Secrets of a Soap Opera Diva (40 page)

“Isn’t that a good thing? But about our summer—”

“Mom, we’ll discuss everything on our way home. I need a few seconds with Calysta.”

“Of course. Take care, Calysta.” Katherine half-smiled, walking toward her chauffeur.

“My brother hates me. I wish we were in this together,” Veronica sadly confided.

“Don’t worry, things have a way of working themselves out. There’s this old story about two wolves inside all of us. I don’t remember it verbatim but it goes something like, ‘One wolf is evil, angry, jealous, and lies. Has a chip on his shoulder and a big ego. The other is loving, peaceful, generous, and has faith.’ Which one do you think will win?”

“Tell me.”

“The one you feed. In other words, ‘do you’ and don’t change. Look what this business has done to Randall and Edith, your own brother even.”

“I know I keep saying it, but how can—”

“You already have,” I cut in. “I’m glad I could repay your dad in some way.”

“He’s right, it’s time I put that journalism degree to good use and get involved in the family business. As a matter of fact I’ve already penned the perfect scene to rescue you from that deserted island.”

We shared a laugh.

“And I wouldn’t worry about Edith and Felicia. Edith’s going to have enough on her plate to keep her very busy for some time. And if I have
my way, which I usually do,” she said with a tricky smile, “Felicia won’t be head scribe on
R&R
for much longer. She’s doing hideous things with the characters; the cast and fans despise her for it. And I want to be the first to tell you, I’m following your lead and hiring a black writer. As for Randall”—she shrugged—“have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“He collapsed at his party last night. It’s a mystery what caused it but he’s in a coma.”

“A coma?”
Did he say anything to anyone first?

“Yeah, apparently Alison rode with him in the ambulance,” she added, hitching her purse higher on her shoulder.

“Veronica.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be surprised if I take your dad up on that offer to return to the show. But first I have some family business to handle.”

“I’ll expect you when I see you. The car’s all yours for the rest of the day.”

“Thanks, you’re a class act, Veronica.”

“So are you.”

Heading toward the Bentley, the warm California sun on my face, I thought,
This is definitely a brand-new day.

FIVE WEEKS LATER

And so I will fly. Where there is nothing left, I fly. And you cannot tie me with your fear, your dislike, or your envy. You cannot hold me down at all. You can only watch as I throw open your mind’s eye like a thick curtain, and shake free the dust to reflect the sunshine a thousand ways and ride every mote to its end, laughing that thrown-back laugh that I have, all the way to further than you can imagine. But I do not spurn you. I never spurn you. Come, you.

—R.W.A. Friend, “Faerie”

I
vy, Shannen, and I excitedly ran toward each other while Derrick coolly lagged behind, making his way with a sexy swagga causing a commotion at Betty Ford.

Embracing Ivy tightly, I said, “Happy birthday, baby, we’re finally going home!”

“Sorry, Mom, about the emails and calls the last three weeks but Dad said if I didn’t spend more time with him he wasn’t going to let me go to Greenwood.”

“Sweet pea, all that matters is that
I
get you on your seventeenth birthday with Grandma Jones.”

“Let me get that for you,” Derrick said, sweeping up my luggage.

“Got that orchid you sent. Bloomed forever. One woman even told
me the longer a flower lasts sent from a lover the longer . . . anyway, you get it . . . ”

For two seconds I thought I saw him blush, his deep Hershey dimples accenting a smile.

“Wow, Calysta, you look amazing,” Shannen gushed. “I need to go to rehab if this is the payoff.”

“Girl, you’re crazy.” I laughed, releasing Ivy to hug her. “Tell you one thing, feel better than I ever have.”

After TT’s crooked antics, Sly got me into Betty Ford, a respectable no-nonsense place with no equine therapy, no shopping, and no Korean body splashes.

Clean and clear, I was returning
home
with Ivy after a twenty-year absence, to spend time with Grandma Jones and the ghosts of Greenwood. To start my life over, I had to learn how to live it right, revisiting my past, and making amends, the first steps to a full recovery.

Randall was still in a coma and it seemed my secret was safe, while Veronica had taken over Felicia’s position, demoting her to story coordinator. It still gnawed at me, weeks later, that Emmy had crashed Tranquility Tudor.
What is she going to do with what she learned?
I worried.
Or what has she done?

“Jump in, ladies, we’re on the clock,” Derrick said, sliding his hand under my tush, helping me into his Rover.

“Fresh.”

“You like it.”

“You right.” I smiled.

“You-all have a flight to catch and we have a mad drive so buckle up.”

We were heading toward LAX with the Noisettes playing, when Ivy turned to me excitedly. “Mom, guess what?”

“What, babe?”

“I asked Dad to swing by our house the other day so I could pick up a few things for our trip and . . .” She made a drumroll sound, patting her hands on her lap.

“C’mon, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“. . . the kitchen is finally done!”

“Don’t joke, Ivy.”

“I’m serious. I know that contractor guy was a nightmare but Derrick took the bull by the horns. It’s beautiful. You’re gonna love it.”

“Wow, D, you did that for me?”

“Since we’re sharing good news,” Shannen chimed in, “they’re finally taking that nasty trach out of my mouth and I can bury that sud-dud storyline. Thank gawd Veronica took over.”

Listening to Shannen talk about her storyline as though it were real life, I wondered, had
I
sounded like that, so caught up in that bubble that I’d lost sight? Soap stuff was far, far away from my reality right now and I knew if I
ever
went back it would have to be much, much different. Veronica and Katherine Barringer had assured me it would be.

“Roger’s still in the pokey, couldn’t make bail, it’s half a mill. On top of that Maeve’s suing him. Javier and I are still going strong, he’s taking me to the Latin Grammys, he’s a presenter with Eva Longoria. And he’s teaching me Spanish! Did you know
fruta bomba
means ‘papaya’ in English? How sexy is that? Oh, and I filed for divorce. Everything is so great again!” Pausing for a breath, she continued, “’Cept for one thing. My air show scenes were going to be wicked fantastic, but I was preempted by another stupid car chase. And last year the same thing happened to me over Wimbledon, remember? Best damn scenes all year, I was going to put them on my Sudsy reel for a pre-nom.”

“I feel ya,” Derrick said, chewin’ on a toothpick. “Last week I was knocked off the air by Obama, but that’s okay, he’s cool beans and it
was
the presidential address ’n’ all.”

“Yeah, but least you get to go into syndication. Soap stars only get one shot to be seen outside of being exported, and that doesn’t count.”

“Right about that,” I said.

“Why doesn’t it count?” asked Ivy innocently.

Together, Derrick, Shannen, and I chimed in, “Three years behind and pennies on the dollah!”

We all fell out with laughter, diggin’ the international exposure, just wantin’ to get paid for it.

“Seriously, Shannen, I’m sorry you got preempted, but I couldn’t be happier for you and Javier, and proud that you handled your business with your knucklehead soon-to-be-ex-husband.”

Two and a half hours later, with Ivy napping on my shoulder, we pulled up to Northwest groovin’ to “Can’t Believe It.”

“Wake up, honey. We’re here.”

A flagged skycap came running. “Ruby, Ruby Stargazer, when are you coming back? We miss you.” The fans were always amazing no matter who they were or where they were from.

“Someday,” I answered.

“Sir, you need to move your car,” an officer warned.

Right on cue, Shannen flirtatiously asked, “Hi, officer, can you give me directions to Marina del Rey?”

“Derrick, you’ve been there for me through the good, the bad, and the ugly—”

“Don’t stress. Trust, next time I see you—”

I finished, “I’ma lay some
hip woo wong
on
you
,” smacking a heavenly kiss on him.

“Come on, you guys. Mom, this is so embarrassing.”

“Thanks, officer, for being so patient. It’s my dyslexia.” Shannen smiled.

I crossed to give her a squeeze good-bye while Ivy threw her arms around Derrick. He pulled out a small wrapped box from his jacket pocket and said with a wink, “Don’t open it till tonight, birthday girl.”

“Okay, thanks, Derrick!” She giggled.

“. . . and don’t forget, when you get back, we’re going to Jamaica,” Shannen reminded me.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, girl. We’ll call you when we land,” I said on the move, blowing a kiss, looping my arm through Ivy’s.

“Let’s go see Grandma.”

A
blood orange sun dipped behind distant pines as I steered the rent-a-car onto Money Road, now paved, and parked it in front of Grandma Jones’s house. I was instantly flooded with memories, some good and others I’d rather forget.

“C’mon, Mom.”

Miss Whilemina came barreling through the screen door and down the steps at us full throttle as we got out of the car.

“Goodness gracious, Beulah Espinetta Jones, get over here and give me a hug right now. And you too, little bits,” she said, addressing Ivy, squeezing us.

“Oh, Miss Whilemina, you don’t know how good it is to be back home.”

“It’s been too long,” she half-criticized. “And look at
you
, Missy Anne,” a name she called every girl under the age of eighteen. “Just as beautiful and a spittin’ image of your mamma.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Your grandma been showin’ me pictures of you growin’ up for years. But now I get to see you in the flesh. Y’all just in time for Saturday’s Annual Greenwood Barbecue Cook-Off too! Always did have good timin’, Beulah.”

Grandma Jones bounded out next. “Sister Whilemina, you let my Beulah and great-grandbaby loose so they can come see me right this instant.”

“I’ll catch up with y’all later,” Whilemina said, walking next door.

Ivy and I ran up the steps and fell into Grandma Jones’s arms as she smothered us with a deep-bosomed hug, before ushering us in to the delicious aroma of baking cake. “Thank God that flying tin can stayed in the air long enough to get you both here safely. Don’t know how they do it but I prayed for travelin’ mercies and here you both are in one piece. God is good.”

As soon as that screen door slammed shut I went back two decades: familiar scents and sounds washed over me as if time had stood still. The Mills Brothers’ “Sleepy Time Gal” was playing on WOHT from Grandma’s transistor radio in the kitchen, and the plastic-covered furniture was exactly where I remembered it, only more yellowed. She’d refused a new living room set, insisting, “Me and your grandpa bought this furniture after the Korean War. Besides it took me the longest to break in that doggone couch and pay off the layaway.”

Licking her fingers, Ivy lapped up the last bits of Grandma Jones’s butter-fried chicken while we finished catching up on how she’d made the honor roll in spite of the recent drama.

“Babygirl, there’s plenty more chicken where that came from.”

“Thank you, Mother Jones, but I’m full.”

“Coulda fooled me. Hope you saved some room for your birthday cake. Beulah, you see this chile eat a bird like there’s no tomorrah? Suck the marrow right out the bone like I do,” she added, shaking her head pridefully.

“Didn’t get it from me,” I agreed as I took our dishes to the sink, the same plates I ate from as a child with a black and red rooster in the center.

“And why you wastin’ that skin? Folks over in Africa starvin’ to death. It’s the very best part.”

“I know, Grandma,” I said, scraping what was left into the swill bucket.

Wiping the countertop, I looked down at a faded coffee can half full of bacon grease; so many memories.

“Anyone mind if I get some air?” I asked.

“Shoot, better go before it gets dark and starts pourin’. Storm’s on its way, know that much. Besides, we got an important birthday to celebrate. Ain’t that right, sugah?” she said, looking lovingly at Ivy.

“Yes, Mother Jones, and that cake smells good too.”

“And Beulah.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Greenwood ain’t what it used to be. Things have changed ’round here and not all good.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t be long.”

Inexplicably, I felt suffocated and happy all at once. I needed to get to where I needed to go and it couldn’t wait, not for one more second.

“’Course, sugah. Ivy’s gonna help me with the dishes and then we’re gonna get my secret paprika barbecue sauce ready so I can marinate the rest of this meat for the cook-off tomorrah. I know
you
can’t cook, Beulah, so I need to pass on the tradition to my great-gran.”

I lingered after walking out the door, listening to Grandma Jones say to Ivy, “I’m very proud of you. Know things ain’t been easy, runnin’
all over kingdom come. But you strong just like your mamma . . . like all us Jones women.”

“Mother Jones, I wrote my last English paper on you.”

“Shush your mouth, Ivy. You don’t say.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I am just tickled.”

Leaving them to each other, I stopped in front of our old persimmon tree, now considerably bigger, reminiscing about harvesting clusters of the fruit for Grandma’s homemade chutney and pudding, before plucking a ripe chocolate tomato, dropping it into my messenger bag.

Grandma was right. Driving through town, I didn’t recognize whole blocks. Stopping at a Piggly Wiggly where a farm had once been, I purchased flowers and headed to the local cemetery down on True Bible Way.