Authors: Deborah Gregory
Drinka had an ultra-hit disco song back in the day called “Just Sippin’ When I’m Not Tippin’.” It was number one on the Billboard Dance Charts in 1972 for thirty-seven weeks. I know this because she has told us about the same number of times.
Drinka is finishing a class and standing by the receptionist. She is wearing silver spandex pants with a matching top, and a silver apple-jack hat that almost covers her face. Her pointy sequined slippers (yes, they’re silver) curl up at the toes and make her look like Tinker Bell. “I think it looks like she’s got tinfoil on her feet!” argues Do’ Re Mi.
Everyone at the conservatory is excited about our singing at the Kats and Kittys Halloween Bash.
“Get paid, girls!” Miss Winnie, the receptionist, says, cheering us on. She is so nice. “You girls are gonna have to work hard together,” she explains, giving Do’ Re Mi her very own card stamped
VOCAL
201. Do’ Re Mi is supposed to start with Beginners Vocal 101, but because we’re performing together, Miss Winnie lets her join our class.
For the first thirty minutes of class, we do scales. Wolfman Lupe plays the piano to guide our vocal warm-up. Doing scales means singing from the upper to the lower chambers in the voice to help loosen it up. It’s kinda like stretching before dancing.
After warm-up, Drinka comes into the studio and teaches the vocal class. “Okay, pretty girls, show me what you can do,” Drinka says, clapping. She tells us, “You have got to have a theme and a dream and a mind like a money machine.”
We are lucky, no doubt, to be getting such primo vocal training for free. For the past two years, we’ve also gotten to take dance classes here, too. I mean we’ve learned all the global moves. Caribbean, Brazilian, and African are my favorite dance classes because we get to stomp around to the beat of live drummers. In salsa class, we dance to musicians playing conga drums.
After Drinka’s, we have to hook up with Angie and Aqua at the subway station. I call them on my cell phone to make sure they’re on the way. Angie and Aqua are coming from Ninety-sixth Street and Riverside Drive, where they live with their father. We meet them at the end of the platform at the Times Square station.
We have to take the N train to the Prince Street station to go to my mom’s boutique. Aqua, Angie, and Do’ (Do’ Re Mi’s shortened nickname) sit huddled together on one subway seat while me and Chuchie sit on a parallel one. I think the three of them—Angie, Aqua, and Do’ Re Mi—feel more relaxed together, even though we are
all
a crew. I mean, Do’ Re Mi loves to cook and sew, and so do Angie and Aqua. They all cook at home, too. They’re huddled together peeping at a recipe for “Dumbo Gumbo” in
Sistarella
magazine. Like me, Chuchie is not interested in cooking. It takes her an hour to boil Minute rice. (She cooked it once. Yuk.)
The officers of the Kats and Kittys Klub were excited about our upcoming performance at the Halloween bash. “Why didn’t you two think of this before, Galleria?” asked Ms. Bugge, when we told her our plans.
I told her, “Me and Chanel never wanted to perform by ourselves. That’s not our idea of a show.”
Now there are five of us. Five fab divettes. Hmmm … maybe that would be a good name for the group….
I pull out my Kitty Kat notebook and start to dawdle and diddle. Five Fab Divettes. Nah. It sounds like a set of dining room chairs.
See, you have to have a catchy name for a group, and a theme that comes from the heart. That’s what Drinka was tryin’ to tell us.
Do’ Re Mi looks at us and asks if everything is okeydokey. She is always looking out for her peeps. I like that about her.
“We’re chillin’.” I smile. “You like house music?”
“Some of it,” Do’ Re Mi says, shrugging. “Why?”
“We can borrow some of my mom’s records to use as tracks for the show.” Now that we have memorized the lyrics to both of Kahlua’s songs (a small miracle), we can concentrate on my songs. And my songs need tracks. That’s where my mom’s house music comes in. All music, no words. Angie and Aqua still haven’t given in on singing my songs, so I expect another battle on this. But I figure if I have Do’ Re Mi on my side, that will make three against two.
“Sometimes my mom cranks up the house music in the store and dances. She says it’s like going to church,” I tell her.
“That’s funny.” Aqua laughs, hearing me. “She should come to our church. She’d have a good time, then. ’Cause we get down.”
We are planning a trip to Aqua and Angie’s church, but not until after the show, because we are all mad hectic. I pray that Aqua and Angie don’t suggest we use gospel music tracks for the show. For now, it’s too noisy to talk about it. That’s the subway for you.
We are going down to my mom’s store to see if she will make our costumes. Of course, I know my mom will make me sign an IOU—which really means, pay now
and
pay later. Pay later in duckets, and pay now by cleaning my room. Not every day, mind you, but every hour.
I also want to give Do’, Aqua, and Angie a surprise. The question is, will my mom cough up three more cheetah backpacks so we can look like a real crew? (Stay tuned, Kats and Kittys, to find out….)
My mom’s boutique is the brightest store on the block. You can see it all the way down West Broadway, which is a five-block-long strip of boutiques. A lot of famous divas come to my mother’s store to shop.
We climb the five steps up to the big glass door entrance of Toto in New York. “If my mom offers you anything to eat, take it or she’ll think there’s something wrong with you,” I whisper to Do’ Re Mi.
Chanel presses the buzzer so we can get buzzed in. All the dope boutiques in New York have buzzers because a lot of shoplifters, or boosters, try to come in and “mop” stuff. That means shopping for free. Boosters don’t usually come into my mother’s store because they are more scared of her than of the police.
“Ooh, Toto in New York, that is so cute,” Angie says, looking up at the lime green and hot pink sign flapping in the wind.
“Ooh, look at all the leopard clothes. They got clothes to fit us?” Aqua asks all excited when we get inside.
“You keep eating like you do and they will,” I smirk as we plop down on the big leopard-print love seat and wait for my mom. We can’t interrupt her because she is doing her leg lifts against the counter. A house music song, “You Think You’re Fierce,” is playing on the sound system.
“See, that’s house music,” I mumble to Aqua. Bet they’ve never met anyone like my mother in Texas. Aqua and Angie are watching my mother in awe. (Their mouths are open.)
Mom weighs 250 pounds. That’s 120 pounds more than she did as a model—something “Madame” Simmons loves to make digs about—but she is as beautiful now as she was back then. And I’m not saying this because she is my mother. My mom was and is a real diva—not just “back in the day,” but today.
“We can’t walk down the streets without some man goospitating and whistling at her,” I tell Do’ Re Mi proudly. “One guy stopped us right and asked my mom, “Girl, is it your birthday, ’cause you sure got a lot of cakes back there?” She hit that bumbling Bozo over the head with her leopard pocketbook. “I’m sure he’s still recovering, somewhere over the rainbow.” I smirk at Do’ Re Mi.
Get me through this show, I pray silently to Mom’s Josephine Baker poster. (See, an old-school diva like Baker, who used to have a leopard for a pet, understands what I’m going through.)
“Where’s Toto?” I ask.
“Toto, come here, cream puff. I said come here!” Mom screams. Poor Toto comes charging out of the dressing room, where he was sleeping on the cushion, and makes a beeline under the couch because he doesn’t see me. His hair is matted on the side like mine is when I first get up in the morning.
“Galleria, look at Toto! He gets so scared when I yell at him—he looks like a dancing mop!” Mom screeches.
“Come here, Toto. I want you to meet my friends,” I coo, trying to comb out Toto’s hair with my fingers. I like when his hair is perfect like cotton candy, but Mom likes the untamed look, so he only goes to the beauty parlor every two months. Toto is ignoring me and he starts walking on his little doggie booboo.
“Toto, that’s enough. Stop dragging your furry butt on the floor. I just got it waxed!” Mom yells, then starts pinning some burgundy velvet fabric on a dress form.
“These your friends from Kats and Kittys?” she asks.
“Yup.”
“Where are you two from?” Mom asks, looking at Aqua.
Turning to look at me, then back to my mom, Aqua asks, “You mean me?”
Chanel kicks me. I kick her back.
“Yes, you, darling. You see anyone else here I don’t know? You can call me Dorothea, by the way,” Mom says.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Dorothea,” Aqua says. “I didn’t know you were talking to us. Um, we’re from Houston.”
“Houston. They have the best shopping mall in the world.” Mom swoons. “And I should know. I’ve been to every shopping mall from here to Hong Kong. Did Galleria tell you I named her after the mall there?”
“The Galleria? Is that right?”
“That is right,” Mom says, all pleased with herself. I’ve heard this story a ca-zillion times. “I was in Houston modeling for a fashion shoot. I was so bored because I didn’t know anyone there—well, anyone I wanted to see—so I went shopping at the Galleria. That’s where I bought my first pair of Gucci shoes,” she goes on. “I was pregnant and I wanted to remember the moment forever. Most beautiful shoes I’ve ever had. Burgundy-sequined pumps with little bows in front.”
“Kinda like Dorothy’s ruby slippers?” Do’ Re Mi asks, perking up.
“
Exactly
.” I smirk. “Mom still has the shoes in a leopard keepsake box, along with my baby pictures and a personal ad that she answered before I was born.”
Now why did I say that? I have
such
a big mouth.
“Personal ad, what’s that?” Do’ Re Mi asks.
“It’s for meeting people,” Chuchie snips.
“You mean, like, for dating?” Angie asks.
“Yes. Like, for dating,” Chuchie says with her
boca grande
.
“‘Lonely oyster on a half shell seeks rare Black pearl to feel complete,” Mom explains with a giggle.
“Galleria’s mom answered the personal ad out of
New York Magazine
, and that’s how she met her dad. Get it?” Chuchie explains some more. I am gonna get her later.
Aqua and Angie look at each other like they have just met the Addams family, then “chedda waves” catches herself and goes to pet Toto. “Wait until he meets Porgy and Bess,” Angie coos, trying to pat his head, but he looks at her and yawns.
“Oh, how cute,” Chanel says. “What kind of dogs are they?”
“Oh, they’re not dogs,” Angie chimes in.
“They’re our guinea pigs from home. We couldn’t leave them behind,” Aqua explains, waiting to see my mom’s reaction. I move my feet from Chanel quickly because I know she is going to kick me, but Aqua notices. “What’s the matter?” Aqua asks me.
“Oh, nothing,” I lie. “I thought I saw a roach.”
“A roach!” My mom huffs. “There better not be any roaches in here or I’ll go to that exterminator’s office and exterminate him!”
“I was just joking, Mom,” I say, quickly realizing that I don’t want to endanger some poor man’s life and leave his wife a widow. Mom would do it. Trust me.
“There’s nothing wrong with guinea pigs for pets,” Mom says, coming to Aqua and Angie’s defense.
Why is she doing that, I wonder?
“Josephine Baker had a pet leopard. That’s her,” Mom says, pointing to the poster of Josephine. “She was the most famous Black singer and dancer in the world.”
“She danced in banana skirts,” Do’ Re Mi says excitedly. “I know all about her. She was so famous, they shut down Paris just for her funeral.”
“That’s right, darling,” Mom says, approving of Do’ Re Mi. “Say, what are you divettes going to wear for the show?” Mom asks.
My mom knows full well the Whodunnit and the Whodini: 1. Why we are there. 2. How cheesy I will get to have her help us. 3. That I am desperate.
What she doesn’t know is, I know how to turn the tables.
“Mom, you gotta give us some ideas!” I whine, even though it kills me. Mom loves to give “advice.”
“Leopard is always the cat’s meow, darling. How about some leopard cat suits? Then you can go to Fright Night on Prince Street and get some leopard masks with the whiskers, like you used to wear for Halloween when you were little. Some little leopard velvet boots or something, and the five of you would look fierce.”
“I love it!” says Do’ enthusiastically.
“That sounds fabbie poo, darling,” I say, imitating my mother, then add for good measure, “Mom, can I get a weave for the show?”
“Do you have weave money?” Mom asks, then continues with her investigation before I get a chance to respond. “What are you going to call the group?”
“We haven’t decided yet.” I yawn, then pull out my Kitty Kat notebook, where I have written down a few names. “We thought of names like The Party Girls, The Ladybug Crew, A Taste of Toffee—that was Aqua’s idea. The Ruby Slippers.”
“Oooh, I like that,” my mom says, smiling, then she hesitates. “But that’s not for you girls.”
“Why not?” Do’ Re Mi asks.
“Darlings, I’ve been in this jungle a lot longer than you. Why don’t you just stick with what you are instead of looking all over the place for answers?”
Mom then turns and looks at me. “The spots worked for Josephine Baker. They’ve worked for me. They’ll work for you. Don’t turn your back on your heritage.”
“Your mom is funny,” Aqua whispers in my ear. I can’t believe it, but somehow the twins are getting along better with my mom than I am!
“’Member what that boy Derek called you in the hallway once?” Do’ Re Mi asks me.
“What on earth did that Red Snapper say that was so deep?” I ask her.
“He called you a Cheetah Girl,” Do’ Re Mi says, then squeaks, “maybe we could all be the Cheetah Girls.”
“Do’ Re Mi, you are so on the money,” Chuchie says, all excited.
“Yeah, we could be the Cheetah Girls,” Aqua chimes in.
Angie claps her hands in delight.
Mom had been right. I was trying to be something I wasn’t. I guess I can live with the Cheetah Girls, even though it wasn’t my idea. Actually, I kinda like it!