Abide with Me (38 page)

A trace of a smile touched Nicole’s eyes, and she said, “I know that’s right.”

“Anyway, Jared told me he was going to be in Chicago for a few days on business and then he was headed to Atlanta for business and to check on his mother. It sounded like he needed some space himself.

“So I said to myself, ‘Miss Self, you need to get on a plane and get to New York and see what’s up with my girlfriend.’ Jody and Fletcher were on their way to Seattle to see my mama, so the timing was perfect. And, ta-da! Here I am. Come to save the day,” Delaney said as a sweet smile softened her face. “Okay, your turn.”

Nicole gazed for a moment at her friend, beautiful with a brownish-yellow skin tone like she had just returned from the Islands. She thought about how Delaney, who used to refer to herself as a “video ho,” was now a leading director of music videos. She still had a dancer’s body, and her thick, short curly hair gave Delaney the look of a woman who had to be taken seriously.

When Nicole began to speak, she told Delaney the events of Grand Rapids, with the new director, her sudden illness, and how she was dismissed. Just telling her old friend her side of the story made Nicole feel better than she’d felt in days.

“I will tell you this, though, girl. I walked out of there with my head held high. I gave them a performance of a lifetime. The only problem
was when I got back to New York, where I thought my dreams were going to come true, well, I just crashed,” Nicole said.

“And you’re entitled to that every once in a while. But don’t you for one minute let some lame-ass director define who you are. That sorry S.O.B. is just mad ’cause you wouldn’t give him some back in the day. You know how these showbiz people are. And Chris is a diva hater if there ever was one.”

“I know you’re right. I probably wouldn’t have taken it so hard, but I didn’t have anyone to turn to. I mean, Jared tries, but I don’t think he understands how important this is to me. And my mother, well forget that. And I didn’t have a friend left. I didn’t have a Candance. And I didn’t have a Delaney,” Nicole said as she touched her friend’s hands gently.

“You’ll always have Delaney, whether you want one or not. Now, you listen to me, Ms. Springer-Stovall. You are the most talented person I know. Anyone who knows you knows you’re a wonderful actress, a great singer, and an okay dancer.” Delaney laughed as she moved her hand side to side.

“I’ll never be able to dance like you,” Nicole smiled.

“And you don’t need to. So what are we going to do about this baby thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You still want a kid?”

“Now, Delaney, don’t play me like that. I don’t want you to change your mind ’cause you’re feeling sorry for me,” Nicole said.

“I ain’t feeling sorry for you, and I didn’t say that I’ve changed my mind. But you know it’s important to Jared.”

“I know. But, Delaney, I think I got to face why I’m so afraid of getting my hopes up. I also have to face that I got some real deep concerns about motherhood.”

“Why?”

“I’m ashamed to say, but I’m afraid I’d turn out just like my own mother.”

“Honey, from what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen … there is reason to be scared. But just like I can see your talent, I know you’d be a great mother. If that’s what you want. Forget about Jared for a moment. He’s a man, and even though he’s a cut above the rest, he’s still a man. And from what I remember about them, they think of themselves 24–7, 365!”

“But what if he leaves me?”

“Then he loses. But Jared ain’t going nowhere. He is whipped! And he loves you.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry for being such a selfish bitch,” Nicole said.

“Nicole, at some point in each of our lives, we all become selfish. It doesn’t mean we’re bad or bitches. It just means we’re taking a moment for ourselves and we need to do that from time to time. Just don’t make a habit of it, or I’ll have to do a dyke pull-up on you,” Delaney said, playfully putting her fists in a boxer’s stance.

“So what do I do?” Nicole asked.

“About what?”

“About Jared and the baby business,” Nicole said as she took the mugs and walked around the counter and placed them in the empty sink.

“Well, you kick the blues to the curb, girlfriend. Stiff upper lip. It’s time to get on with life. Kick some butt, and take names.”

“What should I do first?”

“We need to make a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yeah, and I know just what it needs to be,” Delaney said forcefully.

“What?”

“We need to get a comb and a brush so I can fix your head before the Hair Police come in here and give you a citation for this do!”

“You’re still crazy, Delaney,” Nicole said with a smile. When she smiled, it was as though the sun had finally broken through the clouds.

Though Jackson, Tennessee, was seventy-nine miles east, the Memphis media treated Yancey like a long-lost favorite daughter. Partly because she had sent several eight-by-ten color photos and a press release touting herself as the greatest entertainer to hit Memphis since Elvis Presley performed his first concert in 1954.

WXTV sent a limo to whisk her directly from the airport to their downtown studio for a live entertainment segment of
Good Morning Memphis
. From there she went to a popular hip-hop radio show, where listeners called in and asked her questions about herself and the show. One caller asked if she was the same Yancey Braxton who had graduated from Jackson Central Mary High.

“Why, yes, I am,” Yancey answered, pleased to be recognized.

“This is Nisey. We were in Delta Debs together and Ballards School of Dance. Do you remember me?”

“Nisey? I’m trying to remember. You know, most people might think Jackson is small, but we had about six hundred people in our
class. I don’t remember your name, but I’m sure if I saw you, I’d know you,” Yancey said. She recognized the voice of her hated childhood rival, but wanted to make sure Nisey didn’t enter Yancey’s wonderful new world.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll remember me when you see me. I’ve gained a little weight, but my face still looks the same.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, but I hope you won’t let that keep you from coming to the show.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there with bells on. I have third row center seats.”

“That’s great! Come backstage and say hello,” Yancey said.

But the caller didn’t respond, because she had hung up. The radio show ended with Yancey singing a few bars of “One Night Only” a cappella.

After a busy morning, including an interview with the
Memphis Commercial Appeal
, Yancey was able to check into her hotel room. Most of the cast stayed at the Radisson Hotel in downtown Memphis. Except for Yancey. She was staying at the four-star Peabody Hotel, and Yancey Braxton walked in like she had a deed to the place.

Yancey moved into a modest suite on the concierge floor, unpacked her bags, and ordered a Caesar salad from room service. She called the concierge and arranged to have a light supper and chilled champagne in the room when she and Ava returned from the theater later that evening.

Yancey placed a flower-covered box of Ava Rose memorabilia on the sitting room’s coffee table. She anticipated sharing the pictures, postcards, and letters with her mother that night. Though she carried the box of memories with her everywhere, it had been years since Yancey actually took the items out of the small box and looked at them. When she was a child, she would hold each letter in her hands, feeling the texture of the expensive stationery, staring at the picture
postcards and photographs of her mother, and making up stories and fantasies about each one. By the time she was fifteen, Yancey had memorized every page, every line, every word of each and every letter in the box and could recite the whole bundle by heart. She had noticed that her mother’s handwriting was somewhat erratic on the postcards, yet beautifully scripted on her letters. The box was Yancey’s treasure, her heirloom, the closest she ever got to her real mother. That is, until now.

Yancey arranged a few keepsakes on the coffee table next to the box, ate her lunch, took a bath in lavender salts, and then decided to take a long nap before the evening performance. She dreamed of little girls in petticoats and ribbons dancing in meadows of wildflowers, while beautiful mothers in flowing dresses sat sipping mint iced tea and cautioning the girls to be careful of dancing so near the edge of a looming cliff.

In her dream, Ava Rose reached unsuccessfully for Yancey’s little hand, and Yancey fell backward off the cliff into the deep blue sea below. She awoke at the sound of the phone ringing. It was the front desk calling to tell her that flowers had been delivered to the hotel, but she had a Do Not Disturb sign on her door.

“Yeah, send them up,” Yancey said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Minutes later a young black man was knocking at Yancey’s door with two dozen yellow roses. The card attached was addressed to “La Petite Diva,” and Yancey removed the card which read:
Make me proud. I love you. Ava
.

The young bellman cleared his throat as he stood with his hands behind his back.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me get you something,” Yancey said as she pulled a dollar from her purse and handed it to the bellman.

As the flowers filled her suite with their perfume, Yancey painted
her nails with a dazzling ruby-red polish. Then she put on some of her best lingerie, a pair of baby-blue silk panties and matching bra, and a pair of seamless stockings held up by a satin garter belt.

When she looked at the clock, she noticed it was a little past six. She put on a tight black below-the-knee skirt and a tangerine-orange mohair sweater.

Before leaving the room, she called the hotel switchboard to see if Ava had checked in. “Not yet, but we are holding a key for her,” the operator said.

“Can I leave a message for her?” Yancey asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tell her to meet me backstage after the show. I’ll leave her name on the guest list.”

“I sure will, Ms. Braxton.”

Yancey grabbed her bag, and a few minutes later she was striding through the streets of Memphis with pluck and ease. The newly renovated Orpheum Theater was only a few blocks away from the hotel, on the corner of Beale and Main. After a couple of minutes Yancey could see the throbbing lights from the neon sign atop the majestic theater. When Yancey saw
Dreamgirls
in big, bold letters, she thought the only thing missing was her name above the title. And even though it wasn’t quite 6:30, a crowd of well-dressed white and black people were already gathering in front of the theater.

Yancey slipped through the stage door, and when she located her dressing room, she was greeted by more flowers, with the envelope again addressed to “La Petite Diva.” Just as she was pulling the card out of the envelope, Yancey was startled by Monica Green entering the dressing room and giggling as she said, “I’ll see you in a minute, sister friend.”

Yancey’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at Monica, then asked, “What are you doing here?”

“We’re sharing a dressing room. Didn’t you know?”

“No one told me. I was told I’d have a private dressing room because I’m going to have some of my family and friends visiting me each night,” Yancey said. Besides, Yancey knew Monica was one of the young ladies in the cast who was being considered for her understudy. Yancey had no intention of sharing a dressing room with someone who wanted to be where she was.

“Well, you need to check with the stage manager or somebody, ’cause this is where they told me to dress,” Monica said, putting her bag on the dressing room table.

“Have you seen Chris?” Yancey asked.

“Look, Yancey, I don’t know why you’re tripping. But believe me when I say I’m not going to be in your way. When the show is over I will be out of here so fast, I could win a gold medal for quick change,” Monica said. She was wondering why Yancey was acting so uptight.

“I don’t care how fast you dress. This dressing room was supposed to be for me and my family. Don’t you understand? You’ve got to
g-o
, go!” Yancey screamed. She felt tears beginning to form.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I’m not going to fight with you. I will find another dressing room even if I have to use the bathroom at the service station across the street,” Monica said as she grabbed her bag and rushed from the dressing room, giving Yancey her best fuck-you wave and slamming the door.

“Dumb bitch,” Yancey muttered to herself as she locked the door. She sat at the vanity and smelled her flowers. She looked into the mirrors, smiled, and said dramatically, “It’s show time, diva. It’s show time.”