On the Flip Side (14 page)

Read On the Flip Side Online

Authors: Nikki Carter

BOOK: On the Flip Side
6.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
21
I
t's hard for me to look at Dreya across the table. I feel like this perfectly browned turkey is the only thing that's keeping me from jumping on her and slapping her upside her head. Aunt Charlie keeps looking from me to Dreya as if she's trying to figure out the reason for the tension.
“So, how much was your check, Sunday?” Aunt Charlie asks. “Dreya is barely making minimum wage, according to her check. Seems to me like they're pimping y'all.”
My mother purposely didn't share the details of my royalty payment with Aunt Charlie. She knew that Aunt Charlie would spazz the heck out if she knew that I was a millionaire.
But right now, I don't care if my aunt gets angry. Dreya is coming at me like we don't have the same genes in our DNA.
“My check was almost two million dollars.”
I hear my mother drop a pan in the kitchen. The clanking on the floor isn't loud enough to make Aunt Charlie close her mouth, which is hanging wide open.
“Did you say million?” Manny says. “My cousin is balling! Did I ever tell you that you are my favorite cousin, Sunday? And ... did you know that I loooove Transformers? If you didn't buy my Christmas present yet, Optimus Prime is waiting for you at Toys R Us. He only costs like fifty dollars. But you've got a million, ka-jillion dollars so it's all good.”
Everyone stares at Manny like he's crazy. My mother brings in a pan of her famous macaroni and cheese and then she sits at the table. Everything smells and looks so good. Dressing, greens, candied yams, mashed potatoes. Delicious.
So tell me why both Aunt Charlie and Dreya look like they're about to be sick.
“Is Sam coming?” my mother asks. “I thought you said he would be here.”
“His mom is having a huge dinner. She's never been able to have her holiday dinner catered, but since he's a millionaire now too, she hired a lady at their church to make a feast for their entire family.”
My mom scoffs at this. “Really? I enjoy cooking for my family. Hiring a caterer seems like a waste of money to me.”
“I guess you can do that when you're a millionaire.”
I know I'm being a stinker, but I'm furious about what Mystique told me. I talked to Big D, and he confirmed the story. He said that Dreya was feeling desperate after she saw the negative light she was painted in on the first reality show. She thought that she was going to end up without a record deal.
I understand feeling threatened, but it doesn't explain her playing me out. I would never do that to her.
Aunt Charlie says to Dreya, “If Sunday's check is over a million dollars, then you need to get with somebody at Epsilon about the rest of your money. They didn't calculate something correctly.”
“Oh, it's correct,” I say. “Dreya didn't write one song lyric on her album. Didn't they tell you the songwriters and producers make more money than the artist? She could've contributed to writing, but she really doesn't have that talent. Then, she spent most of her money on stupid stuff, like getting her own apartment, just so she could have Truth come and go as he pleased. That's why she's got a minimum-wage check.”
Aunt Charlie's lips form a tight line. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
“Not at all. I don't have time to enjoy anyone else's sorrow. That's not how I roll, but it does prove something to me, though.”
“What's that?” Aunt Charlie asks.
“That karma is real. What goes around comes around. When you do dirt, you have to pay for it.”
My mother pinches my leg under the table. “Let's pray,” she says. “This is Thanksgiving, the time to give thanks for blessings.”
“Great and small,” I add.
My mother leads the prayer, but no one seems to be paying any attention to her. Dreya doesn't even bow her head, she just glares at me across the table. Aunt Charlie has angry tears streaming down her face.
But we all say “Amen” when the prayer is done.
“I'm surprised that Dreya is here with us for dinner,” I say. “Doesn't Evan have some huge Thanksgiving banquet planned? Weren't you invited?”
“I didn't want to go to his Thanksgiving dinner. I wanted to have some of Auntie Shawn's turkey and dressing,” Dreya says through clenched teeth.
“Why would she have Thanksgiving dinner with him? He's in New York City, and we're her family,” my mother says.
“Oh, I know we're her family,” I say, “but she doesn't really seem to care too much about family. Plus since she's going to New York to live with him, wouldn't that make Evan her family? Or do you have to get married for that?”
My mother slams her fork down on the table. “Sunday, what is wrong with you? You've been nothing but messy since you sat down at this table.”
“I'm sorry, Mommy. It's hard not to be messy when you're talking about Dreya.”
“What are you tripping on?” Dreya asks. “Oh, I know. You're mad about Mystique's little paternity issue. I don't know why everybody's all twisted about that. I think Mystique would make a good stepmother.”
I burst into fake laughter. “You think I care about Zac's random stray baby? I couldn't care less about that.”
“So what you tripping on, then?” Manny asks. “ 'Cause y'all ruining my dinner. Auntie, can I have some macaroni?”
“Yeah, what
are
you tripping on?” Dreya asks. “You need to get your head out of Mystique's behind.”
“Forget about Mystique for a minute,” I say, “and ask yourself what you've done to me. Think long and hard. If you go back far enough you'll figure it out.”
Aunt Charlie says, “Y'all need to stop all this bickering. You're cousins. Aren't you working on some new music for Dreya? Let's focus on that. We're still about getting this paper.”
“I agree,” my mother says. “Let's not bring up past hurts. That's not what God would have us to do.”
It's so funny how they're always trying to remind me that Dreya is my cousin when it's time to help
her
. No one ever tells Dreya to remember that I'm her cousin when she's making my life horrible.
“I don't know if I feel like working on Dreya's record. I don't feel inspired,” I say.
“You write songs for that conniving Bethany, but not your cousin?” Aunt Charlie asks. “You letting this little check go to your head, I see.”
“Ask Dreya what she did. Ask Dreya how she went to the heads of Epsilon Records and asked them to cancel my contract. Ask Dreya how she was so threatened by me, that she tried to ruin my shot.”
“What?” Aunt Charlie asks with a genuinely shocked expression on her face. I'm glad she's surprised, because I thought that she was in on Dreya's scheme. At least now I know that I don't have to be angry at my aunt too.
“So now you know,” Dreya says. “I knew you'd find out at some point.”
“Yeah, I know. And that was beyond foul.”
Dreya nods slowly as she chews a mouthful of food, and then swallows. “I was doing what I had to do.”
“Dreya, you apologize to your cousin right now,” Aunt Charlie says. “I didn't raise you to turn on your family.”
Dreya cracks up laughing. “Really? You're only saying that because Sunday has a million bucks.”
“Almost two million,” Manny says.
“Right, little brother, almost two million. And Mommy is greedy. So, she's making sure she stays in good with her rich niece,” Dreya says.
“You don't talk to me like that! I gave birth to your ungrateful tail,” Aunt Charlie says.
“Tell your mother sorry,” my mom says.
“Nah, Auntie Shawn. I'm not going to be able to do that, and I'm not apologizing to Sunday either.”
“You're not going to sit at my table and disrespect your mother, Dreya.”
Dreya stands up. “Then I'm out. Thanks for the grub, Auntie. I'll holla.”
Everyone sits in silence as Dreya storms out of the house and slams the door. Aunt Charlie has tears in her eyes, but I can't tell if they're angry tears or sad tears.
I put a forkful of food in my mouth. Cornbread dressing is my absolute favorite food, but it doesn't taste good right now.
“I cannot believe her,” my mother finally says. “I don't think I know that girl anymore.”
“I know what's wrong with her,” Manny says.
“What?” Aunt Charlie asks.
“She needs a whoopin'.”
Manny's right. Dreya does need to be punished. She needs to know what it feels like not to have me in her corner.
22
“S
unday, are you okay? You look stressed the heck out,” Dilly says as he turns some of the dials on Big D's sound board.
We're putting the finishing touches on Bethany's album, which is going to be released in the early spring. She's already laid down all of the main vocals and we're working on some backgrounds and ad-libs. Bethany is in the sound booth, so she can't hear my conversation with Dilly.
“
You
look stressed the heck out,” I say. “You and Bethany kiss and make up?”
He nods. “Yeah, I guess. It felt like she didn't really give me a choice.”
“Get the heck outta here. Everybody has a choice.”
“She's in my face all the time. When I get out of school, her car is parked out front. When I show up at the studio she's already here, or she shows up if I get here first.”
Not a good look for Bethany to be stalking a high school senior, even if he is as fly and as talented as Dilly. That's not cool at all.
Bethany speaks into the microphone. “How's my volume, baby?”
Dilly frowns and says, “It's cool.”
“See what I mean? She's tripping.” Dilly talks with his head to the floor so that Bethany can't read his lips.
“You want me to talk to her?”
“Only if it's gonna work. You sound like you're on a mission right now, though.”
I am on a mission, I suppose. I've got a lot of pent-up anger left from the Dreya Thanksgiving fiasco yesterday, so yeah, a mission would be somewhat appropriate.
“Where's Sam?” I ask. “I thought he was gonna come in to finish this up with us.”
“He is, I think,” Dilly says.
As if I thought him up, Sam bounds down the basement stairs. He waves at Bethany in the sound booth and then opens the door to the lab.
I scrunch my nose up immediately. Sam stinks like marijuana, and it's not just on his clothes. When he kisses me hello, I can smell it on his breath, and see it in his glassy eyes.
“What's going on, bro?” Sam says to Dilly. “I got some beats for you. Radio-type joints for your record.”
“That's what's up!” Dilly says happily.
When I don't join into the conversation, Sam looks back at me. I'm frowning with my arms crossed and hip stuck out to the side.
“What's wrong, baby?” Sam asks as he kisses my neck.
“Don't kiss me. You stink like weed.”
Dilly says, “She's in the mood for a fight today, I think. I'd leave her alone.”
“What's wrong, boo? You feeling hormonal or something?” Sam asks. He and Dilly burst into laughter as if there was some funny joke told.
There wasn't.
“Nothing is wrong with me, but something's wrong with you. When did you start using drugs, Sam? Seriously? You're about to be an episode of
Degrassi
on me? For real?”
Sam tries to hug me and I push him away. “Come on, Sunday. Weed is not drugs. You know that! It's just a mood enhancer. It's prescribed by doctors all the time.”
“It's prescribed for people with chronic pain, and terminally ill patients. Last time I checked, you don't fall into either of those categories, or is there something you're not telling me.”
Sam grins. “I am in chronic pain. I miss you so much when I'm in New York that my heart just hurts thinking about you.”
“Cut the games, Sam. I don't like the weed. Point-blank, period.”
Sam lets out a big sigh and shrugs. “Where are we on these ad-libs?”
“She's almost done,” Dilly replies, “but I think she wants to have Sunday do backgrounds on a couple of songs.”
“Okay. Sunday, you ready to get in the booth?”
I don't reply, I just walk out of the engineer room and slam the door. Bethany smiles at me as she opens the door to the sound booth.
We hear Sam's voice over the speaker, “Okay, ladies. Let's do a few riffs on ‘Visions of You
.
'”
This is one of my favorite tracks off of Bethany's album, although I do like most of them. Bethany's got a fun voice to write songs for. Her tones are deep and smooth and they wrap around the notes like shiny paper on a Christmas present.
“There are a couple of places on the bridge where you can harmonize,” Bethany says.
“There are some places in the second verse too. Why don't you let me handle the vocal arrangement? I did write the song.”
“Ex-cuuuuse me!” Bethany says. “It's not like I can't give my input. It is my project, isn't it?”
“Yep, but I know best when it comes to the music.”
I hear the music come through the earphones. I find every place where a harmony would work and I put it in.
When the song is over, Bethany asks, “Is your voice going to be on all those parts?”
“No, I just recorded all of them, but Sam will only keep the best ones. Why? You got a problem with my voice being on your record?”
“Not really. Just don't want it to sound like a Sunday Tolliver single, you know?”
I nod. “I feel you.”
“Do you think my record will do as good as yours did?”
I shake my head. “No. It'll do better. I'm probably going to make more money on your project than I did on mine.”
“Well, good. Because I'm probably going to need the money.”
I let out a little chuckle. “Why? You owe some gangsters or something?”
“No, but I think I'm pregnant.”
“Get the heck outta here! By who? Dilly?”
She nods and my mind reels. No wonder she's stalking him. She's carrying his child.
“Does he know?” I ask.
“No. I want to tell him, but he acts as if he doesn't care about me.”
“He's in the twelfth grade, Bethany. Maybe that's why he doesn't know how to handle being in a relationship. I can't believe you hooked up with him. He's too young.”
“Are you going to fuss at me, or are you going to help me find a solution?”
I don't know what to tell her. This totally sucks because her career is just starting and it's all about to be over for her, as soon as Epsilon finds out about the baby.
“You aren't going to tell anyone, are you, Sunday?” she asks.
“I want to tell Evan, but I won't. If he finds out, your record won't get released.”
“I know, but it's a long time until the spring. It'll be hard to hide this.”
“You won't be able to hide it.”
“But I don't have to keep this baby, Sunday. I haven't decided yet.”
I shake my head and drop the earphone.
“Are you kidding me, Bethany? Really?”
“Don't judge me, Sunday. I don't want a baby right now. Don't tell me you wouldn't be thinking about abortion if you were in my shoes.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I wouldn't. But then again, I'm not trying to get in that position.”
“Okay, Sunday. You're perfect. My bad.”
I leave Bethany standing in the sound booth. It seems like everybody is going crazy. Sam is smoking weed, Bethany and Dilly are about to be parents, and Dreya has taken her hateration to new levels.
Is this what fame and fortune does to people?
“Sunday, are you okay?” Dilly asks as I sit next to the soundboard looking angry.
“No. I am not okay.”
“I won't smoke weed anymore, Sunday, okay? I didn't know you'd get so twisted about it,” Sam says.
“Who are you? You get up to New York City with Zac and you start smoking weed?”
For a brief second I think of Sam's club situation with the ecstasy. Could he have taken it willingly? Aarrgh! Now I'm doubting everyone and everything.
“This has nothing to do with Zac,” Sam says. “I'm just living life.”
“Okay,” I say.
“So ... Sam,” Dilly says, “is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“Does Zac have a baby?”
Sam shrugs. “I have no idea. Me and Zac aren't really friends, so you know.”
Not really friends? Hmmm ... I'm not buying that. They go to the club together, but they're not friends? And why is Dilly worried about who does and who doesn't have a baby? He needs to figure out his own paternal status!
“Dilly, what would you do if you had a baby out here? Would you help raise it or would you be out?”
Dilly's eyes widen. “I don't want a baby right now. My sister and brother would probably help me take care of it, but I'm not ready to be a dad.”
His whole comment has me furious! I can't stand when boys get what they want, but when it's time to pay the piper (the figurative piper, not my homegirl Piper) they want to dip like they ain't have nothing to do with it.
“If you aren't ready to be a dad, then why you out here hooking up with no protection?”
Dilly shakes his head, and his face is bewildered. “Um ... come again. What are you talking about? I ... uh ... always use protection.”
“You didn't with Bethany.”
“What? Is that crazy chick saying I got her pregnant? She's tripping! I didn't get her pregnant.”
Bethany steps into the engineer area right as Dilly is throwing his tirade. “Do y'all need me for anything else, tonight?”
“Yeah,” Dilly says. “I need you to stop telling people that I got you pregnant.”
“Sunday!” Bethany cries.
I shrug nonchalantly. “It just came out. My bad.”
“Your bad? Wow. That's the last time I tell you anything in confidence.”
“If you are pregnant,” Dilly says, “that baby isn't mine. No way it could be mine.”
Bethany bursts into tears. “Dilly, I don't know why you're being so mean to me now. Just a few months ago, you were really feeling me.”
“You want to put this out there in front of Sunday and Sam? All right, then. I stopped liking you because you and your whole family are ghetto. And even though you got a record deal, you're still a groupie at heart. I saw you all over Zac once at the studio, like a stray cat that somebody gave some milk.”
OUCH! Dilly just nuked Bethany. I mean totally obliterated her. Her face is the color of a candied apple you get at the carnival.
Sam says, “Look, man, you ain't got to disrespect her all like that. That ain't cool.”
Dilly points in Bethany's direction. “Then tell this crazy chick to stop telling people she's pregnant by me!”
“You know what? I don't even care about what you say. You're gonna be looking stupid when I get that paternity test,” Bethany yells. Then, she storms out of the lab and up the stairs. We can hear her heavy footfalls (stomps) on each step.
“Look what you started!” Sam says to me.
“I didn't start a baby between Bethany and Dilly. They're the ones who did.”
“No, but you sure did start this evening's drama episode,” Dilly says. “Thank you.”
They are probably right. No ... they
are
correct. I did start this mess tonight. I feel like everyone's negativity is getting to me—becoming a part of me. And the real Sunday Tolliver is the most positive person you'd ever want to meet. Is this industry going to destroy who I really am? Or is this music business bringing out a side of me that I never knew existed?
Maybe I just need to get away. Or perhaps I need to go to one of my mother's “prayers of the righteous” all-night prayer vigils, because I sure could use a few miracles right now.

Other books

Fever by Swan, Joan
The Illuminati by Larry Burkett
A Pattern of Lies by Charles Todd
Desired by Morgan Rice
The Second Sister by Marie Bostwick
Blood Wounds by Susan Beth Pfeffer