Singsation

by Jacquelin Thomas

  “It’s burning up in here.”

  “It’ll be worse onstage. I don’t know why you won’t let me put your hair up tonight. You’ve got to try it at least once.”

  Deborah stared at her face in the mirror. Even with the concealer Kim had used on her, Deborah could still see the bags under her eyes. In the past weeks she had had little sleep as she went from rehearsals to meetings in preparation for her debut album. But even when she had time to sleep, she found herself roaming through her apartment thinking of Phoebe.

  “I didn’t do right by God.”

  She needed to do something different.

  She took a sip of her Mountain Dew. “Go ahead, Kim. I need a change. Put my hair up.”

  Kim smiled into the mirror. “Okay, turn around. I want to surprise you. You’re going to look gorgeous.”

  For fifteen minutes, Kim twisted and twirled Deborah’s hair. Deborah used the time to try to relieve the permanent tension that had attached itself to her shoulders ever since Phoebe’s death. The curling iron that Kim used added heat to the room, and Deborah had to resist running from the chair.

  When Kim stepped back and clapped her hands, Deborah opened her eyes.

  “Now this is what I’m talking about!” Kim exclaimed. She spun the chair around so that Deborah faced the mirror. “See how beautiful you look.”

  Deborah’s eyes widened with surprise. Kim had twisted her thick hair into a French roll with long spiral curls along the edges. It was elegant, and she looked just like Phoebe.

  “What’s wrong?” Kim’s forehead had creased into a deep frown. “I thought you’d like it.”

  Deborah pressed her hands against her face as if this would hold back her tears. “Please, Kim, I need to be alone.”

  Kim opened her mouth as if to say something, then simply nodded and quietly left the room.

  Deborah stared at her reflection, then let her eyes roam to the soda can.

  “I didn’t do right by God.”

  Deborah stood up and slipped into the scarlet satin slip dress that looked much like the nightgown Phoebe had given her for Christmas. She didn’t pause for a moment as she stepped into her shoes. Without looking into the mirror, she straightened her dress and almost ran into the hallway, because she knew if she slowed down, she might never go on the stage again.

  CHAPTER 47

  THE RINGING TELEPHONE PULLED DEBORAH FROM the sleep in which she had hidden all day. When she answered, Triage’s voice made her smile.

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Hi.” She smiled through her sleep.

  “You were taking a nap?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, wanting to tell him that she’d napped all day. She had not even gotten dressed.

  “Well, I was calling to say that I miss you.”

  “I miss you too. How’s New York?”

  “Busy. We’re moving from meeting to meeting, from deal to deal. I don’t have time for anything—except to think about you.”

  Deborah rolled over on the bed and smiled. “I wish I were with you.”

  “What’s wrong? You sound kinda down. I’d thought you’d still be flying after last night in front of the home crowd. I love performing in Los Angeles.”

  Deborah wanted to tell him all that she was feeling—that she didn’t know what she was doing anymore, that she wondered what she should be doing, that she wanted to do right by God.

  “I’m just tired. I’ve been working so hard.”

  “Are you still going to start recording next week?”

  She hesitated. “It looks that way.”

  “Great!” She could feel his smile through the phone. “I hope I’m going to be back in time. I really want to be in the studio with you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes before Triage had to rush to another meeting. After hanging up, Deborah wandered around the condo, playing the piano a bit before she turned to her journal.

  She bit the tip of her pen before she began writing down the prayer that she’d been saying inside for weeks.

  “Lord, I really thought this was what You wanted me to do. I prayed, but now I feel such a sense of shame. I don’t want to do anything to bring dishonor to You, Lord. You gave me this gift, and I want to make You proud. What is it that You want me to do? Please tell me, Lord. Please.”

  She leaned into the deep, soft pillows of the couch and drifted into the safety of sleep. But less than an hour later, she sat up abruptly, panting and trying to catch her breath. It took several minutes before her erratic pulse steadied.

  “Oh, my God,” she said aloud, as she stood and paced around the living room. The dream had seemed so real. She was in a coffin, being buried alive. She was screaming, but no one heard her. But she kept screaming—“I tried to do right. . . . I tried to do right. . . .”

  Now she trembled despite the warm evening.

  She had to make a decision, but she already knew what she had to do. With a heavy heart, she picked up the phone.

  “Hey, Willetta.”

  “Well, if it isn’t my superstar cousin! How’re you doing?”

  “Great, girl,” Deborah said flatly. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Hey . . . what’s up?” Willetta’s words came slowly. “You don’t sound good.”

  Deborah tossed a pillow across the room. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, it’s almost eleven o’clock here, and I have to work tomorrow. So instead of me asking you a thousand times what’s wrong, let’s just cut to the chase.”

  Deborah paused, her mind a potpourri of all the unsettled thoughts that had bombarded her for weeks. “You know my friend Phoebe passed away.”

  “Yeah, girl. I left you a message. Didn’t you get it?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve just been busy.”

  “So you’re still feeling bad about that.”

  “Yeah, but not in the way you think. Since she passed, I’ve been feeling guilty about what I do, the music that I sing. I think I might have to give this up.”

  Deborah heard Willetta’s intake of breath. “You mean walk away from Lavelle and your solo career? Deborah, you can’t do that!”

  “That’s what I thought. But Phoebe said something right before she died. She said that she hadn’t done right by God. Willetta, her words have stayed in my mind as if she glued them there herself. No matter what I do, or where I go, I hear her saying that. And I never want to be in that position where my last words on earth are ones of regret.”

  “I don’t think that would happen to you. You always said that God had given you this gift to use.”

  “But I’m beginning to realize that I’m not supposed to be using it to sing songs like ‘So Hot, So Fast.’ Maybe I’m just meant to sing at Mountain Baptist and glorify God there.”

  “So you want to give it all up?” Willetta’s disbelief was evident in every word.

  “I don’t want to, but I think I have to.”

  Willetta made a sound before she spoke. “Deborah, why haven’t you thought about singing the songs that you write?”

  Deborah shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess because they’re spiritual.”

  “So? You could sing gospel. And not those old fuddy-duddy songs that we do sometimes in church, but that new gospel—contemporary stuff.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I bet you if you looked into all of your journals, you’d see that you’d have enough songs to do a couple of albums.”

  Deborah sat on the edge of the couch. “But I already have a contract,” she said, as much to herself as to her cousin.

  “Again I say, so? Just tell them that you’re going to do gospel instead.”

  Deborah chuckled. “It’s not like that in this business, Willetta. You can’t just change a contract.”

  “Well, you’re thinking about walking away from a contract. I’m talking about giving them something that you and the recording company could both live with.”

  “I don’t know—”r />
  Willetta sighed. “I honestly don’t think God is telling you to walk away. You’re making it sound like it’s an all-or-nothing proposition, and it’s not. There’s a middle ground, and maybe God put you in Los Angeles to get you started, but now He’s telling you it’s time to change your course and sing for Him—right there, in the middle of Hollywood. Imagine what you could do if you sang your songs to the same people you’ve been singing Lavelle’s songs to.”

  “Gospel . . .” Deborah said the word thoughtfully.

  “Not just regular gospel—contemporary sounds that young people will listen to. Music with a message.”

  “There aren’t many people who do that.” She began to pace the floor again.

  “That’s all the more reason for you to do it, Deborah Anne. You’ve got the voice, you’ve written great songs, you now have an audience—all you need now are the guts to do it right.”

  A few moments later, Deborah said, “How did you get so smart?”

  “It’s always easier to see something from the outside in, and this seems so clear to me.”

  “You know what, Willetta, it’s something for me to think about. Listen, I didn’t mean to keep you up so late. Go on to bed.”

  “Okay, but promise you’ll call me again before you do anything.”

  “I promise. I love you, Willetta.”

  “I love you, and God does too.”

  CHAPTER 48

  DEBORAH SAT UP ALL NIGHT WITH A YELLOW PAD and Tazo tea in front of her. By the time the morning’s sun flowed through the large windows, she had six pages written out.

  Taking a final sip of tea, she picked up the telephone and dialed her manager’s voice mail.

  “William, this is Deborah. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Please call me the moment you get this message.”

  Filled with surprising energy, she ran into the bathroom. While she would have loved to sit in the center of her Jacuzzi and let the jets massage away the tiredness, instead she turned on the shower. She had to be ready the moment William returned her call.

  By the time she got out of the shower, she had a message from William, and she called him back to set up an early meeting.

  “What’s this about, Deborah?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it on the phone, but I promise, you’ll be as excited as I am.”

  She found William pacing in front of the Starbucks on Santa Monica Boulevard. When he offered to buy her a cup of tea, Deborah declined, still filled with the tea she’d drunk all night.

  “Deborah, you have me on pins and needles. What’s this about?”

  She took a deep breath. “I want to sing gospel.” She waited for his eyes to focus, letting her know that he had heard her. “And I want to do it now.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I want to fulfill my contract with Capricorn with gospel albums.”

  “Oh, no, Deborah,” William groaned.

  She held up her hand. “William, first hear me out. I think when you hear all the facts, you’ll change your mind and take this to Capricorn with a big smile on your face.”

  She spread the papers she’d worked on last night on the small round table and began going over what she’d put together. She showed him lyrics of songs, they reviewed how many African Americans considered themselves Christians, they talked about her audience and whether they would accept this. For an hour, he threw questions at her, and she answered them as quick as lightning.

  Through chatting customers and William’s ringing cell phone, they addressed Deborah’s proposal from every angle William could think of. After another hour passed, William sat back.

  “Well, I still think this is going to be a tough sell to Capricorn, but I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know, Deborah—”

  “There’s one more thing, William, but I want you to use it as your final ace.”

  He frowned, but she smiled widely.

  “Would they do this if I could guarantee two stars singing with me?” She paused. “I could get Lavelle Roberts and Triage Blue to each sing a song with me on the first album.”

  William leaned forward with interest.

  She hadn’t asked either of them, but she had prayed about it last night, and it was what God had dropped into her heart. “Lavelle did it for Phoebe and Triage. . . .” She dropped her eyes. “Well, let’s put it this way—he’ll do anything for me.”

  William slapped his hand on the table. “Well, with that, we just might have a deal.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll make some calls, and try to get there today or tomorrow.” He reached across the table and shook her hand. “You’ve convinced me, but I still think that you’re walking away from some money. There’s more in mainstream, you know.”

  “It’s not about money for me, William. It’s about something greater that I have to do.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “I’ll give you a call.”

  Deborah’s eyes followed him until he got into his 740i BMW and drove away. There was only one thing she had to do now. She would go home and pray and ask the Lord to work on the hearts of everyone at Capricorn Records, until they were agreeing to things that they never thought they would.

  As she pulled her car onto Santa Monica Boulevard, she felt herself shivering. But it wasn’t the shiver of distress that had filled her so much recently. It was the shiver of excitement and expectation.

  She glanced up at the heavens and smiled. “It’s in Your hands now, Lord. I’ve done my part.” When she finally got home, she fell onto her bed, and then, still fully clothed, she slept through the rest of the day.

  CHAPTER 49

  THE NEXT DAY, DEBORAH SAT BY THE PHONE skimming through magazines while she waited for William to call. But the phone had remained stubbornly silent all morning.

  It rang at noon.

  “Hello.” She was a bundle of nerves.

  “Hey, baby.”

  Though she was glad to hear his voice, she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Hey, Triage.”

  “You’re not glad to hear from me?”

  “Of course I am. I’m just . . . surprised. How are you?”

  “Missing you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “Really, how much?”

  “More than you can imagine,” she moaned. “I’m going through something right now, and I could really use your support.”

  “How bad do you want it?”

  She laughed. “Really bad.”

  “Bad enough to do anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like opening your front door?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You heard me. Open your door, woman!”

  She ran to the door and swung it open. Triage was standing with his cell phone in his hand. Her mouth opened wide, and Triage laughed.

  “What are you doing here?” she cried.

  “You said you missed me!” She playfully pulled him inside, and they kissed passionately.

  “I guess you’re glad to see me.”

  She nodded. “This was the best surprise. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in?”

  “Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” he said, and kissed her nose. “So what do you have going on that you need my support for?” He sat on the couch and pulled her onto his lap.

  “I always need you,” she said softly, and kissed him again.

  “You know, I think I’m going to get up and go out again, because I sure like how you greet me.”

  She laughed.

  “But I’m curious. What’s going on?”

  She got up. “Not so fast. I want to hear all about your trip. Are you hungry? We can order something in.”

  He frowned. “You’re stalling, but I am hungry. Let’s order Thai.”

  He filled her in on the details of his trip as they waited. When the food arrived, Triage said grace, then went toward the refrigerator.

  “What do you want to drink?” he
asked over his shoulder.

  “Just water.”

  When he opened the refrigerator, he asked, “What happened to the Mountain Dew?”

  “I don’t drink that anymore. All I have is juice.”

  Deborah could tell that Triage wanted to ask her about it, but he remained silent.

  They sat at the dining room table across from each other and shared the Thai noodles and shrimp tempura.

  Finally, Triage said, “So when are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  She twirled a thin noodle on her plate. “You know the Bible says that anything that is meant for bad, God will turn it around for good. And I think Phoebe’s death is an example of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes were still lowered. “Well, I loved her, and I miss her so much. But I think there was a message in her death.”

  Triage took a sip of his pineapple-orange juice. “Are you talking about when she said that she didn’t do right by God?”

  Deborah looked up in surprise. “Yes. I think God used Phoebe to have me ask that question of myself.”

  “And so—”

  Deborah took a deep breath. “I talked to William, and I’m not going to do the albums for Capricorn—”

  The glass was halfway to his mouth, and he held it in midair. “What—”

  “Now don’t get excited.” She spoke quickly. “I still want to record for them, but I want to sing gospel.”

  His face was stretched in disbelief. “Deborah, why would you change everything now, just when things are beginning to break for you?”

  “Because I think this is what I was called to do. I’ve been using my gift, but not for God. Willetta pointed it out to me.”

  “I understand, but what you’re about to do is a big move. Has Capricorn agreed?”

  She shook her head. “No. I thought I would hear from William yesterday, and definitely by now. . . .” Her eyes moved to the phone.

  “I wish you had talked to me before you did that, Deborah.”

  She pursed her lips. She had expected a different reaction from him. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Triage. You wouldn’t have been able to talk me out of this because it’s not about money or fame or status anymore. I thought I could only do this one way—sing mainstream or nothing at all. But now I see that I can sing and glorify God. And I’ll probably do better than I ever did with Lavelle.”