by Nikki Carter
“Maybe if Sam’s head has shrunk back down to normal size, he can help you,” Mystique chuckles.
I didn’t think Sam had a big head about the rescue at all. He answered all of the questions everyone asked, with grace and patience. Even when they asked the same question several times. I heard someone mumble that they thought it was staged for the BET camera that was just so conveniently following us on the beach. That irked me, but Sam didn’t even flinch and he was close enough to hear it too.
“Sam will help. I just have to ask him.”
Lena asks, “Why can’t we use the other guy? The rapper that came with Drama? He might be better than a model.”
“No way,” Mystique replies. “Epsilon would trip all the way out if we had Truth in that video. They don’t want Sunday attached to him at all. He’s not even supposed to be here.”
Lena shrugs. “Well, then, I’m off to make some phone calls. I’ll be back to help with the practicing.”
“Make it happen!” Mystique calls after her.
Instead of going all the way back to the suites, I call Sam’s cell phone.
“Hello?” He sounds like he’s still sleeping.
“Sam, are you up?”
“I am now. What’s good?”
“We kind of had an emergency. Dilly can’t be in the video. . . . He’s sick.”
“Mmmkay . . .”
I want to burst out laughing. I know Sam so well. And he’s thinking, What does this have to do with me?
“So can you just help me practice while we wait on the replacement to show up?”
I can hear Sam’s sigh of relief over the phone. “Oh, is that all? Okay, yeah I can do that.”
“What? Did you think I was gonna make you learn some choreography or something?”
Sam laughs. “You know I don’t dance.”
“Real men dance.”
“Real men stand on the wall, while girls back it up!”
I crack up. “Whatever, boy. Can you just get down to the beach cabana? Mystique wants to try to get some practice in since I’ve got on all this hair and makeup.”
“Okay. See you in a few.”
I press End on the phone and notice that Mystique is staring at me.
“What?”
She gives me a sly grin. “Is someone’s on-again, off-again relationship back on again?”
“Um . . . no. Not that I know of. Sam has been pretty clear that he’s sick of me playing games and chasing money.”
“But you were cheesing hard just now when you were talking to him.”
And now, I’m cheesing again. “Well, I never said anything about my crush dissipating. He’s the one that’s done with me.”
“I see. Well let’s go to the cabana and wait for him.”
It’s crazy going anywhere with Mystique. Even walking from the hotel to the cabana house is a flurry of autographs and pictures with fans. She handles it well, though. She never looks irritated and always has a smile for a little girl or teenager who shouts, “I love you, Mystique!” I even sign a couple of autographs too. It doesn’t bother me one bit that some of the kids had no idea who I am. It’s okay. They will.
When we get to the cabana house, there is a huge group of Bajan teenagers wearing assorted bathing suits. They’re all getting hair and makeup for the video.
“Why couldn’t we just use one of them?” I ask. “A couple of them look quite acceptable.”
“Because if it’s not going to be Dilly, it can’t just be some random dude. There are a few models that are really hot. Not just regular-guy hot.”
“I like regular guys,” I protest.
“I know. That is a problem,” Mystique replies.
I toss my head back and snort. “What’s wrong with regular guys?”
“Regular guys don’t get us! They don’t get the music industry. They don’t get the drive that it takes to get and remain on top. That’s why Sam is so frustrated with you.”
I sigh and nod. “Because he wants me to do regular-chick things.”
“Right, like getting your nails done, arguing with him for looking at another girl, or texting him all night.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t or don’t do all of those things,” I say.
“Right, but first and foremost, what is it?”
“It’s the music, it’s the money. For college, for my mama. You know what it is.”
“Believe me, I know. I tried to date regular guys. I even tried to have regular girlfriends and it didn’t work. My regular boyfriends were always jealous and the girls get jealous too at some point.”
“So that’s how you ended up with Zac?” I ask.
“Yep. Zac understands the grind. He understands everything I do to be successful. And he’s not threatened by it. He loves me more for it. My grind complements his hustle.”
I give serious thought to this as Dreya walks up wearing an almost invisible flesh-colored two-piece bikini. Is Sam always going to feel like second fiddle to my music career? And is he going to be able to handle anything else I do?
Can I not deal with the regular?
On closer inspection, I can see that Dreya got her hair and makeup done too. This girl was not playing when she said she was going to be wherever the cameras are. Mystique takes one look at her and rolls her eyes.
“Hey, cuzzo,” Dreya says. “You look fly.”
Since getting a compliment from Dreya is a rarity, I reply, “Thank you, cuzzo. You look good too.”
Then I realize that she probably only gave me a compliment so that the cameras could catch her being benevolent to her cousin. . . . Wow. . . .
“So, I thought you and Truth would be hanging at the beach or something.”
She shrugs and looks away from me. “Nah. I don’t know where he is. Probably kicking it with Sam and Big D or something.”
“Sam’s here. He’s about to come down to practice with me, but maybe he’s with Big D. I haven’t seen Big D since we checked in.”
“I think Big D and Shelly had a couples’ spa day,” Mystique says.
I chuckle at the thought of Big D getting a pedicure, or a hot rocks massage. Ha! Shelly deserves it, though. She puts up with much mess from Big D and from all of his artists.
Dreya’s facial expression is strange. It’s her thinking pose, but she’s also got a fake smile plastered on her face. I know what the smile is for—the camera—but what is she thinking about?
Just when I decide to ask her, Sam strides across the beach looking well rested. He smiles like he’s excited to practice for a video shoot when I know he’s really not that excited.
“So what do y’all want me to do?” Sam asks. “Stand where dude is gonna stand so Sunday can do her thang?”
Mystique replies, “A little more than stand there. I need you to at least walk through, so she can get her musical queues down.”
“At least walk through?” Sam asks. “If that’s the least I can do, what’s the most I can do?”
I laugh out loud. “You feeling real frisky, aren’t you?”
Mystique joins in with my laughter. “Okay, Sam. You can do the choreography too if you want.”
“Let me see it,” Sam says.
“Didn’t you just say men don’t dance?” I ask.
“Well, I’m not about to do any crazy dancing, but maybe a couple of steps.”
Mystique says, “Welll, there’s not really a lot of dancing. Sunday is going to see you at a beach party. You’re posted up on the side sipping a beverage, but your eyes meet.”
“That’s on the first verse, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” Mystique nods. “When you’re singing When I first saw you/You were so incredible to me/All I could do is watch you/A guy like you would never talk to me.”
“That doesn’t sound hard,” Sam says.
“Then on the bridge where she says, Seems like I’m hiding in plain sight/Wish you would open up your eyes, you’re going to walk toward her like you are coming up to talk to her, but you�
��re going to walk through her like she’s invisible. That part we’ll do with a green screen.”
Sam claps his hands together. “That’s hot right there.”
“It is,” Mystique agrees. “I just wish Dilly wasn’t sick. We’ve already practiced it with him.”
“I can do it,” Sam says.
“Show and prove,” Mystique says.
Lena, the video director, walks up to us. She had been coaching the group of extras and now she probably wants to show Sam the ropes.
“Drama, exactly where do you plan to be while we’re shooting?” Lena asks. “I need to make sure you don’t contaminate any of my shots.”
Dreya’s face scrunches into an angry frown. “What do you mean contaminate your shot? If you get me in it, you’ve done nothing but upgrade your shot.”
Lena rolls her eyes and looks at Mystique. Mystique rubs the back of her own neck as if stressed and then sighs.
“Drama,” she says slowly and deliberately, “can you please make sure that you are not in any of the video shots? I would, and Epsilon would, greatly appreciate it if we didn’t have to do extra filming because of you.”
“Aren’t y’all just practicing right now anyway?” Dreya asks. “Sam’s not going to be in the final video. So why do I have to worry about getting out of the way?”
“Because,” Lena explains, “if I get any usable footage, I’m using it. Actually, I like the look of Sam. Let’s get him in makeup before we shoot, just in case I want to keep him.”
“But he’s not a leading-man type,” Mystique argues. “He’s just a round-the-way kind of regular guy.”
Lena shrugs and smiles. “Sometimes regular works. My first four husbands were regular guys.”
I lift my eyebrows at Mystique and grin. Sometimes regular works, even if you are a superstar, all about your business.
Lena jogs over to the extras to give some final orders, and Mystique whispers, “Her first four husbands . . . where are those regular guys now?”
“For real, y’all are not gonna let me be in this video?” Dreya asks. “Y’all are tripping.”
“Is that what you want? To be an extra in Sunday’s video?” Mystique asks. “I thought you were too much of a star for that.”
“An extra? Puh-lease. I don’t want to be an extra. I want to play a starring role in the video. Like on that first part you’re talking about where Sunday first makes eye contact with Sam, she and I could be having a conversation.”
“What?” Mystique asks.
“Then when she finally gets his attention, I can introduce them.” Dreya looks one-hundred-percent proud of herself and her idea, and I’m just about sure that Mystique is voting no.
“The whole point of the video,” Mystique says, “is that Sunday is an apparition that he can’t see.”
“An apparition?” Dreya asks. “What’s that?”
OMG! Hooked on Phonics Dreya.
“It’s like a ghost,” Mystique says.
“Oh . . . oh! Well, that’s just stupid,” Dreya says after I think the lightbulb clicks on for her.
Mystique replies, “It’s not stupid, but there is no room for Sunday to interact with anyone, except Sam at the end when she materializes in his arms.”
“Oh.”
“So can you please,” Mystique asks, “make yourself scarce? Why don’t you go to the spa? Get yourself a spa pedicure on me or something.”
“On you?” Dreya asks. “Can I get a full-body rock massage too?”
Mystique rolls her eyes. “Go ahead, Drama.”
“All right, I’m out. And Sunday?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Don’t even think about being in my next video, since you tripping so hard on your little debut.”
I almost respond, but then decide it’s not worth it. It kills me how she always tries to blame me for someone else’s decision. Epsilon and Lena decided what this video was going to be like. I guess I’m the easiest one to blame for everything because she knows that I’m always gonna be her cousin no matter what.
Lena jogs back over to us. “Okay, I’m ready to film the first scene. You should be lip-synching to your lyrics. You can even sing them if it helps you stay in time with the music. We’re going to dub in the sound anyway, so it doesn’t matter what you do vocally.”
“So we’re doing the first verse?” I ask.
“Yes. We’re going to do the first verse now, but we’ll go through the whole song several times, so I can have different shots of you. Some we’re going to do with you lying on the sand. Some we’re gonna have with you dancing on the shore. You’re gonna get sick of the verses to this song.”
“Okay, let’s make it happen,” Mystique says.
I’m mildly more conscious of the BET cameras than the ones that Lena brought for the video shoot. It seems like they’re there to catch my simplest mistake or slip on judgment.
Everyone takes their places, and when Lena says, “Action,” it’s on and poppin’! I’m surprised at how many of the queues, movements, and dances I remember from our practices in Atlanta.
It feels weird singing the lyrics of my song toward Sam. I’ve never been invisible to him. He’s seen me from the jump. I can’t say that I saw him immediately, but after we vibed on the music, I did see him, and wondered what a relationship with him might be like. It scared me, so I looked away. It was easier to look at my music career than look at him.
But now that I’m cool with seeing him, even if it’s through a squinted side eye, I can’t get him to pay me any attention. Some people would call that ironic; I call it me getting what I deserve.
We walk through these scenes for hours. So long, in fact, that I have to stop in the middle and get my hair and makeup refreshed, because I sweated out my hair and streaked my mascara.
Finally, the extras are getting a rest, because we’re filming the scene where I end up in Sam’s arms. Lena starts the shooting and then abruptly stops it. She walks over to us, so that she can place our bodies correctly for the cameras.
“Why are you two standing so far apart?” Lena says. “I need to feel your tension through the lens.”
There’s tension all right. Sam keeps staring at me like he’s Robinson Crusoe seeing a steak the first time after he’s rescued from that deserted island.
Sam grins and pulls me in close, like he was just waiting on the opportunity to do that.
“Perfect!” Lena says. “Keep that intensity.”
She starts filming again. Then she stops. Again.
“Sunday! Don’t forget to lip-synch!”
Dang, Sam’s got me totally mesmerized to the point where I forgot my song lyrics. I tried to lip-synch, but I couldn’t even get it together. I think Sam can tell how twisted I am, because he hasn’t wiped that grin off his face yet.
Lena starts filming again. Then she stops. AGAIN!
“Good, Sunday, but Sam, I want you to tip her chin up with your hand, then gaze into her eyes, like you’re just now noticing how beautiful her eyes are.”
Sam does what he’s told, and tips my chin up. He also does something she didn’t tell him to do. He licks his lips like someone just handed him a bottle of A1 sauce.
Even though Lena hasn’t directed him to do this, Sam places a light kiss on my lips, then eases back and smiles. Is this real or for the cameras? If it’s fake, then I need a reality check for real.
Lena squeals as she calls “Cut!” to her cameramen.
“Sam, man, you rock!” Lena says. “That kiss was perfection. I might want to use you for some of my other videos.”
This immediately annoys me. If Sam can bring intensity like this to another girl, he and I will have some serious issues.
Mystique still looks skeptical, however. “I don’t think that kiss needs to be in there. Everyone knows who Sam is from the reality show. I don’t want Sunday’s teenage-boy fans to think she’s taken now. And that’s exactly what they’re gonna think if we show the footage of the two of them kissing.”<
br />
Lena frowns deeply. “It’s hot. I’m keeping it. I think the suits at Epsilon will love it too, not to mention Sunday’s fans—boys and girls.”
“I’m the one signing the checks on this one, Lena. It’s for my label, remember?”
“Look, don’t hire me if you’re gonna screw with my artistry, Mystique.”
Mystique flips a piece of her blond wig over her shoulder. “You were hired to bring my vision to life on this video.”
Lena looks hurt by this. She clutches her midsection like Mystique just punched her and knocked the wind out of her.
“I cannot believe you, Mystique. After all the projects we’ve done . . .”
“All the projects I’ve paid for. Don’t get it twisted, Lena.”
Of course, the BET cameras are getting all this divatastic footage. From the way Mystique is throwing her weight around, I think she’s doing it on purpose and for the cameras.
“How about you do two versions of the video and let the fans decide?” I ask.
Immediately, I wish I could take this back because it sounds totally scripted. Like something dreamed up in a producer’s meeting at BET. But I’m really just trying to end this back-and-forth between Lena and Mystique and distract the cameras from the drama.
“Like a promotion for the album? That is a wonderful idea,” Mystique says.
“That’s gonna be a lot of work,” Lena says.
Mystique sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes to the top of her head. “Lena, stop being a drama queen. You’ve got the raw footage, so just do it.”
“Am I being paid for two edits? Because that’s what this is . . . two edits.”
“Yes! You know I’m good for it,” Mystique replies.
Lena nods, and directs her film crew to start packing up. Then she turns to me. “Sunday, don’t get wasted or anything tonight, in case we have to shoot anything else tomorrow.”
Wasted as in drizzy-drunk? Puh-lease! Has she met me?
“Never that, Lena. I think we might go dancing at a reggae spot later, but I shan’t be getting wasted. I don’t roll like that.”
Sam laughs and pulls me away from the set to another part of the beach that’s a safe distance from the BET cameras. By the time we’re out of recording range, Sam is cracking up and holding his midsection like someone just told him the funniest knock-knock joke in the history of knock-knocks.
