I said a little prayer and looked down at the lyrics. Then I signaled him to start the music again. This time he didn’t stop me. I got to the hook and stopped looking at the song, and ad-libbed a little through the entire song without stopping.
“Okay, baby Whitney. How something so strong come out of that skinny body?” he yelled. “That’s what I’m talking about, one-takes.”
Tony gave me a thumbs up like I was doing a good job. I started feeling more relaxed. I had impressed Beazie.
I was done for the day. Beazie said I was damn near perfect. After spending six hours recording I was tired as hell. When we left the studio Tony was still on the telephone talking to Thomas, who said for him to tell me to get some sleep and he would talk to me in the morning. Tony dropped me off at my door. The doorman opened the door and I went up to my apartment.
I was happy to be in my new place. I turned on the living room light, then walked into my bedroom and fell onto my white sheets. I shut my eyes and began to relax. I got about one minute of sleep and then I heard my phone ringing. I looked down at my phone screen. It was Tony calling me.
“Yeah, Tony?” I said.
“You have an interview set up tomorrow and a photo shoot.”
“Already? With who?”
“Yeah, this is not a game. They are trying to do your web site and get this ball rolling. The interview is with Online Music Gallery. Get some rest and I’ll be there at seven to come and get you.”
Since I was up I took my clothes out for the next day and checked my messages. Marcus was in there twice. I dialed him.
“Marcus, baby, I miss you,” I said whining.
“I miss you too! I’ll be there this weekend. How is everything going so far?” he asked. “You okay baby? I miss you girl.”
“It’s going good so far. I went into the studio today.”
“How was it?”
“Everything was just coming natural to me in the studio. The producer said I was perfect. Baby, I am so happy I did this. I love it! And I have my first interview and photo shoot tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that’s good, Kendra. You deserve all this.”
“Marcus, I can’t wait to see you. How was your day at work?”
“It was okay. It’s just so strange coming home and you not being here. But other than that it’s the same shit. I just wanted to talk to you, baby. I’m going straight to the train station after work. Expect me about nine.”
“All right, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too! Good luck tomorrow.”
I awoke, dressed, and took a cab over to the photo shoot. I thumbed through the new XXL magazine on the ride over. It took about fifteen minutes to get there.
For the photo shoot I had to meet the stylist, Angie. She was a black girl with short, green, fuzzy hair. She had piercings going up and down her ear and a small dolphin earring in her nose.
“Hiya,” she said as she looked me over. “So you know your measurements?”
“No. I wear like a two.” She pulled out this bohemian red and orange beaded scarflike maternity-looking dress.
“How you feeling this?” she said.
I looked down at the clothes and said, “I’m not.”
“Okay,” she said curling up her lips.
Then she pulled out a short black dress with pink rhinestones on it. She held it up to me and I took one look at it and said, “This dress is too short and it is going to make my legs look extra skinny.”
“No, it’s not. Once you try it on, you will see.”
I tried the dress on. It wasn’t that bad. She then walked me over to a table with rows of shoes on it. There were stiletto pumps, clogs, wedges and sandals. Out of all the shoes I could choose from she wants to pick yellow pumps to go with a pink and black dress. I put the outfit on I looked like Rainbow Brite. This was not a good look. “Uhm this does not match.”
“No, this look is good for what we are going for. One thing you will learn about fashion is that everything doesn’t have to match. And you make the style and the trends, you don’t follow them.”
I looked at her, then looked at myself one more time in the mirror. If she says so, I thought. I knew I was new and I didn’t know everything, but I did know looked a hot damn mess.
She then sent me to hair and makeup. Okay, so now I was thinking at least my hair would compensate for my horrible outfit.
“Hi, I’m Paul,” said a thin man with short twisties. His bottom lip was pierced, and he wore black square-framed glasses. His jeans were extra tight and he had on a Rolling Stones T-shirt with a big red tongue sticking out on it.
“Hi, honey,” he said as he gave me a cheek-to-cheek kiss, tapped the salon chair and said “Sit.” He made small talk with me as he then held different foundations up to the light. He was trying to find the perfect brown to match my skin tone. He selected one and put the others back. His makeup case was filled with M.A.C., Bobbi Brown and Urban Decay makeup. He pulled out tweezers and began to arch my eyebrows. It hurt every time he took a piece of hair from my brow. He then put on white powder. He must have seen the horror in my eyes, because he said, “Baby, this is the cover.”
He began dusting his makeup applicator into the container and applying it to my face. I was staring in the mirror. The big bulbs going all around the mirror were shining so bright, making me hot. Then he turned me away from the mirror. He was dabbing layers of makeup on my face. After the one-hour makeup session, the layers of makeup made me feel like my face was turning to stone. After he was done he turned me around in the chair and said, “Voilà.”
The first thing I noticed was my overarched, colored-in eyebrows. The second thing I noticed was my ghostlike appearance.
“I don’t wear my makeup this heavy,” I said.
“This is for the camera. It will look good once you get in front of the camera. Trust me.” He put thick black eyelashes on me and took the liquid mascara to extend the corner of my eyes.
Right in the middle of all this a woman named Monica Hudson came up and introduced herself as the journalist from Online Music Gallery. She sat down with her tape recorder and began to ask me questions about my life. I had to remember my stage age, which was twenty-two. The label had pushed my age back. I didn’t think it made a difference, but they said it did. I knew the people who went to school with me would be thinking, “How is she only twenty-two?” The reporter pulled up a chair right beside me.
“I’m going to ask you questions. Then I’m going to just flow around,” she said as she settled in. “What do you want people to know about you?”
“I don’t know. I’m a good singer. I have a great voice.”
“So who inspires you?” Tori asked.
“Growing up I loved Mariah Carey and Mary J. Blige.”
“Okay, what makes you different than the next person? Why will people enjoy your music?”
“I think people will enjoy my music because I’m real. I’m coming from the heart with my voice, with my struggle. I’m just different than what is going on right now.”
She kept the questions coming. I answered them as fast as I could. My phone kept ringing. Tony was calling.
“I’m sorry. This is my manager. I have to take this.” I said.
“No problem,” she said, adding notes.
“Tony, I will call you back,” I said as I turned the phone off. It was so hard trying to talk to the interviewer, answer my cell phone, and make sure they weren’t about to mess my hair up. The journalist, Monica Hudson, gave me a look like, Are you ready finally?
I was ready until they brought over different wigs for me. I had to say something before they put that monstrosity on my head.
“I don’t like blond hair on dark skin,” I said as I looked at the Barbie-blond bouncy wig.
“You’re brown, honey. You can do blond or red,” he said like, Listen, bitch, I know what I’m talking about.
“How are you going to make my hair blend in?” I questioned.
“
I got this,” he said as he looked at me, waiting to get my approval. I wasn’t about to let them slap straight blond weave into my in-need-of-a-perm dark brown hair. Hell, no. I was going to take up for myself.
“I am not wearing this. It is bad enough with my makeup make me look like Michael Jackson, and that I have a clown outfit on, but the blond hair—I’m not feeling it,” I yelled. “No,” I said looking at him in the mirror.
“Calm down, feisty mama. Okay, let’s compromise. How about this wig?” he said, pulling out a straight brown wig that was slightly flipped at the ends.
I made a face.
“Look, if you don’t wear that we don’t have anything else for you. You know what? Somebody talk to this girl. I don’t have time,” he said, walking away from me frustrated. The woman who had styled me came up and said, “Babe, come here. Listen, you are getting a bad rep already. How long have you wanted to be a singer?”
“All my life,” I said.
“If that’s true, let me ask you this—before you got your deal, if somebody could have come up to you and said I’m going to make you a star but you have to trust me, would you have jumped at the opportunity?”
“Probably.”
“Well, now you have to act like it. Your job is to sing and theirs is to make you look beautiful. Okay, sweetie? Don’t be a temperamental diva.”
“I wasn’t trying to be a diva. I just know what looks good on me. And I don’t want to lose who I am in the process.”
“You won’t. The end result will be great. Trust me.”
I felt like a baby, but damn, they had me looking crazy. My hair and outfit looked like someone was playing a practical joke on me. I came back and finished the interview without crying. I pushed the tears back up and took long breaths. For the photo shoot there was a big white drop as a background. There were cameras everywhere. I just tried to smile.
“Look at the camera,” the photographer said, adding that I looked good. Stop lying, bitch, I thought. He guided me through my poses and movements. I felt so ugly because of my outfit, makeup and hair.
After the shoot was over I could feel the pimples rising from all the gook. I went in the bathroom and washed all the makeup off my face. This shit was starting to get on my nerves. They wanted too much, and I hadn’t even finished a fucking album yet. I was feeling lonely and homesick, but this was my dream and if this was what it took then I had to do it.
Chapter 15
So far making the album had been fun and challenging. I hadn’t realized how much work would go into it. I’d been working with so many up-and-coming producers. Thomas brought in people he said were hungry and who were going to make my project hot. All I did was work. It sounds crazy but at least with a normal job you get Saturday and Sunday off. Most producers are nocturnal and don’t sleep.
Beazie, Thomas and Tony kept me in the studio, and the studio was open twenty-four hours a day, so I got no days off. At least Marcus was coming up for the weekend. I needed to see my man and get some relief from the past week. I was so happy to see him I ran up and hugged and kissed him.
“You miss me?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. They got me doing everything up here in the studio every day,” I said as I held on to him.
He was looking around at everything. I was so happy to have him with me.
“This is a nice place,” he said as he pulled back the drapes. He took a little tour around the place. I hugged him again.
“You miss me like that?” he joked as he kissed me. “I missed you too!” He let his lips touch mine.
“I mean, I like it. It’s just a lot harder than what I expected,” I confessed.
I was about to get to complaining, but the truth was that I was lucky to have the opportunity.
“What were you about to say?” he asked.
“Nothing. I just want to spend some time with you.” I’d missed my man so much. I pushed him into the chair. He sat back while I unzipped his pants and I kissed all over the lower region of his stomach. His pubic hair brushed against my face. I pulled his firmness through the slit in his boxers. It was smooth and pulsating. I let his body disappear into my mouth. I totally consumed it with every suck of my jaw. He let out a little moan. He was almost at his peak when I began stroking the slippery tip of him against my breasts. I then straddled his body, allowing my body to engulf him. I squeezed tightly and moved in a round motion. Marcus took control and sat me on the chair. He positioned his body into mine. His pants were still on and I could feel his pants tapping my legs and thighs. He lifted his shirt and then let out an incredible shriek. The rest of the night we did nothing but enjoy each other’s company. My man reminded me why I loved him so much and would never leave him.
Marcus went with me to the studio the next day. I wanted him to see what I was doing. Beazie greeted me with a hug. “Hey, Miss! You ready?”
I saw the way Marcus looked at Beazie when he gave me a hug. He didn’t understand that’s what you do. So I instantly said, “I want to introduce you to my man. This is Marcus.”
Beazie came over, shook Marcus’s hand and said, “You should be proud of your lady. She is doing great.” Marcus smiled and had a seat.
“Kendra, we need to go over a few things before Corey gets here.”
I had heard a lot about the producer and songwriter Corey Washington, also known as Core. He had a lot of hits with R&B and pop artists. He was a really good producer and everybody was saying I was lucky to have him working on my project. The only reason he was even working on the project was that he was Thomas’s frat brother.
Beazie handed me the lyrics and I started reviewing them. I was going through the lyrics: Can I love you? Can I stop holding back the way I feel? Can I give you all of me? Can I love you exclusively, just you and me? Tell me how it’s going to be. He played the track and I was trying to get the harmony down.
We were just waiting for Corey, but he hadn’t arrived yet. It was very boring for Marcus but he was being good about it. Beazie ordered some soul food platters and added it to the session bill while we waited for Corey to come through. He was already two hours late.
Corey finally walked into the studio like he wasn’t late. He had on faded blue jeans, a black blazer and a teal button-down shirt. He had two diamonds in both his ears. They were square yellow and blue. I was so excited he was working on my project, it didn’t even matter that he was late. He had his million-dollar smile on. His style was so different. His nails were short and manicured and his skin was brown and clear, not a bump or imperfection anywhere. He was well groomed. He had a girl with him and she was dressed like a copycat video girl—brown skin, hazel contacts and a brownish-blond weave hanging to the middle of her back.
“Hey, y’all. Sorry I’m late. I’m Corey, and this is my lady, Aisha,” he said as he hurriedly started setting up his equipment. He pulled out a laptop and hooked it up.
I said hi to his girlfriend. Marcus looked at me like I forgot to introduce him. I introduced him to them and then the girlfriend went and had a seat next to Marcus.
“Did you get a chance to look over the song?” Corey asked.
“Yeah, I already gave her the lyrics. She has been looking them over,” Beazie said.
I went into the booth and waited for the music to start. I looked down at the lyrics and the track began to play. It was a light, mellow ballad, and I began to sing.
Shortly after starting Corey came across the speaker and interrupted me, saying, “One moment.” Then he walked out of the studio.
I came out of the booth and asked, “What’s going on?”
Marcus said, “His girl was starting to get restless. He said he be right back. You were great, though.”
I thanked him, got a drink of water and waited for them to come back into the studio. We could hear them out in the hallway cussing and fussing about something.
She was saying, “You said we wasn’t going to spend all day in here. I’m tired. Well, tell me one thing. Are you almost fin
ished?” she asked rudely.
He told her no and then she said, “Well, I’m leaving. Meet me at home.” His girlfriend was tripping. She was very unprofessional. He came back into the room alone and we continued the session.
After the studio Marcus went to the apartment and relaxed. I wanted to go to the dinner but Marcus said he was tired.
The next morning I made him pancakes, sausage and eggs. He awoke to breakfast in bed. He thanked me and I said, “I wish you didn’t have to leave me,” as I bear hugged him.
“I know. I don’t want to leave you, but I have to go to work.”
“You coming next weekend?”
“Yes, I’ll be here every weekend, and the weekends I don’t come here you have to come home.”
“I will all right. Let me get dressed so I can make the train.”
“Baby, just drive. Won’t you take the car home? Then you can leave later.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not driving it and I have to keep paying for parking.”
Marcus took my car home. I knew driving that nice car around would make him feel good and he wouldn’t be sweating me as hard. I was off to get a manicure and pedicure. Sundays had become my unofficial “me” days. Tony called me right before I went out the door. He was calling to tell me that my first interview was posted online. I jumped out of the bed and—instead of leaving—got on the computer.
The title was “Diva in the Making.”
Kendra Michelle may be the next R&B princess, and I caught up with her as she argued with her stylist about her hair and makeup. She said that her voice was one to be reckoned with and that she would give Mariah Carey a run for her money. Will she be like other R&B legends or is she another wannabe?…I think she is the real deal. Makeup aside, she is someone to watch…
I was speechless. “I mean, she took my words and totally flipped them. She dissed me and complimented me in the same article,” I said to Tony.
“It’s a good article. Things like this happen before going to media training. Once you go to media training you’ll know what not to say during an interview. Go to Touchlight music homepage and see your pictures. They look great.” Tony said.
All I Want is Everything Page 12
