“From your mouth to God’s ear, girl.”
******
Netty put her in a shiny black low-neck leotard and sheer dishwasher panel pants with a wide leg. “We gotta save that sheer dress for your stellar first outfit change.” She put a pair of silver satin slippers with a modest two-inch heel on her girl’s feet and huge, gleaming white gold hoops in her ears. Fiona’s hair was pulled and spritzed into its full natural glory, and her lips were kissed a clear, shiny red.
“Damn,” Tino said when he saw her. “This is what you wear around the house?”
“No,” Fiona told him. “Before you got here I wasn’t wearing anything.” She waited for his laughter, then turned away to give him his first view of her creamy back. “Drink?” she asked, from behind the refrigerator door.
“Whatchu got?”
“Beer, juice, Perrier.”
“Beer.”
Fiona pulled out a six pack of Corona and set it down on the counter beside a bottle opener. “What’s your full name again? I can’t keep calling you Transplant Tino when people ask.”
He laughed. “Tino Bernardi.”
His boys walked in with Cleo.
“This is Paulie, my manager Johnny and my cousin Matteo.”
“Call me Teo,” he said, shaking Fiona’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, fellas. This is Netty, and you’ve met my cousin Cleo.”
“Shall we adjourn to the TV room?” Cleo asked, passing out the beer and winking at Teo, who blushed at being caught staring.
“Can I use your bathroom?” Tino asked.
“Sugar in there,” Netty said. “Beauty girl,” she explained to the group.
“Come on in my room,” Fiona told Tino and led the way to the bath off of her bedroom.
He looked around with interest. She knew what he was thinking when his eyes stopped on the huge tumbled bed. He was wondering how long before he was lying in it.
Fiona sat down at her dressing table and tapped a joint on the back of her hand like a cigarette.
“You gonna wait out here for me?” he smiled.
She nodded. “You think I’ma leave your ass alone in my boudoir?”
He just laughed.
They drank way too much. When the beer ran out they dozed, sprawling around the family room like bar flys without bar stools. Fiona even allowed Tino to put his head on her lap while they watched old episodes of Sex in the City.
“Are you supposed to be smoking with your voice?” He rasped once.
“Shut it.”
Netty woke her around eleven to hand her the phone. “Daney.”
“Hey pretty,” she rasped, sliding out from under a sleeping Tino. There was a damp spot on her thigh from his breath.
“Sleep already? You must be hiding out.”
“I didn’t do it.”
He laughed. “Got your standard answer ready, huh? I should be there late tomorrow. You gon’ be around?”
“Yep. My activities have been limited by this fuckin’ throat. You, Netty and my baby are the only ones I talk to these days. Besides, I never do much around my birthday.”
“Except birthday.”
“Exactly. I can’t wait ‘til you get here,” she said. “I was going over my play list to give to Big, and I swear I’ve fucked you to every song on there.”
“Don’t say that. You’re gonna give me a cramp.” He never failed to rouse at the sound of her voice. “Somebody asked me if we were dating today.”
“Press?”
“No, a friend. He thinks you’re smokin’ hot. Apparently I’m not the only one who’s been crushing on you for years.”
Fiona laughed softly. “Whatchu’ say?”
“I said yeah.” He said promptly, and his voice was noticeably deeper.
“Good.”
Daney chuckled. “Night, babe.”
“Good night.”
Chapter six
After taping for her Transplants episode wrapped, Cleo told Fiona, “They want you for another two shows. The producer told me they’ve never been so glad to have an actress crap out at the last minute. Apparently, you proved to be a fabulous substitute.”
Fiona got the gig because the actress in question taped part of one episode before falling victim to a drug binge and being forced into an intensive rehab program out of state.
Cool, Fiona mouthed.
Media furor around the tapings was fierce. Short TV teasers sizzling with sexual tension seemed to run on a loop the station was pushing them so hard. In the first one camera angles followed the curvy lines of Fiona’s flawless figure faithfully as she walked with her entourage.
For a few long seconds they strode together in sync. Netty looked earthy and lush, Cleo was petite and polished, and Sugar embodied a pinup Amazon with her hourglass figure poured into vintage Herve Lager. But it was Fiona, standing in the middle in a screaming red sundress that bared all of her shapely shoulders and the top curves of her breasts, who caught and held the eye.
As the air date approached they began to show clips from the episode. One featured a dance sequence. Fiona’s character was in a rehearsal when Tino’s character Roan came in and started acting up. They shooed everyone out, and she gave him a solo performance so hot, it made Daney uncomfortable to watch it.
He saw the entire episode with Fiona the first time she saw it. He’d grunted after this particular bit and said, “I don’t think you could look better.”
Fiona just laughed. “I oughta! You don’t know what Cleo and Netty put me through gettin’ ready for this.”
The tabloids had latched onto their usual flirting-on-the set story, insisting that Fiona and Tino were a couple, that Daney had been replaced by a look-alike. Paparazzi began to tail Fiona so hard she had to exercise some pretty evasive maneuvering to get any privacy.
“As soon as the party for the season opener is over we’re outta here.” She told the girls, who nodded. They’d been ready to go. New York was sunny and nice, but it was still New York.
Daney was in his element. Somehow he’d managed to get even more gorgeous. He seemed taller amidst the skyscrapers and aged trees in Central Park. It was as though the city had imbued him with a portion of its chutzpah. Everyone in New York seemed to know Daney, and they liked him.
“How you know him?” Fiona would ask of the third guy on the street who’d struck up a conversation that day.
“We’re doing a little business together.”
“What he do?”
“Distribution,” he’d say. Or, “He owns a gallery,” or “He runs a restaurant,” or “He makes – and runs a shop in –” The list of his interests appeared to be endless.
“It’s Tino.” Netty said, pulling her mind back to the present as she handed her the phone.
“Peace.”
“I’m outside, lemme in.”
“He’s at the door.”
Sugar let him in.
“I fucked up,” he told them. “I was trying to give the paparazzi the slip, and they boxed me in. I panicked and came here so now God knows what’ll happen. Sorry.”
Fiona shrugged. “Fuck it. You know they want me for two more shows.”
He grinned. “Yep. Great, huh?”
“What time’s Daney getting in?” Netty asked deliberately.
“Three hours,” Cleo answered. “We should leave in 30 minutes.”
“I can pick him up alone.”
“Your man’s comin’ in town?” Tino asked.
Fiona nodded. “Everybody in my party is VIP,” she sang, and Tino grinned.
When Fiona picked Daney up from La Guardia airport she made no mention of the nights Tino had stayed over. What was the point of that full disclosure shit when you had nothing to hide? The girls were there as chaperones. True, Tino had found his way into her bedroom once or twice, but she always put his ass out.
“You act like you pay rent,” she told him once. “Like you the man of the house, sleepin’ in the queen’s bed.”
Now
she sat behind the tinted windows of her friend Boomer’s cherry red Escalade smoking out the sunroof, waiting for Daney to appear or for the skycap to move her along. Her phone rang.
“The dressmaker has extra fabric, and she wants to know if you want gloves to go with your final dress,” Netty asked.
“No.”
“The gloves might be nice.”
“No.”
“Thin, very delicate, fitted to the elbow. Handmade. Yes?”
“Yes,” Fiona said, knowing Netty wouldn’t stop until she agreed.
“Excellent! They’ll be the perfect, old-fashioned touch. You have to come in tomorrow to get your hand measured.”
“Uh-huh.” Fiona answered absently, inhaling and scanning the doors for Daney.
“Boomer just called to ask if there’s gonna be a room for him.”
Fiona laughed. “It’s his crib! You and Sugar or Cleo may have to double up. Cool?”
“Sure. What else? Oh, the bakery lady called to say that she can’t do that plum filling for the flat cake. Apparently we just missed the right season for plums, but the round tiered cake came out fabulous. She sent over the sample. It was ridiculously moist and good. I couldn’t save you any, sorry.”
“That’s fucked up,” Fiona said mildly. Cleo wouldn’t have let her eat it anyway. She exhaled, her head tilted toward the roof. “Substitute?”
“Tamarind?”
“Too tart.”
“Strawberry?”
“Too seedy.”
“Cherry?”
“Cherry, peach and banana? Don’t that sound weird to you? It’s almost too fruity.”
“Yeah, but so was plum, peach and banana.”
“Why you didn’t say something earlier? Hold on.” There was an airport employee standing at her window. Fiona rolled it down and removed her sunglasses. “Hi. I’m not supposed to be here, right?”
“No, you can’t park here because – Fiona Love! I’m a huge fan. When are you coming out with another album?”
Fiona laughed. “You don’t like my movies?”
“I haven’t missed one yet, but I love your music too.”
“I might have something for you to taste soon. Is there any way I could stay here for a few more minutes? My friend should have landed by now, and you know how it is with the paparazzi in airports.”
“No problem! What flight is your friend on? I’ll check to see if it’s in yet.”
“United 769 from LA. Netty.”
“Yeah?”
“Lemme call you right back.”
The skycap was talking on his walkie talkie. “It landed a few minutes ago,” he came back to report. “Why don’t you scoot up a little and pull closer to the curb? I’ll make sure you don’t get a ticket.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rodney.”
“Thank you, Rodney. I appreciate your help.”
Ten minutes later Daney appeared.
He looks beautiful.
Fiona rolled down the passenger window to yell, “D!”
He turned, and the smile that lit up his face had her hand on the door handle, ready to hop out and jump into his arms. She restrained herself, and managed to look composed when he threw his duffle in the back and slid in.
“Hey, boo,” she rasped, offering him a sexy sideways grin.
“Hey,” he said and pulled her into a bone-crushing squeeze and a kiss that left her gasping.
“Well,” she whispered, when he finally let her go. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you missed me.”
Her phone rang.
“Peace.”
“What about the cake, yo?”
“Shit! I don’t know. Now that you mention it all that shit seems over-the-top for one dessert. Pick whatever you think people will enjoy most.”
“Carrot cake.”
“That’s your favorite.”
“People like carrot cake.”
“No, Netty. Just get a carrot cake for the house if you want one.”
“‘Kay. Give Daney a kiss for me.”
Fiona laughed. “Kiss him yourself when we get home.”
“Hold on, Cleo just walked in.”
Daney had been busily raising the skirt of her dress. He grunted when he found she was again sans underwear.
“Feef.”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you fuckin’ in the car? Could you please wait like 20 minutes until you’re at home?”
“The windows are tinted, dude.”
“I don’t give a shit! Use your fuckin’ head, for fuck’s sake! I—” Fiona heard Netty yelling something in the background before the phone slipped from her hand. Daney had just slipped two fingers between her –
“Fiona!” two irritated female voices yelled from the floor of the car.
She scrambled for the phone and asked a breathless “What?”
“You need to go by the spot and proof the final gift bag shit.”
“Can’t you do it?” she asked Cleo. “You know what I like.”
“You have the car, asshole. I can’t find the fuckin’ keys to the Benz! You know I hate New York cabs.”
By the time she and Daney made it home he’d already given her one orgasm, while she was driving no less. He fell asleep after they fucked that first time. He’d been working flat out, cramming things in so he could be out here with her. Fiona wasn’t sleepy, but she lay there beside him, drowsing and enjoying the way his weight dipped the mattress and caused her body to bump up against his.
“Wake up. I got the script for the next Transplants show.” Cleo shook Fiona’s shoulder. “It’s great, but you and Tino are doing some serious making out.”
Fiona held a finger over her lips and pointed outside.
“For real? I thought there wasn’t gonna be anything overt, only implied,” she said once they were in the kitchen, flipping through the script. She read the scene Cleo was pointing out with an imperious finger and whistled. “Shit.”
“Andrea says it’s probably been fleshed out because the first show went so well, and there’s been all that extra heat from the tabloids.”
“I know, but damn.” There was silence as she read a few pages. “HBO is a bitch, ain’t they? Well, let’s sit down and go through it, see what we can do. They ain’t gettin’ ready to put me out there like this. I hate to think what’s gon’ happen when the shit actually airs!”
Cleo shrugged. She couldn’t argue with the truth.
Things had gotten bad after that last crop of pictures of Fiona and Tino were released. They’d been having dinner with the director and one of the show’s writers, but the two men had been cropped out, making it look like she and Tino were leaving the restaurant alone. After that, she, Tino and Daney stayed in the tabloids and entertainment rags almost daily. Most of the stories were silly bull shit, but others were down-right hurtful.
“What the fuck is up with all this controversy?” Fiona demanded of Andrea when she arrived in response to her boss’ pissy phone call. “Did all the other interracial couples on the planet vanish? Tino, who couldn’t give a shit about anything he can’t drink or smoke, actually called to give me his sympathy behind this.” She shook the tabloids and newspapers her publicist had brought with her. “What are you doing about it?”
“We’ve got briefs pending with People, the Tribune, the Post and a stringer from AP is scheduled to come through tomorrow morning to talk movies and Transplants,” Andrea soothed. “I’ve also got several calls in to my guy at Entertainment Tonight, but I think the SOB may be on vacation. Either that or he’s been fired. He usually calls me back immediately.”
“Did you see this shit about me not dating Black men anymore? Have they seen my damn baby?”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. To be photographed in public with Flora, let people see her. It might curtail the anti-Black man stuff a bit since you’d be holding the truth. It’d be a distraction if nothing else.”
“Well?” Fiona asked Cleo.
&nbs
p; “I thought you didn’t want the baby in the mix?”
“I don’t. But this shit is getting out of control. I don’t want my fans to think I’m like that.”
“Start your Twitter account.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. She’d been resisting entering the Twitter-verse for more than a year and planned to hold out as long as she could.
“I could have a friend come through and take some snaps of you and Flora, and then we’ll –”
“Or you could write a letter to your fans and post it on your web site,” Cleo suggested, knowing Fiona didn’t want to use Flora that way.
“Yes! I’ll do it right now. Andrea, I want this shit up today, this afternoon.”
“Need help?” Cleo called after her cousin’s angry back.
“No!”
Fiona poured out her feelings on her laptop. She lit a joint as she read it over. Then she deleted it and called in Cleo and Andrea.
“Sit down,” she ordered, gesturing with her joint hand. “I’ve decided to take the high road. I’m going to maintain a dignified silence unless it’s about work or my fans. Don’t give me that look, Andrea. You got a movie to talk about. Just make sure I always look good.”
“A dignified silence,” said her pursed-lipped publicist.
Fiona shrugged. “I knew this was coming, the fallout for dating Daney. I just didn’t wanna deal with it. Well, obviously now I have to, and that’s fine, but I’m not about to start pointing the racially motivated finger at folks. I’m sicka that shit. Everybody knows I’m black and Daney’s white, I don’t need to point that shit out, and I ain’t about to start making political statements about love. People are just gonna have to leave me alone. But if these muthafuckas push me, the occasional crack on the likes of Bill Maher dating the video vixen or David Bowie and Iman will fall from my lips. And if I have to I’ll throw Shala Monrogue’s name down liked a gauntlet. Nobody gives her shit and her man couldn’t be whiter if he tried.”
Cleo laughed and gave her the thumbs up. Andrea continued to scowl.
“They ain’t gon’ make me believe I’m this fuckin’ special. This is not that unusual. It’s more likely some folks think I’m having too much fun. Enjoying too much love and not enough struggle. Don’t make me start thinkin’ deep now!” Fiona said righteously, looking up when Netty knocked.
Fiona Love Page 8
