GHETTO SUPERSTAR (13 page)

Viola was up with her girls for the moral support. She
was torn that she would not be able to go with Fabiola to the lunch date with Johnny Wiz. She had signed up last month to work some overtime at her job at the cookie plant, and it was too late to find someone to fill in for her. It was mandatory that Viola go to work or she would be fired.

“Besides, Ma, it's only lunch,” Fabiola tried to assure her mother.

“Oh, it's lunch all right,” Viola started. “Just probably the biggest lunch of your life. I don't care what you say, my gut tells me that I need to be there with you.” Viola didn't downplay the significance of the moment one bit. “And don't order any shellfish; you know it sometimes makes you break out. Maybe they won't fire me if I take the write-up?”

“Mommy, you know good and well some of them folks at your job are already jealous of you and we ain't really made it yet,” Fabiola warned. “Them ole hags can't wait to find a reason to get you ghost.”

“Mommy, Fab will be fine,” Adora interjected. “It's only lunch, and Lord knows she knows how to eat. You taught us proper table etiquette since before we even went to kindergarten. She's going to be on her best behavior, and thanks to me she'll look the part … fabulous Fab.”

“Besides,” Fabiola jumped back in, “you'll be at the showcase tonight, won't you?”

“I wouldn't miss that for all the overtime in the world,” her mother assured her.

“For Christ's sake, Mommy, as soon as Johnny saw the pictures of Fab, he had the company jet fueled up and made arrangements to fly to Richmond personally to meet little sis. If that ain't making an impression on a nigga, I don't know what is,” Adora said.

The girls put up such a great argument that Viola reluctantly
went against her better judgment to not be with her daughter at what could possibly be a life-changing lunch.

The lavishly decorated Omni Hotel was happy to host The Wizard Entertainment Group's showcase. They went beyond the call of duty to make it feel like a home away from home for everyone involved. With the tour buses parked outside of the hotel, it didn't take long for the cat to get out of the bag that The Wizard Entertainment Group was staying at the Omni, and as a result the lobby was flooded with aspiring singers, dancers, rappers, and, yes, the groupies, too. And of course The Wizard was booked in the Omni's presidential suite. Due to his prestige and need for privacy, he asked that the hotel provide a five-star lunch for him and Fabiola in his suite.

Fabiola was at the reception desk of the hotel at twelve-thirty sharp. The lunch wasn't scheduled to begin for another hour but Fabiola wasn't leaving any room for error.
Only one chance for a first impression
, and Momma always used one of those famous sayings:
To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, but to be late is to be forgotten. Never will I let something as little as time stand in between me and my career
.

“Welcome to the Omni Hotel, my name is Jenny. How may I help you?”

“Yes,” Fabiola said, “I'm here to see Johnny Wiz for lunch. Can you tell me what suite he's staying in?”

“We don't give out our guests' room numbers.” The desk clerk had been approached by young ladies trying to find out what room the music mogul was staying in all morning long.

“He's expecting me.”

The desk clerk looked skeptical, but said, “Okay then. Give me your name and I'll check to see if you're on his registry for approved guests.”

“Fabiola,” she said, “Fabiola Mays.”

The desk clerk's fingers danced on the keyboard of her computer for a fraction of a second and then stopped. After looking at something on the screen, the clerk tapped the keyboard a couple of more times. “Ms. Mays. Mr. Wiz is staying in our presidential suite. Here's the room number and a card to activate the elevator to go to that floor. Again, I'm sorry if I've caused you any inconvenience.”

Fabiola wanted to rub it in but thought better of it. Instead she said, “No, not at all. You've been nothing but helpful to me.” Once on the elevator, Fabiola looked around at the gold-tinted mirrored walls. The elevator carpet was thick and plush. The gold elevator buttons lit up like stars in the sky as jazz music serenaded Fabiola from what had to be the best sound system on any elevator in the world.

A girl could get used to this real quick
, Fabiola said to herself as she puckered her lips in the mirrored doors. She then turned from left to right, checking out her profile. She was satisfied with what she saw. By the time the elevator reached the top level, Fabiola felt good. She knew that she was going to produce results and she didn't even have Mommy by her side to guide her. Fabiola took a huge breath as she stepped out of the lift. She was about to knock on the door of the presidential suite but she heard what seemed like a heated conversation going on inside and didn't want to interrupt. Plus, she didn't want to mess up her lunch date by barging into the middle of the heated debate. So she took a seat on the suede day bench outside of the suite.

“Mother, I thought you are suppose to be with friends in Switzerland, enjoying yourself. You are not suppose to be worried about business.”

A voice over the speakerphone responded, “Son, you forgot I
am
the business. Your father and I built this company before you were ever even thought of.”

“Yes, I know, Mother, but I've been a part of this company since I was in your womb. So, literally, Mother, I was born into this. And I've watched and learned from every single business decision that has been made in the past thirty-five years.”

“Yes, and I've been running this company for over fifty years, and I still feel that some of the artists you are signing are nothing that I would have taken a second look at.”

“Yes, Mother, but this is a new day with new times and a lot has changed.”

“Whatever happened to wholesome girls with voices like Roberta Flack, Aretha Franklin? You sure haven't picked any of those lately. That mess you been choosing sounds like cows screaming. It's a mess!”

“Mother, what time is it anyway in Switzerland?” Johnny knew that there was no use in trying to win an argument with his mother.

After the voices died down, Fabiola waited for a few minutes before knocking on the door.

A butler wearing a uniform opened the door. “Right this way, Ms. Mays. Mr. Wiz awaits you.”

The butler took Fabiola's elbow, ushering her inside the suite. “May I take your coat?” Fabiola handed the butler her mink jacket.

She couldn't help but be impressed by Johnny and the way he went all out to make the lunch so special for her. “Mr. Wiz, I am Fabiola Mays. I admire your work, your company, and your overall vision. Been watching you on television for so long and it's such an honor to meet you.” Fabiola extended her hand out to him.

Instead of shaking her hand, he grabbed it and kissed it. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“This is really very extravagant,” Fabiola said to Johnny Wiz. “Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me.” Over in the corner, there was a man playing a soft song on a baby grand piano. Flowers were everywhere, perfuming the room, and lit white candles cast a luxurious glow. The whole setup was stunning.

“I am the president of the company, so my accommodations should be nothing less than presidential.” He flashed his pearly whites, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. By the look of the emptied glass and the half-empty bottle sitting on the table, Fabiola figured he probably already had a few drinks.

Fabiola could not believe that she was standing before the great Johnny Wiz himself. He was even more overwhelming in person. She had studied his interviews on every music and business network that had ever had him on. His personality always overflowed with cockiness and confidence as he discussed his company and the entire collection of platinum recording artists that he had under his umbrella. Fabiola took it all in. Johnny Wiz had light-reddish skin with a dusting of freckles around his nose. His body was as fit as a pro athlete, despite the rumors that circulated about him having had liposuction and numerous other forms of cosmetic surgery. His hair was sandy brown and was cut short. But his most striking feature was his gray catlike eyes; staring into them made Fabiola feel like he could read her mind.

Johnny knew he was being studied, but he was accustomed to it; he used the time to look Fabiola over. He'd seen a lot of beautiful women, but the pictures of Fabiola did her no justice—she was simply gorgeous. “You are even more stunning in person than you are in your photographs,” he said, putting his hand on her face.

“Thank you so much.” Fabiola closed her eyes for a split second. “But I am more than a pretty face, Mr. Wiz, I am the total package actually.”

He smiled and took another look at her. “You really are. You are beautiful and so very talented. Your voice is so old-school, but yet so fresh and new at the same time. I listened to your demo just about the entire way down here.” He nodded. “You are definitely what this industry needs.”

Yes!
She thought.
I'm in!
That compliment meant everything coming from the head honcho of the music game. It was the stamp of approval Fabiola had been waiting for.
Finally someone gets this!

“Thank you so much!” she said enthusiastically. “Would ya, would you,” she said, getting all tongue tied, “like to hear me sing in person? I would like to show that I am not just a studio singer. I can really sing.”

“You don't have to thank me, it's really the truth.” He smiled at her. “You are very marketable. And I like how we'd be able to change your looks. You could be very versatile. I see you being a trendsetter in the best way.”

“Thanks again. So let me sing for you …”

Fabiola launched into an old-school song—“Someone Like You” by Patti LaBelle—to let him see that her voice is something that his mother would definitely approve of.

“Bravo, Ms. Fabiola! Bravo!” He stood up to clap. “You are right: You are so much more than a pretty face, your voice is absolutely beautiful. It really is, but at the end of the day, you are what you are, a pretty face who happens to have a voice that can be reckoned with.”

“Thanks, Mr. Wiz. That means so much coming from you.”

“Well, The Wizard loves your voice, your look, your energy, and he possibly is going to sign you.”

“Oh my goodness. I want to scream.”

“Please don't.”

She laughed and he said, “So we must celebrate! Would you like a drink?”

“No, I don't drink,” she lied to him. She wasn't about to drink at a business lunch.

“Not even champagne or a shot of Hennessy, perhaps?”

“No thanks,” she said with a slight smile to let him know that she wasn't being rude. She was eager to get straight to the point. “There's a lot of things that I feel you all could do with me in regards to getting my career off the ground—of course
if
you decide to sign me.”

“Sweets, we work with the best of the best. We have the cream of the crop on board in terms of producers, songwriters, publicists, studios, A&Rs, and artist development teams—these people make up the machine that drives my company. We not only work with platinum-selling artists, we create them. Everyone on our label is a huge star and we have pop, rock, and rap icons on our roster. The Wizard settles for nothing less than the best.”

“Yes, I know this, and I didn't mean to offend you,” she said. “I've been studying this industry practically all my life,” she said.

Johnny put his hand on her face. “You know, you are so gorgeous that if you couldn't sing, I would probably make you my wife,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I didn't mean to digress from the topic. So, you say you've been studying the industry for a long time?”

“Yes, my sister jokes that I was only conceived to become a megastar.”

“Well, I'm not sure if you
really
know how this music thing works or not. I mean the books and the television specials can't always depict the way things really work.” He didn't give her a chance to respond. “I can take you to the top.” He pointed up
toward the ceiling. “I can make all your dreams come true. I can make you a rich woman with fame and fortune beyond your wildest imagination. But in return, what are you willing to give?”

“I am willing to give it all I got. I've already been doing a lot to get to this point. I've been taking voice lessons, every dance class you can think about. I work out seven days a week, eat the right foods. And I am willing to bring that same discipline to make the label happy.”

“All you got, huh?” Johnny sat down on the burgundy-, green-, and gold-striped couch and looked at her.

“If you sign me I promise you I will be the hardest-working singer you've ever seen come through the doors of The Wizard Group. I will sing my heart out. I don't use any drugs, I'm not caught up with any men, nothing. All I focus on is my singing and songwriting.”

“Good, because that's exactly what this industry is about: sacrifice. Sacrifice for all your dreams to become a reality.” He took down another double shot of Hennessy, and by the look of his bloodshot eyes she could tell that he didn't need any more.

Fabiola began to pour out her heart. “I am willing to sacrifice, for my dreams, my career, and a better life for me and my family.” Her voice betrayed a passion that seemed to come from her heart and soul, arousing Johnny Wiz even more than he had been when he saw her walk through the door.

“You are so beautiful.” He slurred and then he stroked himself through his pants. Fabiola was mortified—she didn't know what to do or say. So she pretended like she didn't see anything.

“You do something to me that I can't put my finger on,” he said in a seductive melody as he rolled his eyes in the back of his head and continued to stroke his bulge. All of his smoothness was going out of the window. He was losing cool points at a rocket-climbing rate, but still Fabiola kept her composure.

“You are in power now. At this very moment, you could make me do things that I'd be sorry for later. Write checks, sign you to a deal that my board members would question, make me promise ridiculous things that I would regret later.” He released his dick from the restriction of his pants; it stuck straight up in the air. “What are you willing to do? Are you going to execute your power?”