Authors: Nikki Carter

Doing My Own Thing (5 page)

BOOK: Doing My Own Thing

6.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads

“Y'all tell Truth, I'm gonna hurt him when I see him,” Aunt Charlie fusses.

“Auntie, I don't think Dreya would want you to do that. Is my mom coming home after work?”

“She says she is going on a date when she gets off.”

I choke on the piece of food that I just put into my mouth. My mother, on a date? My mother is still in love with Carlos.

“With . . . who?” I say between coughs.

“Some guy on her job that's been asking her for months. She finally decided to say yes.”

“But what about Carlos?”

Aunt Charlie shrugs. “I don't know. I think she got tired of waiting on him to come back. He's in New York with those cousins of his, and he ain't thinking about your mother enough to even keep in touch on a regular.”

Yeah, I don't understand why he can't keep in touch. After the threat Los Diablos put on Dilly's life, Bryce and LaKeisha have been laying pretty low. I guess now that the drama is at their doorstep, they're not trying to bring it as hard.

I wipe my greasy hands on a paper towel and toss the rest of my food into the trash bin. “You ready now, Sam?”

“Yes, let's go make some more paper.”

“That's what I'm talking about! Aunt Charlie, can you tell my mom that if I make it home before her, then we're gonna have some things to talk about in the morning?”

Aunt Charlie ignores my joke and starts tapping numbers on the phone again. She looks really worried, and it makes me second-guess my decision to tell her about Truth putting his hands on Dreya.

But Dreya is my cousin . . . and I love her.

So, even if she thinks she knows what's best for her, I know that Aunt Charlie is gonna make it do what it do. Then my work is done, and all is well.

Well, maybe not
all
will be well. I definitely don't think that everything will be cool with Truth after Aunt Charlie gets done.

“W
hat kind of sound are we giving Bethany?” Sam asks as he absentmindedly taps keys on his keyboard.

We're in the living room of his house, and we're the only ones here. His mom is working late, as usual, and no one lives here except the two of them. Must be nice. I remember how peaceful it used to be when it was just me and my mom.

The house stayed clean, the dishes stayed washed, when I put a bottle of juice in the refrigerator, it was there when I returned. Ahhh . . . the memories.

“I don't know. Bethany's voice is kind of gravelly and soulful,” I say, finally answering his question. “She's got a lot of power on her lower-register notes. A lot of girls aren't able to pull those off and keep their tonal quality.”

Sam chuckles. “I love it when you talk shop.”

I take a couch pillow and hurl it at him. “You know what I mean! She's got a good voice.”

“So, you thinking a white Alicia Keys?” Sam asks.

“Nah, I'm thinking a white Joss Stone.”

Sam cracks up laughing. “Sunday, Joss Stone is white!”

“You know what I mean!” I scream again. There are no other couch pillows to throw, so I just glare over at him.

“So we're talking soulful ballads, and mid-tempo stuff?” Sam asks.

“That sounds about right.”

“I can't believe we're really doing this. As down as you are for your cousin, and she was messing with your cousin's man. I mean, I thought that was against the rules.”

“You want me to be honest?” I ask.

Sam folds his arms and nods. “Yep. All the way.”

“Well, number one, I'm doing it because I said I would, and number two, she could be a platinum artist. You think I don't want to be on the ground floor of that?”

“Of course you do! You are Sunday âGot My Mind on My Money' Tolliver!” Sam exclaims.

“You say that like it's a bad thing. What's wrong with me trying to get mine?”

Sam shrugs, like he always does when he doesn't want to answer my questions. “I think I've got a track that'll work for Bethany.”

Sam presses a few buttons on his Yamaha keyboard and smooth-sounding music pours out of the speakers. It almost has a Latin feel with the hollow drumbeat and notes plucked on guitar strings instead of strummed.

“You did this?” I ask Sam. I'm totally impressed with his skills right now.

“Yeah, it's something I've been working on for a while. This new keyboard I got for graduation really has some nice effects.”

“It's kind of big, though! Are you gonna bring it with you on campus at Georgia Tech?”

Sam shifts on his stool and strokes the keys on the keyboard. “I might not be going to Georgia Tech.”

“For real? Well, where are you going?”

“Might not be going to college at all right now. Our music is really taking off, and I think it's about to blow up even further.”

My eyes widen. Sam and I have talked about college so much that this surprises me. Or maybe I've done all the talking and he's only listened. It's kind of hazy to me now.

“I still want to go to college. It'll just be after I ride out this ten or fifteen minutes of fame.”

“What makes you think we won't be in it longer than that?” I ask. “Look at Mystique and Zillionaire.”

“They're like special cases, Sunday. We've got a good five years to make as much paper as we can. Then we'll just be regular, you know?”

I consider Sam's ideas about fame. I think that people who aren't really talented end up falling off the map after a few hit records. But this doesn't apply to Sam! He's a great keyboard player and producer. And he plays the cello too! I mean seriously, he's a real musician. Not just some dude with a beat machine.

“I still think you should go to college. Not just for our education! Think of the fraternity parties, step shows, and football games.”

“I'll go to school in a few years.”

Sam's track continues to loop in the background of our conversation. It plays so many times that it's all up in my head. I feel a hook forming around notes and drums.

I sing, “Say that you will.... I need to know that you're gonna be here.... Say what you won't do.... You won't hurt me . . . and I'll never lose you.”

Sam beams a smile in my direction when I'm done. “How is it that you can write all these love songs, and you don't know anything about love?”

“You don't know what I know about!”

I'm offended that he would even say that to me. I'm even more irritated that he's right. But who says you have to know about love to write a love song? I know what I think love feels like, and I know I haven't felt anything close to what I'm imagining.

“Then tell me, Sunday. What do you know about love?” Sam's teasing voice makes me look at the tan berber carpet on the floor.

“Don't worry about what I know. You just keep the beats coming, and I'll keep writing the lyrics.”

“That's all I am to you?” Sam asks. “A dude with nice tracks?”

“You know I don't feel that way, but I really don't want to talk about love, you know? It's too much trouble. Let's keep the conversation light.”

“Gotcha! Sam and Sunday light!” Sam says in a tone that tells me he's a little bit irritated with me, but I'm irritated too, at the way he put our names together like that. Did he have to say, Sunday
and
Sam? It's almost like I'm talking to a brick wall with this dude!

I'm not trying to be wifed up! Dang!

Sam reaches out and flips the little bracelet on my wrist. It's the one he bought me, with the little
S
charm that dangles. He'd bought it for me when he was trying to be my boyfriend, and I wasn't ready. I wear the bracelet because it's cute, not because it means anything.

I finger the bracelet thoughtfully. “Do you want it back? If it bothers you for me to wear it, you know you can have it back, right?”

“I don't want it back. I gave it to you.”

Now, we're staring at one another. I'm not sure where the conversation is supposed to go next. I guess it's my turn to speak.

“So . . . demo for Bethany. Three songs. We'll give her hot stuff, and see what happens from there. It'll be about selling it to Epsilon, I think, since they're the only record company where we have real connections.”

“Bethany gets a record deal, and then what?”

I tap my chin until my thoughts become clear. “Then, we get paid to write the songs on her album, but this time we get royalties. No work-for-hire stuff like we did for Dreya.”

“Don't get mad at the work for hire,” Sam says. “It got us in the door.”

When we wrote the songs for Dreya's album, we made an agreement with Epsilon Records that was like a deal with the devil. We don't get any money in royalties, no matter how many records Dreya sells, nor do we get any additional money from the song we did on Mystique's record.

“I'm not mad about it, but we already took one loss. I'm definitely not trying to take another one.”

“Okay, so how are you going to explain it to Dreya?”

“I don't answer to her, and she's not my mother. I don't really care if she's angry or not, as long as I make money for my tuition. And that's for real.”

“Okay, then. Let's do the dang thang!” Sam exclaims.

I
t's quiet in our house for a change. Mom and I both sit on opposite sides of the couch reading. Normally, the TV would be on or Manny would be somewhere crying for some juice. But right now . . . total quiet. This . . . right here . . . love it!

“How was your date, Mom?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Mom looks up from her book and smiles. It's not that faraway smile she gets on her face when she sees or talks about Carlos, but it's a smile nonetheless. She hasn't been smiling a lot lately, so this is a good thing.

“He was nice. Just another letter carrier named Jimmy. I've known him for years.”

“Where'd y'all go?”

My mom laughs out loud. “You nosy!”

“I'm just trying to hold it down for my boy Carlos,” I say.

This makes my mother's smile twist into an irritated frown. “Yeah. I tried to hold out for Carlos too, but I'm lonely. He doesn't even call on a regular basis.”

“But Carlos loves you, Mom.”

“Yeah, well, I've heard a few things that don't sit right about Carlos. I think we might be better off without him.”

I kick both my feet out from under me, so I can stretch while I consider what my mother just laid on me. She's heard some things that didn't sit right about Carlos? This reminds me what Dilly said about Carlos not being on the up and up. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“What did you hear?” I ask.

“Nothing that I'm about to share with you, Sunday. You don't need to know about all that.”

“I do need to know. That's how I end up in the middle of stuff. That stuff that went down in New York was crazy, Mom.”

Mom nods sadly and stretches her legs out too. “It was crazy, and I wish that you hadn't been afraid to say something to me or at least Big D.”

Why does everyone expect me to know the right thing to do because I'm smart? I don't know everything! And while everybody is looking at this with their twenty/ twenty hindsight vision, wasn't none of them there with me thinking my mom and my little cousin could be hurt.

“I wish I had said something. Dilly hates me now.”

Mom inhales and sighs. “Can you blame him, Sunday? Even though I can't stand his chicken-head sister and wannabe gangsta brother, he seems like a nice boy. He didn't deserve to be wrapped up in that either.”

“I've tried to apologize to him, and he's not hearing it.”

There's a long pause before my mother replies. “Give him some time, and then apologize again.”

“And if he's still mad?” I ask.

“Do you care about being friends with him?” she asks.

I ponder this for a moment. I do like Dilly as a person, or I should say I
did
like him. Until the kidnapping attempt, he was funny and a blast to hang out with. Now, he just seems angry.

“I miss how he used to be. He was cool and talented,” I finally say after I gather my thoughts.

“Do you care about being friends with him?” My mom repeats.

“Yes. I think so.”

“Then you apologize again, and then again. Apologize until you're blue in the face, Sunday. You put that boy's life in danger, and I know you thought you were protecting me and Manny, but it doesn't change anything.”

A knot forms in my throat, which tells me that I'm on the verge of tears. I don't usually get all emotional about stuff my mom says, but she's coming with some real tough love right now. I do need to make Dilly understand that I never meant for him to get hurt, and about how sorry I am.

“Don't cry about it, Sunday. Just fix it.”

“That's easier said than done, Mom.”

“You'd be surprised at what a sincere apology can do.”

I spend a few minutes quietly reflecting on my mother's wisdom. It's not often that she drops knowledge on me, because I'm dang near the perfect kid. But when I do need it, my mama can bring it, know what I mean?

Then, like the hurricane that she is, Aunt Charlie bursts through the front door, wrecking our quiet flow.

“Sunday! You need to explain this right now!” Aunt Charlie screams at the top of her lungs while waving a
Variety
magazine in the air.

I lift an eyebrow, wondering what foolishness she's on now. “What are you talking about, Aunt Charlie?”

She pokes out her bony hip and flips to a page in the magazine. She flips the pages so hard that a few of them rip right out of the magazine and fall to the floor.

Aunt Charlie reads aloud, “Sunday Tolliver of Mystical Sounds just inked a deal with BET for a reality show based on the video shoot for her hit single, âCan U See Me.' The show will also follow Ms. Tolliver during her first days as a college freshman at Spelman College. Thugged-out Truth and ghetto-fabulous cousin Drama take a backseat to Sunday, but all three can be seen on
Backstage: The Epsilon Summer Tour,
airing on BET nine p.m. on Thursdays this fall.”

My mother bites her lip. Of course, she knows about the show. In fact, she's been bugging me to go ahead and tell Aunt Charlie to get it out of the way. But I've been stalling, because I knew this would happen.

“It sounds self-explanatory to me,” my mother says as she turns the page in her book.

Aunt Charlie narrows her eyes and growls. “Shawn! You're just as bad. I know you had something to do with this. She wouldn't have signed this deal without talking to you about it.”

Mom nods. “Yeah, I knew about it. So what?”

“So what? So
what
? Why wasn't Dreya a part of this, Sunday?”

I clear my throat, close my book, and place it on my lap. “BET wasn't interested in signing Dreya up for another season. The only reason she's going to be on the show at all is because I begged them to let her go to my video shoot in Barbados.”

“But why didn't they want her back?” Aunt Charlie asks. “She has got to be more interesting than your little corny behind.”

Now I feel myself getting extra heated, but I'm not about to disrespect my auntie. “I guess they thought corny was better than ghetto. They said I'm a more positive example for young people.”

“Where's that Big D? I know he had something to do with this. He's been trying to push my baby to the background since y'all went on tour.”

As I jump up from the couch, my book falls to the floor. “He has not! Dreya was the one on tour acting like some kind of diva from the hood! Plus, she didn't even graduate from high school!”

My mom interjects. “Charlie, I think you need to wait and see the reality show, before you question why they didn't want to fool with Dreya anymore.”

“You've seen it?” I ask. I didn't know my mom was cool with Big D all like that.

“I didn't watch all of the episodes, but from what I did see, Dreya was acting a fool, Charlie. I mean, she acts like she doesn't even want this music career. She acts like this record deal is not a gift.”

“A gift?” Aunt Charlie scoffs. “She's a gift to the record industry. Now y'all haters are trying to keep her down.”

My mother and I both give Aunt Charlie blank stares. Then we look at each other and burst into laughter. This, of course, enrages Aunt Charlie even further. She throws the
Variety
magazine at my mother.

“You betta slow your roll, Charlie. I ain't playing with you.”

I cover my mouth and giggle into my hand. I love when the big sister comes out, and my mother starts fussing at Aunt Charlie.

“Auntie, maybe if Dreya acts like she's got some sense when we go and do my video shoot, then they'll give her a show.”

“You need to talk to her,” my mom adds.

“My baby doesn't have to tone down who she is for anybody. And don't think she's gonna kiss your behind because of this video shoot.”

“Nobody thinks that, Aunt Charlie.”

Aunt Charlie's cell phone rings in her gigantic Baby Phat purse. “Dreya? . . . Where are you? . . . The emergency room! I'm gonna wring that little ropehead's neck.”

My mother stands to her feet and pulls her shoes on. “Mom, what are you doing?” I ask.

“Didn't you hear your Aunt Charlie? Dreya's in the hospital.”

Aunt Charlie holds the phone away from her face. “She said that she and Truth got into an argument and she fell running away from his car. Broke her ankle.”

I roll my eyes. Why are Truth and Dreya dead set on becoming the next Whitney and Bobby?

“Are you coming, Sunday?” Aunt Charlie asks when she presses End on the cell phone.

“No. I've got something else I need to do.”

I think my mom and auntie are capable of taking care of Dreya's goofy self and her unnecessary drama. Seeing her with a cast on her ankle because of an argument with Truth wouldn't make me feel anything close to sympathetic for her.

“Well, what are you about to do?” my mom asks.

“I'm going to talk to Dilly. I'm taking your advice.”

My mom beams a bright smile over in my direction. “Good. Real friends are worth it.”

“Dilly ain't her friend,” Aunt Charlie says. “He's just another groupie squirrel trying to get a nut and a record deal.”

My mom shakes her head and says to Aunt Charlie, “That's why I'm your only friend.”

BOOK: Doing My Own Thing

6.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads