1
“S
unday Tolliver! Are you on your way to Mystique and Zillionaire's wedding?”
The paparazzo catches me off guard by jumping from behind a building as I exit my parked car in front of Mt. Pleasant Baptist Church in downtown Atlanta. Really? This bird is hiding at four o'clock in the morning trying to get the scoop? I mean who is checking for Mystique wedding details at four in the morning? And anyway this is not the location for Mystique's wedding. It's actually one of the decoy spots. I will be picked up by another car to take me to the final location.
“I'm on my way into this church,” I say.
The annoyed almost-reporter cocks her head to one side and sucks her teeth. She looks like she doesn't know whether or not to believe me. I certainly don't look like I'm going to a wedding. I'm wearing sweatpants, and my hair is in a loose bun on the top of my head. But there's a full wardrobe and makeup crew at the real venue, so I don't have to worry about looking glam right now.
“You're one of her bridesmaids, aren't you?” the reporter girl asks.
I lean in closely and whisper, “I'll never tell.”
The frustrated reporter rolls her eyes again and storms off, perhaps looking for someone more willing to spill their guts about the so-called wedding of the year.
I won't share the details because, as a pop star myself, I don't like my business in the streets (or on the Internet) either.
I stride away from the irritated blogger chick. She can be camped out here for the next few hours and she won't be any closer to the truth than she is now. The plan is for members of the wedding party to be picked up by shuttle bus at four-thirty in the morning. Then we will be taken to the top-secret wedding location. The wedding party doesn't even know where it is.
I can't believe Mystique was able to pull off something this complex when she and Zac (Zillionaire) only decided to get married a few weeks ago. News of Zac's love child hit the blogs and the next thing you know those two are going to the chapel, getting married.
When she asked me to be her maid of honor, I was kind of shocked. It's not like we're really close or anything like that. She gave me my first record deal and basically introduced me to the world as her protégée, but something happened in these past few months. All of a sudden she got competitive, and did a couple of things that could be construed as hateration.
I duck into the church and hand my car keys to a security guy standing at the door. He will be in charge of driving my car from the church to another parking areaânot where the wedding will be heldâbut another fake location to throw off the paparazzi. Yeah, it's super cloak and dagger up in this piece.
Then I see him.
The new ex-boyfriend of mine. Sam.
Ugh.
Like, can I ask a side bar question? Why do boys have to lie all the time? Sam told me that he didn't hook up with Rielle on prom night, and that was a big, fat, gigantic lie. He says he only lied because he didn't think I'd be his girlfriend if I knew, and he's probably right. I would've soooo kept it moving. But now, I really like (almost kind of love) Sam and he's hurt me.
Maybe I would've believed that he was all done with Rielle after prom, but apparently he's still dealing with her. He even bought her a laptop! Do I care that he did it because she's poor and her grandmother heard that he got a million-plus-dollar check? Um, no. We do not do good deeds for side pieces.
And why is he smiling at me? Ugh. I can't stand him.
He's Zac's best man, for some ridiculous reason. They aren't even friends. At all. Sam is his employee. Zac and Mystique are probably trying to orchestrate a reunion or some stupidity like that. But I don't care. Not trying to hear that.
Sam crosses the church sanctuary to where I'm standing in the back. He's still smiling like an idiot. I roll my eyes.
“So, they're sending a car for us,” he says. “It should be here soon.”
I give him a tight nod and start playing with my iPhone. I make a huge production out of putting my earbuds in, so he can tell that I'm listening to my music.
I wish my girls Gia, Piper, and Meagan were here with me. They didn't rank high enough on the celebrity list to get an invite to Mystique's wedding. They're not celebrities at allâthey're my friends from Spelman. Gia is my roommate.
Mystique told me that I could invite one of them as my guest since I don't have a date, but I decided against it. The two I didn't invite would inevitably be mad at me, and I'm anti-drama right now.
So, I invited DeShawn. He's a hottie who goes to Georgia State and plays on the football team with Gia's boyfriend, Ricky. DeShawn also models and was in one of my music videos. He's cool, he's a friend, and he flirts with me. It doesn't matter that I'm not in the boyfriend type mood. Having DeShawn with me at the wedding will, at least, keep Sam out of my face. I hope.
The wedding guests have to park their cars at a different location, and then they'll be driven to the top-secret wedding location by another shuttle bus. Mystique has sold exclusive rights to her wedding photos to
People
magazine, so it's, like, imperative that nobody take any picturesâpaparazzi or guests. They're even hijacking people's cell phones at the door.
It's that serious.
After a few minutes, I hear another car pull up outside the church. Sam and I are given dark jackets and baseball caps to put on, as we exit the back of the building. We look like some ghetto spies.
Once we're in the car, I notice that the driver is one of Zac's security guys. He drives us through Atlanta to a beautiful castle on Peachtree, called Rhodes Hall.
“I can't believe they're getting married here. Right in the middle of everything!” I exclaim to no one in particular.
Sam replies, “This is the perfect location. No one would even suspect that they were getting married this close to downtown Atlanta.”
I narrow my eyes in Sam's direction. I was not talking to him. Okay . . . so I know there are only two other people in the car besides me, and since I don't know the driver, it's pretty logical for Sam to assume that I'm talking to him.
But, since he also knows that I can't stand his guts right now, he shouldn't assume anything.
We're dropped off at the back gate of the castle, but since it's still dark outside no one can see us. Amazingly, there are no paparazzi hiding here. Maybe, it's because we took a roundabout way to get here. The church where we got picked up from is like ten minutes from the actual venue, but it took us forty minutes to get here.
When Sam and I walk into the building . . . wait. I do not like “Sam and I” put together in one sentence. That is so . . .
ugh!
When I walk into the building (we don't care what Sam is doing) I see Mystique barking out orders like the Bridezilla from the pits of Hades.
“Mother, please tell me that my veil is here. The custom-made diamond-encrusted veil that cost three million dollars to produce is here, right? Because if it's not here, someone's head is gonna roll.”
Ms. Layla, Mystique's mom, puts a hand on her daughter's back. It's a calming move, but it doesn't seem like it works.
“Honey, the veil is here. I just unpacked it. It is with Zac's security team now. Try to stay calm. You don't want to look frazzled in your wedding photos.”
“Okay, mother . . . I'm trying. I'm really trying. Where's Sunday? Is she here yet?”
“Present and accounted for,” I say from the back of the room.
Mystique flies back to greet me and embraces me with a bear hug. Who is this? I'm afraid I have not met this emotional and affectionate person masquerading as Mystique.
“Sunday, I'm so glad you're here. I can't have anything else going wrong.”
“I'm here too,” Sam says.
Mystique smiles at Sam and then says to me, “Sunday . . . can you please, please be nice to Sam today? I want you smiling in my pictures.”
I reply through clenched teeth. “I'll try.”
Mystique seems to accept my reply. I'm glad because it's the best I can do. She rushes off to fuss at the florist, who apparently has brought an incorrect flower.
“Does this look like a calla lily?” Mystique asks in a high pitched roar.
I take a seat and wait for someone to tell me what to do. I don't want to get in Mystique's path. Not today.
I know that if I ever get married (and that is so not in the plans any time soon), I don't want it to be like this.
2
B
y the time the wedding begins, this castle is jam-packed with everyone who's anyone in the music industry. From my post on the upstairs balcony landing, I can see people as they arrive. I can barely move since I'm poured into this form fitting rose colored gown. It's a good thing I didn't eat that pizza last night, because my stomach bulge would definitely show! I can also still hear Mystique's insane barking of orders, but I got into hair, makeup, and my dress over an hour ago, just so I could stay out of her way.
I watch as the entire Reign Records crew shows up in a Hummer limo. Leave it to Evan Wilborn to make a spectacle of himself on someone else's big day. He steps out of the car and helps my cousin, Dreya, out of the car. They are both wearing white, from head to toe. Dreya's dress is floor length, fitted, and covered in something sparkly. She's also got on jewel-encrusted shoes. She's traded in her usual spiky hairdo, for a long flowing wig that's pinned up on one side.
She looks nothing like Drama the R & B-slash-rap star. She looks like a Hollywood starlet on her way to a red carpet event. It is a good look for her.
Other Reign Records artists, Bethany and Dilly, also emerge from the limo, also wearing white. Big D, my manager and one of the head honchos of Reign Records and his girlfriend, Shelly, get out on the other side of the car, and they all have on white. Big D has really outdone himself with a white top hat and cane, with his plus-sized white suit, and Shelly's barely there dress stops right underneath her bottom. She covers the rest of her legs with fishnet stockings and thigh-high leather boots. All three of the ladies are wearing fur, since it is wintertime, and cold as all get out in Atlanta.
They all look out of pocket with this white on, like it's a summer wedding. Reign Records is tripping right now. Isn't there a rule about wearing white after Labor Day? I don't think it's allowed. And everybody knows that you don't wear white to someone's wedding. I don't think anyone told Evan or anyone else from Reign Records.
The flashiest accessory to their entire ensembles is the Reign Records medallion that everyone wears around their necks. My hand absentmindedly touches my neck, where my medallion would be if I was wearing it. For some reason, I can't bring myself to buy into the whole “family” thing that Evan has envisioned for his record label. We might all be label mates, but the bottom line is we're all competition. Dreya isn't fooling me one bit with this unity act, especially when it comes to Bethany, who she pretty much hates for hooking up with her ex-boyfriend.
The only people in the limo not wearing all white are my mom, Shawn, and my aunt Charlie, Dreya's mom. My mother is wearing a very elegant, long-sleeved, navy-blue gown that I bought her, with shoes to match. Aunt Charlie has on a skin-tight red suit with red stockings and gold shoes. I shake my head at the sight of her. Who wears red to a wedding? But nobody can check Aunt Charlie's style without hearing a mouthful of holleration. Since I don't feel like hearing her mouth, I will keep mum on the subject of her outfit.
I smile when I see DeShawn get dropped off by the valet at the front door of the castle. He was surprised when I asked him to be my date for the wedding, and of course he said yes. Number one, he's been trying to get with me for a minute, and two, he's a model, always looking to network and land a gig. Along with his football scholarship at Georgia State, he models to pay his bills. I am not mad at him for that.
I asked DeShawn to be my date, so that in no uncertain terms can Sam understand that I am no longer his girlfriend. Sam started out being someone I totally vibed with on every level. Our music was perfect, he
got
me and I got him too. We had a little drama in the very beginning, when another rapper, this guy named Truth, was trying to push up on me too. I thought that once we made it past all that, we would be together forever.
Then, I found out a whole string of lies that he told me, starting with him getting high on drugs at a party and hooking up with a groupie. But that wasn't even the worst thing! When I learned that he was basically caking this girl named Rielle, buying her computers and who knows what else, I was done. Sam's lies are beyond the level of acceptable, so he's been kicked to the curb.
I can't say that it doesn't hurt me. It hurts like crazy. He's the first guy I ever let myself fall all the way for, and I'm the type of chick who doesn't fall easily. I let him in, with his music and his witticism, and he paid me back with a bunch of lies. So, now I have a new mantra. Love is for suckas.
I'm about to get mine, money and career wise, and let all romance come second, if at all. Matter of fact, I don't even need romance. Who needs boys when they don't do anything but tell lies? Even DeShawn, as cool and as fine as he is, is suspect as well.
It sucks that the rest of my friends can't be here to offer their support. My crazy roommate Gia would know exactly what to say to make me laugh in spite of how insane this all feels. Piper and Meagan would be a distraction with all their bickering about the sorority they plan to join and the husbands they plan to land before they graduate from school. But of course, they were not invited to Mystique's wedding, because they're not industry people. My world is divided between the music industry and my college crew. Sometimes the two groups mix, and sometimes, like today, they do not.
Music starts in the main room of the castle, a signal to everyone that this show is about to be on the road. Ms. Layla steps out onto the landing, looking regal in her silver two-piece gown with a knee-high split. She is fly for an older woman. She winks over at me as she holds the arms of her escorts, two of Zac the Zillionaire's artists.
I wink back at her and smile. People can say what they want about Ms. Layla, but she's always got Mystique's back like one thousand percent. She reminds me of how my mother holds it down for me.
As soon as Ms. Layla heard about Zac's love child, she sprang into action and started orchestrating a fix to the messy situation. It was all over the blogs, leaked to them by a secret source. Anyway, Zac wanted to rectify his bad deeds by proposing to Mystique. While he didn't confirm or deny any of the rumors, he definitely proved his love for her. And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that really mattered to Mystique.
Sam steps out on the landing and holds his arm out to me, since we're to descend the spiral staircase together as best man and maid of honor. I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I know that this is Mystique's idea of playing peacemaker and getting me and Sam back together, but it will be a miserable, epic fail.
He whispers as I approach, “You look beautiful, Sunday.”
I don't respond, not even with a thank-you. His deception is too new, and honestly I can't even bear being in the same space as him. I am not swayed by how handsome he looks in his tuxedo or how incredible he smells. Because all of that is crushed by how he played me. It's crazy how someone can stop being attractive to you all at once when they break your heart.
We walk down the stairs arm in arm, me with a fake smile plastered on my face, and Sam giving head nods and grins to people taking pictures. I don't think there's ever been a moment in my life that I wanted over quicker than this stroll to the altar. Sam seems to be enjoying it though.
Finally, Sam and I separate and go to opposite sides of the altar. He stands behind Zac the Zillionaire, and I wait patiently with the three other bridesmaids for Mystique to descend the stairs.
A collective gasp rises from the room as Mystique finally emerges at the top of the steps. She looks breathtaking in her white gown, accented with lace and a bodice covered in crystals. She reminds me of a Disney princess as she glides down the stairs holding on to her father's arm. This is my first time seeing him, because he and Ms. Layla aren't married, and he's not around much.
As she approaches the altar, Mystique scans the room taking in her guests, and her eyes stop on the Reign Records crew. A very brief and almost unnoticeable twitch of her nose and eyes let me know that Mystique was furious about the all white, as I knew she would be. It was probably Dreya's idea to cause her trademark drama or to do something to take away from Mystique's day. Dreya hates Mystique just enough to do that.
Although I don't have proof, I believe that Dreya is the one who leaked the story about Zac's love child to every blogger in the Internet world who even cares about black celebrities. I have no idea how she would know about the love child, but I can't think of anyone else who dislikes Mystique enough to do that.
Dreya's dislike of Mystique hinges on hatred, and not in the fake hateration thing that artists do to one another, I mean the literal goes-down-deep hatred. That kind of feeling only can come from jealousy, and Dreya's got lots of that too. She's so envious of Mystique's success that she can't even see how talented she is in her own right.
Luckily, Mystique and Zac haven't picked a long-winded preacher to do their ceremony. These heels she's got me wearing with this dress are beyond cute, but as far as standing up goes, I think my feet are staging a mini-protest.
After they say their vows, swap kisses, and wave to their friends, family, and supporters, we are whisked away to do a Mystique and Zac wedding-day photo shoot. Of course, it's not going to be like a regular wedding where you take a bunch of pictures in about an hour and everybody goes to the reception. Oh, no. This one has hair and makeup (as if we didn't JUST do hair and makeup), and costume changes for the bride and groom.
While we're waiting for Mystique to be perfectly posed for her singular bride portrait, Sam strolls over to where I'm standing. This irritates me, because I can't find an acceptable escape route, and he knows that I don't want to talk to him.
“Hey, Sunday,” he says as if we are not ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriend. “The wedding was nice, huh?”
I nod. “It was very nice.”
“So, you gonna dance with me at the reception?”
Big, gigantic sigh. “Sam, I do not like you. What part of that do you not understand?”
“The not-liking part. Sunday, don't tell me you're never going to forgive me.”
I scrunch my face into a twisted frown. “This has nothing to do with forgiveness. This has to do with what makes sense and what doesn't. It doesn't make sense for me to be your girlfriend, because you don't know how not to cheat.”
“Based on your definition of cheating.”
“My definition matches about ninety-eight percent of the entire rest of the world's definition.”
Sam cracks his neck and then his knuckles. Signs that he's frustrated. Am I the one frustrating him? Really? He should practice some soul searching, and maybe he'd be irritated with himself for messing up a really good thing.
“Once you make your mind up, there's no convincing you. Rielle is a bird that goes to my mother's church. She's nothing to me.”
I shake my head. “She's nothing. That's sad. I hate that she gave her virginity to you, because you keep saying that she's nothing. What type of dude are you, Sam? I mean, don't you think you could try to get back with me without crapping on Rielle?”
“There's a chance that we could get back together?”
“Nah, playa. Not even a little, slim chance.”
Do you ever feel like the same drama is so tired and so played, that you don't even want to entertain it anymore? That's how I feel about Sam and our on-again, off-again relationship. It's like, come on, can I get to the next track on the CD of my life? This dude keeps trying to press replay and I'm done.com.org.info.
When the guys are taking a group shot with Zac, Mystique loops her arm in mine and smiles. “It's almost over. The day, I mean. I'm so ready for it to be done.”
“Really? It's your wedding day. It's supposed to be the best day of your life.”
She shrugs. “It is, but I can't help but think about Zac's child. He's the whole reason we're getting married, and that is annoying no matter how I look at it.”
I glance around and notice that there's no one standing near us while we talk. Mystique is an ultra-private person, so her sharing this little tidbit out in the open is totally unlike her.
“I think that's only part of the reason, Mystique. Don't you think Zac really loves you too?”
“Of course. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't believe that. I just think he would've stayed in single baller status with beautiful chick by his side for a while longer. The whole illegitimate child thing forced his hand.”
“He's just trying to keep you from leaving him, I think. He loves you and wants you to know that you mean more than a jump-off.”
She cocks her head to one side as if she hasn't considered this before. “Maybe you're right.”
“I am right!” I reply. “This is not just about sending a message to the fans, but he's also saying something to the baby's mama. It doesn't matter if she does have a child with him, you are number one.”
Mystique smiles and gives me a one-armed hug. “I see why everybody wants to be your friend, Sunday. You've always got the best advice.”
This makes me laugh out loud. “Everybody is not trying to be my friend! I think Dreya and Bethany can pretty much do without me right now.”
“Bethany was just upset for a minute, with that pregnancy thing. She was stupid to get pregnant by Dilly. He's just a baby. I don't agree with the abortion, but she did what she felt she had to do.”
“She said she had a miscarriage.”
Mystique shakes her head. “Nah. She had an abortion. Evan made sure of that. He heard those finished tracks off her album, and he
convinced
her to get rid of her baby.”