Full Figured 2

by Alexis Nicole

  “I’m working on it,” I said as Simone’s face flashed in my mind. Whenever I thought about who was going to be the first to be recorded on Tru Harmony, I saw Simone. With her voice and that incredible face, she’d be the perfect one.

  But I wasn’t about to say anything to Quintin or Miles, because I hadn’t said anything to Simone. It surprised me, actually, that Simone hadn’t said anything about wanting to be a singer. I couldn’t figure that out. Back at Berkeley, girls with half of Simone’s talent were always bumping up against Miles, Quintin, and me, trying to get us to agree to record them, even though we didn’t even have a company. But the whole time I’d worked with Simone, she’d stayed focused on our one song as if she didn’t have any dreams beyond the Greater Faith choir.

  “We can’t call ourselves a label if all we have is a name and a couple of songs.” He took another swig of his beer. “Man, I’m not even trying to stay at Verizon,” he said, sounding like he was already complaining about his new job, even though he’d only been there two weeks.

  “It takes time,” Miles said, always the rescuer. “And it–”

  Quintin held up his hand. “I know, I know. It takes time and patience. I have both; just as long as we’re moving.”

  “We’re moving,” I said.

  Quintin nodded, and then held out his fist. Miles and I raised our hands and we bumped knuckles like we always did–our way of making a pact.

  I sat back as we turned our attention to the basketball game. There were moans throughout the restaurant; the Celtics were walking all over the Hawks. But as Quintin and Miles talked smack with a couple of other patrons, my thoughts were on Simone and Tru Harmony. She had told me that she was a senior at Spelman, so she probably had all of her life plans together. But I had something for her, something that would change her life. It might take me a minute if all Simone had ever dreamed of was being a teacher or something. But I knew I could show her that she could have so much more. Yeah, I’d be able to get Simone on board; I was sure of that. And once I did, I had no doubt that Tru Harmony would take off.

  Chapter 9

  I set the last platter of macaroni and cheese in the center of the dining room table, then took my seat across from my mother. From the head of the table, my father reached out his hands, and my mother and I bowed our heads as we held on to my dad.

  This was our tradition, Sunday dinner at the Davenports. No matter how many people were here (and usually it was just the three of us) my mom prepared a feast that most people only had at Thanksgiving. Our Sunday dinners were straight out of the soul food manual: fried catfish, fried chicken, green bean casserole, collard greens, rice and gravy, biscuits, and a whole lot more. It was all here.

  “Amen!” my mother and I said with my father.

  I unfolded the napkin that I’d just folded when I helped my mother set the table. Even though it was just the three of us tonight, the table was set formally, just the way my father liked it.

  “So,” my dad said as he scooped a heaping spoonful of yams onto his plate. “Have you heard any more from Ernst & Young?”

  Forget about the preliminaries–it never took my father very long to get to the point. At least, this was what I thought the point of these dinners was: to make sure that I did exactly what he wanted me to do.

  I shook my head as I plucked two biscuits from the basket, but then put back one. “There’s not much for them to say,” I told him. “I already accepted the offer, and, as soon as school’s out, I’ll go back into the internship program before I begin officially in September.”

  My father put his fork down and frowned. “Intern? So, you don’t officially have the job?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I do. This last phase is more like an orientation so that I can get acclimated to the company. But I’m not assigned to a senior staffer or given any cases until September.”

  My father’s beam was back. “Have I told you how proud we are of you?” he asked.

  As I bit off a piece of chicken, I nodded. Yeah, my dad always told me he was proud of me . . . whenever he was talking about my boring corporate job. But with anything else, like my singing, his pride went right out the window.

  “You’ve brought so much joy to our hearts,” he said.

  I glanced at my mother, and she was smiling. But it wasn’t the way that she’d been smiling this morning after my solo. What she had on now was a polite smile. This morning, she was the one who was filled with pride.

  So, why didn’t she stand up for me? Why did she let my father control everything?

  I didn’t know why I was asking myself these questions when I knew the answers. My mother truly saw herself as an Old Testament helpmate. Her role was to stand behind my father, no matter what he said, no matter what he did. Even if she disagreed, she pretended to agree. It was ridiculous to me; how could a woman in 2010 be thinking this way?

  “Hasn’t she, Treece?” My father’s voice brought me right back to the dinner table. “Hasn’t Simone just made us proud?”

  “Definitely!” My mother said the right word, right on cue.

  I wanted to roll my eyes, but that was one thing about Theresa Davenport: she may have been a Stepford Wife, but she was also an old-school Black mother. And she would have snatched me and my eyes if I tried some stuff like that with her. So all I did was smile and nod a silent thank you.

  “Yup,” my father kept on. “I’m so proud.” Then, his voice got lower and I knew what was coming. I could have almost said the words with him. “Yes, you’ve made us so proud. Not like your sister.”

  I didn’t know how my father did that. Here he was, this big-time pastor, always preaching about God’s forgiveness, but he wasn’t willing to forgive his own daughter. Though really, there was nothing to forgive Skye for; she’d just moved on and done what she wanted to do with her life. And because of that, not only would our father not forgive her, but he bashed her every chance he got. Whatever happened to controlling the tongue?

  But do you think I was going to ask my father any of those questions? Nope. Like my mom, he was old school too, though he would have said that he was just following scripture: spare the rod, spoil the child. Even though I was twenty-two, if I got too far out of line, the good reverend would have found a rod to make sure I remembered what was up.

  Then came the killer words, “Skye has always been such a disappointment.”

  Those were the ones that got to me all the time. How could he say that about his own daughter?

  But he always did, and that was why I was going to stick to my promise. Because no matter how mad my father made me, I knew for a fact that he loved me. And I loved him too. I didn’t think I’d be able to breathe if he ever said he was disappointed in me.

  So I took a deep breath and then exhaled all of my dreams. Really, what did my dreams matter when my father had given me so much? What did my dreams matter when I could make my father happy?

  That’s what I needed to do. Make my father happy, and find a way to make myself happy at the same time.

  Chapter 10

  I had figured out a way!

  When Simone and I were practicing, she’d suggested a change to “Keep Moving” (another song I wrote), which was spot on. I’d asked her then if she was a songwriter and she’d just laughed. But I wasn’t going to let her laugh it off today.

  “We should write a song together,” I said to Simone as we walked out to the parking lot. I’d been at Greater Faith for a month now. Simone and I had worked ourselves into this comfortable routine of cleaning up the choir room after everyone else left, then walking out to our cars together.

  Just like the last time, Simone laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “I am not a songwriter.”

  “How can you say that? You took ‘Through it All and ‘Keep Movingto a whole other level.”

  She leaned against her car and pressed her purse to her chest. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

&n
bsp; The way Simone tilted her head, and the way the lights in the parking lot shone on her face, made my heart kinda skip. I coughed, trying to shake that feeling away.

  “Why . . . I had to stop and clear my throat. “Why are you belittling your contribution to the song?”

  She shrugged and, for the first time, I saw something cloud her eyes. What was it? Fear? Disappointment? Maybe it was lack of confidence, but that was weird because this girl had to know that she was all that.

  I said, “Well, let me tell you what I think. You’re more than a great singer. I think if you give yourself a chance, you’d be a terrific writer, too. So you might as well just give in, ’cause we are going to write this song together.”

  Again, she laughed, as if she wasn’t taking a word that I was saying seriously. “Is that so?”

  “Yup.” I leaned against the car next to her. “And not only that. We’re gonna write it and then we’re gonna sing it together.”

  “A duet?” she asked. The laughter was gone from her tone now.

  “Yeah. You don’t have a problem singing with me, do you?”

  “No, not at all. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I don’t know if anyone ever told you, but you can sing!” She laughed again.

  “And you can too.”

  Once again, her laughter went away.

  I said, “Simone, you do know that you can sing, right?”

  She looked down at the ground, and kicked a stone away from her car when she nodded.

  I frowned. This girl really didn’t know what kind of talent she was carrying around. “Let me ask you something, Miss Simone.”

  She was still looking down, but I could see the ends of her lips curl, and I was glad that I’d made her smile again.

  I asked, “You’ve never once considered being a singer?”

  It took her a moment, but she finally looked up. Her eyes were glazed, and, for a moment, I thought she’d gone far away, someplace deep inside of herself. It was the way she just stared and didn’t answer that made me think this.

  Then, I repeated my question.

  And I was shocked when she said, “I’ve done a lot more than think about it. Being a singer is my dream!”

  Chapter 11

  This was not a date. But for some reason, as I was getting ready, it sure felt like one. Especially with the way Chyanne was fussin’ all over me.

  “Now see, aren’t you glad I came over here?” Chyanne said as she ran the flat iron through my hair one last time.

  “I could’ve done this all by myself,” I grumbled, though I was mucho grateful that Chyanne had shown up. I hadn’t even called her, but Skye did. My big sister had to go to New York for some kind of interview, and, after I had called and told her about the talk Jaylen and I had, she’d called Chyanne and told her not to let me get ready for my date all by myself.

  “You can act like a punk all you want,” Chyanne said as she wrapped the cord around the flat iron, “but I know that deep down you’re glad that I’m here.”

  I smiled at my sister-friend through the mirror. “Okay, deep, deep, deep down,” I said.

  And then, for no reason, we started giggling.

  “Girl,” Chyanne began, “I cannot believe you are going out on a date with that fine minister.”

  “It’s not a date,” I insisted. “And I don’t think you should ever put the word ‘finein front of the word ‘minister.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “There are plenty of fine ministers walking this earth, thank you, Jesus!”

  “Chyanne!”

  “What? Tell the truth, shame the devil!”

  She laughed, and I did too. Not because that was so funny, but because it sounded like something Skye, and not Chyanne, would say.

  “Well, whatever, this is not a date. Minister Jaylen and I are just going out to discuss some ideas he has for the song we’re writing together.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “We are!”

  “And he had to invite you to Maggiano’s to discuss a song? Please!” Chyanne waved her hand in the air as if she were trying to get rid of my words. “You two could have just sat in the choir room and come up with a song if that’s all this was about.”

  This time I waved my hand as if Chyanne was wrong, but my girl was just saying what I’d been thinking. Why did Minister Jaylen ask me to go with him to dinner? But then I shook my head, wanting to get that stupid question and any other stupid thoughts right out of my head. He probably just wanted us to go to someplace different, someplace nice, to get our creative juices going. I’d heard that a lot of artists went to different places to get fresh inspiration. So I needed to just keep my thoughts right there before I got my feelings hurt.

  “Whatever!” I said, glancing at myself in the mirror once again. I looked okay; I was wearing black, and everyone said that black was slimming. But was this slimming enough?

  There was a loud knock on my door, but before I could open it, Devin sashayed in.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him, even though I was looking at Chyanne suspiciously. I was gonna kill her if she’d told Devin that I had a date.

  “I cannot believe you heifers were going to do all of this without telling me!” His hands moved with a flourish, as if he were conducting some kind of symphony. “Your first date in ages, and you were going to try to keep it a secret from a brother.”

  “It’s not a date!” I said, rolling my eyes at him and Chyanne. “I didn t tell you because I didn’t want you making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he hummed, just like Chyanne had done to me a little while before.

  Devin looked me up and down with critical eyes, and his expression–eyebrows furrowed and lips just as tight–made me want to call Jaylen and tell him to forget about it.

  “What’s wrong?” I whined.

  “Oh, not a thing,” Devin said, finally grinning. “You look fab. But how would you like to go from fab to fab-u-lous?” He didn’t even give me a chance to answer before he pulled some kind of black contraption out of his bag. “Voila!”

  He laughed and I frowned. “What is this?”

  “It’s magic, girl. Body Magic.”

  Then, as he tossed another garment to Chyanne, he explained how, by putting on this thing, I was going to look two to three sizes smaller. “So, what are you? An eighteen?” he asked.

  I answered him by rolling my eyes. A man was never supposed to ask a lady her dress size. Didn’t he know the rules? But then again, it wasn’t like Devin was playing for the male team. Plus, how could I be mad when he’d guessed my size right on the nose?

  He said, “So once you put this on, you’ll look as if you’re wearing a fourteen, or maybe even a twelve.”

  Okay, I may have been upset with Devin for being in my business, but all of my mad was gone now. This thing could make me look like I was a size twelve? I hadn’t worn a twelve since I was in kindergarten.

  I snatched the contraption out of his hands and dashed into the bathroom.

  “Wait,” Devin yelled. “You’re gonna need help.”

  Help? Please! I was a grown woman; what kind of woman needed help getting into a foundation garment?

  Five minutes later, I yelled out for Chyanne. And five minutes after that, she begged Devin to come into the bathroom too. But fifteen minutes after I first walked in, I shimmied back into my dress, and then I stepped out of the bathroom to applause.

  “OMG!” I exclaimed.

  As Chyanne and Devin clapped, they were saying the same thing.

  “You look . . .” Chyanne began.

  Devin finished, “Fab-u-lous! Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Where did you get this thing?” I asked.

  “I’m selling them,” he said proudly. “I’m a distributor.”

  “Well, I want one,” Chyanne said, as she ran her hands through my hair to flatten the strands that had come out of place. “But, first, we’ve got to get you
out of here,” she said to me. “You’re gonna be late.”

  I glanced at the clock. How did it get to be six thirty already? My plan had been to leave five minutes ago so that I could get over to Maggiano’s about five minutes after Jaylen, who was always on time. But it was hard to get moving now. I couldn’t stop staring at myself in the mirror, and I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” I said, right before I grabbed the matching jacket from the bed.

  Devin moaned. “Why are you going to ruin that fantastic dress with that?”

  I frowned. “The dress came with this jacket.”

  “But you don’t need it,” Chyanne said. “The jacket hides all of your curves.”

  Glancing in the mirror again, I could see that she was right. “But what am I supposed to do about my arms?” I whined.

  “What’s wrong with your arms?”

  I looked at Chyanne. For someone so smart, that was the dumbest question I’d ever heard. “My arms are fat!”

  Devin said, “And so you think by hiding your arms, no one will know they’re fat?”

  First, he’d asked me my size, and now, he was saying that I had fat arms. I mean, I did have fat arms, but he wasn’t supposed to say that. On any other day, my feelings would have been really hurt. But I looked too good right now to go out like that.

  Maybe Devin was trying to make it up to me, maybe not. But he said, “Look, all I’m sayin’ is that your arms are your arms. No matter what you put on, everyone knows their size. So be bold and be proud!” he cheered.

  I slipped off the jacket, but, even though I looked tight in the dress, I still wasn’t feeling it. “You don’t have any magic for these?” I said, flapping my arms as if they were wings.

  Devin and Chyanne laughed.

  “Nope,” he said. “But, I’m telling you, you look good, girl. And you know me; my mama should have named me The Truth.”

  I glanced back at Chyanne, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. With a grin, she nodded like she agreed with everything Devin was saying.