“Who’s Celine?”
“She’s a snob…a very beautiful snob, who also likes Drew.”
“Sounds like he’s up for grabs,” Grace said.
“I’m not interested,” I said as I finished styling Luz’s hair. “I’m more interested in Dance America.”
“What’s that?” Luz asked.
“It’s that dance competition,” Grace interjected. “Kids from all over the country compete.”
“Oh, yeah, I think I heard something about that last year. The girl who won got to be in a movie or something,” said Luz.
“I’m thinking about trying out.” I smiled, looking for Luz’s approval.
“Your parents won’t let you.”
“They might.”
“Come on, Mari. They didn’t even want you to audition at Premiere.”
“Well, they don’t have to know…not initially. If I’m selected, they’ll be so excited for me that they won’t be able to say no.”
“You’re dreaming,” Luz said.
“You should try out, too, Luz. We could do it together.”
“Who? No, not me. I like dancing, but I’m not as good as some of the people who will be competing.”
“Luz, you’re one of the best dancers I know. You have to try out! You have to,” I begged. “If you do it, I’ll do it. And our parents won’t even have to know.”
“Where are these auditions held?” she asked.
“At my school.”
“I don’t know, Mari.”
“Come on. This is an opportunity of a lifetime, Luz. This is our chance.”
Grace’s head was bouncing back and forth between us. Luz took a look at herself in the mirror. She must’ve been satisfied with her hair, because she didn’t complain anymore.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll audition with you.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things,” she said and then opened her closet and started looking for an outfit for school. “What do you think of these jeans with this top?”
“Cute,” I told her. “I gotta go. It’s almost six o’clock, and I have to be home for dinner.”
“We gotta come up with a routine for this…this…Dance America thing.”
“We’ll start tomorrow,” I said and started gathering my hair products. “As soon I get home from school.”
“After pizza at Manny’s, of course,” she said sarcastically.
“Of course,” I grinned and then gave my best friend a hug. “See you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Chica,” she said and smiled. “Why don’t you sneak me some dinner from your house later. I’m sure I’ll still be hungry. Besides, your mom’s a much better cook.”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m honest.”
“Bye, Gracie,” I said.
“See ya, Mari.”
I pulled Luz’s bedroom door shut behind me; jogged down the stairs and out the front door. The thought of us auditioning for Dance America made me want to skip all the way home. And I did.
Drew
My
alarm went off and Hot 97 disc jockey Cipha Sound’s voice shook me out of my sleep. When I heard a Timbaland song, I turned the radio up as loud as it would go and rolled out of bed, wearing a pair of boxers but no shirt. I went into the bathroom, splashed water onto my face and turned on the shower. As I stepped into the shower, I started rehearsing my lines for the school’s production of
A Raisin in the Sun
. Today, I would be auditioning for the role of Walter Lee Younger. It was the role that P. Diddy portrayed in the modern version of the play. The old version premiered in 1959. It was a Broadway play, and the role of Walter Lee Younger was played by Sidney Poitier. I had gone to Blockbuster and rented the 1961 version of the film, which also starred Sydney Poitier. For a few days, I studied my scenes in the hopes I could get my lines, tight as Mr. Poitier’s. He was so smooth. And if I landed the role, the production would take place in an off-off-Broadway stage in the city. It was that thought that made it all worthwhile.
Freshly dressed, and with cologne dabbed on my neck,
I grabbed my keys from the kitchen bar and headed for the garage. I hopped into my car. I could’ve walked the twelve blocks from our apartment to school, but occasionally I liked to take my car out for a spin. I knew that my father would probably flip a lid if he found out, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I let the top down just to catch a little bit of the New York City morning breeze. I popped in a Keri Hilson CD and tried to visualize her beautiful body moving to the music. She was exactly what I needed first thing in the morning. Keri was someone of interest to me. Besides writing songs for people like Britney Spears, Ludacris and Usher, she also attended Oxford University, where she majored in theater. I was somewhat of a songwriter; I had spiral notebooks filled with songs that I’d written. I used songwriting as a way of expressing my feelings. Whether I had a good day or a bad one, I could write a song about it. We had so much in common—Keri and me. All she had to do was recognize that I was alive.
I bounced to the music as I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Fifth Avenue. The drive should’ve taken only a few minutes, but during New York’s rush-hour traffic, it was the worst drive ever. But I took it in stride; I tried to make the best of each day, no matter the challenge. It wasn’t always easy, but at least I tried. Some days I didn’t do so well. The cab driver in the car next to mine blew his horn and shouted profanity to someone in the car in front of him. Loud horns sounded throughout the city as people made their way to wherever their destination was. The car
in front of me stalled, and just as I put my blinker on to go around him, cars began to pile up in the lane next to mine. It seemed there was no way out, and if traffic didn’t start moving soon, I’d be late for school.
Being late for drama class was unacceptable. Harold Winters, my instructor, made it very clear that attendance and grades determined which roles you received in certain productions. The slackers almost always ended up being understudies. I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s understudy. I wanted the lead. I took acting seriously, especially since I had something to prove to my father. There was no time for half stepping. I had to make him believe that his only son hadn’t become soft. That acting didn’t make me any less of a man. In fact, it brought out the best in me. I could act just as well—maybe even better—than I could play basketball. I needed for him to respect my choice.
Finally pulling into the school’s parking lot, I stopped at the security gate and let my window down.
“Where’s your parking pass?” the heavy female security guard asked.
“Um…I…” I pretended to search for it in my wallet.
“You won’t find it in your wallet. It’s too big to fit in there. It goes on the dash of your car.” Her dark brown face frowned at me. She looked as if she might actually be pretty if she took the time to apply a little makeup, curl her hair and possibly lose a few pounds.
“I must’ve forgotten to get it.” I gave her that award
winning smile that usually charmed women. “It’s probably at the house…”
“Well, I would suggest you go back to
the house
and get it,” she said, “’cause you can’t park here without it.”
Did she have to be so mean? I wondered what she would look like if she smiled. She obviously didn’t know who I was. My father was a local celebrity—a sportscaster for a major New York radio station. He had his own show between the hours of six and eight in the morning, Monday through Friday. And he’d made guest appearances on ESPN’s
SportsCenter
. He’d interviewed Eddy Curry, Amar’e Stoudemire and other great Knicks basketball players over the years.
“I know…you probably don’t know who I am. I am the son of New York’s very own morning sportscaster, Big ‘D’ Bishop. If you look at the tag on the front of the car, it says BISHOP 2. This one’s mine. He drives the Lexus…the lucky dog. He’s BISHOP 1…”
She took a look at the tag on the front of the car, as if she was really considering what I’d just said.
“Does your father also attend Premiere High School?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why do I care what car he drives and what his tag says?” She frowned again. “Now, what I need for you to do is turn this little car around…go back home and find your parking pass.”
“Can you let me go just this one time?”
“No can do,” she stated. “Now, if you don’t mind…there are others behind you.”
I took a glance into my rearview mirror, and sure enough, there were four cars behind me waiting to get into the parking lot. They started blowing their horns. I did just as the security officer asked me to do and turned the car around. I didn’t have a parking pass at the house. There was no need for one. Actually, there was no need for me to drive to school at all. I circled the block a few times, in search of a parking meter; somewhere I could park for a few hours until I figured something else out. I finally found an empty space and parallel-parked in between two cars. I stepped out of the car and dug deep into my pockets in search of spare change. I filled the meter with enough change for three hours—enough time to make it to my audition and to make it back outside around lunchtime to pump more change into it. I grabbed my backpack from the backseat and sprinted toward the school.
Winters raised an eyebrow as I entered the room. He glanced at his watch, and I knew he was not happy that I’d walked into his class ten minutes late. Especially after his thirty-minute lecture on the first day of school regarding attendance and tardiness. I found a seat in the third row and watched as Jason Michaels auditioned for my role.
“Yeah. You see, this little liquor store we got in mind cost seventy-five thousand, and we figured the initial investment on the place be ’bout thirty thousand, see,” Jason said. He actually sounded pretty good as he continued to
read the lines of Walter Lee Younger. “That be ten thousand each. ’Course, there’s a couple of hundred you got to pay so’s you don’t spend your life just waiting for them clowns to let your license get approved…”
The entire class applauded as he took a bow and stepped down from the stage.
“Anyone else for the role of Walter Lee Younger?” Winters asked in his Southern drawl. Even though he’d been a New Yorker for a several years, Mr. Winters never lost his Mississippi accent. On the first day of school, he boasted about his days at Julliard, where he studied drama. Julliard was definitely a school that I had my eye on for college.
I stood and headed for the stage.
“Where are your notes, Mr. Bishop?” Winters asked.
“I don’t need any. I memorized my lines,” I said and then hopped onto the stage. I stood at center stage and cleared my throat. “Anybody who talks to me has got to be a good-for-nothing loudmouth, ain’t he? And what you know about who is just a good-for-nothing loudmouth? Charlie Atkins was just a ‘good-for-nothing loudmouth,’ too, wasn’t he! When he wanted me to go in the dry-cleaning business with him. And now—he’s grossing a hundred thousand a year. A hundred thousand dollars a year! You still call
him
a loudmouth!”
After reciting the entire scene, I took a bow and exited the stage. Winters wrote some notes down as I went back to my seat.
“Thank you, Mr. Bishop,” Winters said. “Now for the role of Mama.”
“Can I go first?” asked the beautiful caramel-colored girl who I’d noticed on the first day of school. She had soft features and bright eyes. Not to mention a dimple in her chin when she smiled. She wore tight jeans and a shirt that hugged her breasts. I couldn’t imagine her transforming into the role of an old woman, but anything was possible in the theater.
“Very well, Miss Bell,” Winters stated.
She slipped out of her seat and took the stage. Her long brown hair was pulled into a ponytail. She stood there for a moment with her head hung, and when she raised it, she had transformed into Mama.
“Child, when do you think is the time to love somebody the most? When they done good and made things easy for everybody? Well then, you ain’t through learning—because that ain’t the time at all. It’s when he’s at his lowest and can’t believe in hisself ’cause the world done whipped him so!” Without any notes, her strong New York accent had become a Southern drawl, like Winters’s. “When you starts measuring somebody, measure him right, child, measure him right. Make sure you take into account what hills and valleys he come through before he got wherever he is.”
I was impressed. She was a female version of me. Good-looking and talented. Both those things wrapped up into one made for a dangerous combination. Nonetheless, I had to make her acquaintance. After class, I rushed her.
“You’re definitely the right choice for the role of Mama,” I told her.
She smiled and the entire room lit up. “And you were a pretty good Walter yourself.”
“Winters called you Miss Bell, but I didn’t catch your first name.”
“Asha.”
“Asha Bell, I’m Drew…Drew Bishop.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Drew Bishop.” She gathered her things; stuffed them into her backpack.
“How long have you been acting?” I asked. I couldn’t pry myself away.
“Since I was like five years old. What about you?”
“About that long.” I was just about to ask her what her after-school plans were.
“Okay, you ready?” asked Jason Michaels as he took Asha’s backpack from her shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” she said. “It was nice meeting you, Drew.”
“Hey, bro. Your audition was pretty good. I wish you luck,” Jason said and then grabbed his woman around her waist.
“Thanks, same to you,” I lied. I didn’t want to wish him luck. I wanted the role of Walter Lee Younger more than anything, and I hoped Jason’s acting abilities hadn’t overshadowed mine. And on top of it, he had the pretty girl. As Jason grabbed Asha by the hand, I watched as they ex
ited the theater. He didn’t need any more luck than he already had.
I rushed outside to pump more change into the meter where my car was parked. I turned the corner just in time to find a meter maid slapping a ticket onto my windshield.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Wait a minute! I was about to feed the meter.”
“Sorry.” The disgruntled red-haired man with a five o’clock shadow frowned and moved on to the next car.
“Can you take this back and let me put change in the meter? Just this once?”
“No can do. The meter ran out, dude.”
“You don’t understand. If my father finds out that I drove this car to school, and got a parking ticket…”
It was worthless trying to explain. I snatched the ticket from the windshield, looked at it.
“You wouldn’t happen to have change, would you?” I asked, not really expecting a serious response.
Red hair rolled his eyes. I looked around, searching for someplace I could get change. As I stepped inside a corner store, I knew that I would be late to my next class. Driving had turned out to be more trouble than it was worth.