For the Love of Money (42 page)

“You didn't doubt me, did you?”

“No, of course not, but while we're on the subject of getting things done, what's up with the book deal?” I asked her.

“I came up with an idea,” she said. “Since we both know that we want to use some of your poetry, and I've let
them
know, I need you to print out, I guess, twenty-five or so selected poems that you would use in the book, so that I could send them out and let them see what we're trying to do. Last time you guys just sat down and did it, but this time you're both moving forward with your careers and everything, and you really need to agree ahead of time on how everything is going to be executed.

“I would also look at other books that use text and poetry to figure out the best way to integrate the two without destroying the flow that you guys created with
Flyy Girl,”
she advised. “I would say that this book should definitely be a little different too, because sequels are very hard to do. You can't give your fan base the exact same thing, even though they may ask for it, because they'll become dissatisfied. You have to take it up a level.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean. People are quick to say, ‘It wasn't as good as the first one.' So I think that the first thing for me to do would be to use my own voice instead of third person, so that they can really feel me.”

“Well, that will take away from the minor characters involved, but I do agree with you,” she said. “A first-person narrative would be a major change.”

I was impressed! My girl was really stepping up the game plan, and she was absolutely right; we had not approached it in a business-plan format like we needed to.

I said, “I'll get on that right away, and pick out the poems that would relate the most to what I would like to cover in the book.”

“Do your parents have a computer at home?” she asked me.

“Yeah, but I didn't bring my notepads out here with me.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, I guess you'll have to get started on that when you get back out to LA.”

“No problem. My girl Raheema was just telling me this weekend that I should start typing out my poetry and storing them on disk anyway.”

“Yeah, she's right. But tell me again how you came across the first book deal with Omar. I never really asked you the details about that. I may be able to use some of that information for this new book deal.”

“I met him at a poetry event in Philly,” I told her. “I had performed this poem about the materialism that I got caught up in during the eighties, and we got to talking about it and reminiscing on how flyy the initial hip-hop generation was, you know, with the gold and fancy clothes and hairstyles and all of that.

“Well, one thing led to another, and he started saying that my life story might make a good book. And at first, I thought he was joking,” I added. “So when I agreed to do it, I wanted to make up a name, but he convinced me to write it straight up and keep it real. And that's how it happened.”

My girl said, “Okay, that's good to know. Now we have to convince
him
to keep it real again and produce a sequel, because your fans want to know the rest of the story.”

“Yeah, so let's get to it,” I commented. “And I'll start thinking about what poems to use.”

“All right, well, I'll talk to you as soon as you get back out to LA.”

I hung up that phone and went right back to my bed. It wasn't as if I couldn't think from my bed. I was relaxing. I hadn't even put on any clothes that day. I stretched out across my bed and thought about all of the things I wanted to say in my sequel, what poems to use, when to start it, how to finish it, the whole shebang. The next thing I knew it was three o'clock and the phone was ringing again. I didn't even feel like answering it, but I did.

“Hello.”

“It's Vanessa.”

“Hey, Vanessa. You weren't kidding when you said that you would call after school today, hunh?” I joked.

She said, “No.”

“So how was your school day?”

“The same-old same-old. Nothing new.”

I knew what she wanted to get around to, and both of us were stalling, so I decided to come right out with it.

“Okay, so we have to figure out a way to get you out to LA this summer,” I said.

“I know,” she agreed. “My mom is so shortsighted. I told her this could really expand my horizons for the future.”

I mocked her mother and asked, “Expand your horizons for what, so you can be another Hollywood hoe?”

Vanessa laughed and said, “Yup, that's what she said, and I told her, I don't have to be
in
movies, just behind the scenes with it. A lot of people make good livings behind the scenes.”

“Not as many black people do,” I leveled with her.

“But that's why it would be so wide open for people like me.”

I sat there on the phone with my cousin and got a little nervous. My mother was right, I
had
started something. I was just asking Vanessa to come out to California for the summer in the essence of family love, not to get her started in the business of Hollywood. She was jumping
way
ahead of me!

“You were thinking about this all day long, weren't you?” I asked her.

She laughed and said, “I couldn't even sleep last night.”

SHIT!
I thought to myself.
Momma knows best! This is crazy!

I had to cool Vanessa down a bit. I said, “Hollywood isn't for everybody, Vanessa, and it's just not that easy. I don't want it to seem like anybody can just jump right in.”

“But if you know the right people and you get schooled on the business side early, then you can make it. I'm smart enough to make it. I
know
I am,” she insisted.

With one quick conversation I had created a monster, but my little cousin
was
smart enough, I just didn't know what kind of
stamina
she had. A lot of people had that start-out energy, but not many of them had the energy to
finish
what they started.

“Well, like I said, the first thing for you to do is to keep your grades up in school, and I'll work on your mother little by little, if she'll even
talk
to me,” I joked. “Maybe I'll sit down and write her a couple of letters or something.

“In fact,” I said, “that's a good way for me and you to stay in touch, because I have to head back out to LA on Wednesday now.”

Vanessa said, “For real? I thought that you were staying until Sunday.” She sounded disappointed.

“I was initially, but now I have a meeting for a lead role this Thursday.”

“Oh. Well, what's the name of the movie?”

Boy did she sound deflated already.

“Road Kill.
It's a female action flick. A thriller.”

“It's coming out next year?”

“Hopefully.”

“Okay.”

I said, “Look, we'll stay in touch, Vanessa, it's not like it's the end of the world or anything. You're my little cousin, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So stop sounding like your boyfriend dumped you.
God!
How is that guy doing, anyway? Mr. Nineteen? Have you talked to him lately?”

Vanessa sucked her teeth and said, “He's mad at me now.”

“Why,you wouldn't go over to his house this weekend?” I assumed.

“No, he wanted me to let him in
my
house.”

I chuckled and said, “Oh, so he's a
bold
one. And you see how they get, right? Ain't nothin' changed, girl. Not a
thing,”
I broke it down to her.

She said, “I know.”

“So, I'll give you my address and phone number to call me collect, and we'll just stay in touch and see what we can work out for the future.”

“Okay then.”

I gave my cousin all of my information over the phone and hung up feeling relieved. Vanessa could prove to be high-maintenance just like I was, whether she was introverted or not. In fact, with her introverted personality
it was hard to know
all
that she really wanted until she made up her mind to verbalize it. So I decided right then and there, that if I had to deal with Vanessa on a daily basis at any time in the near future, I would have to stick it to her ass to get all of the answers
right away.

I slid into bed and went right back to relaxing, daydreaming, and thinking about any- and everything that crossed my mind.

“Damn!” I told myself after a while. “I have to call the airport and change my flight plans. Back to Hollywood I go. Hollywood, Hollywood.”

My good looks,
I put that on my parents.
Because with Mom,
as pretty as she is,
and Dad,
as handsome as he is,
I just couldn't miss.

My hard head,
I put that on my father
alone.
Because just like
he wanted to do
his thing,
I wanted to do
mine.

My poise,
I put that on my momma.
Because whenever I got
too hot,
she made sure
to cool my ass
back down.

My determination,
I put that on my race.
Because who else
has struggled
as much as we have,
pushing, striving,
and surviving?

My greediness,
I put that on America.
Because the good, old,
red, white, and blue
damn sure
makes you want it.

My craftiness,

I put that on the streets
of Philadelphia,
slippin', slidin', and hidin'
to put my thing down.

My confidence,
I put that on myself.
Because
I just think that
I was

born with it.

And my success,
I put that on everything.
Because everything I've done,
seen,
or been through
prepared me for
who I am today
and all that I do
for tomorrow.

Copyright © 1999 by Tracy Ellison

I
made it through my first full year of Hollywood, and after the summer of 1997, California had grown on me. Before the new television season got under way, I signed with the Writers Guild association, completed my continuation script to the season's finale of
Conditions of Mentality, and
I had plenty of other television producers wanting me to write for
their
shows. I was “the flavor of the month” in hot demand and absolutely
loving
it! I even had a young stud with his nose wide open for me. However, Yolanda and I had grown farther apart.

In August, when I decided to freelance with my scriptwriting for the new television season instead of signing on full time with
Conditions of Mentality,
Yolanda snapped at me as if I were her daughter.

“I can't
believe
that you didn't sign on with
Conditions
so you can write spec scripts for these little
black
shows,” she said. “Do you understand what you're about to do? You're cutting yourself
out
of the loop with the real players out here.”

I said, “They all offered me the same amount of money, so I would rather have my freedom to write whatever I want, and for whatever show.” It was that simple to me. Besides, Tim Waterman had left as the producer of
Conditions,
with Joseph Keaton still there as the head writer, and I damn sure didn't want to deal with that man every day. Tim had hired me and protected me (regardless of whether I gave him some of my pudding or not), and without him there, I didn't feel comfortable about going back.

Yolanda said, “I keep telling you, Tracy, you want to look at the
long term,
and not the
short term.”

Frankly, I was tired of hearing her mouth. Every time I turned around, Yolanda had something to suggest to me rather strongly. I never denied that she had hooked me up with my first Hollywood job, but I wasn't
indebted
to her for that. It wasn't as if she was my manager or anything, and I always paid her fee to review my contracts, so it wasn't as if she had given me anything for free.

I said, “Well, I'm moving on,” and that was the end of it.

Yolanda stopped her horses from running and asked me, “Are you still hanging out with Susan Raskin?”

I didn't like her question because I knew where she was going with it. I was even tempted to lie and tell her no, but I didn't.

“Yeah, we're still friends,” I answered.

“Okay, because you're gonna
need
some allies, especially if you plan to make your own way instead of establishing yourself somewhere stable.”

“Somewhere
stable?”
I responded. “
Conditions
was not
stable.
We didn't even know if we would have another season until the last minute.”

“And it was
your
shows that pushed them over the top, Tracy,” she reminded me. “So if you would have
stayed
there, you could have increased your name recognition for the bigger shows:
dramas
on NBC, ABC, and CBS.”