Fiona Love

by Sherrod Story

  The world seemed to love him and Fiona together almost as much as he did, and he’d had a bunch of offers he couldn’t refuse. The only bad part was, their sudden popularity meant they had to spend more time apart working.

  When he complained, his agent Paul told him to suck it up, be responsible, and take the money, which he did. Might as well, though it was bull shit; he was always responsible.

  Daney put his foot down on the pedal so he could get to Fiona faster. Some things were more important than money. Like getting to his baby so he tell everyone to go fuck themselves, hide them away, and fuck her nonstop until he either fell over dead or got tired. He was rooting strongly for tired.

  ******

  “Are you trying to kill me,” Fiona gasped, pretending to wheeze.

  “Bitch, would you suck it in? I told you it’s a real six!”

  “Why the fuck you buy it if you know I can’t get in it?” Fiona rasped, panting for her next breath as she was zipped in.

  “That’s why,” Netty said triumphantly turning her friend toward the mirror.

  They both stared at her reflection in the strapless brown and gold tapestry dress with its A-line skirt and wide satin belt. Fiona stroked the skirt, enjoying the plush, warm feel of the textured fabric. “Damn, girl. I can’t believe this only cost me – how much did it cost me?”

  “Twenty-five bones. Your run around day gear gon’ be super fly. Yo soy una bargain hunter supreme!”

  Fiona laughed. “And bilingual too. What else you got?”

  “I got this,” Netty said. “And before you turn your nose up, it’s see through. You can wear that straw cowboy hat with it and your green suede cowboy boots.”

  Somehow the long, old-fashioned dress with its lace scalloped hem and low, off-the-shoulder neckline managed to look extremely sexy on. Plus, “I got this dope ass belt that matches the flowers.”

  “How much?”

  “Red tag, $22.”

  Fiona shook her head. “You’re a gangster.”

  Netty could sew her ass off, and her soft spot for Bloomingdales and Nordstrom was well known. But she seemed to get some special thrill from unearthing clothes from cluttered bargain racks at Marshalls or T J Maxx’s. Her motto was, “When you look good in anything, wear cheap, chic and unusual, and wait for big occasions to really knock their eyes out with the designer stuff.”

  Plus, Netty enjoyed getting one over on those snotty, perpetually shopping hos/stylists who were always sending Fiona overpriced shit. If she didn’t wear the stuff – and she rarely did since it was Netty’s job to dress her – Netty would return it. She always used the sender’s FedEx account number to do so.

  “You’re not fuckin’ dressed yet? The car’ll be here any minute. That’s see-through, you need underwear.”

  “I know that, Cleo. Instead of stating the obvious why don’t you remind me what this is about?”

  The plane would be landing at LaGuardia with just enough time to get them to the meeting, if they rushed, which was annoying, since Fiona had planned to sit on her ass with one of Sugar’s face packs on.

  “We’re just sitting down with some of the writers of the show to kick around ideas for your spot.”

  “Is Mr. Look-alike gon’ be there?” Netty smirked and pointed at Sugar. “Where you been? We gotta go. Cleo, where’s that straw hat?”

  Sugar held up a plastic bottle. “Had to mix up some more of my special brew.”

  “Gimme,” said Fiona. “My hands are prunes.”

  Sugar handed the homemade moisturizer to her boss. “I need to tweeze your brows a lil’ bit.” Fiona wasn’t allowed to touch her own zits or eyebrows, Cleo’s standing orders following an incident hours before the Late Show a few years earlier. “We’re not gon’ need much makeup with that dress.”

  “Cleo, go get that straw hat.”

  “Huh?”

  “The one you had on your head before we arrived?”

  “Right! It’s in my room. Did you think of any ideas for us to pitch?”

  Fiona ran down a short sketch called Bad Influence. She’d have a bad girl rep and would roll in with her entourage and meet his at a party. They’d eventually slip off and sleep together, and Tino’s boys would start their perennial campaign to get her dismissed, only to find out she was already out the door! Their boy, however, would catch feelings, and hijinks would ensue as he tried to pin her down. His boys, once they realized he really liked her, would try, ridiculously, to help him. She planned to suggest they play Usher’s Bad Girl during her entrance.

  “I like it,” said Sugar.

  “Any more?” Cleo asked.

  “Just the one.”

  “Well, it’s good at least. Bigger,” she told Netty who was holding a pair of thin, delicate gold hoops to Fiona’s dainty ears. “No, you know what? The corkscrews. The ones that dangle.” Her phone rang. “Peace.” Cleo listened for a second. “Thank you. The car’s here.”

  “Go get the hat!” Netty cried. “I still gotta get these naps to lie down.”

  “Do it right, Netty. Sugar, help her. She may take the hat off at some point.”

  “That bitch irks me,” Netty said to no one in particular.

  Somehow 15 minutes later Fiona was ready.

  Delicious, the driver thought, eying her lush brown bosom from beneath his limo hat brim. He held open the back door to the Lincoln and watched her long, curvy legs ease safely into the car. He went back to the driver’s seat whistling.

  “Now, I’ve told them that you’re still not talking yet, so it’s okay for you to be silent until you run down Bad Influence and then again after.”

  Good, Fiona mouthed. She didn’t know what to say anyway. She’d done four movies. They had all done well. The last had been a major hit, but she was still a novice. Singing she knew. Dancing she could do in her sleep. Modeling was time-consuming and frequently physically demanding work, but still easy. Acting, she was still finding her feet.

  Fiona lit a pinner as soon as the car pulled out of the drive. “Nice of Boomer to let us use his crib,” she said, exhaling a perfect smoke ring. She watched it wiggle its way out the sun roof. “His neighborhood feels like home. I sent him a basket from all of us in case he says anything about it.”

  “It should feel like home since you’ve stayed there the last three times you were in town. And what he gon’ say? Nothin’. He ain’t never there, and when he get there, he’ll probably too busy eatin’ the basket,” Netty joked, opening the sunroof wider.

  Fiona grinned.

  “I see another hair,” Sugar announced. She plucked tweezers and a tiny brush from one of her many pockets, went down on her knees and pushed her way between Fiona’s legs. “You got the funniest grade of hair, girl. I’on know what to say about these renegade ass eyebrows.”

  “Hello gorgeous,” Tino grinned, strolling into the meeting as they were wrapping things up. He kissed Fiona’s hand and executed a remarkably courtly bow. “This is my future wife, guys. Make sure you write her into at least three episodes. I want lots of on-screen kissing time while we get to know each other.”

  The two writers present laughed and began to talk at once, bubbling over with excitement about Fiona’s idea. They were even willing to shoot earlier than expected to accommodate her schedule.

  “What did you do?” he asked her, when they’d said their goodbyes and were heading to the car.

  “She pitched an idea,” Cleo informed him. “Fiona, do you want to stop and do that thing while we’re out? That call will be coming in soon.”

  From Daney, but Fiona appreciated Cleo making it sound important. Now, Fiona mouthed. She pointed at Tino and waved goodbye.

  “Can I come with?” He begged. “I got a present for you.”

  Fiona rolled her eyes and motioned him into the car.

  His gift was a cute little brown bear wearing an ‘I love New York’ t-shirt with a fat green bud tucked in it. Fiona laughed and kissed the bear on the lips, ignoring Tino when he puckered
his lips for his turn.

  “I know I shouldn’t say it, but I hope your throat doesn’t heal fast. I love the way it sounds. I already told ‘em to write it into a script.”

  Fiona laughed, a deep barely there sound that she knew was going straight to his groin. “I’m just glad there’s gon’ be some Black people on your show with lines.”

  He burst out laughing. “Listen to you.”

  “You are.”

  He sounded delighted. “This is gonna be fun! I’m getting the house ready for you.”

  “Dude, you don’t really think I’m stayin’ witchu’, do you?”

  There was a telling pause. “At least one night you will. Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Gotta pick up a few things, and have a quick sit down with the DJ who’s spinning at Fiona’s birthday party,” Cleo told him.

  “Your birthday’s coming up?”

  Fiona nodded, smiling at his excitement.

  “You have to throw the party at my place.”

  “Thanks, but we’ve already got the venue picked out and –”

  Tino waved his hand impatiently. “Cancel it. I’ll pay the fee.”

  “We got catering coming and the party planner with the gift bags.”

  “Just give ‘em my address instead. We can have it at my house, and your DJ can still spin.”

  Cleo turned to Fiona. It was her show.

  Fiona shrugged. “Cleo and Andrea will check it out. If they say yeah, don’t have my shit be wack,” she rasped. “We doin’ it way big on my three-five, feel me?”

  Tino laughed, his big green eyes sparkling. “No doubt.”

  Fiona was soon too blowed to be seen in public, and she’d managed to leave her sunglasses behind at the meeting. One of the writers called to say he’d have the Chanel frames messengered to the house. He ended up bringing them himself and staying for dinner when he saw Sugar.

  “Big. You gotta come to the car. Her highness is not available for public viewing,” Netty said, laughing into the cell. “Okay? You know how we do. That lead cat from Transplants is in here too, so don’t be surprised. He’ll be down,” she told them.

  Cleo watched narrow-eyed as Tino played with Fiona’s fingers. To her credit, Fiona was so chill she quite obviously didn’t give a shit.

  “Look at this chinky-eyed bitch!” DJ B-Head yelled when he slipped his slender, light skinned self into the car a few minutes later. “What you on tonight, homey?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows at Netty.

  “Get outta here with that lame ass rap,” Netty laughed. “We wanna talk records, records and nothing but. Whatchu got?”

  “I got you. You gon’ dance from the moment I turn my tables on til’ the moment I turn ‘em off.” He promised. “Cleo, you gon’ handle that other thing?”

  Cleo nodded without breaking in her cell phone conversation. “Andrea,” she said to the group, then began to talk logistics. Big was interested to hear the party locale might be moving.

  According to Andrea, Tino’s crib was fabulous. The publicist was practically salivating at the publicity opportunity.

  “Like your show,” Big told Tino.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Well, I’m out.” He nudged Fiona. “Somebody put me up in this swank ass hotel last night, but I’m movin’ into my boy’s crib, and I need to check in with my next gig so I gotta bounce. Peace.”

  “Peace,” Sugar and Netty chorused.

  “Gimme a call tomorrow, Big,” Cleo said.

  “Bet! Feef Love!”

  And he was gone.

  “He’s huge in Chicago,” Cleo told Tino.

  ******

  “Miss me?” Daney asked later.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good. I’m driving to the airport now. I’ll be there for the party, but I can only stay a day then I gotta go back out for a job.”

  “That sucks, boo.”

  “Yes, it does. What color panties you got on?”

  “Ain’t wearin’ none.”

  “No?” Daney laughed. “I wish I was there to see it.”

  “Me too, pretty. I think I’ma go lay down and pretend like you are here.”

  Daney laughed huskily. “You better be the only one touchin’ my stuff.”

  “Who I’ma mess with out here?”

  “Mr. Transplant.”

  “We had a meeting today. Oh, and he gave me a lil’ teddy bear. I was gon’ give it to momma’s angel, but I lost it somewhere.”

  “Good,” Daney pronounced, laughing. “What color bra are you wearing?”

  “Ain’t wearin’ one.”

  “Lord, girl. What are you wearing?”

  “This sheer black dress Netty wants me to stretch out before the party. I have three costume changes.”

  “You’re a star, baby.”

  Fiona’s husky chuckle made him shiver. “You wanna be my entourage?”

  “Only if you be mine.”

  “Done,” Fiona said promptly.

  “Not so fast. Being my entourage is very demanding. You have to deal with Buck, my manager Paul, my agency and –”

  “And?”

  “Me.”

  “I got that,” she said confidently.

  “Yeah?”

  “When I see you I’ll prove it.”

  Daney thought about the last time they were together. She’d come up while he was watching a tape his agent had sent over and slid into his lap naked, a joint smoldering between her long fingers. She’d stared at him silently while she smoked, and all thoughts of the Oscar-winning work of the director who wanted him for a small part flew right out of his head.

  Sugar had just given her some kind of exfoliating treatment, and she’d smelled of apples. She leaned in to kiss him, and Netty snuck in and took a picture, smoke drifting between their joined lips. Fiona hopped up and chased her assistant from the room naked, but she came back with the picture, which she showed to him before she deleted.

  “I’ma have me some naked pictures taken, but it’s gon’ be an organized shoot with a pro, not this Internet accident waiting to happen type hype.”

  Even before her statement, he’d known better than to try talking her into keeping it, but she’d been luscious. Super sexy with acres of silky brown skin so plump and healthy looking he’d wanted to take a bite out of the camera. He ended up bending her over the back of the chair and fucking her standing up, his pants around his ankles.

  “I can’t wait,” he said now, shifting in his seat and stroking a sympathetic hand over his cock.

  “My party gon’ be off the hook. Completely OC. I got people comin’ in from Chicago, LA and maybe Europe if Mechante’s punk ass don’t get fucked up and miss her flight, which she probably will. My spot gon’ look like a flophouse. Cleo rented portable cots to set up.”

  “Deluxe portable cots,” she informed Fiona. She was gathering Fiona’s receipts and papers for the week to record, file or shred. “Is this from the Coach store? Fiona, you promised! I don’t feel like dealin’ with Lotty’s tightwad ass!”

  “I went into the studio before I left home,” Fiona told Daney, ignoring her cousin. “Did I tell you?”

  “Yeah. They let you hear something?”

  “Yeah. My boy played a rough cut of the song. You can’t even tell it’s me. It’s tight. Natty’s threatening to play it at the party.”

  “You don’t want people to know it’s you?”

  “It’s not that, and he ain’t gon’ do it. It’s just so different. I wonder how people will react.”

  It struck him that Fiona meant exactly what she said. It wasn’t that she cared exactly, but she was curious. The unlikely scenario of the single bombing would probably have hurt her feelings, but the pain would have been fleeting. She sang because she loved to, there was no other reason. The intense passion that drove her to create had nothing to do with public approval, and these days it had nothing to do with money. Her artistic temperament was one of the reasons he couldn’t get enough.

 
; “Where’d you go today?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “You stayed in the house again?”

  “Why would I go out? I got staff to bring me whatever I need. You know I don’ like being photographed like some freakin’ side show at the zoo. And since they announced my HBO spot, it is way too hot in these streets for me.”

  “You’re smoking.”

  There was an irritable pause. “So?”

  “You said you were gonna quit.”

  “Can’t.”

  He laughed. “Whaddya mean you can’t?”

  “What I said! And don’t start. If it ain’t you it’s Netty. If it ain’t her, it’s Cleo. Damn! You know I’m not doin’ good right now, and –”

  “Hush!” He laughed softly. He secretly loved that most nights when he called she was home. “You’re gonna love your birthday present. Wait a minute. Buck’s texting me 911. I’ll call you later.”

  “Peace.” Fiona looked up as Netty entered.

  “Daney?”

  “You thought I was talkin’ shit to Tino?”

  She shook her head no. “Uh-uh. He at the door. Mechante sent you this, and Flora this.” Netty placed two boxes on the bed.

  Fiona reached for them then paused. “At my door right now?”

  “Yep. Says he wanted to drop in so his entourage could meet yours.”

  “Send Sugar in here,” Fiona said, examining the boxes.

  Good old Mechante. They wrote regularly, but more often than not Mechante sent beautiful, thoughtfully chosen gifts that she ‘picked up on my travels’ in lieu of an actual letter. Her distinctive monogrammed stationery frequently held no more than a handwritten phrase or two in any color ink except blue or black. Red was a favorite. This gift wasn’t even a birthday present, since Van Cleef and Arpels had delivered a fabulous bracelet for Fiona last week.

  Sugar knocked, and watching from the desk as Fiona got up to adjust her cleavage, Cleo groaned and threw her hands up as though beseeching the sky.

  “Are you reacting to our guest or to something I bought?”

  “Whatchu’ think?”

  “Ain’t nothing gon’ happen, C. I promise.”