I told him, “My mother doesn’t allow me to use chemicals in my hair.”
“Oh, honey, your mother won’t be opposed to Miss Trueheart’s hair care products. They’re all-natural and made with essential oils and secret formulas brought by slaves all the way from Africa centuries ago.” He paused and put a hand on one hip. “Now do you want a makeover, or not?”
Just imagining Mom’s reaction to chemicals in my hair was enough to make me start sweating. But then again, Hailey Joanne had been so nice to invite me to get a makeover from her glam squad.… Wouldn’t it be rude to turn them down? I was too overwhelmed to say no, so I nodded yes, and the transformation began. He scrubbed my hair like it’s never been scrubbed before. Then he applied some kind of goop that I had to let stay on for a half an hour. It began to tingle after a while, so I was relieved when he finally washed it out and set me up under a hairdryer.
The rest of the afternoon flew by. When it was time for my massage, I was a bundle of knots, because my mind was fixed on the phone call with Izzy and what I had to do. But Tamara was such a skilled masseuse, I actually felt relaxed when the massage was over. Sergio gave Hailey Joanne and me skin treatments with mud masks, steam, and “special elixirs” from Miss Trueheart’s skin care line. It was uncomfortable when he did a blackhead-extraction treatment on my nose and used a string to shape my eyebrows, but Hailey Joanne kept reminding me, “Beauty has a price, Mango, and the salon is where we pay for it.”
Hailey Joanne and I were given brand-new fluffy terrycloth robes to wear while we shared a catered lunch with the glam squad. I had to admit: I was having a good time. Horatio and his crew told hysterical stories about the fashion model divas they’d worked on and the mishaps that had happened on the way to the runway. Hailey Joanne was so funny when she sucked in her cheeks and started doing imitations of how famous models strutted down the runway. Then she pulled me up and we pretended to have a hysterical diva runway-walk battle. We had the glam squad in tears, and we fell on the plush carpet holding our bellies, laughing. I wished the lunch could have gone on all day.
Tessica arrived an hour before we had to leave. We were whisked into private dressing rooms where we put on our dresses and had final touches. Then the glam squad uncovered the mirrors for the big reveal.
I had to do a double take before I recognized myself. My hair fell below my shoulders in soft curls like it never had before. The curls flowed down my back because of the clip-in hair extensions Horatio had added to make me look like a black Rapunzel. The makeup was flawless; I felt like my skin was a canvas and Sergio had created a masterpiece with all of his creams, powders, foundations, and false eyelashes that were so heavy they gave me a sultry, sleepy appearance. With the red, vintage Halston minidress covered in shimmering bugle beads, I actually could have been mistaken for a rock star on her way to the GRAMMYs.
Hailey Joanne was even more dazzling. Her hair, makeup, and dress were all sensational, but the main reason she looked so great was the way she carried herself. Confidence is an accessory I wished the glam squad could have clipped into my hair or brushed on with powder.
Hailey Joanne was accustomed to six-inch high heels, sequins, and all the glamour that came along with them. I tried to copy the way she posed in the mirror as best I could, but next to her gazelle moves, I was a newborn colt stumbling around on knobby legs. Horatio winced when he saw me staggering across the floor as if I were on stilts, so he tried to give me a crash course in walking in high heels. “Keep your knees loose, your head high, your back arched, click your heels three times, and repeat to yourself, ‘I am Diana Ross. I am Diana Ross!’ ”
I wasn’t sure exactly who Diana Ross was, but I was too afraid to admit it to Horatio; he spoke her name as if she were a goddess. Later in the SUV on the way to the party, Hailey Joanne googled her, and I saw this amazing woman with brown skin and large eyes, like mine. With my makeup and hairstyle, I actually resembled Diana Ross in some of her photos. I smiled at Hailey Joanne and said, “Thank you so much. This has been the best day ever.”
Hailey Joanne said, “It’s not over yet, Mango. The fun has just begun. Time to turn up!” As we talked and giggled on the way to the party, for the first time I felt like she was my friend—no faking was required.
When we pulled up to the hotel, a line of photographers was snapping pictures of people standing in front of what looked like a room divider. It had the logos of Mr. Pinkey’s businesses, pictures of Hailey Joanne, and the words “Happy Birthday” printed all over it. I recognized the mayor and his wife smiling as flashes popped all around them.
Mr. Versey opened the door, and I leaned away as he reached for my hand. Hailey Joanne tried to nudge me on, but I wouldn’t budge. “What is that thing? Why are all those photographers there?”
Hailey Joanne touched my shoulder. “Relax, Mango, it’s called a step-and-repeat. You stand there and let them take a few pictures of you, and then walk a few steps and do it again until you’re off the red carpet. Haven’t you seen celebrities do it in magazines or on Entertainment Tonight?”
“I’ve seen them, but I’ve never done it.”
“Trust me, this may be your first step-and-repeat, but with the way you sing, it won’t be your last. Now come on, they’re waiting for the birthday girl. Watch me and do what I do.”
Mr. Versey gave me a reassuring smile, so I let him take my hand and guide me out of the SUV. When Hailey Joanne stepped out, the photographers forgot all about the mayor and started clamoring for her to “Look this way!” “Hailey Joanne, smile!” “Give us an over-the-shoulder!” “Over here, Hailey Joanne—you look beautiful!”
I made my way along the red carpet, staying about ten feet behind the birthday girl, and not one photographer noticed me. I was grateful. There was no way I could have handled all of the attention the way Hailey Joanne did.
In the lobby, Hailey Joanne made sure I got in since I had given my invitation to Izzy, and she was whisked away to a secret place to make her grand entrance. The theme of the party was Hollywood Glamour, and the party planner had gone crazy with decorations. Giant lights arced across the ceiling, and old-fashioned movie cameras and director’s chairs were all around the ballroom. The dance floor was right out of the movies; it lit up as you stepped on it. There were posters from famous movies like The Sound of Music and The Wizard of Oz, but when I looked closely, all of the faces on the posters were Hailey Joanne’s!
I was so completely dazzled by the décor that I almost forgot that the servers carrying trays of canapés were offering food that Dada had made. All of the people standing around smiling and munching on delicious delicacies were proof that my father was a master chef and caterer.
A server holding a tray of blue drinks in champagne flutes approached and lowered the tray to offer one. I thanked her, wondering how she could make it through the crowd balancing that tray with one hand. The drink was Dada’s blueberry soda, and it was delicious.
As I sipped my drink, I spotted Izzy across the ballroom. She was wearing the really puffy balloon dress her mother created. It looked very high fashion—higher than anyone else in the room. I maneuvered myself around the edges of the dance floor, careful not to spill one drop of the dark-blue drink on my borrowed dress. I walked up behind Izzy and leaned close to her ear so I would be heard over the throbbing music the DJ was playing. “Hi!”
Izzy looked over her shoulder, smiled, said “Hi,” and turned her attention back to the dance floor.
I tapped her on the shoulder. “Izzy. It’s me!”
She stepped back, eyebrows raised, and looked me up and down. Slowly her eyebrows relaxed. “Mango! Is that you?” I nodded, and she screamed. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t recognize you. What happened to your face, your hair, your … everything?”
My stomach tightened; did I look that awful? “Hailey Joanne’s glam squad gave me a makeover.”
“They sure did.”
“Is it bad?”
“No! Girl, you lo
ok incredible.… You just don’t look like you. If I saw you on the street, I’d walk right by you. I’d be hating on you as I passed you by, because you look like a billion dollars, but I wouldn’t know you at all.”
“That’s nice.… I guess.”
Izzy whispered in my ear so she could be heard over the booming music. “How’d it go today?”
“Fine. Great. We had a lot of fun. For real.”
“Good. So, where’s the birthday girl?”
“She went off somewhere to get ready for her grand entrance.”
Izzy grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. “Come on, let’s dance!” I gulped my soda and placed the empty glass on a table before stepping onto the flashing lights of the dance floor.
After about twenty minutes of nonstop dancing, the music faded and all the lights went out. I was thinking there might be some sort of disastrous power outage when a booming voice over the speakers said, “Attention, please. Everyone welcome the birthday girl, Hailey Joanne Pinkey!” The giant spotlights lit up, swirling around the room before pointing up to the ceiling. There, seated on a swing high above the crowd, was Hailey Joanne!
Everyone hooted and applauded as the music kicked in and she was lowered slowly. I was so excited and overwhelmed, tears came to my eyes. Happy tears. I was happy for a girl who had treated me like we had been best friends all our lives, even though we’d only been hanging out for a little over a month. As I watched her descend to the dance floor, her smile brilliant, her dress sparkling, I wondered if underneath all that glitter, Hailey Joanne was just a lonely girl using all the things she had to make people like and admire her.
As she reached the floor, the crowd surged toward the guest of honor, but a squadron of burly guys wearing suits and dark glasses like the Secret Service held them back. I knew that after Hailey Joanne’s parents made announcements and introduced celebrities and dignitaries, it would be time for TJ and the Halfrican Americans to perform and I’d be expected to be backstage, ready for our duet. I wondered what TJ would say when he saw me. Would he still be upset with me? I was hoping that, after the party was over and Dada was officially a big success, I could go back to being myself around him. And what about Hailey Joanne? Would telling her the truth mess up our becoming friends? And could we remain friends even if we liked the same boy?
On my way to the stage, I stopped by the swinging doors to the kitchen. Having a father in the restaurant business, I knew enough to steer clear of those doors, because bustling waiters could burst out of them at any minute. Still, I wanted to congratulate Dada, so I carefully peeked inside the kitchen. There he was, wearing his chef whites and a tall column hat. He was so busy with all of the cooking staff and waiters buzzing around him that I decided not to interrupt. There would be plenty of time for celebrating him after the party.
I walked a few steps away from the door and bumped into—“Mom!”
She looked up at me. With my six-inch heels, I was taller than my mother for the first time. She said, “Mango Delight Fuller? What in the world?” She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the ladies’ room just off the side of the backstage stairs.
“Ow! Mom, let go. You’re hurting me.”
She dropped my hand, and her fists went immediately to her hips. “What do you think you’re doing, dressed and made up like that?”
“Like what? I look good.”
“You look like a … I don’t even want to say what you look like. Get over to the sink and wash that gunk off your face.”
I couldn’t believe she was reacting like this. Hailey Joanne, the glam squad, and Izzy all said I looked great. Why couldn’t my own mother be happy for me and say something nice? She never had anything nice to say about women who wore makeup. That was not fair at all, so I said, “No, I can’t wash it off. I have to perform in a few minutes, and … and I look good!”
“You may look good, but you don’t look like my daughter or any twelve-year-old girl I would want you to know.” She reached for my head, and I leaned away. “What did you do to your hair? You know you’re not allowed to use chemicals in your hair, Mango.”
“Mr. Horatio didn’t use chemicals. It’s all herbal stuff from Africa, brought over by slaves!”
Mom’s eyes flashed with hot temper. “Are you kidding me? You just believed what some fool hairdresser told you? I ought to …” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Mango, I thought you were smarter than that.”
I pressed my fingertips to my eyes to prevent the teardrops from falling and ruining my makeup (a trick I learned watching heavily made-up rich housewives on reality TV shows). “I have to sing in a few minutes, Mom. May I go, please?”
Mom sighed. “Mango, I trusted that you would have better sense than to let people trick you into doing something that doesn’t reflect who you really are.” She flipped her hands into the air in a sign of surrender. “We need to have a long talk when you get home. Go on. Sing. Have a good show.”
I walked past her out of the restroom. There was a line of girls waiting to get in. I suddenly felt ugly because my mother was ashamed of me. The weight of her disapproval felt like a thousand pounds of kettle bells hanging around my shoulders. But I didn’t want to stumble or fall in front of her or all the people watching me, so I held my head high, arched my back, and walked toward the backstage stairs whispering over and over to myself, “I am Diana Ross. I am Diana Ross.”
The backstage area was created by a series of black curtains. It was a very small space, but I needed to find a place to be alone, just for a few minutes so I could pull myself together. The Halfrican Americans, except for TJ, were standing in the wings waiting to go on. They all said hello to me, but I just waved and went on looking for a place to hide.
I hurried along a short corridor of curtain and turned into an area I thought would be empty, but there were two people there in the dark. Kissing.
The loud speakers announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a big round of applause and welcome the Halfrican Americans!”
The guy who was kissing the girl pulled away from her and parted the curtain. Light flooded in, and I saw TJ heading for the stage and Hailey Joanne holding the curtain open, watching him leave. I couldn’t help myself, I screamed. Hailey Joanne noticed me and said, “Mango? What are you doing back here?”
I ran. In six-inch heels, I ran away, down the stairs and through the crowd. I could hear Hailey Joanne calling after me, but I couldn’t stop to face her or anyone. And I couldn’t stop the tears falling from my eyes, smearing the masterpiece Sergio had painted on my face. I just kept running, and as I passed the kitchen doors, one of them flung open and I ran right into it. I was knocked backward and crashed into a waiter carrying a tray of blueberry soda. The glasses arced high into the air and, in what seemed like slow motion, blueberry soda rained down all over me, drenching my vintage Halston dress.
The Halfrican Americans were kicking off their first song, but none of the crowd near me paid any attention to the stage. Their eyes were glued to the freak on the floor surrounded by broken glass in a puddle of blueberry humiliation on the worst day of her entire life.
As if by magic, Mom suddenly appeared standing over me. She held out her hand, helped me off the floor, and led me out the back exit of the hotel and into a taxicab that took us home.
CHAPTER 18
Old Enough to Know
During the cab ride home, I sat as far away from Mom as I could. I curled into myself facing the window, clenching my jaw tight as a vise. I would not cry. I would have rather died than cry in the taxi with Mom.
Back in our apartment, while I peeled off the sticky Halston dress, Mom ran a hot bath for me. She put fragrant aromatherapy oils in the water and lit candles. All were meant to soothe me, but they didn’t work. To stop myself from crying, I concentrated on hardening my heart to everything that had happened.
Yes, I saw Hailey Joanne kissing TJ. #IDONTCARE
Yes, I thought TJ liked me, but he likes her bette
r. #IDONTCARE
Yes, I made a fool of myself in front of everyone. #IDONTCARE
If I could convince myself that I didn’t care about anything, then nothing could bother me, right?
For the first time since maybe second grade, Mom stayed in the bathroom and sat on a stool to bathe me. I didn’t care. She removed the sticky, clip-on hairpieces and tossed them into the trash can. I didn’t care. I closed dry eyes as she peeled my long, false eyelashes off. I didn’t care. She smeared my face with Vaseline to wipe off the layers of makeup. I didn’t care. Even soaking in the fragrant, steaming-hot bath water, I was a block of ice.
Mom lathered up a loofah sponge and began to wash my shoulders and back. She said, “You know, Mango, you can let go.”
“Of what?”
“Your feelings, honey. You are like one big knot. Relax and release. You’ll feel better if you cry.”
“I’m not going to cry.”
“Why not?”
For the first time since we left the hotel, I turned to look at Mom and narrowed my eyes. “You don’t cry. I’ve never seen you cry. Aunt Zendaya said you didn’t even cry when they told you that you would have to lose your leg.”
Mom sat back on the stool, let the loofah fall into the water, and wiped her hands on her jeans. “That’s not true.”
“What’s not true?”
“That I didn’t cry. Your aunt doesn’t know what she’s talking about. You shouldn’t listen to her.”
“You never talk about it.”
“I’ll talk to you about it when you’re ready. When you’re old enough.”
“I’m old enough now, Mom.”
I noticed her hand trembling as she raised it to her forehead to wipe away beads of perspiration. She noticed it, too, because she grabbed it with her other hand, stood, and walked out of the bathroom.
I sat back in the tub, amazed that I had the nerve to bring up the subject Mom never talked about. I had rattled her. Maybe I’d hurt her. I felt a frog beginning to grow in my throat. I swallowed it.
Mango Delight Page 13
