Famous (16 page)

Marisol
November 26@2:00 p.m. | Mood: Grateful (& Relieved)

“You
got the part!”

Marisol smiled any time she thought about Eli screaming like a fool in her ear last night when he called her with the good news. “Now I just have to convince Mami and Papi.”

She knew that was going to be an uphill battle. They supported her love of dance, but their focus for her was—and always would be—education, education, education.

As she stepped out of her bathroom in her white terry-cloth robe, fresh from a shower, Marisol remembered how alive she'd felt during the audition, even though the dance studio had been filled with more than a hundred other dancers besides her. Eli and his partner had given them all intricate dance routines to learn in the blink of the eye and Marisol had never failed. Soon those who made the cut had dwindled and dwindled until there were ten, and then five, and then three.

And she got the part.

She danced around in her robe, throwing it up into the air to float above her for a second as she spun around.

She hadn't told a soul yet. But she knew because of her age she had to get her parents' approval. If not, whoever came in second would be in the video by default.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire…”

Marisol eyed her cell phone as the childish rant sounded in the air. The days of “there goes my baby” were long gone for Percy. Long gone.

She was sick of his excuses and not willing to listen to them. Marisol was determined not to be that chick who let a man run over her, lie to her, cheat on her and disrespect her. Nope, not gonna happen.

She massaged her body with lotion and pulled her curls back into a tight ponytail before she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, definitely against her forever-be-fabulous rule.

The task at hand was more important than wearing a thousand-dollar outfit. After pulling on a pair of loafers, she grabbed her big tote and left her room.

It was hard not to be taken in by the smells wafting through the house. The kitchen was alive with food and the usual smells of Thanksgiving dinner being prepared. Both her father's and mother's sides of the family always gathered at their home for huge family gatherings.

Marisol's mouth watered at the thought of all the traditional Spanish foods—ham, cheese, chorizo sausage, shepherd soup, seafood pasta salads, roasted pigs, lamb, rice, vegetables and a mixed green salad. And the desserts? Marisol sighed. For days after the holiday, the family would eat
abuela's mantecados
(crumb cake),
turrons
(almond candies) and
polvorones
(almond cookies).

Muy delicioso!

Marisol knocked on Carlos's door. “Let's go, Booger,” she loudly called to him outside his bedroom door.

Moments later it opened. A disgruntled and pouting Carlos stepped out into the hall as the sounds of family reached them from below. “I don't see why I have to go,” he said, clearly not in a good mood.

“Because we're all going, so get over it,” she told him, tugging on the bill of his ever-present baseball cap.

She frowned when she thought she'd heard him curse. She gave him a hard look as if she was his mother and not just his older sister.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo khakis as they descended the stairs.

Soon she would have another little brother or sister to keep in line as the oldest of the Rivera children. And the baby was really taking their mother through her paces.

Just a warning of what's to come,
Marisol thought as her mother and father stepped into the foyer, both dressed in jeans and sweaters.

“Sí,”
Marisol and her brother answered.

“Mami, we'll be back in a couple of hours,” Alex said in Spanish as he helped his wife into her coat.

Marisol was the first out the door, ready for Thanksgiving. The food and the family were great, but this day for her was all about showing just how thankful she was for a really good life.

Because of the holidays, the Rivera household staff was
off and so Alex had to park his own Land Rover in front of the mansion. He helped his wife into the passenger seat and their children climbed into the back.

“Daddy, do you remember the video I told you about?” she asked in rapid Spanish.

He eyed her in the rearview mirror. “No, Marisol.”

“But I auditioned with, like, a hundred girls and I got the part,” she said, proud of herself.

Yasmine turned in her seat to eye her. “You did?” she gasped in surprise.

“Must've not been much competition,” Carlos mumbled.

Marisol pinched his thigh.

“Ow!” he cried.

“Marisol!” her father snapped.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Yasmine was the one to give Carlos a disapproving look for his smart comment. She smiled when she focused on Marisol. “We need more information, and then your father and I will talk it over and get back to you.”

“Yasmine,” he said in warning.

Marisol watched as her mother reached her hand out to massage the back of her father's neck.

“I only said we would get more information and talk about it,” she said softly to him in Spanish. Very softly.

Marisol saw her father's shoulders relax a bit. That was just as good as a yes.

She danced on the inside.
Yahoooo!
she thought.

During their ride, she texted Starr, Dionne and Natalee to check in on everyone's holiday.

When she told them her plans for the day, Dionne commended her, Natalee admired her and Starr didn't understand her—at all.

Her friends made her smile. Starr was adjusting to Natalee being in their clique. Not adjusting well, but adjusting nonetheless. Natalee was just too fabulous for Starr to take at times. Effortlessly fabulous, which made it all the worse for Starr.

Thankfully the buzz about Natalee's performance during the talent show was dying down. Marisol giggled at how red Starr's face would get anytime someone gushed over Natalee in front of her.

“Seriously, what would you do if you saw Jesus?” she had snapped once.

Starr was such a diva.

Marisol shook her head as she remembered a surprise she had planned for Starr. In the days after her breakup with Percy, she had forgotten all about it. Nice little surprise for Thanksgiving, she thought.

“Where in the hello and goodbye are we?” Carlos roared loudly.

“Carlos!” both of her parents yelled.

Marisol eyed him, knowing he had gotten the play on words from her. The little monster had to be eavesdropping on her conversations.

She finally looked out the window and even though she was more prepared than her little brother, the sight of the line of people outside still made her nervous.

“A quien mucho se da, mucho se espera… A quien mucho se da, mucho se espera,”
Marisol repeated over and over as a
police officer and her parents' publicist, Sandy, waved him through the open gates of the parking lot.

“To whom much is given, much is expected,” Marisol repeated the quote in English.

She was just glad they were mindful enough to not show up at a homeless shelter in a five-thousand-dollar outfit. That woulda been
soooo
wrong on
soooo
many levels.

Serving food to the homeless on Thanksgiving was Marisol's idea. She was determined to use her father's fame to do good things. As soon as they walked into the building, Marisol reached in her tote bag for the envelope. There were media people present and other local celebrities participating in the event. Her parents' publicist stepped forward to introduce them to the executive director of the shelter.

“I have a donation for your shelter,” Marisol said as the woman shook her hand.

Sandy stepped forward, her smile white and brilliant against her smooth dark complexion. “A what?” she asked.

It wasn't about publicity. She focused her attention on the executive director. “My friends and I won a five-hundred-dollar prize at our school talent show. We're donating it to your shelter,” she said, pressing it into the woman's hand.

Sandy looked back and snapped her finger. “Get me one of the news reporters,” she said sharply before reaching out to pull the envelope out of the woman's grasp. “We'll get the donation on camera, if that's okay.”

Marisol frowned and quickly took the envelope back from Sandy and pressed it back into the executive director's hand. “It's not for publicity,” she said.

The executive director, a tall, broad woman with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper dreadlocks down her back, smiled and reached down to hug Marisol close. “You have a good spirit, child. God bless you,” she said softly.

Marisol was determined to see fame put to use for good.

And now that I learned the lesson, I won't ever forget it.

Starr
November 26@3:00 p.m. | Mood: Blessed

Starr
wandered around the massive great room with a small glass of warm apple cider. Nearly fifty or so people mingled about the areas of the space. Most were family, some were close friends, and some business associates. Nearly all of the TopStarr artists and their family were attending the Lester Thanksgiving of catered food from Butterfield's.

Except for Jordan.

Starr had to admit that it would have been nice to chill with him, but his family had traveled to Georgia for the holidays. She reached into the pocket of her BCBG, dark chocolate, strapless dress for her iPhone as she walked into the foyer and sat down on the stairs. She dialed Jordan's number.

“Excuse me.”

Starr was looking down. Her eyes shifted to the black Jordans in front of her feet and up the long legs and slender body to the face of the cutie smiling down at her.

“Hel—”

Starr ended the call even as Jordan said hello. “Hi, can I help you?” she asked, already rising to her feet.

In her heels the top of her head came just below his chin. The dark brown shirt he wore under a chocolate racing jacket perfectly matched her outfit. His cologne didn't over power her perfume.

Perfect height, she thought. Good style. She could do without the braids but this dude was a definite cutie—a younger version of that male model Keston Karter. He would easily make Top 5 of their Hot Boyz list.

“I'm looking for my sister Angie,” he said, his voice deep.

Her phone rang and she sent it to voice mail.

“Angie's right inside,” she said, pointing toward the entryway to the great room.

“Thanks,” he said, moving past her.

Starr's eyes followed him as he walked away with his bowlegged swagger, which kicked him up at least a notch or two or three. (Jordan was always her number one.)

Her phone vibrated in her hand. “Hey, Jordan,” she said, standing up to walk over to the entryway of the great room. Her eyes sought and found
The Cutie.
He was standing by his sister Angie by the fireplace.

“Miss me, huh?” Jordan asked.

The Cutie
looked up and caught Starr looking at him.
She quickly turned her back to him as her heart pounded like crazy.

“Starr?”

She shook her head to clear it. “Huh?”

“Miss me?” Jordan said again.

I was until…

“Excuse me again.”

Starr froze and sent her eyes heavenward, before she made her face blank and turned around to face the guy that could be her newest crush. “I'll call you back,” she said, ending the call with a press of her short neatly trimmed thumb.

Jordan? Forgotten, at least for now.

“Your dad asked for you,” he said, his voice so smooth.

“Okay.” Starr gave him her most flirty smile.
I'm available—not desperate. Interested—but not stalker-ish.

They walked into the room together.

“What's your name?” she asked, ignoring her vibrating phone as she slid it back into the pocket of her skirt.

“Karl with a
K,
” he said, extending his hand to her as they walked across the room.

“Nice jacket, Karl with a
K,
” she said, flirting hard. “I'm Starr.”

“I know,” he said, before easing away to reclaim his spot next to his sister.

Starr forced herself not to sneak another peek at him as
she came to stand in front of her father. She smiled politely at the man he was speaking to.

“Excuse me,” her father said, reaching out to place her hand around his arm.

“Attention, everyone. Attention,” Cole Lester yelled out.

Starr looked around at everyone, thoroughly confused. Her mother looked up from wiping one of the twins' mouth and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Just wanted to welcome a new member to the TopStarr Records family,” Cole said, as the maids began to hand everyone twenty-one and older a glass of champagne. Underage guests received glasses of sparkling cider.

Starr accepted her flute.

“Everyone raise your glass to congratulate my daughter for helping me discover a dope producer out of Atlanta and for selling her first song to TopStarr Productions,” he said.

Starr's eyes popped wide-open. “Really, Daddy?” she asked.

He nodded before taking a deep sip of his champagne as the room burst into applause and some whistles.

Starr hugged his neck, still careful not to spill anything on their clothes.

“How much money am I making?” she asked.

Everyone laughed.

Starr frowned. “No, I'm serious,” she continued.

Everyone laughed harder.

“That's my daughter,” Cole joked.

But I'm serious,
she thought as everyone came forward to congratulate her.

 

Later that night, stuffed from all of the food, Starr was lounging around her room weighing her old crush on Jordan and her newfound one for Karl. She definitely was going to find out more about Karl. The essentials: age, relationship status, car status, future goals. She'd definitely felt a vibe that he was interested, especially when he'd made sure to sit next to her during dinner.

It was one of the most nerve-racking meals as she tried to stay cute while eating Thanksgiving dinner.

She opened the file on her laptop for the Hot Boyz list.
Time for a new entry,
she thought.

 

 

Starr quickly uploaded the picture she'd sneaked of him with her camera phone and added it to his file. She had so much to fill all the girls in on: her possible new crush and her and Fiyah selling the song she wrote to his track. Life was pretty good even out of the spotlight. Songwriters made all the real money anyway, with less sweat than performers.

There was definitely more than one way to make a name for herself and claim fame in her own right. She couldn't sing a lick but she could write songs that other people could. She liked the sound of that.

Starr had even readjusted to the uniform policy at school. If anyone wondered why she took it in stride, they never asked, and she wasn't offering up the goods. No need for them to know that having to wear uniforms had quashed any chance of Natalee wearing some to-die-for Gucci ensemble at Pace Academy. Suddenly blending in wasn't such a bad thing.

She gave Karl the Cutie's picture one last once-over before she saved and then closed the file. She checked her email. She was surprised to see something from Marisol. There was a video attached.

Maybe it was of their performance at the talent show? she wondered, as she downloaded the attachment.

“But how would she get it before me?” Starr asked herself aloud. She was the one who had hired the video crew to record their performance.

The video opened on her laptop screen. Starr adjusted the lighting so that everything didn't look so dark. She frowned at the sight of a door opening and then a tall, dark-haired woman in a red dress walking into a bathroom stall and closing the door behind her. The camera turned and suddenly Marisol's face filled the screen.

“You will not believe who just walked into that stall,” Marisol said in a loud whisper.

“Who is that out there?” the voice from the stall said.

Starr gasped in surprise. Kimora!

Marisol giggled and winked at the camera. “Um, hello, Miss Kimora. This is Marisol Rivera, Alex Rivera's daughter,” she said loudly, bouncing up and down.

The commode flushed.

“Um, when you're done, would you mind sending a video message to my friend Starr?” she asked. “Pleeeeeaaaassse.”

Starr was tense like she was watching a real movie. Her palms were sweaty and her heart raced as she clutched her rhinestone mouse like her life depended on it.

The camera turned back around as the bathroom stall
opened and the Fabulous One walked out, all tall, curvy, famous and fabulous.

“Hi, Starr,” said Kimora. “Your friend is crazy, but remember to always stay fabulous!” She blew a kiss at the screen just before the camera went black.