A Street Girl Named Desire: A Novel (24 page)

She had years of plotting, scheming, fighting, partying and fucking behind her. What had it gotten her besides material things that were subject to seizure at Whip's discretion, and at less than a moment's notice? She didn'tunderstand what the point of it all was anymore. None of it had brought her happiness. She eased off the couch—where she had made a mess of melted Häagen-Daz and Doritos crumbs—so that she could roll herself another blunt. Weed had been an aphrodisiac for her and Dollar back in the day, and was just a party thing for her now. But lately, she had been feeling more lonely than ever, especially on the
nights Chanel was soaking in the streets with Whip and the rest of their crew. That lifestyle had lost a little of its lure for her. At home, alone, and blazed, she could let her mind wander through some of the good old days: confiding in Hattie Mae, the silly little rivals in school and church, battles she and Tiah fought in the streets, even passing notes with Carvelas. She blew out a cloud of smoke so thick from her second blunt of the night that she could barely see the television, when a news flash came on that instantly sobered her:

Desire was so high that she was only mildly concerned with the report on Tiah. She was actually more concerned that the secret was out that Whip had been working feverishly behind Chanel's back to change the name of the group so that the name of its biggest ticket stood out even more than it already did.

W
ith the finishing touches finally put on her solo album, Desire had everything just as she imagined it would be. She and Sterling were the “it” couple. She had used Whip and CBR to make a hot product that didn't have a single corporation's name attached to it. At least not yet. Her contract with Central Booking Records was for just one album from the group Desire, Cream, and Dream— not Desire's Dream, the name she had already picked out for her first album. Best of all, she had used Whip to work behind the scenes to change the name of the group so that it was already being branded into the listening public's head. She had fulfilled her obligation to CBR, Tiah had disappeared and Chanel was just tired and ready to get out of
the game. That left Desire right where she wanted to be—alone. She was now a free agent, sought after by all the major labels, particularly Sony. Whip was confident that he could re-sign Desire, this time as a solo artist. And when he offered her some bonus money, Desire gave him her word that she would stick with him as her manager and producer.

But things changed when Whip found out about Desire's secret meetings at Sony. Though it made billions of dollars each year, the music industry was a rather small network of business associates and executives. Although she'd done everything possible to keep the Sony meetings under wraps, there were plenty of ladder climbers waiting to sell out whoever crossed their paths, and there were plenty of others who recognized the value of favors, favors that would be recognized later. Whip received a favor from an old business associate, who had noticed Desire's name on the roster of Larry Cohen's meetings for the day. Whip drove to Sony's office building when Desire refused to answer his phone calls. And when he spotted Desire walking toward the building with Larry Cohen, one of the most powerful megabrokers in the business, he hopped out of his car and confronted her.

“Desire, can I have word with you?” He looked at Larry Cohen. “Alone!”

Mr. Cohen wasn't afraid of Whip, unlike most white men in the industry. He stood his ground. “Talk to him another time, Desire. We're busy.”

Whip scowled at the man, but Mr. Cohen didn't back down.

Avoiding a potential confrontation, Desire elected to speak to Whip. “Listen, Larry, just gimme a second. Okay?”

Larry looked at his watch and said, “Okay, but we're pressed
for time.” He moved toward the fleet of shiny black limos that were always parked outside of Sony, waiting specifically for the never-ending rotation of important people who regularly emerged from the building.

Desire knew that Whip was no fool. There was one reason and one reason only why she would be going into Sony's offices with Larry Cohen. She put her hands on her hips and waited for Whip to light into her. She'd just let him tire himself out.

“How could you do this to me Desire, after all I did for you? I gave you your start, I made you famous, I made you rich, I saved you from Dollar—and you turn around and stab me in the back!” He was so angry he could hardly contain himself.

Desire simply stood there and listened. She had known it was vital to do her homework before plotting her break from Whip.

“Now, we had a verbal agreement. I done spent damn near a million goddamn dollars on you. No. You ain't gonna fuck me. I'll have your ass in court before I let you get away with that.”

Desire snapped, “Save the drama, Whip,'cause you can't do shit to me. All the while you was cheating me and the group, you were making money hand over fist.”

She turned her back to the fleet of limos so Larry Cohen wouldn't have any idea just how serious the conversation had gotten. She balled her fist and shoved it in Whip's face, right under his nose.

“I'll let you in on a little secret, I'm not as dumb as you think. Once you fucked me on my first advance check, I hired a damn lawyer, and he schooled me on everything. He told me you skimmed over a million and a half from our show profits alone. I knew damn well that if you knew I knew you'd cheated me, I
would never have a chance at getting that money. You woulda had me in court for years, just like you've had every one of your other artists. It would have cost me the same amount in legal costs as the money I was owed. I knew from the giddyup I wasn't going to re-sign with you.”

“How long you been playing me, Desire?” Whip wanted to know.

“The question is, how long did it take before somebody got the chance to play you before you played them? Me and Dollar mighta fell out in the end, but don't think I didn't watch what you did to his ass. Don't think I wasn't taking notes.”

“Dollar had to go because he was too much of a risk.”

Desire wasn't about to let Whip continue. She jumped in quickly. “I remember your tiny-ass advance checks, all the lies you told me about shit that was going to come in the future.” She pulled a Louis Vuitton wallet out of her leather coat pocket. She snatched a couple crisp Benjamins out of the wallet's slivers and threw them in Whip's face. “Right now, I just came out of a meeting where I know I'm about to get advanced about … you guessed it, a million dollars, give or take a few hundred thou. I have Larry, who happens to be a lawyer, ready to file a countersuit if you even think about coming after me on some stupid-ass verbal-agreement shit.”

“You know they ain't giving you all that money at once,” Whip said.

“Oh, I know. But they gonna give me enough. Enough so that I don't have to be one of your fuckin stupid-ass puppies no more. I ain't no puppy dog, motherfucka. I'm a shark.”

Whip's jaw twitched out of control. Desire had him over a barrel,
and there was nothing he could do about it. He was powerless, only able to race his mind back and forth on ways to sabotage Desire's new album. “Fuck you, Desire. I'm not gonna let you get away with this shit, not for a minute.”

Desire started to head toward the limousine Larry had just stepped out of, waving to her that it was time for them to get going to an important meeting.

“Nigga, I already got away with it. You shouldn't be mad at me,'cause you was the one who taught me that there was no loyalty in this business.”

Whip watched Desire stare over her shoulder at him before Larry helped her into the back of the limousine. Suddenly, a sly smile expanded on his face. He would let her think she had chumped him' for now at least.

H
undreds of people were on hand for the ceremony that was dubbed the “Wedding of the Year” by insiders in entertainment circles. The media from the sporting and music worlds were there to cover the event. Hundreds of people crammed into Riverside Church to catch a glimpse of the famous couple.

Desire was in the dressing room, nervously waiting for the groom. The wedding was supposed to start over an hour ago. It was so unlike Sterling to be late. Suddenly, one of the bridesmaids told Desire that the groom's limo had just pulled in front of the church. Relieved, Desire looked out the window, and saw Sterling exit the limo, looking sharp
Hundreds of people were on hand for the ceremony that in his perfectly fitted tuxedo. She frowned when Whip, who was the best man, hopped out the limo behind him.

Sensing something was wrong, Desire lifted her gown and ran out of the room and down the main entrance to the church. Sterling stood scanning the foyer with his eyes. Whip pointed to where Desire stood, holding the hem of her dress. As they approached her, Desire felt her knees wobble when she saw Sterling holding a manila envelope. Sterling was sweating profusely. His jaw was tight.

“Do you know what this is?” he yelled.

Desire stared at the envelope.

“Come on, baby, let's not do this here.” Desire took Sterling by the hand and guided him to the back room for privacy.

Sterling broke the silence. “Once again, Desire, tell me what the fuck this is.”

“Sterling, baby, that happened a long time ago. I was young.”

His faced turned flush. “So you knew about this all along?”

Desire put her head down and nodded.

“You was just gonna keep this to yourself. Is that what you saying?”

“I would have eventually told you, but I didn't know how … I felt ashamed.” Desire shook her head.

“You would have waited until you infected me to tell me, is that what you saying?”

“Infected? What are you talking about?”

“Our blood tests came back,” announced Sterling, “and yours came back positive—for HIV!”

D
esire had completely avoided the phone, television and newspapers after her aborted wedding. She could not believe what was happening to her. Sterling refused all contact, had even changed his telephone numbers. Desire had stayed in her apartment—high, drunk and delirious after Sterling dumped her at the church. She was oblivious to the media storm brewing while she was in seclusion. She only agreed to meet Larry Cohen, at his request, in his lavish Fifth Avenue penthouse one evening, after he called her out of the blue to say that he needed to speak with her. He sent a limo to pick her up. Larry was the first person she'd seen in nearly a week; and when riding the elevator up to his
apartment, she mistakenly thought that he was exactly the person she needed to see.

The elevator finally reached his three-story penthouse, and she stepped out into the most majestic home she had ever seen. The floors were shiny Italian marble. Greek-like sculptures were scattered throughout the apartment. The ceilings were nearly twice as high as the ones she was used to. Every piece of furniture before her looked custom-made, from bookcases to a huge desk to a couch covered with Thai silk. The largest paintings took up entire walls. Larry had several black maids and butlers running around. One of them met her at the door and escorted her to Larry's home conference room.

Despite all she was going through, Desire was determined to keep up a good front. He wasn't about to see any cracks in her exterior. She had purposely pulled out the most expensive suit she owned—a hand-tailored Christian Dior black number—just so she could give the impression that nothing was wrong. She had also painstakingly curled her hair to perfection. She looked like a Wall Street power broker, and her three-inch heels comfortingly echoed her footsteps throughout the penthouse. Desire was surprised when she entered the room and found several white men seated around the nearly fifteen-foot conference table. Larry hadn't warned her this would be a group meeting. He sat at the head of the table, with a copy of the latest
New York Post
in front of him. Everyone bristled with tension as soon as Desire walked into the room.

“Have a seat, Desire,” Larry said. He wasn't talking to her in his normal tone. She suddenly preferred to stand, and shook her head. He offered her water, scotch, wine or coffee—all of which
were sitting in the middle of the table. Desire signaled no with her hand.

“What is the occasion for this meeting, gentlemen?” she cautiously asked.

It was clear Larry was the only one who had authority to speak, at least for now. He rose from his seat and walked over to Desire. He spread the newspaper on the table in front of her. A celebrity gossip item was highlighted in yellow:

She knew that her doctor was ethically responsible for protecting such sensitive information. She had obviously been found out and sold out, but by whom? When thinking back to who could have possibly wanted to tarnish her reputation and leak her misfortune to the world, Whip became her primary suspect. She couldn't imagine Sterling, Chanel or even Dollar turning on her in this way.