Authors: Nikki Carter

Doing My Own Thing (14 page)

BOOK: Doing My Own Thing

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Lena rolls her eyes and looks at Mystique. Mystique rubs the back of her own neck as if stressed and then sighs.

“Drama,” she says slowly and deliberately, “can you please make sure that you are not in any of the video shots? I would, and Epsilon would, greatly appreciate it if we didn't have to do extra filming because of you.”

“Aren't y'all just practicing right now anyway?” Dreya asks. “Sam's not going to be in the final video. So why do I have to worry about getting out of the way?”

“Because,” Lena explains, “if I get any usable footage, I'm using it. Actually, I like the look of Sam. Let's get him in makeup before we shoot, just in case I want to keep him.”

“But he's not a leading-man type,” Mystique argues. “He's just a round-the-way kind of regular guy.”

Lena shrugs and smiles. “Sometimes regular works. My first four husbands were regular guys.”

I lift my eyebrows at Mystique and grin. Sometimes regular works, even if you are a superstar, all about your business.

Lena jogs over to the extras to give some final orders, and Mystique whispers, “Her first four husbands . . . where are those regular guys now?”

“For real, y'all are not gonna let me be in this video?” Dreya asks. “Y'all are tripping.”

“Is that what you want? To be an extra in Sunday's video?” Mystique asks. “I thought you were too much of a star for that.”

“An
extra
? Puh-lease. I don't want to be an extra. I want to play a starring role in the video. Like on that first part you're talking about where Sunday first makes eye contact with Sam, she and I could be having a conversation.”

“What?” Mystique asks.

“Then when she finally gets his attention, I can introduce them.” Dreya looks one-hundred-percent proud of herself and her idea, and I'm just about sure that Mystique is voting no.

“The whole point of the video,” Mystique says, “is that Sunday is an apparition that he can't see.”

“An apparition?” Dreya asks. “What's that?”

OMG! Hooked on Phonics Dreya.

“It's like a ghost,” Mystique says.

“Oh . . . oh! Well, that's just stupid,” Dreya says after I think the lightbulb clicks on for her.

Mystique replies, “It's not stupid, but there is no room for Sunday to interact with anyone, except Sam at the end when she materializes in his arms.”

“Oh.”

“So can you please,” Mystique asks, “make yourself scarce? Why don't you go to the spa? Get yourself a spa pedicure on me or something.”

“On you?” Dreya asks. “Can I get a full-body rock massage too?”

Mystique rolls her eyes. “Go ahead, Drama.”

“All right, I'm out. And Sunday?”

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Don't even think about being in my next video, since you tripping so hard on your little debut.”

I almost respond, but then decide it's not worth it. It kills me how she always tries to blame me for someone else's decision. Epsilon and Lena decided what this video was going to be like. I guess I'm the easiest one to blame for everything because she knows that I'm always gonna be her cousin no matter what.

Lena jogs back over to us. “Okay, I'm ready to film the first scene. You should be lip-synching to your lyrics. You can even sing them if it helps you stay in time with the music. We're going to dub in the sound anyway, so it doesn't matter what you do vocally.”

“So we're doing the first verse?” I ask.

“Yes. We're going to do the first verse now, but we'll go through the whole song several times, so I can have different shots of you. Some we're going to do with you lying on the sand. Some we're gonna have with you dancing on the shore. You're gonna get sick of the verses to this song.”

“Okay, let's make it happen,” Mystique says.

I'm mildly more conscious of the BET cameras than the ones that Lena brought for the video shoot. It seems like they're there to catch my simplest mistake or slip on judgment.

Everyone takes their places, and when Lena says, “Action,” it's on and poppin'! I'm surprised at how many of the queues, movements, and dances I remember from our practices in Atlanta.

It feels weird singing the lyrics of my song toward Sam. I've never been invisible to him. He's seen me from the jump. I can't say that I saw him immediately, but after we vibed on the music, I
did
see him, and wondered what a relationship with him might be like. It scared me, so I looked away. It was easier to look at my music career than look at him.

But now that I'm cool with seeing him, even if it's through a squinted side eye, I can't get him to pay me any attention. Some people would call that ironic; I call it me getting what I deserve.

We walk through these scenes for hours. So long, in fact, that I have to stop in the middle and get my hair and makeup refreshed, because I sweated out my hair and streaked my mascara.

Finally, the extras are getting a rest, because we're filming the scene where I end up in Sam's arms. Lena starts the shooting and then abruptly stops it. She walks over to us, so that she can place our bodies correctly for the cameras.

“Why are you two standing so far apart?” Lena says. “I need to feel your tension through the lens.”

There's tension all right. Sam keeps staring at me like he's Robinson Crusoe seeing a steak the first time after he's rescued from that deserted island.

Sam grins and pulls me in close, like he was just waiting on the opportunity to do that.

“Perfect!” Lena says. “Keep that intensity.”

She starts filming again. Then she stops. Again.

“Sunday! Don't forget to lip-synch!”

Dang, Sam's got me totally mesmerized to the point where I forgot my song lyrics. I tried to lip-synch, but I couldn't even get it together. I think Sam can tell how twisted I am, because he hasn't wiped that grin off his face yet.

Lena starts filming again. Then she stops. AGAIN!

“Good, Sunday, but Sam, I want you to tip her chin up with your hand, then gaze into her eyes, like you're just now noticing how beautiful her eyes are.”

Sam does what he's told, and tips my chin up. He also does something she didn't tell him to do. He licks his lips like someone just handed him a bottle of A1 sauce.

Even though Lena hasn't directed him to do this, Sam places a light kiss on my lips, then eases back and smiles. Is this real or for the cameras? If it's fake, then I need a reality check for real.

Lena squeals as she calls “Cut!” to her cameramen.

“Sam, man, you rock!” Lena says. “That kiss was perfection. I might want to use you for some of my other videos.”

This immediately annoys me. If Sam can bring intensity like this to another girl, he and I will have some serious issues.

Mystique still looks skeptical, however. “I don't think that kiss needs to be in there. Everyone knows who Sam is from the reality show. I don't want Sunday's teenage-boy fans to think she's taken now. And that's exactly what they're gonna think if we show the footage of the two of them kissing.”

Lena frowns deeply. “It's hot. I'm keeping it. I think the suits at Epsilon will love it too, not to mention Sunday's fansâboys and girls.”

“I'm the one signing the checks on this one, Lena. It's for my label, remember?”

“Look, don't hire me if you're gonna screw with my artistry, Mystique.”

Mystique flips a piece of her blond wig over her shoulder. “You were
hired
to bring my vision to life on this video.”

Lena looks hurt by this. She clutches her midsection like Mystique just punched her and knocked the wind out of her.

“I cannot believe you, Mystique. After all the projects we've done . . .”

“All the projects I've paid for. Don't get it twisted, Lena.”

Of course, the BET cameras are getting all this divatastic footage. From the way Mystique is throwing her weight around, I think she's doing it on purpose and for the cameras.

“How about you do two versions of the video and let the fans decide?” I ask.

Immediately, I wish I could take this back because it sounds totally scripted. Like something dreamed up in a producer's meeting at BET. But I'm really just trying to end this back-and-forth between Lena and Mystique and distract the cameras from the drama.

“Like a promotion for the album? That is a wonderful idea,” Mystique says.

“That's gonna be a lot of work,” Lena says.

Mystique sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes to the top of her head. “Lena, stop being a drama queen. You've got the raw footage, so just do it.”

“Am I being paid for two edits? Because that's what this is . . . two edits.”

“Yes! You know I'm good for it,” Mystique replies.

Lena nods, and directs her film crew to start packing up. Then she turns to me. “Sunday, don't get wasted or anything tonight, in case we have to shoot anything else tomorrow.”

Wasted as in drizzy-drunk? Puh-lease! Has she met me?

“Never that, Lena. I think we might go dancing at a reggae spot later, but I shan't be getting wasted. I don't roll like that.”

Sam laughs and pulls me away from the set to another part of the beach that's a safe distance from the BET cameras. By the time we're out of recording range, Sam is cracking up and holding his midsection like someone just told him the funniest knock-knock joke in the history of knock-knocks.

“What is so funny?” I ask.

I have to wait while Sam finishes laughing, but when he finally composes himself he says, “I
shan't
be getting wasted? Sunday, you are funny. Was that your TV speak?”

“Do shut up! It wasn't that funny! OMG. I can't believe that's what you were laughing about. You are a butt.”

“Or am I a hindquarter?” Sam says before erupting into another flurry of giggles.

Sam's laughter is contagious because even though it's at my expense, I'm laughing too. Hindquarter? Get the heck outta here.

“Did you mind?” Sam asks as he chokes out his last laughs.

“Did I mind what?”

“Me kissing you on the video shoot?”

I inhale deeply before answering. I know that my response to this question can make or break any chance at a relationship with Sam. If the kiss was Sam making a move, and I rebuff him, I think it's over. In fact, I
know
it's over. I don't even have to think twice about it.

But I don't know why he kissed me. What if he was just coming down off the adrenaline rush from saving the girl from drowning? Or worse, what if he just thought it would be good for the video? What if it wasn't a move at all?

“I didn't mind. . . . But did you mean it?” I ask.

Sam kicks a foot full of sand into the pretty, transparent, blue water. “I was afraid. . . .”

“Of kissing me?”

Sam shakes his head. “No. I mean when I saved the girl. Once I jumped in the water I got really scared, and started doubting myself a little bit. Then when I got to the girl and she pulled me under, I got even more scared, but while I was fighting to make it and swallowing water, I only thought about one thing.”

“What was that?”

Sam clears his throat. “I just kept thinking how if I made it through this alive, that I was gonna make you my girlfriend, no matter what, and that I was gonna kiss you at the first real opportunity I got.”

I'm speechless, and I have to look away from Sam. The intensity of his gaze is too much for me when I'm trying to figure out what to say to all this.

But it was the drowning incident that brought all this on, and I was afraid of that. What if he doesn't feel the same way after we get back home?

“Sunday . . . what's wrong?” Sam asks in a quivering voice.

“What if . . . what if it's just the adrenaline talking?”

Sam shakes his head. “This is me talking, and I'm saying the same thing I've been saying for the past six months.”

I swallow hard, believing every single emotional syllable that comes from Sam's lips. His chest heaves up and down as if to provide a body-language exclamation mark to the end of his sentence.

And so I don't respond. Not with words. I put both arms around Sam's neck, hug him tight . . . and . . . kiss. Him. Back.

H
ours after the video shoot, me, Sam, Dilly, and Bethany chill in my suite. We're trying to decide what's up for our first evening in Barbados. The ever-present BET cameraman is here too. I think he's trying to blend in with the scenery with his palm treeâcovered Hawaiian shirt. But we still know he's there, and I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm extremely careful with what I say and how it can be construed as something else.

Bethany's brought all of her bags to my room, because she's going to get changed in here if we decide to go out. I think she's trying to move in for the weekend, but I don't know how I feel about that.

While I've taken Bethany out of enemy status, it's hard to think of her in the “friend” category anymore. Even if she seems okay. Even if she's got her own boyfriend and isn't trying to take anyone else's.

“Can you even go anywhere?” I ask Dilly.

“I don't know. I feel a lot better now. The burns still hurt though, so I should probably stay in.”

“If you're staying in, then I am too,” Bethany says as she puts yet another cool facecloth on Dilly's forehead. “I feel like it's my fault anyway that you're sick.”

“It's not your fault I didn't put on sunscreen. Zac is gonna rip me a new one when he gets here. Y'all know this video was supposed to put me on the map.”

Ouch! I didn't think about that when we haphazardly put Sam in Dilly's place. Maybe I should've tried to talk Mystique into delaying the video shoot until Dilly was better.

“Well, you're still here with us in Barbados,” I say. “That's cool, right?”

“Yeah, it's cool, but I need my record to come out.”

Bethany says, “Well, I just inked a deal with Mystical Sounds, so you should be in my first video. You're my boyfriend anyway, so that makes more sense.”

Sam and I share a glance, and I know he's thinking what I'm thinking. Bethany signing a deal, having an album release and a video before Dilly is like rubbing salt in the wound. He'd been signed to Zac's label for over a year with no release date in sight.

“Speaking of your album, Bethany, I thought of a tight hook for you,” I say. “It's an up-tempo track that could be a club banger. Good for a first single.”

Sam says, “You talking about âGet Like Me'?”

I nod and start singing,
“Get like me, get like me/My sound is like honey to a bee/Swagger drops you to your knees/Get like me, get like me.”

The hook is melodic and infectious. This is not me feeling myself, this is everybody bobbing their heads without a track. This is them feeling the melody and the lyrics and the flow. Hotness personified.

Captured by BET cameras. And you know this!

Bethany says, “I like that, Sunday! How do you do it? How do you keep coming up with song after song?”

“I don't know! I just hope it doesn't run out anytime soon.”

“It won't,” Sam says. “I think you've still got a lot of music inside of you. You're destined to be an icon.”

“Icon! When I think of icons, I think of someone like Mystique,” I say. “Someone who's been tried and tested in the game.”

“Way to pay homage!” Dilly says.

I laugh out loud. “Is that what I'm doing? Paying homage?”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “A lot of artists refuse to acknowledge the ones who came before them and paved the way. But you're the real deal, so you don't have a problem with giving credit where credit is due.”

“Real talk,” I say. “So . . . what are we gonna do if we don't go out?”

Bethany grins. “Who said y'all had to stay in, just because we are?”

“Honestly, with everything that happened today, I have to admit I'm super exhausted,” Sam says. “I'd probably be a boring date tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. Let's get some room service and hang out,” I say.

Bethany's eyes light up. “Y'all just gonna hang in the room all night with us?”

I refuse to make eye contact with Bethany when she's looking all hopeful like that. This doesn't have to mean that we're friends again. It just means that I don't hate her anymore. Forgiving somebody isn't something that just happens in an instant, and there's a whole lot of history that Bethany and I have to get past before we can be friends again.

But I'm not ruling it out.

“Um . . . I have no idea what the stuff is on this menu,” Sam says, while holding up the room-service menu. “Who's feeling adventurous?”

I laugh out loud. “Give it to me. Let me see.”

Sam gives me the menu and I read out loud. “Okay . . . roti. That is spiced meat rolled in a piece of flat bread called chapati. And conkies are cooked in banana leaves.”

“I am not eating anything called a conkie,” Dilly says.

“Open your mind! It's got cornmeal, pumpkin, raisins, spices, and a bunch of other stuff.”

Bethany scrunches up her nose. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Um . . . no . . . but it sounds tasty.”

“I wonder if there's a Pizza Hut in St. Lawrence Gap,” Sam says.

“Y'all are tripping! I did not come all the way to Barbados for pizza!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

All three of them give me blank stares. Whatever!

“All right. Let's eat some rodeos and conned feet for Sunday,” Sam says.

“That's
roti
and
conkies
. You all can bite me,” I say as Sam picks up the phone to dial our order in.

“It better be good, Sunday,” Dilly says. “I'm not well and I need something that tastes good to heal my body.”

“I thought Dreya was the only drama queen in this crew!” I say.

With the food order placed, I plop down on one of the double beds in my room. Dilly is resting on the other one. The soft pillows and fluffy down comforter are welcoming. I didn't realize I was this tired. Who knew saving lives and filming videos would be this exhausting?

But then, I look at the BET camera dude and he just checked his watch like he's super bored and can't wait to get the heck out of here. Well, that just won't do. I can't have the cameraman thinking I'm boring. I am trying to have a hit show even if I don't ever want to do the whole reality thing again.

Then, I have an idea.

“I know what we can do, y'all. It'll be fun.”

Sam claps his hands in a frantic and over-the-top manner. I know he's teasing me, and for that he gets the narrow-eyed glare.

“Anyway! Y'all can help me answer that fan letter I got. From the girl named Zoey.”

Bethany says, “Okay, let's do this. Did you bring the letter?”

“Yep.” I pull it out of the pocket of my purse.

“Didn't she say her boyfriend broke up with her on Facebook?” Sam asks.

I nod. “Yes, she says she logged on and his status was single. And that âCan U See Me' helped her out when she was feeling sad. I've got to reach out to her.”

Dilly laughs. “You're such a bleeding heart, Sunday.”

“Whatever, hater. You'll do the same thing when you get some fan mail.”

Bethany says, “I can't wait to get fan mail!”

“So help me write her back!”

Sam says, “Dear Zoey. Your boyfriend was a tool. You are better off without him. Thanks for purchasing my album and not bootlegging it. Ta ta for now. Sundeezy!”

I throw a pillow at Sam as he ducks and giggles.

“I was thinking something more like this. Dear Zoey, I'm so sad that your boyfriend played you like that. But love can be really rough sometimes. Sometimes it doesn't work out, but there's always another fish in the sea.”

Dilly shakes his head. “Boring. Tell her that her new boo is right around the corner.”

I write that down. That is a decent suggestion.

“And tell her,” Dilly continues, “that another boy's trash is another one's wifey.”

I scrunch my nose this time.

“Too much?” Dilly asks.

Bethany says, “Tell her that her ex-boyfriend was just there to pass the time until the boy of her dreams could come along. When he comes, she'll know it and there won't be any doubt.”

Dilly, Sam, and I stare at Bethany. She seems to have gone to some other fairy-tale, romance-novel place. I'ma need her to come back. Earth calling Bethany . . .

“Okay, I'll use some of that too, Bethany. But you got stars in your eyes, boo. Somebody got you sprung!”

Bethany blushes, and so does Dilly. No wait, Dilly is badly sunburned, I can't tell if he's blushing or not. But he's got that “I-got-game” cheesy grin on lock.

I clear my throat and hold my hotel stationery up. “This is what I've got so far. Dear Zoey. It really blows that your boyfriend would break up with you on Facebook, but your new boo is right around the corner. Your ex-boyfriend was not the guy for you and he was just there to pass the time until the boy of your dreams comes along. Breaking up is hard, but it's not the end of the world. So chill and enjoy being a hot girl! Thanks for buying my music! Much love, Sunday.”

“That's good,” Sam says. “What it lacks in finesse it makes up for in raw honesty.”

“What it
lacks
in finesse?” I launch another pillow at Sam.

“I'm joking, I'm joking. It's a good letter,” Sam says.

Bethany snuggles in closer to Dilly on the bed.

“Um . . . ain't no freakiness about to take place in my room,” I say. “Y'all getting a bit too cozy on that bed.”

Bethany deserts Dilly and plops her inflated behind down at the end of my bed. “Is this better?” she asks.

“It'll do for now. How's it going with Regina? She's a cool roommate, right?” I ask.

Bethany nods. “Yeah, she's great, but she's like ten years older than us, so we really don't have much to talk about.”

This is, I guess, the time when I'm supposed to invite her to stay in my room. She's giving me a sad puppy-dog face. Then, her cell phone buzzes in her pocket and she jumps as if it startles her.

“Are you going to check that?” Dilly asks.

“Um . . . no. I'm straight,” Bethany replies. “Everybody I want to talk to is right here.”

The silence in the room is so thick and heavy, it's like someone dropped a bag of wet sand in the middle of the floor.

Bethany being all secretive makes me happy that I didn't put her back in the friend box. Obviously, she's still on some mess, or she would've just answered the text. I'm sending her mental signals to just open the text message! Read it aloud or something. Anything to let everybody in this room know that she is not shady anymore, and that she's worthy of Dilly's ever-growing crush.

But Bethany does nothing but stare at the chipped polish on her nails.

So much for turning over a new leaf.

BOOK: Doing My Own Thing

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