For the Love of Money (24 page)

“But you know what I hate though?” she asked me.

“What?”

“When guys walk up to me and say, ‘Damn, you look good to be dark,' as if that's supposed to be a compliment. When they say
that nonsense,
they have no chance at all of getting with me.”

“Do you have a boyfriend now?” I was slightly envious of her. I scared a lot of the guys that I met into acting like complete idiots.

“I just broke up with him,” she answered. “He started hanging out with the wrong crowd and getting lazy, so I told him that it was time for me to go. And he cried like a big baby, talking about, ‘I thought we loved each other.' But I don't have time for anybody who doesn't have a plan for their future.”

I was liking this young sister more by the minute. She even reminded me of Kendra a little bit with her can-do spirit.

I said, “Would you like to trade phone numbers? I don't want to get you fired or anything.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said excitedly. I planned to help her out in any way that I could.

We traded phone numbers and I told the young sister that I would be in touch, and I meant it too. That's the quality I liked about my Philadelphian roots the most. No matter how large we get, we're always down with our people.

“Hey, sis', you passing out phone numbers like that? Can I get one?” this tall, lanky brother wearing FUBU gear asked me. He looked like a college basketball player, and Springfield Mall was Villanova territory.

I asked, “Do I look like one of your groupies to you?”

“No, you look like Tracy Ellison Grant, the big-time movie star.” He had sarcastic confidence written all over his face. I could tell that he was used to getting his way with women. If I had nothing better to do, I would string his ass along just to teach him a lesson.

“I'll give you my phone number when you
earn
your degree,” I shot at him.

He said, “What are you trying to say?”

“Do you play basketball?” I asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Are you passing?”

“Yeah, I'm passing.”

“I'm not talking about passing just enough to play, I'm talking about moving on toward
a degree
in something.”

He hesitated too long with his answer. “Yeah.”

“Sure you are,” I told him and headed on my merry way.

There was no way for me to shop in peace that morning. It seemed that too many people recognized me. Since the mall was fairly empty, I guess that gave each person the idea that it was the perfect opportunity to hold my attention longer then they could have hoped for inside of a crowded mall. So I left earlier than I expected and went back home to take a nap and to write another poem, “Prisoners of Fame,” because that was what I felt like. No wonder so many celebrities had chosen to become reclusive.

$   $   $

When I arrived to pick up my cousin Vanessa (on time) from school, I must have stepped into thirty percent of the student population. They were waiting for me out in front of the school. Girls
and
boys, screaming at me:

“Tracy Ellison Grant!”

“HERE SHE IS, Y'ALL!”

“HEY, TRACY!”

“TRAAAY-SAAAY!”

“Dag! Calm your behind down, boy! You all up in my ear!”

“Can I have an autograph?!”

“Can I have a date?!”

“When is
Flyy Girl
the movie coming out!”

“Can I play a part in the movie?”

“Can you just sign my notebook right quick?!”

“Excuse me, but I
do
believe that I was standing here
first!
”

“Can we go half on a baby?!”

“You got a little sister my age or something?!”

“Older women and younger men are
in
now. Have you seen
How Stella Got Her Groove Back
?!”

“Can you give me a hickey on my neck?!”

“Shut your mouth, boy! God! Y'all are
so
embarrassing!”

“Would you get
off
of my damn
foot,
please?! Stop being so
pressed
!”

“Can I be ‘Carmen' in your movie?!”

“Yeah, 'cause you a hoe anyway!”

“Who said that?!
You're
the hoe!”

“DON'T CROWD HER, Y'ALL! GIVE THE LADY SOME BREATHING ROOM!”

“VANESSA'S YOUR COUSIN FOR REAL?! I THOUGHT SHE WAS LYING!”

I
thought that smart kids were supposed to be more reserved and have better manners. I guess I thought wrong. Those damn E&S kids were acting like lunatics out there! So when I got Vanessa in my father's Buick I just stared at her.

“YOU CAN'T AFFORD A BETTER CAR THAN THAT?!” another silly guy yelled at me as we drove off.

Vanessa chuckled and said, “I did
not
do that. A lot of people saw you on the news this morning, and the rumor got around that you were gonna be up here today to pick me up after school. If you would have come late again, most of the people would have left, but you came right on time.”

“Obviously so,” I told her. I still couldn't believe all of the attention that they were showing me. “So, I guess that
you'll
be a celebrity in school now,” I said.

Vanessa sucked her teeth and responded, “Not really. A lot of people are hating me now, like I'm supposed to be friends with everybody. I wasn't friends with everyone before. I just minded my own business, but now they act like I have a
chip
on my shoulder or something. And it's not even like that.”

I smiled at her, knowing exactly what it felt like. I put my hand on her shoulder as I drove and said, “Trust me, I
know
the feeling.”

Hollywood, Hollywood,
let me in!
Not by the hair of my
pink and white skin.
Well, I'll huff
and I'll puff
and I'll blow your house in!

Hollywood, Hollywood,
let me in!
Sorry black girl
your résumé is too thin.
Well, I'll write
and I'll fight
and I'll blow your house in!

Hollywood, Hollywood,
let me in!
“Was it you we told no
or do you have a damn twin?”
I don't have a damn twin,
but I'm at the door again,
so I took a sledgehammer
and I broke the bitch in!

But then I got arrested,
so I need a lawyer friend.

Copyright © 1996 by Tracy Ellison

W
hen November rolled around, I finally received my share of the advanced payment for
Flyy Girl,
and I could breathe a little deeper, but I still didn't plan on buying any furniture yet. I mailed out a few signed copies of my book to friends and family members, including Raheema, who was soon to be married before me. That smart-ass girl! I still couldn't believe it! Her colors were white and gold, in all-African attire. I had to have my measurements done and send them to her for my dress to be made by a sister from Ghana, who lived close by to Raheema and her fiancé in New Jersey.

Out in California, just like Kendra predicted, when the vote came up for the affirmative action bill, nonwhite Americans lost out
big time!
Latinos and Asians were included in the mix. However, I do not believe that Asians had as much of a problem with it as blacks and Latinos had, because Asians were kicking ass in the books like it was nobody's business! Were we really inferior to them? Were we just lazy? Were we that undereducated? Or was it all of the above? Something was amiss, and Kendra was hurt to her heart over it.

“You watch what happens over the next three years or so out here in California,” she warned me over the telephone. “See how many of us get turned away from higher education. This is a
crime,
and nobody seems to care.”

“
You
care,” I told her.

“Yeah, and like President George Bush used to say, ‘I'm just one lonely person out here.'”

I laughed at her and said, “You really
do
need to run for politics. I'm dead serious.”

“And who is going to teach my classroom of kids when I do?”

“Someone else,” I told her.

“Yeah, someone who doesn't care as much.”

When she said that, I felt guilty, thinking about the students that I left back home in Philadelphia. I said, “Girl, I have to stop talking to you. You make me feel like a midget trying to take on a lion sometimes.”

“And you're afraid of that? What do you think you're up against out here in Hollywood?”

She had a point. Kendra never let me forget about the odds.

She asked, “So, are you still friends with that New York girl, Juanita?”

I smiled. “Heck no! She went right back to ignoring me. And guess who dug up my phone number and left two messages.”

“Reginald?” Kendra guessed.

“Of course he did. I guess he thinks that I'm going to call him back too,” I told her. “He called up talking about how he has an East Coast
project
that he thinks I would be interested in.”

Kendra laughed and said, “Girl, you asked for it. You should have left his behind alone as soon as you read him at the party that night.”

I started daydreaming on the phone. I had one class left at the UCLA Extensions program before I stepped out into the unknown marketplace of Hollywood employment. However, I
did
learn how to write scripts, I just didn't know how acceptable they would be.

“What are you thinking about, Tracy?” Kendra asked me. She knew by then that my silence meant I was thinking something deep.

“I'm just wondering how hard it's gonna be to find a Hollywood job, that's all.”

“Have you spoken to Yolanda lately?”

“I'm trying not to bug her too much, you know. I don't want to seem desperate. And
she
hasn't called
me.
”

Kendra laughed at me again. “There you go again with that ego of yours. Let me tell you, if you
really
want to make it in Hollywood, you'll have to
eat
a big piece of that humble pie you keep trying to avoid,” she advised me. “So if
I
were you, I would get on the phone and call Yolanda Felix up
right now
before you miss out on something. Because from what
I
understand, Hollywood moves fast!”

I hung up the phone with Kendra and thought about calling Yolanda. She was the only real contact that I had out there, but I didn't really know how connected she was in the business. I was still wondering what she thought about my book, if she even had a chance to read it. I was as nervous as I was when I first met her. I was reaching the moment of Hollywood truth
(employment), so Kendra was right, I had to call Yolanda regardless.

I dug up her number in my new, relatively empty, Hollywood phone book and took a deep breath. “Here we go,” I told myself as I dialed her seven digits.

“Hello, is Yolanda Felix in?”

“Yes, this is Yolanda.”

I didn't know if she knew me by first name alone, so I hesitated with my introduction.

“Hi, this is Tracy ...Ellison.”

She got excited and said, “Haaay, girl, just say Tracy! I finished reading your book just last night. You were a
wild
little something. I thought that
I
was bad. Girl, you took the cake and put new icing and decorations on it.”

I guess that was a good thing. I was smiling.

I said, “Well, you do realize that I'm older now. I'm not that reckless anymore.”

“I know how it is. You were just testing out your new womanhood,” she responded. “We all go through that stage sooner or later. You just did yours a lot sooner than most.”

I said, “You know next week is my last week at the UCLA Extensions program for screenwriting and television.” I wanted to change the subject away from my juvenile years and get down to the mature business of my present.

“And it's right on time, too,” Yolanda told me. “Are you into science fiction at all?”

“Science fiction?” All I could think of was
Star Wars
with Billy Dee Williams playing Lando Calrissian.

Yolanda said, “There's a wrap party that I want you to go to with me this Saturday night. So if you have any other plans, cancel them. You
need
to be there.”

Science fiction?
I was still thinking. “What movie is it for?” I asked her.

“Black Hole Films just finished a project called
They're Here,
slated for release this spring.”

“What is it, a Martian movie?” I was smiling again. Did Yolanda really think that I had come all the way out to Hollywood for some science fiction shit? I found that idea comical.

Yolanda said, “Tracy, let me tell you something. The smart people in
this
business, like every other, stay two and three steps ahead of the game.” She sounded very serious about it too.