by Nikki Carter
I continue with a question. “Do you think you can get past this?”
“Can you get past your beef with my family?” Dilly’s response is immediate, like this question was already on the tip of his tongue.
“If I couldn’t get over my beef with your family, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Dilly takes off his baseball cap and runs a hand over his deep waves. Arms not crossed anymore. This is a good sign.
“Sunday, I want us to be cool, because I really like Bethany, and she says y’all are really tight.”
I choose not to comment on the friendship situation with me and Bethany. We used to be best friends, but to call us close right now is a stretch. She’s engaged in too much grimy behavior for me to say we’re tight.
“I want us to be cool too,” I reply. “But not because of Bethany. I think you’re really talented, and I like having you in my camp.”
“Your camp?” A smile creeps onto Dilly’s face.
“Yeah, my camp. It’s gonna be my reality show and my video shoot in Barbados.”
“It’s all about Sunday right now, huh?” Dilly asks. I don’t think I like the sarcastic, hateriffic tone in his voice.
“No . . . but the reality show is gonna be based on the video shoot. It’ll be fun. You’re fun. And I think we should all be there. We deserve it after all the drama from the summer tour.”
“I’m down,” Dilly says.
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna need you to act just a little bit more friendly toward me if this is gonna work.”
Finally, a real smile from Dilly. “I can do that. As long as you aren’t unleashing your goons on me again.”
“My goons? I didn’t have anything to do with those dudes. Seriously.”
I can’t help but think of the check for twenty-five thousand dollars. I put it in my college bank account and it hasn’t bounced yet, so I’m pretty sure it’s the real deal. I just wonder where it came from. It could’ve been from Los Diablos, Carlos’s cousin’s gang. If it is from them, I don’t think I even want it.
Dilly’s phone buzzes and he reads the screen. “Are we done?” he asks. “Bethany’s gonna be here soon, and we’re going to Zillionaire’s crib to work on a cut for his next album.”
“Zac’s doing another album? I thought he was about to release one of his artists.”
“Nah. He’s going to kind of debut us on his album. Let us do a verse on a few songs. I’ve almost got him convinced to let Bethany sing a hook.”
One of my eyebrows shoots up involuntarily. I think it’s my money eyebrow. You know how some people’s hands itch when they’re about to get money? Well, my eyebrow gets really twitchy.
“Really? Well, I better get busy on those songs for her then.”
Dilly clears his throat. “Bethany told me why you’re doing this for her. And I don’t think you should do it if you don’t want to.”
I can’t believe Bethany would tell Dilly about that craziness with Truth. “What did she tell you exactly?”
Dilly replies, “She said that you caught her making out with Truth, and that she said she wouldn’t hook up with him if you’d help her with her album.”
Wow! She actually told him the real deal! I’m beyond shocked. Maybe she really is trying to be a better person. I hope so for Dilly’s sake.
“And you think I shouldn’t help her now?”
“Well, I know she’s not gonna mess with Truth regardless. And since the cat is out of the bag anyway, I don’t really see the point. I mean, Dreya knows about them hooking up now.”
“What if I told you that I think Bethany could be a star?”
“You think so?”
I nod. “She wants it badly enough. Worse than me and Dreya combined. So, yeah, I think she could do it. Sam and I are working on some really hot stuff for her.”
“And Dreya won’t be mad about you helping her?”
“Heck yeah, Dreya’s gonna be mad. But at this point in the game, I can’t worry about what’s going to make her mad. It’s about the paper and the grind, you know?”
“The paper and the grind,” Dilly repeats my mantra.
I hold my arms out to Dilly, hoping that he doesn’t leave me hanging and lets me have a hug. For a long moment he just stares at me like he hasn’t made up his mind.
I drop my arms. “Okay, maybe we’re not ready for hugs yet. How about a fist bump?”
Dilly grins and balls his fist. He bumps it with mine, but at the end he gives me an awkward one-arm hug. LaKeisha peeks through the curtains with a scowl on her face.
“I guess I should go inside,” Dilly says. “I need to roll out in a few.”
“All right then. See you at Big D’s or wherever.”
“Okay.”
I jog back to my car, not wanting to give LaKeisha the chance to add any closing remarks. Don’t need her ruining this moment for me and Dilly.
I feel a total weight lifted from me. Apologizing and getting forgiven are totally underrated. As much as my mom has been getting on my nerves lately (especially with the college-fund caper), I’m so glad I listened to her on this one.
Mission accomplished!
7
“We love you, Mystique!”
Having lunch with Mystique is the opposite of fun. It’s more like having a root canal. And she always picks these spots where the Atlanta paparazzi are going to take her picture and the screaming fans are going to do what they do. Scream.
Mystique flings her fire-engine-red weave back and flashes an award-winning smile. “I love you too! I love you more!”
Then she turns her attention back to me. I stuff a forkful of salad into my mouth so that she can’t see my sarcastic smirk. Sidebar, this salad is disgusting. Baby spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and carrots drizzled with olive oil and lemon.
One-hundred-percent healthy, zero-percent yummy.
“How is your salad?” Mystique asks.
I give her a blank stare. She already knows what it is.
“I know it doesn’t taste that great, but it is really good for you, Sunday. All that junk you put into your body is horrible for you.”
Shhhh! Can you hear that? It’s my stomach growling for a slice of pepperoni pizza.
“I hear what you’re saying, Mystique, but do you eat rabbit food all day, every day?”
She nods. “When I’m working I do. You’ll learn that if you don’t eat healthy while you’re on the road, you’ll get sick really easily.”
I guess eating like this is all part of the game. Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Speaking of going on the road,” Mystique continues, “have you decided if your cousin and all of her foolishness are going with us to Barbados for your video shoot?”
I feel my eyebrows come together in a tightly knit frown. In the background a flash from one of the cameras nearly blinds me. Great. Now they’re going to have a picture for the Internet bloggers of me mean mugging Mystique. All bad.
“I thought we had already decided that everyone was coming. Not just Dreya, but Truth, Bethany, Dilly, Sam, Big D, and Shelly too.”
Mystique grins at me, and I’m not even sure I can decipher what it means. Has it not been decided?
“Well, it’s really up to you, Sunday,” Mystique says. “If you want them there on the island, ruining your vibe, that’s totally up to you, but it’s not like we need them for the reality show or the video.”
I look down at my salad and spread the meager leaves around on the plate. Why do I have to be the one to decide to cut my cousin loose? If Epsilon Records doesn’t want her around, all they have to do is say the word. Why does it have to be about me betraying my own?
“If it’s my decision, then they stay.”
“You really want them to come?” Mystique asks. “Are you doing this out of loyalty? Because this is not a loyal business. Drama would’ve dropped you in a minute.”
“First of all, I don’t believe that. I know my cousin.”
Mystiqu
e interrupts, “Really? What if I told you that she tried to stop your record deal from happening? She threatened to not record for Epsilon Records if they let you sign to my label.”
“I would say that I don’t let other people’s actions define my actions.”
Mystique looks really frustrated right now. She takes in a sharp breath and then takes several quick sips from her water glass.
“Okay, fine,” Mystique says. “They can go, but when Drama and Bethany get to fighting like two alley cats, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Dreya knows this is about her career, and she’s not going to let Bethany cost her a record deal.”
“About Bethany and record deals—what’s this I hear about you writing songs for her demo?”
Mystique is getting a little bit overwhelming with all these questions. She’s up here interrogating me like she gave birth to me. I’ve got one mother, and she does not wear a bright red weave.
“How do you even know we’re working on music for Bethany? It’s not like we’re advertising it.”
“Dilly told Zac, and Zac told me.”
Without thinking, I roll my eyes. This little chain of gossip is too dang intimate. I can’t sneeze without someone reporting it back to Mystique. Is it really all that serious? I mean, dang!
“Yeah, I’m working on music for Bethany. It’s a side project.”
Mystique clears her throat and sips some more of her water. “I’m not sure you have time for side projects right now. I think you need to focus on Sunday and Sunday Tolliver only.”
Okay, I’m tripping right now because this is the chick who’s got a million side projects going on. She sings, she’s a songwriter, and she’s got a record label, fashion line, and a whole bunch of other stuff. She’s even going to try her hand at acting.
So why do I have to focus on one thing?
“Seems like you do a good job of multitasking,” I say. “I’m just trying to be like you.”
Mystique beams and the cameras flash again. I wonder what this caption will read. It certainly won’t be what’s running through my head. Mystique’s protégée restrains herself from jumping across the table to snatch off Mystique’s weave.
“I’m flattered that you want to be like me, but you aren’t there yet, honey. The first thing I did was make Mystique a brand name. You can’t truly bring anyone else up until you get yours and the competition is no longer a threat.”
Now, I’m the one sipping water. “Bethany is talented too. She’s been a part of my group for years, and she could make me a lot of money on the back end of things.”
I think that Mystique doesn’t understand who I am. I don’t want to be an internationally known performer who can’t even walk down the street without being photographed. I’m content to fade into obscurity, while cashing songwriting checks for the artists. Give me rich without the fame, all day every day.
“My brand name,” I say, “is Sunday Tolliver the songwriter. Hello! Do you know me? I’m about to go to Spelman in the fall!”
“I’ve heard Bethany sing. I think she would be competition for you, and I don’t think you need to be doing any songwriting favors for your competition. It is a favor, right?” Mystique asks.
“No . . . well . . . it started out as me helping her because I wanted her to leave Truth alone. She was only messing with him because he promised to help her get a record deal.”
Mystique laughs out loud. “I’m sorry, Sunday, but that sounds really stupid. You’re going to help Bethany to keep her from hooking up with Truth? Why do you even care?”
Where has this chick been for the past forty-five minutes? How is she not getting the point? I hold it down for mine. All day, every day.
“I care, because Truth is my cousin’s boyfriend. I don’t want her hurt. What’s not to understand?”
Mystique shakes her head, the look of frustration back on her face. “Well, are you at least getting paid for this foolishness?”
“Bethany doesn’t have any money. I’ll get paid on the back end.”
“If you’re not getting paid on the front end, then it’s a favor. I’d drop her like it’s hot, if I were you.”
Mystique’s unwanted advice session is interrupted by her cell phone ringing. It’s comical seeing Mystique dig around in that gigantic purse looking for her BlackBerry. She almost misses her call every time.
“Hey babe!” She catches it in time. “Yeah, me and Sunday are having lunch.... We’re talking about her destiny and her journey.... Yeah. . . . Everything that’s going to happen for her once she gets rid of all this dead weight.”
She looks at me, and all I’m thinking is, Wow . . . okay....
Mystique continues, “Oh, I forgot to tell her about that! I’ll tell her now. . . . All right, baby. . . . See you later. . . . Bye!”
“You forgot to tell me what?” I ask as soon as she presses End on her phone.
“Well . . . I just wanted to ask if you and Sam are dating. Are y’all official?”
Okay, I have to pause before I answer this. Because this does not feel okay. Not the impish grin on her face, nor the fact that she and Zac are plotting behind my back and keeping secrets. I’m not amused.
“No. Me and Sam are not dating officially. We had one official date since the tour, but I don’t think that counts as officially dating. So, I’m going to have to say my answer is no.”
“Well, good, because we have a wonderful idea that we think will really put you and Dilly on the map.”
I lift an eyebrow at Mystique. “What is it? A collaboration?”
“Something like that. The BET producers thought that you and Dilly had really great chemistry, especially in the prom scene where he was freestyling to you.”
“And?”
“And . . . they think you should play that up in the next installment of your reality show. They think your fans would like to see a fun yet squeaky-clean romance for you on the air.”
“No, no, and let me think really hard . . . NO!”
“Sunday, please don’t say no yet. This is how it works in the industry. You don’t have to kiss him or anything like that.”
“Oh, I don’t? Thank you, Mystique, for telling me what I don’t have to do with my own lips!” Is she out of her mind?
“Shhh!! Don’t make a scene, Sunday. You never know who’s got a mini-cam.”
“At this point, I don’t care.”
“Look, just play up the fact that the viewers will think you two like each other. It will blow your career off the map. Trust me on this one.”
“Okay, are you forgetting that Dilly basically hates me right now? We’re just getting back to speaking terms, and now you want us to have an on-screen romance?”
“Zac is gonna talk to Dilly, and we think we can convince him that this is the best thing for his career. He really wants his record to come out, so we think he’ll be all for it.”
I shake my head trying to erase the craziness she’s spewing. “Okay, so what am I supposed to tell Sam?”
“You don’t have to tell him anything. You just said he’s not your boyfriend.”
Big ol’ sigh. “Yeah, he’s not my boyfriend, but I still care about him.”
“I don’t know, Sunday. If you must tell him, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
A lot of help she is! She just laid this whammy on me and is gonna make me deal with the fallout. The last time we tried to have a fake love triangle with Truth, me, and Sam, it was all bad.
Plus, Sam just told me that I keep playing games. If I agree to do this, he just might be right. Because if this isn’t a game, I don’t know what is.
8
When I get home after my lunch with Mystique, I’m still spinning a little bit trying to figure out how I’m going to tell Sam about this new idea of Zac and Mystique’s. Because, yeah, I’m definitely going to tell him. He might not be my boyfriend, but I feel like I owe this to him. I don’t need to learn another lesson on how keeping secrets can hurt.
Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, returned it with the tags still on.
There’s a car parked in front of our house that I don’t recognize. And I am so not in the mood for another surprise this afternoon.
I walk into the house, all the while bracing myself for craziness. Truth is here, and there’s a woman with him who I don’t know. She’s definitely older than me, but not as old as my mom or Aunt Charlie. She’s got long braids that come to the middle of her back. Her bare arms sport many tattoos. There are a few names, a cross, two cherries, some sort of bird and a tiger. I can see that she has absolutely no theme going on with her tattoo game.
Sidebar—Aunt Charlie is mean mugging both the lady and Truth.
What immediately strikes me is the expression on Truth’s face. I’ve never seen him look so contrite. But if I was him, I’d back up a few paces from Aunt Charlie. She’s furious about Dreya’s broken ankle, and she’s looking like she wants to return the favor.
“Do what I said, Truth! Tell them,” the woman says.
“All right, Ma. Dag!”
Okay . . . wow! This is Truth’s mama! I can see the apple didn’t fall too far from the ghetto tree. I wonder if they have an Apple Bottoms tree in their yard? SMH! I’m laughing quietly inside!
This looks like it’s going to be interesting, so I pull up a seat next to Manny. He obviously thinks it’s movie time or something, because little dude has apple juice in his favorite sippy cup and a bowl of popcorn in his lap.
Manny says, “Hey, Sunday. What’s up, cuzzo?”
“Hey, Little Manny. What’s going on?”
He sucks his teeth. “This fool up here trying to apologize to my mama for putting his hands on my sister.”
Truth cuts his eyes at Manny, and Manny slams his bowl of popcorn down like he’s the man up in here. “What? You gone break my ankle too?” Manny asks.
My mother gives Manny a look that says, Boy, you better be quiet before you get a whuppin’. But I don’t see why he has to be quiet! He lives here!
“Tell her, Truth!” his mother says again, this time sounding more impatient than the first time.
