Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva (7 page)

“No, as usual I’m callin’ it the way it is. And I’ll tell you what’s befuddlin’
.
You-all building a core black viewership off of fifteen years of
my
blood, sweat, and tears, and a
grip
off of pornographic ads showin’ black chicks caressing detergent like it was a dick, about to have an orgasm—”

“Ohmygawd!” Felicia gasped.

“—and now you’re ready to cut
me
a deal worth forty acres and recurring? Sorry, ain’t gonna happen ’cause Calysta don’t
coon
.”

“That
word
. . . did you hear what she said, Edith?” Felicia asked in tears. “Do something!”

“Calysta, you’re making chicken salad out of chicken fingers—I mean, feathers,” Edith scoffed.

“Guess I should be flattered you tried incorporating another one of my rewrites from last week’s show into your everyday conversation.”

Flushed, Edith flexed her jaw.

“Augustus created a monster in you,” sighed Randall. “When I think of all the times I defended you when others wanted you out.”

“That’s rich. Randall, my knight in shining snakeskin.”

I couldn’t help but stare at his new wiry hair plugs. It was rumored his last transplant was monkey hair and had to be removed following a severe allergic reaction. These were no better.

I began laughing hysterically at the craziness of caring too damn much.

“This is no laughing matter,” Edith coldly interjected. “And the network doesn’t share your sense of humor about the situation.”

“I’d like to know what Augustus has to say about all this,” I stated with a stone-cold straight face.

“He can’t help you this time, Calysta,” Randall warned. “Auggie’s health is in a precarious state. He’s in no position to make decisions about his soaps.”

“He’s still senior executive producer and head writer,” I reminded them.

“In name only,” Randall declared. “Augustus coming back to write your storyline this past year was basically his swan song. Pity it didn’t win you the Sudsy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it breaks your heart.”

“You’ll be hearing about this soon enough, so I might as well tell you now,” he began.

“Hear about what?”

“Augustus signed over control to Auggie Jr. and Veronica, naturally Katherine—”

“Ah,” Edith interrupted, “what Randall is trying to say is that he’ll have creative control of
The Rich and the Ruthless
. . . eventually.”

A terrifying sense of disbelief washed over me.

“Poor Auggie,” Randall continued. “He just isn’t the man he once was. It’s really sad.”

“I’ll tell you what’s sad: that a shameless, bottom-feeding imposter like you has somehow managed to snow the Barringer family into believing you’re a competent producer. And let me just say this: no matter how sick Augustus Barringer may be, he will always be ten times the man you wish you were.”

“Think whatever you want, Calysta,” he replied carefully. “It won’t change the fact that it’s only a matter of time before I have final say over who’s under contract on
The Rich and the Ruthless
. I support the network’s decision to terminate yours
one hundred percent
.”

Augustus couldn’t know about this. Even on his deathbed he never would’ve tolerated my being treated this way.

“We’d love to have you make the occasional guest appearance, on a recurring basis, but that of course is entirely up to you,” Edith suggested.

“How generous,” I mocked. “What? Unwrap Ruby Stargazer like a holiday ornament for Christmas episodes and Sweeps stunts to counsel her rapidly aging daughter about her sexually transmitted diseases? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Since you asked,” Felicia spoke up, “the plan is to introduce a younger generation of characters through Ruby.”

“Let me guess, using the old
growth serum
again?”

“We’re aging Jade to twenty-one.”

“And you wonder why soaps are the laughingstock of the entertainment industry? You people are certifiable!”

“I don’t think
you,
of all people, want to go there,” Felicia said.

“You know what . . . ?” I stood up, pushing the swivel chair out from under me, moving around the table in her direction.

Randall stepped in between us, a nefarious grin spreading across his splotchy face, knowing he had me where he wanted me.

“Calysta, have a seat.” We stared each other down until his cell phone vibrated. “Excuse me, everyone, I have to take this call,” he said, slithering to a corner.

Omni-eyed, I took in the assembled player haters and said, “To hell with this—I’m out.” Snatching up my metallic Miu Miu handbag, I headed for the door.

As I was about to walk out Daniel Needleman asked, “Ms. Jeffries, what are you going to tell the media? The show would appreciate the courtesy of having time to prepare a brief statement.”

“You mean like the courtesy I’ve been extended here today? Be sure to check out the next issue of
Cliffhanger Weekly
. It’ll be a page-turner.”

“Calysta, be reasonable,” Edith implored. “Don’t continue on this whole ‘unfair practice’ bandwagon regarding the Sudsy Award voting and all the other things. It makes you look bitter. The voting procedures for all the WBC daytime programs are scrupulous. Evidently the majority of the voters simply didn’t feel your performance was worthy of a
Sudsy this year, or for the past fourteen for that matter. I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

“Of course not.”

“And I’m sorry you spent your own money on hats and gloves and nonsense like that thinking the fans cared about what you wore on the show. We told you from the beginning they’re not interested in your fashion eccentricities. Besides, hats are old-fashioned. As for hair and makeup, the soap offered you a trunk of wigs in various styles and colors; however, you made the decision to go gawd knows where to have some kind of
process
done at your own expense.”

“For your information, Edith, the fans
do
care, and since we’re listing, I suppose I shouldn’t take it personal that you’ve never sent me on a location shoot.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she countered.

“Yeah you do.”

“Location shoots are based upon storyline and the demographic we are desperately seeking, especially in this uncertain financial climate.”

This was Edith’s way of saying the show was promoting the white actors. While the soap’s
brass plumped up their Nielsen and Madison Avenue ratings on the backs of black households, black soap stars were oh-so-underpaid, rarely benefiting from the audience they pulled in and secured. Yep,
R&R
mined
for gold and stole it in plain sight but couldn’t
mine
me. Not for sale.

“I’m sorry if you feel you were slighted, Calysta,” Edith added.

“Next you’re gonna ask why can’t I be more like Dell? In an apron, never speakin’ out, ending up with a broken spirit. Or like Jade. Sorry, ‘tragic mulatto’ just isn’t a role you’ll
ever
get to see me play.”

“You’re off topic again,” Felicia taunted.

“Yes, Calysta, let’s stay focused. To suggest that your ethnic background or anyone else’s has influenced the roles or tenure on our soap is ridiculous. The WBC and
The Rich and the Ruthless
have always been
strong supporters of fairness and diversity. Alluding to a disparity based upon race at the WBC is categorically untrue. I must insist you refrain from making such libelous statements or our legal department will be forced to take necessary action,” a steely Edith warned.

“You can’t expect me to buy into this bull any more than your using intimidation will keep me quiet.”

“Let’s get back on track to why we called this meeting in the first place, shall we?” chimed in Randall. “Sorry for the interruption, my friend’s running a workshop at Sundance and needed some advice.”

“We’ll need your decision, Calysta, in the next twenty-four hours,” Edith said.

“You must be half crazy if you think for one second that after all these years on this soap, I’d accept recurring. Furthermore, there’s no way in hell I’d play a supporting role to that valley girl Jade and a bunch of models learning how to act on my watch.”

“Pick your poison,” Randall said. “As Edith stated earlier, whether or not you choose to accept the terms we’ve offered is entirely up to you.”

“That’s right, if you decide not to accept recurring, there will be no turning back,” Edith finished.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“If I could just put in my two cents?” the publicist nervously interjected, turning to Edith and Randall. “The fans would never accept a recast of Ruby Stargazer. They just wouldn’t.”

“You know, for the first time since this meeting got started someone has actually said something that makes some sense. It’s about more than recasting another dispensable tanned actress in Hollywood. And speaking of tanned, I know you-all darken and lighten my skin in postproduction to satisfy advertisers.”

“That’s preposterous,” Edith said.

“There she goes again.” Randall yawned.

“Save it. If you’d cast a black family, y’all wouldn’t have to do it on the cheap, using me like your own digitally correct Paint-By-Numbers kit.
Just hire some chocolate up in here and stop the madness! And Daniel’s right, if you recast Ruby Stargazer, fans
will
turn the dial, and you can take that to the bank.”

“That’s precisely why if you don’t accept the offer we’ve generously presented, we’ll have no choice but to kill Ruby off,” Randall said.

Looking through each of them as if they were glass, I retorted, “Please, not even the people in this room are
that
crazy. You haven’t recovered from the one million viewers you lost after Derrick Taylor left the show for
Pathological Murders
. Without Ruby Stargazer the soap dies a slow death. Now
you
pick your poison.”

“My, you do think highly of yourself, don’t you?” Edith asked, rising, plucking her tortoiseshell glasses off the tip of her nose, using her Betsey Johnson skirt to polish off a smudge. She walked over to face me with her pinched expression and beady eyes.

I couldn’t help but think, if only Nigel Cooperman, Edith Norman’s predecessor, hadn’t left. He had loved me from the start, even writing up a secret holding deal to ensure I stayed with the network. Sadly, he and his family suffered great damage to their Brentwood home in the 6.7 magnitude of the ’94 earthquake, his wife becoming so distraught they quickly moved cross-country to New York, where Nigel now helmed
Sesame Street
.

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Edith warned me. “As talented and popular as you may be, you’ve made it hard at times for me to remember why I let Augustus hire you in the first place. Your costars and even some of the crew hate working with you.”

“Could it be because I don’t take crap off lazy dumbbells?”

Ignoring me, she continued, “I have in my hand a short list of actors and three crew members who signed a petition to have you removed from the show
before
the Sudsy Awards. Even Ethan Walker signed it.”

“So?” I said, rolling my eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“So, on top of that, you show an alarming disregard for authority. As I said before, we’ll need a decision in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, you can have it now.”

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it?” Daniel suggested.

“Go polish some more apples, Danny. What’s there to think about? Kill Ruby Stargazer off; I quit,” I declared, tossing my script on the table before walking out.

“Good-bye, Ms. Jeffries,” Fern called after me.

“It’s never good-bye, Fern, just so long. And tell your bowling league and your aunt in Iowa hello from Ruby Stargazer.”

“Oh, I most certainly will,” Fern exclaimed. “They’ll be so thrilled!”

Edith, Randall, Felicia, and Daniel peeked out, taking in the exchange along with the rest of the staff.

“Fabulous,” I said with a granite smile, extracting mirrored shades from my purse. “Oh, and Fern, after you’ve told them Ruby Stargazer said hello . . .”

“Yes, Ms. Jeffries?”

“Tell ’em your bitch of a boss smoked her.”

T
here’s no way in hell I’m going back, Weezi, and that’s final!” I was having a full-blown indulge-a-thon, slumped on my down-feathered sofa, eating pecan and praline ice cream while glued to a Claudette Colbert marathon on Turner Classic Movies. Hadn’t moved from that spot since truckin’ home from the WBC studios eight hours earlier.

“You don’t have a choice,” Weezi explained over the phone. “You
must
tape your final scenes or you’re gonna be in a world of
trouble.”

“What kind of trouble? They’re the ones who pushed
me
off the show. They wanna dump me off a boat somewhere off the coast of guess where?”

“Where?”

“Africa! How lame is that? Those racist slimeballs. Why should I go back and help them destroy my character?”

“Because you’re still under contract, that’s why, and the last thing we both want is for you to be back on your rump in an infomercial demonstrating at three a.m. how to tighten your maximus, minimus, and medius using the Butt-Blaster: Firm the Flab
Forever gizmo. If you don’t go back it’ll kill your chances of booking another soap. Plus the show could sue you for breach of contract.”

“This is really rich,” I began, knowing Weezi’s objective was to keep me where I was, his sole meal ticket paying him nine thousand dollars a month in commissions. “Edith and her gang can shake me quicker than a bad habit, but you can’t shake them for nothin’. What’s wrong? Afraid to rock the boat for fear you’ll lose your gravy train?”

“C’mon, Calysta, don’t talk like that, look how far we’ve come together. You know I’d do anything for you. Think about your future. You can handle one more week of those nitwits with your eyes closed. Hell, you’ve been doing it for fifteen years, what’s one more week?”

“Why don’t you come down to the set and find out,” I snapped.