Mama Dearest (12 page)

“Surely you’re kidding me. Are you saying relatives have to take a back seat to these people?” Ava said as she looked at the anxious mob with disdain.

“Let me see if I can get someone to help you,” Mrs. Sutton said, and then hurried away, zigzagging through the maze of adoring Madison B. fans.

A few minutes later, a nattily dressed young man approached Ava. She took one look at him and said to herself, this poor child is gay as a goose.

“Hello, Mrs. Middlebrooks. I’m Thurston Rogers, Madison B.’s publicist. May I help you with something?” His voice is lilting, and rises up a note at the end of each word, as if everything is about the dramatics.

“Yes, you can, young man. I need to speak with Madison before this little shindig gets started.”

“May I ask why?”

“You may. I’m related to Madison B.”

He gave her a probing look. “That’s funny. Madison B. was telling me on the flight here that this was her first trip to New York. She didn’t mention any relatives. Can I just take your number and give it to Madison B.’s father? I’m sure when he gets some time, they will give you a call.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Ava said, taking offense. “You might lose your job if you keep me away from my kinfolks.”

He struck a bored pose. “That’s the last thing I’m worried about. What did you say your name was again?” he asked, eyeing Ava with suspicion. Thurston tapped an index finger, painted with a shiny clear polish, against his chin, looking as though he was in deep thought.

“Ava Middlebrooks. Maybe you know me from some of my stage and cabaret appearances.”

A light went on in his eyes. “Were you in one of Stanley Bennett Clay’s productions more than a decade ago?”

“Yes, I was. How nice of you to remember.”

“I remember now,” he gushed, coming to life. “It was one of the first musicals I saw at the Apollo.”

“Those were the days.”

“Girlfriend, you were fierce. You had me singing and hummin’ for days after the show was over. Can I get a hug?”

“Of course you can, love,” Ava said, thinking this might be easier than she thought.

Thurston held her tight, patted a number of times and then after the embrace said, “I have to run. It was so nice meeting you.”

“But what about Madison B.?”

His eyebrows twinkled in concern. “Oh Ava, write your number down and I’ll pass it on.”

“I need to see her now,” Ava demanded. She usually loved the gays but realized at times they needed to be put in their place.

“Well, that’s not going to happen today. Write your number down on my clipboard and I’ll pass it on,” he said while checking his expensive watch. Ava wondered if her granddaughter paid for that.

Ava looks at him, obviously disturbed, and said, “Mister Thing, you must know that a diva like me just doesn’t go around writing her number on clipboards. That’s way too common. Good day.”

Ava headed toward the door, pushing through the thousands of fans waiting to meet her granddaughter.

I was watching
Paula Dean’s Party
on the Food Network and the doorbell rang just as Paula was getting ready to pull a casserole out of the oven. I found myself watching a lot of cooking shows just in case that was the reality show route I had to take. I was an actress, so surely I could pretend I knew how to cook. A part of me wanted to see how the casserole looked and then another part wondered who was ringing my bell unannounced. Perfect solution to the problem; I put Paula on pause and went to answer the door.

“Yancey, it’s me.”

“Dalton, what are you doing here and how did you get my address?” I asked.

“Danni, remember; we’re friends,” Dalton said as he walked into my living area uninvited. He had a sling on his arm but it didn’t seem to slow down the pace of his walk.

“Danni, what happened to your arm?”

“Can you believe that I fell on it trying to learn a new dance in this musical I’m working on? I might be a dancer slash actor but I’m still
very clumsy. Wow, Yancey B., this sofa is nice. I guess you’ve already moved on up but I should have known from the address alone,” Dalton said as he surveyed the living and dining area.

“So you didn’t say where you got my address, Dalton … I mean Danni.”

“It was on the cast list from
Dreamgirls
just as plain as day. I was going to call you and see what you thought of the songs I’d written but I said to myself,
Danni
, why don’t you just go and see Yancey and find out what she thinks. I told you I was going to be living in New York working on this new musical. That’s how I got hurt.”

“What musical?”

“It’s called
Claudine,
based on the movie starring Diahann Carroll and James Earl Jones. Remember?”

“Yeah, I love that movie. Have they cast it yet?”

“We’re in the process. I’m assistant musical director and I was dance captain but I lost that job when my spin went out of control and I fell on my arm,” Dalton said as he took a seat at the bar. Again without an invitation.

“You think you can get me an audition?” I asked, thinking this might be great for my reality show and even better if I didn’t get the show.

“I’m sure I can but I really think you should be working on your music. With some of my songs we could make a bangin’ CD,” Dalton said.

“I haven’t had a chance to listen to your songs,” I said, looking around the room as if the CD was there when I knew I’d left it in the dressing room back in Miami.

“Do you still have the disc?”

“I’m sure I do.”

“Well bam, here is another one if you don’t have it, Yancey,” Dalton said as he pulled another CD from his bag.

“Oh thanks,” I said.

“Can I have a glass of sweet tea or something? I feel a little parched,” Dalton said as he fanned his hand toward his mouth.

“I don’t know if I have sweet tea but I’m sure I have some water and maybe some cranberry juice.”

“That will be fine.”

I walked into the kitchen with the CD. I placed it on the counter and when I laid it down I noticed a very nice headshot of Dalton with the name Homer House Productions splashed across it. I got a bottle of water and was heading back to the living area when I heard Dalton shouting, “So I guess you got all this when you had a recording career?”

“What did you ask me?” I asked as I handed Dalton the bottle of water.

“Thank you, Yancey. Now don’t lose this CD, baby. Those blank CDs cost a pretty penny.”

“I won’t. Where did you come up with the name Homer House?

Dalton bowed down his head and whispered, “It’s a long story.”

I was now officially intrigued and I crossed my legs and placed my hands over them and said, “I’ve got plenty of time.”

“I think I’m most likely being overdramatic but it’s really very simple,” Dalton said as he crossed his legs too.

“I’m listening,” I said, suddenly wishing that I’d gotten some water for myself and hoping Ava didn’t show up before Dalton finished his story.

“Homer is my birth name. Now do I look like a Homer to you? How country is that? It’s not enough that I was raised in Bumpfuck, Georgia. I remember the casting director looking at me like I was a country-fried fool when I told him my name was Homer. The first thing I did when I moved to Atlanta was to change my name. There is a secret about it, though, and you look like the kind of girl who would enjoy a good secret,” Dalton said with a devilish giggle.

“Oh honey, you know me too well,” I said as I playfully slapped Dalton on the knee. “Tell me the secret.”

Dalton leaned over still laughing and whispered like we were in
a public place and said, “My family doesn’t know that I changed my named. They still call me Homer.”

“Haven’t they seen you perform?” I asked.

“Yeah they have but I told them that everyone on Broadway has a fake name. And they believe me. One night after a performance, they had me going through a
Playbill
telling them the real name of every cast member.”

“What did you do?”

“I made them up. Had a new name for every one of them.”

I started laughing so hard my sides were hurting. I really liked Dalton because he made me laugh and there’s a sinister glint in his eye that I like.

“You’re bad, Dalton, Danni, Homer or whatever your name is,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m so bad that I’m good,” he said.

Dalton and I were having a good laugh between friends when suddenly I heard a key in the door and Ava popped in. She looked at Dalton like she knew him and said, “Somebody has a hen party and I wasn’t invited. Now Yancey, is that any way to treat your dear mother?”

“Hey Ava. Where have you been all day?”

“Minding my own business, suggesting you do the same.”

Dalton gave me a quizzical look and then glanced at Ava, who wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m going to my room and get some beauty rest,” Ava announced.

“I have someone I want to introduce you to,” I said.

“Save it, Yancey. It’s obvious he’s on the boys’ team, so don’t waste my time,” Ava said as she waved one hand in the air in a dismissive gesture.

When she left the room, Dalton looked at me and said, “Now isn’t she special.”

“Not special but touched,” I said as Dalton and I burst into laughter.

Ava walked through her bedroom and headed straight for the shower. She turned it on and removed her clothes, put on her robe and a shower cap, then picked up her cell phone to see if he had called. He had not.

“Oh, I can’t wait to get this bitch out of my house,” Ava said to herself.

She picked up her phone and hit speed dial.

“Hello.”

“When are you coming here?”

“What’s going on, Ava?”

“We just need to speed this up.”

“Why?”

“Because this girl is getting on my last nerve.”

“What’s new about that? That’s what daughters do or so I heard.”

“And that’s the main reason I never wanted one of those bitches.”

“Statements like that will get you nominated for the Joan Craw-ford Mother of the Year Award.”

“Joan Crawford ain’t got shit on me. I bet she couldn’t work an iron extension cord like me. Wire hangers my ass.”

“What’s the real reason you want Yancey out so quick? I mean you own the house. You could make it happen today.”

“Well, I hope to start dating soon and I don’t want to have to put up with her. I’m ready to move into the master suite. Besides, I don’t want to show my hand just yet.”

“Good thing you’ve decided to listen to me, Ava.”

“Whatever, dude,” Ava said as she clicked off the phone and headed to the shower.

A
VA WENT INTO THE
bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She picked at her shapeless tangle of hair and suddenly imagined herself as a beautiful, sophisticated socialite wife. That’s where she belonged, Ava told herself. That would be her first project once she took care of Yancey.

Just as Ava prepared to turn on the cold water a familiar voice intruded into her thoughts with a self-fulfilling prophecy. She heard her mother’s voice with its patent gut-bucket southern accent saying, “That gal ain’t gonna do nuthing but bring you trouble, Ava. Every female got a little bitch in ’em.”

Ava splashed some cold water on her face and mumbled to herself, “Not anymore, Mama. That bitch is going down for good.”

Part
Two

Sixteen-and-a-half-year-old Madison Belisa Lewis is lying across the bed in the Presidential Suite of the Four Seasons Hotel. She’s wearing her favorite pink pajamas with matching robe and reading a copy of
Teen People
magazine, on which she happens to grace the cover.

Her father walks into the room and announces, “It’s bedtime, little lady. We have another busy day tomorrow.”

“I know,” she whines like the teenager she is and not the multimillionaire star she has become in a very short time. “I just want to finish this story about Chris Brown. Do you think he’s really dating Rihanna, Daddy? I mean Rihanna is pretty and she can sing.”

Derrick smiles and pulls back the spread on the leather-and-metal king-size bed. “Madison, I don’t care who Chris Brown is dating, just as long as it’s not you, young lady. You remember our agreement; no dating until you’re eighteen.”