Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva (21 page)

Slamming on the brakes, skidding sideways, I screamed,
“Oh, shit!”
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and the last thing I remembered was crashing my Jag full speed into a light pole.

Disgraced Soap Diva Crashes Car in Drugged Out Stupor!

BREAKING NEWS:
Former Rich and Ruthless siren Calysta Jeffries crashed her vintage Jaguar into a streetlight in Santa Monica, blocks from her teenage daughter’s school. The award-winning actress, who up until six months ago played Ruby Stargazer on the soap, is said to be laid up in serious condition, according to her spokesperson Weezi Abramowitz. Inside sources say alcohol and drugs may have been a factor. Ever since Jeffries was fired from the #1 WBC soap shortly after her shocking on-set brawl with Sudsy Awardee and costar Emmy Abernathy she’s been abusing the mood enhancers. It’s so sad what this industry can turn people into. Keep checking back as this tragic story develops!

The Diva

W
hen I grow up I’ma be a GREAT BIG STAR!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms open wide for emphasis.

“You are?” asked Miss Whilemina, visiting from next door. She came over every afternoon in time to watch the “stories” with Grandma Jones.

“I sure am. I’m gonna be an actress on TV!”

“Well I’ll just say. Do me a favor, chile, and remember me here in Greenwood, Mississippi, when you make all that big-time money, okay?”

“Okay,” I promised. “I’m gone be the biggest star EVER!”

“Beulah Espinetta Jones, get your skinny behind in that kitchen and stop talking all that Who-Shot-John before I get the strap,” Grandma Jones warned from her usual place on the sunken-in sofa, a dishrag over one shoulder and a picture of a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Jesus hanging above her. “How many times do I have to tell you, all that show business carryin’ on is for freaks and strange folk?”

“But—”

“Don’t you but me, Beulah. You better look like doin’ those dishes if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, shoulders slumped in defeat.

“I mean you better wash those dishes good too, you know how yolk sticks. And dump that swill bucket in the compost pile while you’re at it,” Grandma Jones called out during a commercial break, Miss Whilemina nestled next to her unwrapping tinfoil containing a dozen hot wings, anticipating picking up where they left off on their favorite soap,
Yesterday, Today and Maybe Tomorrow.
“And wipe those dishes dry and put ’em away before you go outside and weed my herb garden. Ya hear? Beulah? Beulah Espinetta, don’t make me get off this couch!”

“Yes ma’am. I hear you, I hear you, I hear you . . .”

“Mom, wake up!” a familiar voice called out, as hands were gently rocking me. “You’re dreaming.”

I opened my swollen eyes to find Ivy’s concerned face looking down at me.

“What?” I asked groggily, my head pounding. “Where’s Grandma Jones?”

“In Mississippi, where else would she be?”

I slowly realized I wasn’t in Greenwood anymore. Everything was so hazy, so white, so sterile. And where was all my Barbara Barry furniture?

“What’s goin’ on?” I panicked, as I unsuccessfully tried to sit up. “Ouch! Where am I?”

“Lay still, Mom.” Ivy gently guided me back.

“You’re at St. John’s,” answered a pissed Dwayne. His voice made me wince.

“What?”

“You’ve been here for the past forty-eight hours,” he continued. “Ever since you wrapped your car around a light pole.”

Nothing Dwayne said was registering. I remembered getting groceries . . .

How’d I get from pomegranate seeds to a hospital bed? I’d read something in a tabloid that involved Randall Roberts . . . what was it?

The details were fuzzy, but one thing I knew for certain, as with most of the showbiz calamities of my adult life, trifling Randall Roberts somehow played a part.

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“Luckily no,” Dwayne coldly informed me.
“
Considering how impaired you were it could have been disastrous.”

“Impaired? What are you talking about?”

“No mystery here, Calysta. You were driving while under the influence. You better thank God you only have a coupla’ cracked ribs and didn’t kill yourself or someone else.”

“What? No, I mean I wasn’t impaired!”

“Dwayne, take it easy, Mom’s just been in an accident.”

“I . . . I remember having a split of champagne before going to the market, and that certainly wasn’t enough to make me crash my car.”

“They found alprazolam in your system,” Dwayne said.

“Alpa-what-um?” Ivy asked.

“I’m sorry you have to find out about your mother this way, honey, but—”

“Shut up, Dwayne.”

“It’s Xanax,” he persisted. “They found a bottle spilled out all over the passenger seat of your mother’s car.”

“Okay, okay,
crucify me.
Yes, I occasionally take a Xanax for my panic attacks, which you contribute to, but what does that have to do with—”

“You know you’re not supposed to drink and drive, much less mix it with pills.”

“Well thank you, C. Everett
whatshisface
.”

“Who?” Ivy asked.

“Your mother doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s Dr. Regina
Benjamin, new surgeon general. Saw it in
Jet
.” Dwayne’s real inspiration for the subscription was “Beauty of the Week.”

“My head—”

“Mom! I’ll get the nurse?”

“Yeah baby, need something for the pain.”

“Okay, be right back.”

“That’s
not
going to happen, I will not allow our daughter to enable your druggin’,” Dwayne pontificated, blocking Ivy’s exit. “And furthermore, Ivy will be staying with me for the foreseeable future.”

“You’re out of your cotton-pickin’ mind.”

Maternal adrenaline temporarily numbing my agony, I pressed the button on my automated bed to sit up. “I’m the primary parent.”

“Not anymore you’re not,” Dwayne said arrogantly, unfolding an official-looking document. “Don’t strain yourself trying to read it. It’s a court order giving me temporary custody.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“I get into a little fender bender and now you’re snatching my child!”

“If I hadn’t been quick on my feet, Child Protective Services would’ve been all over me and you like a wetsuit.”

“Guys, Mom, Dad, stop fighting.”

“You’re right, honey, pass me my BlackBerry. It’s in my purse. I need to call Sly.”

“He’s already in the waiting room.” Dwayne sneered. “He called yesterday and asked me to let him know when you regained consciousness. The accident’s been on
Wendy Williams
‘Hot Topics’ for the past two days. She keeps rerunning you being cut out of your car with the ‘Jaws of Life.’ See what an embarrassing mess you’ve made?”

“And how much did you get for the story, Dwayne? Ivy, go get Sly.”

“But Mom, you should rest. Can’t you do this later?”

“Just get him, baby.”

Ivy stared Dwayne down with a “don’t mess with me” attitude heading out the door.

Taking advantage of her absence, Dwayne continued, “This wasn’t just some ‘fender bender,’ Calysta. What if Ivy had been in the car with you?”

“I know you’re
not
gonna stand in my face and spin this to make me look like some kind of unfit dope fiend mother!”

“Calysta, you can’t even take care of yourself right now, let alone a teenager. You act as if life is one big soap opera.”

“For someone who’s always ready to call me a hack and put me down for makin’ a livin’ off of daytime, you sure don’t mind collectin’ that soap opera alimony, do you? If you think I’m gonna sit back and let you take Ivy without a fight you got another thing comin’, brotha’. I wouldn’t put it past you to be goin’ after custody just so you can suck more money out of me in the name of child support. You’ll be hearing from Sly first thing tomorrow, you can best believe
that
.”

“I predict your attorney will have more pressing things on his agenda. Like keeping his client out of jail.”

“Everyone told me it was a mistake to trust you to adopt Ivy in the first place, but I was hardheaded.”

“Always living in the past, chasin’ shadows . . . whatever, Calysta, I’ll just chalk up all your yammering to those chemicals swimming around in your toxic brain. As for Ivy, biology notwithstanding, she’s my daughter too and my first priority. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

“Get the hell out!” I screamed as Sly and Weezi entered, Ivy rushing to my bedside.

Dwayne caught the door, saying, “We’ll be back tomorrow
if
you’ve come to your senses. C’mon, Ivy. This is no place for you.”

“Just ignore him, Mom,” Ivy whispered into my ear as she gave me a kiss.

“Love you, babygirl,” I tearfully said. “Promise to make it up to you.”

She reluctantly walked out with Dwayne.

“How’s it going, Calysta?” Sly asked. “Never trusted that man.”

“Yeah, I tried to tell her he was a scumbag.”

“Weezi, what are you doin’ here?”

“Thought it was a good idea to come for moral support. You know how much I care about you.”

I looked at him sideways. Weezi was there for all the wrong reasons.

“Sly, how could you let this happen?”

“What was I supposed to do? Weezi’s incessant calling—”

“Not him! Dwayne. That leech has been awarded temporary custody of Ivy? How did he pull that off when you have my Power of Attorney?”

“He’s the child’s legal father. I told you years ago that gigolo was going to be trouble. But I have to tell you, it could have been much worse.”

“How—if a building fell on me?”

One of my biggest fears was if Ian, Ivy’s bio-dad, popped up to make a claim for her too. Nah, I knew better than that. The last thing that deadbeat wanted was a teenager crampin’ his bachelor lifestyle.

“Dwayne said something about jail? The police must realize this was just an accident?”

“I hate to remind you, but you were driving under the influence, Calysta.”

“I feel bad enough, don’t rub more salt in the wound. I know I made a colossal mistake but that doesn’t make me a criminal.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not how the District Attorney’s office sees it.”

“The District Attorney’s office?” I exclaimed, flinching from the pain across my chest. “The D.A. is getting involved in my little accident when the state is bankrupt and we have rapists and serial killers runnin’ around?”

“Calysta, this is serious; you could have killed someone. The D.A. has caught a lot of flak for being lenient on celebrity DUI offenders
in recent years. He wanted to make an example out of you but fortunately, with all my contacts downtown, I was able to head him off at the pass.”

“Will I have to do some sort of community service like Naomi Campbell?”

“Community service will definitely be a part of the deal, but that comes in a bit later. You’ve got more pressing things to focus on.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“You’re gonna have to go through six weeks of drug counseling.”

“Are you shittin’ me?”

“’Fraid not.”

“I don’t have time for counseling. I have a career to rebuild.”

“You’re unemployable for now.”

“Stop talkin’ crazy.”

“I’m serious, Calysta. There’s no way around it. You’re court-ordered to fulfill a six-week intensive residential drug treatment at a facility specializing in addiction. As soon as your doctor gives the okay, you’ll be transported door-to-door to Tranquility Tudor in Malibu.”

“There’s no way I’m going to a stupid rehab. Besides, it’s two streets up from my house and everyone will recognize me in the neighborhood. That place drives their rich clients around in those psychiatric-looking vans that have ‘We Do It One Day at a Time’ stamped on the back.”

“It’s either Tranquility Tudor or a year in jail,” Sly said matter-of-factly.

“This can’t be happening,”

“It’s not all bad,” Weezi reasoned. “As far as these types of places go, Tranquility Tudor is top shelf. It’s the Waldorf-Astoria of detox clinics and where
all
the celebrities go. They’ve got a spa and everything. And guess what? There’s a
huge
motion picture director who just checked in for the third time to dry out. Who knows, you might land a part in a film just rubbing elbows over chocolate mousse while sharing your strength, love, and hope.”

“Do I look like Winehouse? I’m a substantial
actress
. I don’t have time to sit around talking about my feelings with some has-been teen stars from
The Partridge Family
.”

“We have your best interests at heart. Now, you get some beauty rest,” Weezi began. “
Cliffhanger Weekly
and
Soap Suds Digest
are still talking about your comeback to
The Rich and the Ruthless
. You know what they say, you gotta be ready when opportunity strikes. Call me if you need anything.”

I couldn’t even muster enough strength to say
get out, you bum.
And as for Sly, though he’d saved the day keeping me out of the pokey, I didn’t thank him too much. I knew he’d be sending along a fat bill to my accountant by the end of the week.

I reached over to the bedside table to get my BlackBerry, wanting to talk to Derrick. He’d know how to fix this, he always did. Too bad we’d broken up again shortly after I was fired.

He’d been ultra-understanding about my beef with Emmy and smoothed my ruffled feathers in more ways than one.

However, after I saw him in
The Globe
canoodling in the buff between two Brazilian bombshells on a beach in Rio while shooting his hunky Man of Prime Time calendar I had a nuclear meltdown.

I’d auto-dialed him demanding an explanation but only got a recording, “This number is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again later.”

The sex god had played me like a fiddle and I reverted back to possessive ghetto-stalker mode, plotting to scale his security gate and Krazy Glue his front-door keyhole.