Famous (13 page)

Starr
November 7@8:00 p.m. | Mood: Confused

Two
days had gone by since Starr had spoken to Marisol, and vice versa. Even though they still met in the visitors' parking lot in the morning, still ate lunch together and still met up at the lockers after school before they went their separate ways, Starr and Marisol pretended the other was invisible. It was far from their first tiff, and it wouldn't be their last.

Starr believed that Marisol would even show up to their final Go Gettas practice before the talent show. Video dancer or not, Marisol knew that when Starr set her mind to something, she was 'bout her bizness. The Go Gettas were going to be huge…and Marisol didn't want to miss out on that.

Humph, she ain't crazy,
Starr thought,
is she?

Sighing, Starr reached in her crocodile satchel for her iPhone as she climbed out of the back of her chauffeur-driven Bentley, one of two cars at her disposal.

“An email,” she said, pausing outside the door of the Huntington Inn on Mills Road in Bernardsville.

 

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

RE: Re: Picking your brain

 

The domain registration for the site is private, so the info provided makes sure the true identity of the owner is protected. Trying some other things. Will get back with you soon.

 

Starr nodded as she slid the phone back inside her satchel.
Coming for you, Diva of Dumb,
she thought as she pulled the door open and walked inside the restaurant.

Her eyes panned the restaurant as she looked over the hostess's shoulder. Jordan looked up, spotted her and stood up with his pretty-boy swagger in his dark brown blazer, brown silk shirt and dark rinse denims. His diamond stud and chain glistened under the subtle lighting of the restaurant. He was definitely trying to get his grown man look on.

“Jordan Jackson, please,” she said, smoothing her hands over her hips in her sweater dress.

Her eyes were on him as she was led to his table. He stood up when she reached the table and came around to pull out her chair to be seated.

“I'm surprised you came,” he said.

“Why? We're two friends getting something to eat,” she said, even as her heart beat like crazy.

“Man, come on, Starr. It's more than that,” he said, reaching across the table to touch her hand.

“Jordan,” she began.

“Starr, you have to give me a chance and stop thinking the worst about being my girl,” he said, folding his arms on the table and leaning in to look at her.

“Straight up, Jordan, I'm not having sex.”

Jordan threw his hands up, drawing the curious stares of several diners. “I didn't ask you to.”

“In time you would have,” she said, sitting back to cross her slender arms over her chest as she crossed her legs.

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“Once you taste the goodies, there's no going back.”

Jordan took a sip of his ice water, looking at her over the rim of the glass. “Are you trying to ask me if I've had sex?”

Starr snorted. “Are you trying to convince me you haven't?” she countered.

“I'm trying to figure out why you're acting like you don't like me like that.”

Starr sighed as she picked up the leather-bound menu. “I do like you, Jordan,” she admitted, using the menu to hide the warmth filling her cheeks.

He reached over to lower the menu. “I like you, too, Starr,” he said.

She looked away to avoid the truth of his words in his eyes. “I want sushi,” she said.

Jordan nodded his head and picked up his own menu. “Nah, I don't do sushi. I want a steak,” he said, looking down at the menu.

Starr allowed her eyes to roam over his face. When Jordan had texted her that he wanted to go eat and talk, Starr was not going to show. Her daddy had talked to her about little boys and the things they want from little girls—if they let them.

Starr wasn't letting anybody do anything. Her mother taught her about the importance of a girl maintaining her reputation. She remembered the conversation well. “Once a woman gets a reputation for being a ho, you can never change it. That is how people always view her, regardless of whether she's no longer promiscuous. It's not fair in life, but lots of things aren't fair. Always remember that as a woman your reputation is everything,” her mother had said.

The pitfalls of having sex had been clearly imparted by her parents. She couldn't—and wouldn't—forget it. Jordan was moving in a faster, more experienced lane than she was and although Starr liked him she didn't want to tempt fate.

“Are we cool?” Jordan asked.

Starr nodded, quickly shifting her eyes from his face. “We're cool, but we're just friends,” she stressed.

“If that's all you have for me then I'll take it,” he said with a big smile.

“Trust and believe that's all I have for you,” Starr reassured him with a serious expression.

Jordan reached across the table and captured her hand again. “But I'm not giving up on us,” he promised, tilting his head to the side to charm her with his eyes.

Starr couldn't break their gaze and she couldn't stop her heart from being happy that he wasn't going to give up.

 

As soon as Starr walked into the house, she kicked off her shoes. Picking them up in her hand, she padded barefoot to the elevator and rode down to the basement. Both her parents' cars were in the garage, and she knew they were in the studio.

Sure enough, she found them there. Her mom was in the recording booth and Dad was controlling the digital equipment. She stood in the doorway and watched them. Her father's eyes were locked on her mom as Sasha held the earphones and closed her eyes and sang.

She entered the room and took the stool next to her father. “She looks so happy,” Starr said softly.

“Your mother lives for her music,” Cole said, adjusting sound levels.

“But won't it take her away from home?” Starr asked.

Cole turned and leaned back in the chair, eyeing her through his ever-present shades. “You think your mama's going to put her career before her children?” he asked.

Yes.
“Daddy, I'm old enough to remember Mama being on tour for most of the year,” she reminded him.

“Why do you think your mama is a singer?” he asked, still watching her as the sounds of her mother singing a ballad filled the air.

“For fame,” she said.

Cole shook his head.

“No, she does it because she loves to write and produce music, she feels alive performing onstage, and she loves to hear from fans about them connecting with something emotional in her music,” he explained. “The fame, bright lights and money come after that, not because of it.”

Starr shifted her eyes to her mother. “So you should do what you love first,” she said.

Sasha ended the song and removed her headphones to walk out of the booth. She walked over and hugged Starr to her side. “How's my baby girl?”

“Sad because you'll be touring a lot,” Starr said, hugging her back.

“Awww,” Sasha said playfully.

“Okay, Sasha, let's listen to the playback,” Cole said, reaching for the console button, his huge diamond ring blindingly bright as it caught the light.

“Take it from the top?” Sasha asked.

Cole looked over at her, his hand shifting a bit as he nodded and hit the buttons.

Starr's eyes widened as Fiyah's track for the slow jam filled the air. She stepped forward to hit the playback music. “That's not—”

Cole knocked her hand away. “I like the track,” he said.

Suddenly Starr's voice filled the air. She was nervous. She didn't want her parents to find out about her musical aspirations like that.

Cole and Sasha frowned deeply.

Starr buried her face in her hands.

“Who in the tone-deaf hell is that?” he asked.

Starr gasped as she looked at him aghast. “Daddy,” she whined, swatting his shoulder.

He looked over his shoulder at her before he turned the track off. “What?” he asked, seemingly lost.

“You don't like my singing, Daddy?” Starr asked.

Cole slumped back in his chair and lifted his shades to look at his daughter. “Huh?” he asked.

Sasha grabbed Starr's shoulders and turned her toward her. “What's going on?” she asked.

Starr felt like her stomach was on fire. She was hurt and embarrassed to have her father co-sign Marisol's take on her singing.
I can't sing.

She explained her plans for the Go Gettas group—all of it, the team, the talent show, the demo, everything.

“Well, you've been mighty busy, Starr,” her mother said, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned over to eye her husband. (Translation: Say or do something.)

Cole released a heavy sigh as he leaned forward and patted the empty leather stool next to him. “Come on, baby girl, let's talk.”

“About what, Daddy?” she asked in her best princess voice, which usually got her whatever she wanted.

“About your skills, which are better suited to management than performing,” he began lightly.

Dionne
November 7@8:15 p.m. | Mood: Pampered

“All
done.”

Dionne was spun around in the chair by the makeup artist. She clapped, turning this way and that, as she studied her face. For the first shots of the hip-hop kids' magazine layout, her makeup had been light, airy and fresh to go with the candy-store backdrop in the photos. Now her makeup was just a little edgier to match the Mohawk they had shaped her hair and the black leather outfit she wore. She called it tougher than leather, but prettier than ever.

“I love it,” she sighed with a big toothy grin.

She turned in her chair, looking past the photographer, stylist and makeup people milling around the studio to look for her dad and Hassan.

Dionne was superexcited that her mom and dad had given her permission to invite Hassan to attend the shoot. She hated excluding him from this part of her life and saw the photo shoot as a chance to let him know that she wanted him in her world or at least a part of it.

She smiled seeing him talk to her parents.
Hassan looks
so cute,
she thought,
in his long-sleeved V-neck shirt and cargo khakis that match his Timberlands. Swag on ten.

Awwww, I heart him,
she thought, feeling her heart swell with first-love emotions.

He wasn't nervous around her dad since Hassan knew her father from before he was the Don. And they knew him. He'd been her friend since their days at South 17th Street Elementary School.

The photography assistant motioned for Dionne and her father. She gave Hassan a smile and he raised his phone to snap a shot of her as they positioned her beside her dad in front of a white backdrop.

As soon as the flash went off, Dionne locked in on the lens, remembering everything she'd learned from Tyra Banks on
America's Next Top Model.

All about the eyes.

“Good. Good,” said the photographer, a tall, skinny guy, who looked like an animated bobblehead doll.

Dionne didn't turn it off until the photographer yelled, “That's a wrap.”

“Had fun?” Lahron asked, sliding his shades up onto his face as an assistant helped Dionne into a robe and handed her a bottle of water.

“Yes, Daddy. It was so much fun,” she said, her heart still racing.

Truly, she hated for it to end…especially since Candylixxxious was nowhere in sight. Some other rapper needed her services down in Miami for a video shoot.
Bye bye, boo, be gone.

Dionne made her way to the dressing room to change
back into her clothes. “I'm keeping the hair and makeup,” she said, loving the slightly edgier look.

As soon as she was done, she made her way back to her father and Hassan. “Let's roll,” she told them, two-stepping and snapping her fingers.

Mindy, her dad's personal assistant, handed him one of his phones. As they left the building, Dionne and Hassan walked ahead.

“Thanks for asking if I could come,” Hassan said.

“Can you believe all the rappers we saw?” she said.

“I hated to be a fan, but I got a few autographs,” he said with a shrug.

“That's cool.”

Hassan shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. “You ever felt like you went from watching rich kids on TV to being one?”

“Sometimes the change is a lot to swallow, but mostly it's fun,” she told him truthfully.

“Since you're moving, you think any part of Newark is gonna fit into your life anymore?”

Dionne looked up at him, and felt like the question really was, “Will I fit into your life anymore?”

“I'm not turning my back on my hometown or my homeboy,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Your homeboy,” Hassan balked, glancing at her.

She playfully punched his shoulder as she circled him with a homeboy stroll. “Yo, yo, you, whaddit do, son?” she asked, with a heavy New York accent.

Hassan laughed, smiling as they reached the outside. Her
father's Denali awaited them and they all climbed in, while her father continued talking on his phone.

“I don't know what I would do if my dad went from being a garbage man to a rich and famous anything,” Hassan said.

Bzzz.

Dionne pulled out her BlackBerry.

 

Where are you?

 

“Who's that, your other homeboy?” Hassan asked, lightly tapping her thigh with his fist.

“No, my home girl,” she said, her deep purple nails flying away.

 

On the way from photo shoot.

 

“You still in the middle of your two friends?” he asked.

“Yes, and it's crazy. In Newark when you're mad at somebody you're mad, and you give each other fifty feet or better,” Dionne said, tapping her BlackBerry against her leg as she awaited Starr's response. “But these two chicks just ignore each other. I'm sitting there having two different conversations sometimes.” Hassan laughed.

“And then on top of it, Marisol quit the Go Gettas. Starr can't sing, and I still haven't finished my rap,” she said.

Hassan frowned. “Do you really want to be in the group?” he asked, making a face.

Dionne sat back. “I did at first, before all the drama. But now…”

With all of her free time spent with Hassan, and even though she knew she had to go another round with the sixteen bars, her motivation was gone. Without Marisol, the Go Gettas were just weird and awkward.

“To be honest, the thought of performing at the talent shows makes me feel sick,” she admitted.

“Then drop out until y'all get everything straight.”

Her dad turned around in his seat and eyed her through his shades. “A part of being a good friend is telling them when they're wrong and when they're right. You have to tackle the good times and the bad,” he said.

“Tell Starr she can't sing?” she asked.

“Better you tell her than everybody at the talent show throwing tomatoes,” her father said.

“That would be mad crazy,” Hassan added.

“A real friend wouldn't let her get embarrassed like that.”

“But Marisol told her and she didn't believe it,” Dionne insisted.

“Wow,” Hassan said, covering his mouth and trying not to laugh.

Dionne shook her head.

“Honesty is the best policy, ya hear me?” Dionne's father said, shaking his wrist to ease his diamond watch down to his wrist.

Her life reminded her of the end of every episode of
Sesame Street.
The word for today was
honesty.

She thought about all the lies she'd told and even more lies
that she told to cover herself. The hole was getting deeper and deeper and she felt like it was going to be harder and harder to get out.