Delilah's Daughters

by Angela Benson

  The audience erupted into another round of applause as the country band from Nashville stepped forward, hugging and slapping each other on the back with joy. Delilah had to admit that they had been good and deserved to be finalists.

  She held her breath as Morris read the name of the second finalist.

  “Our second finalist is Annie Jones.”

  “What?” Delilah said aloud, caught herself, and gave a quick prayer of thanks that the cheers of Annie’s fans masked her outburst. How had the cross between Madonna and Carrie Underwood become a finalist? There had to be some mistake.

  “I can’t believe it either,” Dexter shouted in her ear. “It must have been her skimpy outfits that won over the judges and the voting audience. She dressed worse than Lindsay Lohan on drugs.”

  Delilah didn’t say another word. She began to pray in earnest. “I don’t believe you brought us this far to have us go home empty-handed,” she told the Lord. “Delilah’s Daughters will be the third finalist. I believe it and receive it.”

  Another hush came across the audience.

  “The last finalist is…”

  Delilah held her breath and squeezed her son-in-law’s hand.

  “ . . . Delilah’s Daughters.”

  Chapter 2

  Alisha eased behind her older sisters and away from the flash of the cameras. She didn’t like press conferences. Too much light, too many people, too much cross talk. She’d much rather be sitting on a couch talking to Oprah or the ladies of The View than dealing with this circus.

  “Roxanne,” a reporter yelled out to her oldest sister. “How does it feel to be a finalist?”

  As her oldest sister took a step forward and flashed a smile that rivaled the cameras in its intensity, Alisha felt a bit of envy. Roxanne’s experience as a shipboard entertainer for Dreamland Cruise Lines was paying off big-time. “It’s our destiny,” Roxanne said. “I only wish our father were here to share in the joy. He always believed in us, believed that our gifts were meant to be shared with the world.”

  Alisha reached for Veronica’s hand as Roxanne spoke of their father. She held on tight, easing a bit from behind Veronica. Her father wouldn’t want her hiding behind her sisters. “Don’t hide your light under a bushel, Alisha,” he’d tell her when he saw her withdrawing into herself. She eased to Veronica’s side.

  “What about you, Veronica?” another reporter yelled.

  Veronica, always comfortable as the center of attention, stepped forward, hands on her hips. “I’ll show you how I feel.” Then she twirled in a combination holy dance-slash-Beyoncé-booty-shake that made the reporters laugh and the flashbulbs go crazy. “That’s how I feel,” she said.

  Alisha sucked in her breath, hoping the reporters wouldn’t call on her. But she knew they would. They always did. It was as if they felt sorry for her and didn’t want to exclude her. She wished she could tell them she didn’t mind being excluded.

  “Your turn, Alisha,” another reporter called out.

  Seeing her father’s encouraging face in her mind, she said, “We love music, and we’re grateful for the opportunity to share our talent with the world. We thank Sing for America for giving us this chance.”

  She felt relief when she stepped back. Though her response had been boring compared to her sisters’ responses, at least she hadn’t made a fool out of herself.

  A few more questions and the press conference was over. The girls headed to their dressing room. Alisha was the first to drop down in a chair. “I’m glad that’s over,” she said. “I thought we were going to be standing there all night.”

  Roxanne gave her a light kick in the shin. “Please, girl. We were only up there for about fifteen minutes.”

  Alisha didn’t believe it. It had to have been an hour or more.

  “You did fine,” Veronica said. “You always do. I don’t know why you let those things bother you so much.”

  Alisha rolled her eyes. “Easy for the booty-shaker to say. I don’t even believe you did that.”

  Roxanne laughed. “I believe it. It was so like her.”

  Veronica repeated her booty-shake. “Don’t hate,” she said. “Appreciate. Anyway, that was a holy dance. I can’t believe you two didn’t recognize it. Heathens!”

  Alisha tossed a pillow from the couch at Veronica. “You’re the heathen. And a married one at that.”

  Veronica laughed. “Hey, how do you think I got Dexter to the altar?” She shook her booty again. “That shake works with boyfriends, husbands, and reporters. That shake is going to help us win this thing.”

  Alisha sat up straighter in her chair. “Do you really think we have a shot?”

  “We have more than a shot,” Roxanne said. “This is our moment, Alisha. Can’t you feel it?”

  “I don’t know what I’m feeling.” Alisha sank back into the couch. “I just wish we could perform one of my original songs.”

  Roxanne sat next to her and put her arms around her shoulder. “I know you do, sis, but I think Momma’s right. This contest is as much about showmanship as it is about talent. To get votes we have to give the audience what they want. And what they seem to want are familiar songs with our special twist on them. And nobody puts a twist on a popular tune better than you, Alisha. The songs we’ve performed in this contest may not have been Alisha originals, but each one of them had your stamp all over it. Don’t worry so. Hold on to your original songs for our first album. We’re going to need them.”

  “I can see it now,” Veronica added, using her hands to frame the headlines of a newspaper. “ ‘Delilah’s Daughters debut at number one on the Billboard charts.’ Our first single to hit number one will be one you’ve written. Just hold on, sis,” she said to Alisha. “Your day is coming.”

  Roxanne got up, laughing. “Please,” she said. “Our day is now. Delilah’s Daughters is about each of us using our gifts and creating something uniquely special together. That’s our trademark. We’re not Delilah’s Daughters without all three of us and what we bring. And when we start singing your original songs, our brand will only be enhanced. Be patient, sis.”

  “You’re right,” Alisha said. She saw no benefit in continuing this conversation with her sisters. They didn’t understand how much her music, her lyrics, her beats, yearned to be set free. Her music was self-expression, something she’d had to suppress each day of the last three years she’d worked at McKinley and Thomas Advertising, the biggest ad agency in the Southeast. The pay was good, but writing jingles for cars and sports drinks didn’t exactly lend itself to self-expression. The job had been a godsend, though, when she’d first landed it. On the heels of her father’s death, she’d needed a break from the music of the heart, and M&T provided it. But that wasn’t the case any longer. Now she needed more. Even singing with her sisters didn’t fulfill her. She was only in the group because their parents, their dad especially, had wanted their daughters to perform together. She’d be as content, if not more so, writing lyrics that others would sing.

  Things were different with her sisters. As a student in a graduate dance program, Veronica got to explore the depths of her talent. The more she expressed herself, the more she excelled in her program. Roxanne was in a similar situation. While being an entertainer for Dreamland Cruise Lines didn’t sound like a big deal, it was pretty close to being a Las Vegas act. DCL treated Roxanne like royalty. They recognized and appreciated her talent. Not only was she able to pick the songs she sang, but she even got her sisters in on the act. Veronica had choreographed a few routines for Roxanne, and every now and then Alisha had given her a song to test-drive with her Dreamland audience.

  “Where’s Momma?” Alisha asked, tiring of her personal pity party. “Shouldn’t she have gotten back here by now?”

  “You know Momma,” Roxanne said. “She’s probably out there wheeling and dealing with some unsuspecting reporter or record producer. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up with a feature article in a major magazine or a record contract with a major
label. Momma Delilah learned at the feet of the master.”

  Veronica nodded. “I want this for Momma as much as I want it for us. I haven’t seen her so excited and alive since Daddy died. This contest has been good for all of us.”

  Alisha agreed, but with a caveat: it had been better for some than for others. Living the life of a real musician the past several weeks had only made her see the emptiness of the life she’d been living before. There was no way she could go back to her old life now.

  Chapter 3

  The answer is ‘no,’ Mr. Washington,” Delilah told the A&R representative from Legends Productions. The young man, who was only about twenty-five, had intercepted her on her way to her daughters’ dressing room and pulled her into the office that Legends maintained at the studio. She’d been in here last month for a reception after the semifinalists were named. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “I can’t believe you’ve thought this through,” Charles Washington said, flicking at his mustache. He reminded her of a young Berry Gordy, as dark as chocolate but not necessarily good for you. “Nobody turns down Legends. We’re not some fly-by-night record label; we have a stable of Grammy Award–winning artists, and we only take on a few new artists each year. Our success with those new artists is the best in the business. We know talent when we see it, and we know how to take that talent to its limits.”

  Delilah knew all of that was true, and she’d have been shouting with joy if the offer was for Delilah’s Daughters, but it wasn’t. “Delilah’s Daughters is a group. We’re not looking for contracts for solo acts.”

  The young man smiled at her as though she were a demented old woman in a nursing home. “The chance for stardom for Delilah’s Daughters is 50 percent at best. The chance for Veronica is pretty close to 100 percent. She has what it takes, Mrs. Monroe. She could be as big as Beyoncé.”

  “Beyoncé is not our standard, Mr. Washington,” she said. How could this man expect to build Veronica’s career if he didn’t even know what she and her music were about?

  He pursed his lips, and she knew he was growing agitated with her. “You know what I mean,” he said. “She could be bigger than CeCe Winans was at her peak. She could do what Yolanda Adams tried to do and failed. She could reach the heights of Beyoncé’s success singing the crossover pop-inspirational tunes that CeCe and Yolanda sang. She has it all, Mrs. Monroe. We can give her the guidance she needs to reach the pinnacle of the recording industry.”

  Delilah couldn’t help but take some pride in the words the young man spoke. Yes, Veronica was talented, but so were Alisha and Roxanne. “That only tells me what Veronica brings to the group,” Delilah said.

  Washington shook his head. “You’re not hearing me,” he said. “The group holds her back. I know you can see it. We only get a glimpse of her style, her personality, when the group is onstage. We see that superstar quality in her press briefings when the spotlight is on her. You saw the way she stole the show with the Beyoncé booty-shake. She loves the spotlight, and it loves her.”

  Delilah didn’t bother to explain to the man that her daughter had done a holy dance. She’d also have to talk to Veronica about taking some of the “booty” out of the dance. “So you’re saying you want to sign her because she has a big butt? I know we’re not interested now.”

  Washington lifted his arms, clearly exasperated. “That’s not what I’m saying, and I think you know it. That said, I won’t deny that having a certain look, a certain style, can propel an artist up the charts. I’ve seen it happen, and it could happen with your daughter. She has the voice and the intangibles to make it.”

  Delilah smirked. “She’s not even the strongest voice in the group.”

  Washington nodded. “I know she isn’t. Roxanne has the best vocals, but she doesn’t have the intangibles.”

  “That’s why they’re so good as a group,” Delilah said, not welcoming his comparison of her daughters. “No one of my daughters is better than the other, Mr. Washington. Each one brings different strengths that make the group stronger.”

  “That might be true with some groups, but not with your daughters. Roxanne’s vocals compete with Veronica’s style, and I don’t see either one of them playing down their strengths for the other. Do you see Roxanne taking a backseat to Veronica when it comes to vocals? Do you see Veronica toning down her personality any more than she already does? She’s straining to break out. If you can’t see that, you’re not a very good manager.”

  Delilah did see it, and so had Rocky. But they had worked hard to find and maintain the balance that made the group work. Veronica had always been the one who blossomed in the limelight. All Roxanne wanted to do was belt out tune after tune, whether it was in the bathroom or as the opening act for a touring band in an outdoor concert before thousands. And Alisha, quiet Alisha, who Charles Washington hadn’t even bothered to mention, would be perfectly content in a room with a piano and a pencil so she could write her music. “What you don’t understand, Mr. Washington, is that Delilah’s Daughters is about more than reaching the top of the charts. It’s about family. It’s about working together to achieve a goal. If you have a contract for all three of my girls, then we can talk. If you don’t, this conversation is over.”

  Washington gave her the smile reserved for doddering old ladies again. “There’s no need to make a decision right now,” he said, as if sensing he’d pushed as far as he could today. “We’ll talk again in a month, after they announce the winners.”

  Delilah lifted a brow. “Are you so sure Delilah’s Daughters won’t win?”

  He now gave her a smile that she guessed he brought out for beloved pets. “I know they won’t win, for all the reasons I’ve given you. Veronica would have had a better chance on her own than she has in the group. Your daughters have talent, but it takes more to make it in this business. Look at who’s won and who’s lost on American Star in recent years. Some of the losers went on to great success, while some of the winners made one album and were never heard from again. Even if Delilah’s Daughters did win, they wouldn’t achieve the commercial success that they deserve or that you want for them. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. Talent alone is not enough to guarantee success. It also takes that special intangible that Veronica has and your other daughters don’t. I know this is hard for you to hear as their mother, but it’s a truth you need to accept as their manager.”

  “It may be your truth, Mr. Washington, but my daughters and I listen to a higher truth.”

  Again he gave her that smile. “I believe in the man upstairs too, Mrs. Monroe. How about we make a deal?”

  She lifted her brow. “What kind of deal?”

  “If your girls win next month, I’ll treat your entire family to a weeklong vacation on St. Thomas. Legends owns an estate there, and we’d give it to you for the week.”

  “And if they don’t win?”

  “Your family still goes on vacation and you let me talk to Veronica about what we can do for her. Sound fair?”

  “I’ll think about it,” Delilah said, but her heart was already giving her the answer.

  Washington shook her hand. “I’ll see you in a month.”

  Delilah watched the young man pick up his briefcase and open the door for her. He wore his arrogance well. She guessed arrogance was a natural accessory when you sported a $1,500 suit and wore $500 shoes.

  Chapter 4

  A week later, Veronica sat with Dexter in the Silver Olympian dining room on the Dreamland Liberty cruise ship. She fingered their engraved names on the sterling silver Tiffany Heart tag choker he had given her earlier in the day, when they were alone together on a private beach owned by one of Roxanne’s Dreamland colleagues.

  “You love it, don’t you?”

  She could only shake her head. “I love you,” she said. “The choker is gorgeous, but it’s your faith and confidence in me that fills my heart.”

  “I’ve always known you were a star,” he said, picking up her h
and and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

  A tingling warmth spread down Veronica’s spine. She knew her husband wasn’t spouting empty words. His belief in her talent was something she could always count on. “I’m not a star yet,” she said, enjoying their quiet moment together despite being in the crowded dining room. They’d wanted to dine in Harry’s Supper Club, the ship’s more exclusive dining room, but had been unable to get reservations. Her strapless turquoise minidress and five-inch heels were a bit of overkill for the Silver Olympian, but it didn’t matter because tonight she had dressed to please her husband.

  “Here we go again,” Dexter said, inclining his head in the direction of the young woman in capris and sandals headed toward them with a camera in her hands.

  “Be nice,” Veronica said, giving the young woman a welcoming smile. “She only wants a picture. She won’t be here but a minute.”

  He released her hand. “She won’t, but her boldness will open the floodgates. You may as well prepare yourself for a cold dinner.”

  Dexter’s negative attitude toward fans who approached her was disconcerting. She’d have to talk to him about it later. For now, she ignored his pique and sent the woman another smile that said it was fine for her to come to the table.

  “Aren’t you on Sing for America?” the young woman asked when she reached the table.

  Veronica nodded. “I sure am. Do you watch?”

  The woman bobbed her head. “Every week,” she said. “I’m pulling for Delilah’s Daughters all the way. You’re the best act on the show. You’re the only reason I watch.”

  Veronica didn’t miss the roll of Dexter’s eyes. She was glad the woman couldn’t see him. “How nice of you to say that,” Veronica told her. “Be sure to vote for us on the finals show.”

  “You can count on it,” the woman said. “Would you mind taking a picture with me? My friends back home will never believe I met you if I don’t have a picture. They love you too.”