by Nikki Carter
“Well, I don’t want that poison clogging up my lungs. I’m going outside. Good job, again, on the show.”
Instead of waiting for Big D to come out of the dressing room, I go back out into the restaurant to enjoy the live jazz musician who is serenading the customers while they eat dinner. I take a seat at the bar, order a virgin daiquiri, and relax. My phone buzzes with a text message from Sam.
Thinkin’ about you and missing you. Wish you would call.
I sigh at the sentimental words. He thinks I’m just supposed to immediately forgive him because he’s decided that he wants me back? Sam’s flimsy explanations of his dirt don’t exactly count as apologies, so I can’t even say that he’s given me an honest apology.
“Are you Sunday Tolliver?” A guy about my age has slid onto the barstool next to me.
“Yes, I am.”
The guy lets out a shrill scream. “I cannot believe this! I was just saying the other day that I was gonna carry my demo around in my pocket until I meet you. And here you are just two days later.”
“Your demo?”
“Yes! I am Montray, a singer-slash-actor-slash-songwriter, but not necessarily in that order. Could you hook a brotha up and listen to my demo?”
My eyes dart around the room, looking for anyone to save me, or at the very least an escape route. When neither are readily available, I give Montray my friendliest smile.
“I can listen, but um . . . I can’t really give you a record deal. I’m just an artist myself.”
Montray’s eyebrows dip so deeply that they appear to be one giant brow. “So that’s how you are, huh? You got yours, but you can’t reach back and help somebody else?”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“That’s how it’s goin’ down?” Montray’s loud voice is drawing attention our way.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble. I said I would listen to your demo, so chill, okay?”
Montray stands from his bar stool, and I realize how tall and wide he is. Where in the world is Big D when I need him?
“Yeah, you gonna listen to my demo, right now. Let’s go. I know you got a CD player in your car.”
“I’m not going outside with you.”
Montray grabs my arm and yanks me from the stool. “Yes, you are. I’m trying to get this record deal money, ya heard?”
Hot tears sting my eyes as I try to free myself from Montray’s grasp. Then, someone taps Montray on the shoulder. It’s Sam!
“Playa, I’m gonna need you to take your hands off of her,” Sam says in a strong and forceful voice.
“Man, back up off me!”
When Montray doesn’t comply with Sam’s request, Sam does what I’ve seen him do before. He drops Montray to the floor with a two-punch combination that probably has the wannabe celebrity seeing stars.
I exhale a breath of relief. As much as Sam gets on my nerves, I have never been happier to see him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as Sam pulls me away from the bar and toward the club’s exit door.
“Shouldn’t you be saying, ‘Thank you, Sam, for saving me’?”
I unravel my hand from his. “Thank you. I’m so glad that you’re here.”
“That’s more like it. I came to see Bethany’s show, but my flight got delayed, so I didn’t make it in time.”
“Oh, well, she did a good job. Big D thinks she’s going to go at least gold in the first week of her release if her single does well.”
“Mo money, mo money, mo money!” Sam’s monotone voice doesn’t match his words.
“You sound real excited about that.”
Sam clears his throat and smiles. “Well, if I gain more money than I can spend, but I don’t have my lady by my side, what good is it?”
I roll my eyes and walk through the open door. “It’ll be a lot of money whether I’m by your side or not.”
“Where’s your car?” Sam asks.
“I valet parked.”
“Give me your ticket.”
I almost refuse, because I don’t want Sam to do boyfriend-type things anymore. I don’t want him walking me to my car, tipping the valet for me, or anything else. I just want him to be my record producer.
“I need to tell Big D I’m out of here,” I say, remembering that I left Big D in Bethany’s dressing room.
Sam shakes his head. “Call him from the road, or even when you’re back safe at your dorm. As a matter of fact, I’m following you back.”
“That is not necessary.”
“Yes, it is! Sunday, you just had some random dude put his hands on you.” Sam hands the valet my ticket.
“Okay, okay. Follow me back, but you’re not walking me in.”
Sam lifts his eyebrow. “Listen, I know you don’t want to get back together. I understand. But I am walking you to the door. And I’m going to have Big D hire a bodyguard for you.”
“I’m not walking around with a bodyguard. That’s so . . . so . . . Mystique.”
“At least when you go out kicking it. You’ve got to be safe.”
“Maybe when I go out, but only then. I’m not walking around campus with a bodyguard.”
“You could always hire me,” Sam says with a smile.
“You’re no bodyguard, Sam. Plus, you live in New York. And uh, I don’t really like you that much, remember?”
Sam chuckles. “I’ve beat up two guys for you. I’d move back to Atlanta to take care of you. And I am convinced that your not liking me is a temporary condition. One day you’ll learn the truth, and you’ll be sad you kicked me to the curb.”
“You’re not moving back to Atlanta.”
The valet driver pulls my car up and Sam laughs out loud. “When are you buying a new car, Sunday?”
“When this one breaks. I’m not into cars all like that.”
Sam hands the valet his ticket. “Can you bring mine around too? I’m going to follow Ms. Tolliver home.”
Sam opens my car door for me and I get inside. “You are just super polite, Sam. I’d almost mistake you for a really great guy if I didn’t know the truth.”
“Sunday, haven’t you ever heard of forgiveness?”
What? The nerve of him! It always seems like the people who want to lecture you on forgiveness are the ones always doing wrong stuff to you. He’s not going to get over like that.
“I have heard of it. I’ve used it a few times when it’s come to you as well. I don’t have to keep putting up with your crap, Sam. Maybe you’ll know how to treat your next girlfriend.”
“I’m hoping you’re going to be my next girlfriend.”
“Take the N and the T off of next and then you’ll have it right.”
The valet pulls up in Sam’s rental car. “Sunday, I’m right behind you.”
I don’t wait for Sam to get settled into his ride. I peel off and let him smell the burning rubber from my tires. He can walk me to my dorm—but he’ll have to catch me first.
And I drive fast.
10
I must really, really love Gia, because she’s got me standing before about two hundred of my Spelman sisters and some administrators, barefoot in a bright yellow and orange skirt with a head wrap to match. Piper’s outfit is identical except her colors are green and yellow. Gia, who stands front and center in our little dance triangle, is wearing red and yellow.
Nervous cannot even begin to describe how I feel. You’d think I’d be used to getting in front of people and performing, and I am, but this time there’s no mic in my hand. When I do a show, if I goof up the choreography, it’s okay, because I can just start singing extra hard, like I wasn’t supposed to dance on that part anyway. This is totally different.
I give a quick side glance to Piper, who appears to be confident, but her skin is flushed and red, telling me that maybe she’s a little bit nervous too. Gia on the other hand has a look of intensity on her face.
The only time I see her concentration crack is when DeShawn, Ricky, and Kevin walk in and sit in the back row of the au
ditorium. Gia bites her lip and then smiles.
Just as I feel myself begin to relax, the music blares through the speakers. The African drum beats and the xylophone’s chime take me back to Gia’s brutal rehearsals. It’s as if I can hear her voice in my head counting out the beats.
And then we start to move! Every shoulder bounce and deep bend is on point. Every turn, spin, and jump is executed dang near perfectly. I get off for a half second, but I don’t think anyone can tell but me.
Then, almost as quickly as it started, the song is over. We link arms and take a deep bow as everyone in the room applauds. Some people even stand, but no one is cheering louder than our own personal boy fan club in the back of the room.
Our performance was the finale to the program and Dr. Brooks, our professor for the African Diaspora class closes it out as soon as we leave the stage. My heart is racing still, I guess from the adrenaline rush I got right before we started.
Everyone congratulates us as they leave the auditorium. I smile and take the background, and let Gia have this moment. She worked really hard on this and she deserves the congrats and the extra credit.
Ricky walks up to her holding a bouquet of flowers and a Tweety balloon. He hugs her and hands her the flowers. “You were awesome, Gi-Gi!”
“I didn’t think you would come,” Gia says as she accepts the flowers.
“Why did you think that? I wouldn’t miss anything like this,” Ricky says.
Kevin says, “Before you two start getting all sentimental, I just want to say that your choreography was flawless, Gia. Are you sure you want to be a computer programmer? You looked like an Alvin Ailey dancer up there.”
“I love dancing, but my mom told me that I should pick something practical to study,” Gia says. “Programming computers will pay the bills. Know what I mean?”
“But you should do what you love,” Piper says. “That’s the only way to be happy.”
Gia turns to me. “Can you back me up here? You love music, but you’re getting a law degree. We can do both, right? We can have what we love and still get a paycheck.”
Before I can answer, DeShawn says, “Or you could get the paycheck doing what you love.”
I shake my head and laugh. “This is an endless debate that no one ever wins.”
DeShawn runs his hand down my right arm and then squeezes my hand. The intimacy of his gesture makes me want to pull away, but for some reason I don’t.
He says, “You were great up there too, Sunday. What can’t you do?”
“Apparently, get an A in my composition class.”
Piper laughs out loud. “You can too get an A. Stop saying that. I’ve got to go, y’all. I have a date with my Morehouse man.”
“You sound like Meagan,” I say.
“There is something to be said for my Morehouse brothers,” Kevin says. “We are an elite bunch.”
DeShawn rolls his eyes. “Ricky, let’s drop off Mr. Elite and go grab something to eat.”
“Okay,” Ricky replies. “Gia . . . are you hungry? Want to go with us?”
“Only if Sunday comes too.” The pleading look in her eyes convinces me of my response, even though I need to study.
“All right, but I can’t stay out late. I have to finish my selection from A Mercy.”
“You’re not done with that yet?” Gia asks. “You are the biggest procrastinator.”
“I know, right? Let’s go change out of our leotards so we can eat.”
Gia says, “Okay, Ricky give us like fifteen minutes and we’ll meet you out front.”
About a half hour later, we’re crammed into a booth at the Busy Bee Café, and scanning the menu for our dinner choices.
“I’m getting fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, and greens,” I say as I slam the menu shut.
Gia laughs. “You get the same thing every time, so why do you even need the menu?”
“Sometimes I get the smothered pork chops or different side dishes. I just have to know what I’m in the mood for, and right now it is fried chicken!”
“Since you did such a good job, you should treat yourself,” Ricky says.
“Dr. Brooks personally thanked me for stepping up to the plate,” Gia says. “I’m so glad we decided to do it.”
I laugh out loud. “I don’t know if I really decided to do anything. You guilt tripped me and Piper until we had no other choice.”
“Too bad she couldn’t hang out with us tonight,” DeShawn says. “Piper is cool.”
“Yes, she is, but she is totally gone over this L.J. dude,” Gia says. “I was listening to her on the phone with him the other day and she is completely sickening.”
DeShawn and I make eye contact and laugh. Up until recently Ricky and Gia were equally sickening, so Gia’s observation of Piper’s romance is pretty funny.
“What?” Gia asks. “Oh, I know what y’all are trying to say, but Ricky and I had been dating for a long time. She just met this dude.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I say. “Meagan is lost to us too, I think. She hasn’t even been around. Piper says she’s hardly ever on campus, except for class, and when she is in the dorm, it’s always when Piper is out with L.J. They barely see each other anymore.”
“We may have lost one of our sisters to boy craziness,” Gia says.
“And another is following quickly behind.”
DeShawn laughs. “So, I guess it’s just y’all against the dating world, huh?”
“Pretty much,” Gia says. She is genuinely somber, but I’m on the verge of cracking up. DeShawn is clearly teasing us, but Gia’s not taking it that way.
“Come on. Let’s go up through the line and get our food, before I perish,” I say.
Ricky laughs. “Perish? You sound like Kevin now. You two have been hanging out too much.”
“We haven’t been hanging out, we’ve been working. Kevin is the assistant of my dreams. He’s printed up a complete itinerary for me for Grammys weekend. He hired a car service to take us to the airport and another to pick us up when we land in L.A. He’s a total dream.”
“I told you he would be,” Gia says. “And you were ready to hire Piper’s boy-crazy behind.”
“I was. Thank you for convincing me otherwise.”
As we walk up to the line, I watch Gia and Ricky brush against one another although they are really trying to pretend that it’s not on purpose. I keep catching them stealing glances at each other when they think no one is looking. They are totally pitiful and I feel sorry for their pain.
I don’t care how much Gia tries to fight it, she’s boy crazy too. It seems like I’m the only one who’s been unlucky in love. But, I guess there’s something to be said for solitude.
When I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.
11
“Who are you wearing?” The extra perky red-carpet reporter smiles at me and shoves the microphone in my face. This is only the second time I’ve done this, and I’m not at all used to the flashing lightbulbs and rapid-fire questions coming my direction like bullets.
I blink a few times, as if I didn’t hear the question. It’s crazy, I’m on the red carpet at the Grammys and all I can think about is the paper that I didn’t finish writing for my composition class. I blink a few times and reply. “The dress is vintage Versace and the shoes are Jimmy Choo.”
I’ve coupled my pretty-in-magenta gown with a roller set pinned to the one side and cascading over my shoulder. DeShawn is incredibly dapper. I was clutching to his arm for dear life until he gently slipped his arm around my waist to move me down the red carpet.
“Well, you look fabulous!”
And just like that, the reporter is attacking another celebrity. DeShawn says, “Why didn’t she ask me who I’m wearing?”
“Maybe she didn’t recognize you.”
DeShawn chuckles, “Well, she better Google me or something, ’cause I’m somebody too.”
“Yes, you are,” I say. “Tonight, I’m glad you’re here with me.”
Right behind us on the red carpet is the rest of the Reign Records posse. Sam has his arm around his mother, who looks pleased as punch to be on the red carpet. We briefly make eye contact as I turn and watch them talk to the reporters. I look away first when I see the sadness in his eyes.
I stop in front of another smiling reporter. “Are you excited about your Song of the Year and Best New Artist nominations? Do you think you’ll win?”
I chuckle. “I am very honored to be nominated, and I certainly hope that I win.”
“And you’re performing tonight too?” the reporter asks. “You’ve had quite a busy year haven’t you?”
“Yes, I’m singing my current single, and it has been ridiculously busy for me, but I’m excited. I love the thrill of it all.”
“Even competing against your cousin for the Best New Artist crown?” The reporter smiles from ear to ear, so I grin right back.
“Of course. She deserves it as much as I do. Drama is an amazing singer. We’ve sung together our entire lives.”
DeShawn nudges me forward when Sam and the rest of the Reign Records artists are basically on our heels, but not before I see the angry glares exchanged between Sam and DeShawn. Boys having testosterone battles.
Finally we’re inside, and the seating arrangement is crazy. DeShawn is on one side of me and my songwriting partner ex-boyfriend is on the other side. I don’t know if this is someone’s idea of a joke, but I’m not laughing.
“You want me to move?” Sam asks when he sees the little sign with his name on it.
“No. I’m straight. They probably did it because we’re nominated for an award together. It’s all good.”
“What about your boyfriend?” Sam asks. “You okay with that dude?”
I quickly reply, “My date does not care who I sit next to. He knows that I’m here with him.”
I’m not so sure that DeShawn’s response would’ve been the same as mine. But I can’t let him get into an argument with Sam at the Grammys. That would be all bad. He’d end up on every blog on the Internet in the morning.
