Diva's Last Curtain Call

V
ivianne DeArmond couldn’t contain the nasty little smile that spread across her face as she dragged the box out from its hiding place under her bed. She felt a little like Pandora as she opened the box and ran a trembling hand over the stack of papers inside, tracing the letters with her fingertip. She wasn’t trembling with fear but anticipation, because she couldn’t wait for what was in the box to cause the chaos and damage that it inevitably would. She just hoped she’d have a front-row seat when the drama unfolded. After all, she certainly deserved it.

She pulled out the plastic square that was wedged between the stack of paper and the inside of the box and looked around her room for a hiding place. Pulling open the double doors of her closet rather dramatically, Vivianne peered inside the cavernous space. She spied an old box of junk on the top shelf and grabbed it, a little too enthusiastically, and felt a twinge of pain in her lower back as she lowered the box to the floor.

Harriet, her assistant and friend of more than fifty years, had warned her she was playing with fire and would end up burned, too. And on some level, Vivianne knew it, but just didn’t care. What did she have left to lose? Her career? That had been over for years. No one cared about seeing Vivianne DeArmond in a movie anymore. All anyone wanted to see these days were bleached-blond airheads with surgically enhanced bosoms and IQs to match their shoe sizes who couldn’t act their way out of a wet paper sack. If she were still acting, the only roles Cliff, her ex-agent and ex-husband, would be able get her would be playing maids and grandmothers and what fun was that? Vivianne was still a very beautiful woman and felt she could easily pass for forty-five. But it was damned hard for a forty-five-year-old white actress to find good parts, so a sixtyish black actress, no matter how fine she might still be, who didn’t want to play a maid or a granny, was basically shit out of luck. Cliff wanted her to read for the part of Glenda the Good Witch for a big-bucks remake of
The Wiz
. Vivianne wasn’t interested. The last time Cliff had talked Vivianne into coming out of retirement and auditioning for a role it had been for the part of Dominique Deveraux on the prime-time soap opera
Dynasty.
Vivianne had nailed that audition. She owned that part. When the producers had decided on Diahann Carroll, she’d been devastated, especially when she’d found out that she’d never really had a shot at the role and had only been given a chance to audition as a courtesy to Cliff.

Vivianne’s acting days were over. But at the height of her career, she’d really been something. Vivianne had had a mutual love affair with the camera that had ended in the late seventies with her small role in a low-budget horror movie. Cliff had called it a cameo. Vivianne knew it was just bit part. She’d even had to share a trailer with her stunt double. The humiliation of that experience had been enough to send her into retirement. Nevertheless, Vivianne was about to reinvent herself in a move that would serve two purposes: It would give her a much-needed career change and sweet revenge. She’d make her big announcement when she received her award at the Starburst Film Festival. She couldn’t wait.

Vivianne rummaged through the box until she found an object that offered the perfect hiding place. She slid the plastic square inside, returned the object to the box, and slid the box to the back of her closet. Pleased with herself, she pulled the necklace of rectangular squares from inside her dress and squeezed it so hard the rectangles’ edges almost cut her palm. Harriet didn’t have a thing to worry about, Vivianne thought. Because Vivianne had all the insurance she needed to shield herself when the shit hit the fan.

“B
aby. Hey, baby,” said the brother in the acid-green track suit and gold chains who was desperately trying to get my sister Allegra’s attention. Allegra and I were having lunch at Estelle’s, our uncle Alex’s restaurant that I hostess at part-time. Actually, it would be more accurate to say we were
trying
to have lunch. Ever since we’d arrived, not a minute had gone by without someone approaching our table to talk to Allegra or get her autograph. Many people stopped by just to bask in the glow of my sister, and up until now, she’d been loving every minute of it. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not jealous of my beautiful baby sister. Really, I’m not. Well, maybe just a little. But these folks were interrupting my mealtime, and that is just not cool.

Allegra frowned and rolled her eyes before turning to reply to the persistent man who’d been trying to get her attention for the past five minutes. He didn’t seem at all fazed by the fact that she’d been totally ignoring him.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked, flashing him a low-watt smile and flipping a piece of her long honey-highlighted hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” the brother said, grinning with a mouthful of yellowish, crooked teeth. I cringed as he came over to our table. Up close I could see that his face was a mass of razor bumps and my own face hurt just looking at him.

“Ain’t you that Freaky Deaky chick? The one from that video?” Allegra’s smile froze on her face at the mention of her first acting gig and the unwanted nickname that had resulted from it. I had to quickly turn away before she caught the big grin that had suddenly popped up on my mug.

Eight years ago, right after she graduated from high school, Allegra had hopped a bus to L.A. to pursue her dream of becoming an actress, a singer or a model. She wasn’t real picky. In fact, whatever would allow her to do what she does best, which is being the center of attention, was fine by her. Almost immediately upon arriving in town, Allegra landed the starring role in a singer named Antoine’s first music video. The song was called “Freaky Deaky.” It was an annoying little ditty set to the music of “Old MacDonald,” and even included the
e-i-e-i-o’
s. Amazingly, it became an instant hit and even spawned a dance craze.

The Freaky Deaky dance was a combination of the Hustle and the Twist, with some Funky Chicken thrown in for good measure. For about four months, dance floors in clubs all across the country were filled with foolish-looking people who were frantically spinning and clapping, twisting and flapping as though their underwear had caught on fire. Not only was the dance ridiculous looking, it could be hazardous to those unfortunate enough to be dancing near the uncoordinated or directionally challenged. Antoine, a rather homely brother with an overbite and a high-top fade, Freaky Deaked his way to the top of the charts, and my sister, with whom he conveniently fell in love and made one of his backup singers, was his Freaky Deaky queen.

But as with all good things, and even the not so good ones, it didn’t last long. Antoine’s next single, “Googley Woogley,” tanked, and he and Allegra’s fifteen minutes of fame, as well as their relationship, was over. And that was just fine by my parents, who had quickly grown tired of being asked about their Freaky Deaky daughter. It was fine by Antoine, too. Seems Antoine’s overbearing mama was the one who wanted him to be a star. Antoine wanted to be a dentist and left the limelight willingly for dental school.

Allegra cleared her throat and took a sip of water before replying. “Yes, that was me. But that was a long time ago.”

“Oh, I wasn’t tryin’ to crack on you, girl. That song was the jam back in the day. I just wondered if it was you, that’s all. You still fine as hell. You ever get another job?”

Unable to suppress a giggle, I coughed to try and play it off as Allegra swung around to glare at me.

“I’m on
Hollywood Vibe,
” she replied smugly, turning up her capped smile to its full brilliance. Antoine was her dentist now.

“What’s
Hollywood Vibe?
Is that some kinda vitamin? I bet that’s some good shit. Can I get some? Is that how you stay so fine?” asked the man. He was hanging over our table trying to look down Allegra’s top. She leaned back in her chair and I grabbed my steak knife in case I had to protect my sibling.

“Hellooo.
Hollywood Vibe
is an entertainment news show, thank you. You know, like
Entertainment Tonight
. I’m one of the correspondents.”

I couldn’t believe my sister was more insulted that he didn’t know about her current claim to fame than she was at the fact he was trying to get a peek at her boobs. An ample bosom is the only thing Allegra and I have in common besides DNA. Allegra is tall and slim like my mother, Uncle Alex and my late grandfather. She’s undeniably the beauty in the family while I got the smart label and, depending on which way my scale is swinging, the chunky label.

Allegra’s admirer was looking confused. “Naw, I ain’t hip to the
Hollywood Vibe
thang, girl. See, I just got out the joint last week. I just wanted to holla at you,” he said, glancing nervously at me as I tapped the steak knife against my plate, no doubt reliving some unpleasant prison experience. “You stay fine, you hear,” he said and then puckered up and made a loud kissing noise that sounded like a fart. We both rolled our eyes as he walked away.

“Just got out the joint my ass,” I said, tossing the knife on my now-cold steak. “The loony bin is probably more like it.”

“I get approached by all kinds of nuts, Kendra. It’s just a hazard of the business,” Allegra said nonchalantly, flipping another strand of hair over her shoulder. Unlike me, with my short, no-nonsense do, Allegra wore her hair long and bone-straight with those honey-blond highlights.

“None of them are dangerous, are they?” I asked starting to feel concerned. Allegra had a way of tap dancing on my nerves, but the thought of anybody hurting her scared me to death.

“You sound just like Mama and, no, none of them are dangerous. I’m a lowly correspondent on a second rate entertainment news show, not Halle Berry.” We both laughed.

“It won’t always be that way. You’re going places, Allie. This
Hollywood Vibe
thing is just a stepping stone.” I was doing my best to be supportive, but I instantly regretted my comments.

“That’s why you’ve got to help me, Kendra,” Allegra whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening. The nearest people to us in the restaurant were several booths away and would have had to have bionic hearing to be able to hear what we were saying.

“Vivianne DeArmond is going to ruin my career before it even gets off the ground. That’s why I need your help.” Allegra dropped her chin to her chest and her long hair fell around her face like a curtain. It was a sulky little move that never failed to get her her way with the men in our family. She did it so much that it had become a reflex. Being away from home for so long she’d obviously forgotten that this ploy had never worked on me. I stared at her silently until she remembered this fact and lifted her head up, giving me a sheepish look.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?” I asked calmly. Allegra sighed angrily and snatched her napkin off her lap and threw in on her plate.

“Hell, no, I’m not overreacting. I could lose my job, Kendra. I was sent here to get an interview with a has-been actress who hasn’t made a movie in twenty years and is being awarded a lifetime achievement award by a two-bit film festival that nobody has ever heard of. She’s acting like she’s Greta Garbo with all this ‘I want to be alone’ crap. Her assistant won’t let me anywhere near her. She should be happy anybody would want to interview her ass. Who the hell remembers Vivianne DeArmond, anyway?”

I did. Vivianne DeArmond might not have been the greatest actress in the world, but she was one of the first black actresses to make a mark in Hollywood and was easily one of the most beautiful. She’d been born Annie Burns in Willow, and she was one of our few claims to fame. Even though she wasn’t nearly as well known as Lena Horne and Dorothy Dandridge, Vivianne DeArmond had starred in numerous independent films in the fifties and sixties and was a favorite of experimental French filmmaker, Jacques St. Marchand. Her most famous role was in St. Marchand’s 1959 cult noir classic,
Asphalt City,
in which she played femme fatale Pearly Monroe. Vivianne’s last role had been a blink-and-you’ll-miss-her part in a low-budget horror movie in the late seventies called
Demon Kitty,
about a spinster who discovered her beloved tabby cat was possessed by the devil. Vivianne played a voodoo priestess who tried to exorcise the demon from the cat. She’s on screen for all of five minutes before she’s killed when the possessed feline, who incidentally looked about as menacing as Garfield in a snit, coughed up a giant flesh-eating hairball on her. It was an extremely undignified end to an otherwise respectable career.

“Why would
Hollywood Vibe
send you here to get an interview with a woman who doesn’t want to be interviewed? Wouldn’t they have known this before they sent you out here?” Allegra shifted nervously in her seat and wouldn’t look me in the eye. “All right, Allie, out with it. What have you done?”

“Look, when I got this gig I thought they’d just be sending me to cover movie premiers and award shows and I’d get to wear designer gowns and rub elbows with directors and producers who might be interested in casting me. Turns out they actually want me to come up with story ideas. So, in the last production meeting, they asked me what stories I was working on. I didn’t know what to say,” she said, giving me a pitiful look. I started to ask her how Vivianne DeArmond’s name came up, but she cut me off before I got a chance.

“Then I remembered you calling me the night before to ask me if I’d be making it home for Lynette’s wedding and you mentioned the film festival and old washed-up Vivianne DeArmond getting an award. So, I told them I was from the same town as Vivianne and about her award and that I knew her and before I knew it—”

“They sent you out here to interview her only you can’t get an interview because you
don’t
know her and she doesn’t want to be interviewed,” I said, interrupting her.

“How was I supposed to know the executive producer is one of her biggest fans? They plan to feature my interview in a ‘Whatever Happened to…’ segment. I’ve done everything I can think of to get an interview, and she won’t talk to me. You’d think she’d want to help another homegirl out.”

“In a perfect world, maybe. But why do you thinks she owes you, someone she doesn’t know from a hole in the wall, the time of day? You have no one to blame but yourself for this one, baby sister.” She shot me a dirty look and turned to stare angrily out the window.

“I know I screwed up,” she said finally, after picking at her half-eaten salad. “But, that doesn’t change that fact that I still need to get that interview. Are you going to help me or not, Kendra?”

“And what exactly do you think I can do to help you get this interview?” Allegra perked up considerably and I felt a familiar feeling of dread creep up on me.

“Well,” she whispered, leaning in close and gesturing for me to do the same. I did so reluctantly. “I know that Rosie’s Cleaning Service cleans Vivianne DeArmond’s house twice a week. I was thinking we could get hold of some uniforms and go to her house when the other cleaners are there. You can keep Vivianne’s dragon-lady assistant busy while I approach Vivianne about interviewing her for the show.” Allegra sat back and rubbed her hands together and smirked, obviously pleased with herself. She reminded me of a cartoon villainess who’d just sprung a goofy master plan to conquer the world on a reluctant henchman…me. I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

“What the hell is so funny?” she said, reverting to full neck-rolling, eye-popping, sister-girl mode.

“I’m sorry, Allie. But that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time,” I said, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.

“And why is that?” she asked in an icy tone that made me stop laughing immediately.

“First off, where are we going to get a hold of some of Rosie’s uniforms? Secondly, don’t you think the other cleaners are going to notice we don’t belong there and blow the whistle on us? Thirdly, what’s going to happen when Vivianne DeArmond realizes we’re in her house uninvited and calls the police? Sorry, Allie but this little plan is only going to get us both arrested and you fired.”

Believe me, it wasn’t that I was above such behavior. I’d snuck into my share of places that I had absolutely no business being. But those were special circumstances involving murder and mayhem. Trespassing in the home of a reclusive actress to help my self-absorbed little sister get an interview that she’d lied to her boss about being able to get was something else entirely, especially since I’d promised my grandmother and my man to stay out of trouble.

“Then what do you suggest I do since you’re so damned smart?” she asked, glaring at me. Allegra can get quite nasty when she’s not getting her way. But I was still her big sister and not about to let her intimidate me.

“Why don’t you just admit to your producer that Vivianne is being difficult and won’t let you interview her?” I said, starting to feel mighty testy myself.

“Because I already told Noelle, my segment producer, that I lined up the interview. Besides, I’m not so sure Vivianne doesn’t want to be interviewed. It’s that assistant of hers, Harriet Randall, that won’t let me anywhere near her. If I could just get her alone.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, Vivianne DeArmond is a first-class diva. Just tell your producer she changed her mind at the last minute.”

“No! Haven’t you been listening? I can’t do that. Noelle is due in from L.A. tomorrow morning and she called and told me how excited her boss is to see my segment. I can’t blow this, Kendra. My career depends on it.”