner and revealed under a more positive circumstance. Please know that I make music for you and my music and singing will continue to serve you in the best way possible.
To my friends, family, my gems, and the community at large, I hope you can understand that I am an adult, and as an adult, sex is a normal part of my life as it is for most adults. I realize that as a celebrity I must take stronger precaution with this aspect of my life to ensure privacy for myself and those with whom I am involved. I apologize if anyone has taken offense to the photo.
I thank you all for your support and understanding during this time. I look forward to continuing to make music for you. Always, Sugar.
Okay, so we lied. We used the ironic twist of the situation to our advantage and it worked perfectly. Comments of support flooded the Web site and continued on the following sites that published the statements. Just as I had predicted, my fans didn’t desert me. In fact, my fan base increased; when I checked my Twitter account that night, the number of followers had increased by several thousand. Before I closed my eyes that evening, comfortable in bed with Nisha resting at my side, I sent a good night tweet: Sugar @SugarChitown Lights, Camera, Action: the show will go on. ;) Thank you for your support my lovelies. Sweet dreams.
Chapter 14
Sugar Fly: Six Months Later
Momma once said that success was the sweetest revenge. She was right. After my breakup with Ace, I hadn’t set out with intentions to get back at her for how she insulted my pride and injured my self-esteem. I didn’t want to blast her name or bad-mouth her in any way, and I didn’t. All I had wanted to do was to sever ties with her professionally and personally and move on. I also wanted to ensure that she knew the world would love me as a lesbian and as a full-figured woman. I was successful in accomplishing that goal.
The support I received from the gay and lesbian community was overwhelming. Some of the biggest names in the entertainment industry sent tweets and e-mails and praised my professionalism with how I responded to the matter. Many of them joked about their own public rendezvous and stated that it had only been good fortune and tight security that there were no photos of them caught having sex.
I was invited to call in to national syndicated radio shows and I made appearances on talk shows. All of the hosts wanted to know why I had hidden my sexuality for so long and to them I confessed only that I wanted my fans to recognize me for my talent first without focus on my personal life. “So how did you end up dating Franco?” they would ask. To that question I would simply say that what Franco and I shared was unique and special and because of the sensitivity behind our breakup, I chose not to elaborate further. Most hosts respected that request for privacy, citing that I hadn’t been the first lesbian who ever entertained a man. Others, the more perceptive ones, argued that Franco must have been a cover. To that I would always say, “Come on, next question please.”
E asked me to perform “Feel My Love” with him at several of his concerts and every week I packed my bag to travel to a different city. Fans went crazy whenever I appeared on stage and, ironically, they loved when E and I would hug up on one another as we sang about making love to one another. Oddly, they were turned on by our fake intimate interactions. We played into their horniness as far as our imaginations allowed, singing with E hugging me from behind, and still within FCC and Grammy rules and regulations as we performed our Grammy-nominated song on stage in front of our peers and fans seated in the
balconies above.
When we won for Best R&B Performance by a Duo or Group, we received a standing ovation. Momma was my date for that night and she hugged me tightly before E and I went to the stage to accept our Grammys. Being the gentleman that he was, E allowed me to speak first. I first thanked God for His goodness. Next I thanked E for selecting me to partner with him on the song. I told him that I was honored and looked forward to collaborating with him again on my own album. As usual I thanked Momma for her support and my good friend, Trendy, who was in the audience somewhere that night with her band. I also thanked someone I referred to as “my baby” and spoke to her through the camera and said I couldn’t wait to see her when I got back home. Finally, I said that I couldn’t accept the award without deep gratitude to the person who had worked so hard and diligently at developing my career. I told her that I appreciated her for reminding me that I deserved only the best in music and in love and that I wanted to assure that she knew that I did, indeed, have the best in both. Behind me E snickered, he being one of only a few people who understood the message behind my words. From what I had heard about Ace, she had begun to develop the career of a young singer named Cherish. Cherish was a short, average-sized girl, with a choppy blond haircut and fetish for wearing a variety of lace gloves; whether they were white, black, fingerless, or up to her elbows, it didn’t matter, she was never seen without them. I couldn’t help but speculate if she and Ace had started a relationship, as they had been seen together at various functions in the city and I was told that their interaction would suggest that Ace was more to her than just a manager. I guessed she had been honest that she felt more comfortable showing public displays of affection with a small girl.
When Momma learned the truth that Ace hadn’t expressed her love for me because of my size, she wanted to confront Ace. If there was one thing Momma despised it was anybody who messed with her one and only baby Sugar. I had told her Ace wasn’t worth the trouble and that’s when she informed me that I’d have my vengeance through my career.
Franco was nowhere to be found for about three months after the controversy. We later learned that he had come out to his family and then sheltered himself in Derek’s apartment in hiding. Last time someone told me that they saw him, he was dancing and partying topless in the club with all the gay boys.
After a night of partying with the most famous celebrities in the music industry, Momma, Nisha, Rock Sandy, and I flew back to Chicago the next afternoon. We had become sincere friends after the leaked photo incident, and had spent several nights heating up my sheets with one another. But we soon understood that even though we had the promise of a great sexual relationship, we preferred to be friends and collaborative music partners. We had performed together at many shows around Chicago and recorded “From Behind” as a single Beau would release on their own CD.
By the time I got home that night, the condo was quiet. I set my luggage in the living room, took off my shoes, and tiptoed softly to the bedroom. She was lying in bed asleep, and even though I tried to undress without much noise, she stirred and woke up.
“Ali, baby, go back to sleep,” I whispered to her.
“I don’t want to sleep now that you’re here,” she said. “No need to put on a nightgown. Come here.”
I slid my naked body behind hers in bed. “I missed you,” I told her and kissed the back of her neck.
“I missed you too.”
Ali and I met through Prestin at an intimate gathering she and Jaye had at their house. Prestin and I had taken to one another after she assisted with the cover-up of the leaked photo. We had become friends, and I was soon invited to join their small circle of close friends, who turned out to be some of the finest lesbians I had ever met. Ali was a sweet, genuine woman, who humbled me with her generous and sensitive spirit. I was still Sugar and knew I was the shit, but in quiet, intimate moments like those lying next to her in bed, Ali had a way of reminding me that nothing was more important than being true to myself, my body, my music, and the love I had found with us. The message I tweeted just as the limo arrived to my condo said it all: Sugar @SugarChitown Still high off the best duo Grammy! Headed home to Ali, my best collabo of all. Ain’t nothing like the real thing, y’all.
Queen Con
by Ni’chelle Genovese
Prologue
A slight breeze played amid the tops of the nearby magnolia trees. Every now and again slivers of bright blue moonlight broke through the leaves, illuminating the otherwise dark ground. The low bustle from a dozen outdated washers and dryers in the apartment complex’s little Laundromat hummed behind me. I couldn’t believe tenants would actually drop their stuff off and just go back into their apartments. There was no way I’d ever leave my clothes unattended. Momma had told me a story about one of these kinds of places way back when. She said she’d left her things to dry and when she’d gone back to get them, someone had taken all of her stuff including her panties. Nope, if it were me, I’d be sitting right there with my laundry.
I sat quietly on the only raggedy wooden bench in the vacant playground behind the Laundromat, anxiously checking my watch. It was nine-thirty, way past my curfew, and he was late. The playground was no threat during the day, but at night every shadow looked ominous and every little sound made me jump. It seemed as if the news report every other day was about a girl being raped, beaten, or kidnapped, and I wasn’t trying to become a statistic.
A soft breeze made the swings rock back and forth eerily, and I could almost hear ghostly childlike laughter as the chains creaked. At that exact moment my brain decided to remind me about Jankman. I’d never seen Jankman; only heard the stories everyone passed around the hallways at school. They were stories that my imagination now amplified and exaggerated. From what had been said he roamed around our neighborhood in a long filthy grey trench coat. Jankman started off just flashing little girls and running away, but after a while he upgraded to yanking girls up and disappearing without a trace. The fact that no one could ever identify him or find the missing girls left him as somewhat of an urban boogeyman. My best friend Brianna’s four-year-old sister was playing alone in their front yard when he ran up on her two summers ago. He not only showed his twig and berries but he actually stood there and fondled himself before running away. The thought left me in a jittery panic and Carlos having me wait on him at night by myself was pissing me off.
The apartment security staff usually didn’t start their rounds until after ten. This meant I needed to be gone since I lived in the houses across the street and not the apartments. Those stupid rent-a-cops never had anything better to do than harass kids on the property. I was pretty sure they’d have a field day if they caught me in the park; they’d probably say I was trying to vandalize something. Better yet, they’d probably say that I was trying to break into the Laundromat and steal clothes. I chuckled to myself at the ridiculousness of the thought.
A lonely black cricket skittered out in front of me and I kicked dirt at it in agitation. There was no way I’d ever break my curfew for this fool again. If my momma caught me sneaking back in she’d kill me, not to mention the hell I’d have to pay if she told my daddy. Trying to calm myself down I inhaled long, deep breaths of warm fabric soft-ener–scented air tinged with a hint of magnolia flowers.
We always met at the same time and at the same place. Something had to be wrong because he would have told me if he wasn’t going to make it. I’d decided to give him another five minutes when I heard what sounded like a group of guys approaching. My eyes scanned the darkened playground fretfully, but aside from some monkey bars, swings, a slide, and the merry-go-round, there was nowhere to hide, and no quick escape. Every lesson my daddy ever drilled into my head flooded me and here I was like a fool, alone, at night, and unarmed.
The guys were getting closer and I already knew there was no way I’d be able to outrun any of them. I could hear their crude and obnoxious jokes. A few sounded a little drunk and way older than me. Silently I crouched and m
ade my way toward the Laundromat door, praying one of the tenants might have left it unlocked. It wasn’t. What sense did it make putting a Laundromat and a playground behind an apartment complex without a single solitary light around it? Panicky I kept moving around the building, searching for any means of escape or camouflage. My hair snagged and I almost screamed, afraid that Jankman or worse yet, some kind of undiscovered human preying insect had snared me as my neat afro pony-puff came loose. It was a small wire rung that jutted out from the wood paneling of the darkened structure. There were more; they ran all the way up the back of the building toward the roof of the one story Laundro-shack. I almost squealed and was suddenly happy that I’d kept it simple and worn my stonewashed capris and black Reebok Classics.
The roof couldn’t have been more than six feet off the ground and after hefting my butt up there I was sweating, and out of breath, but it felt like I was on top of the world. I stretched out as flat as I possibly could and waited. The guys seemed to have all gotten hung up a few feet around a corner, lighting cigarettes and swigging out of a liquor bottle. Squinting, I could barely make them out among the shadows and bushes. Wiping the sweat from my eyes I fought to hold my breath as the group began to move forward.
“No lie, tenth-grade pre-calculus. I was dating Ms. Tuttle’s daughter and she was out of town. She came home early and caught us sleeping on the couch. My dudes, on the life of my momma. Ms. Tuttle woke me up and I’m thinking she’s about to go nuclear meltdown because I’m butt-ass naked on the couch with her daughter, but nah. She took me to her room and let me hit it,” one of the guys said in a smooth voice.
His solid-looking frame towered over all the others. I didn’t recognize him but he had to have graduated at least two or three years ago. I did however recognize Mrs. Tuttle’s name, I had her fifth block and there was no way her prissy evil acting self could be doing all that. My mouth gaped open and I listened in utter stupefied shock. It was as if I were a real life fly on the wall, as their conversation floated up to my ears. They drifted through the playground and I kept my head pressed down into the rough, gritty shingles, praying they’d just keep walking through. The shingles were still warm from the sun beating down on them all day and the heat only made me sweat harder.
