The vixen smiles at me. “Well, come on then. Big D said to roll out the red carpet for y’all.”
“Who’s Big D?” Bethany asks.
“He’s the man who owns this studio.”
“Are you his girlfriend?” Dreya asks.
“Something like that.”
I don’t wait for Dreya to make up her mind about whether or not this girl is a threat. I’m hungry and the scent of freshly baked lasagna has made its way to my nose.
When Bethany stands up, too, Dreya reluctantly joins us. We follow the vixen down the hall, and for real, her butt has to be fake. Each cheek is moving like it has its own personality. Those kinds of booties don’t grow naturally, do they?
The vixen girl shows us to the kitchen nook area where we slide into a booth. Dreya’s mean mug is slowly evaporating as the girl serves us hot, steaming plates of cheesy lasagna.
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl, tired of thinking of her as the vixen in my head.
“It’s Michelle, but everybody calls me Shelly.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Sunday, and this is Dreya and Bethany. We’re a singing group.”
“That’s cute,” she says. “I used to sing, too, but that was a long time ago.”
“So what do you do now? Dance in videos?” Dreya asks.
“No, sweetie. Big D takes good care of me. I don’t have to shake my behind in videos to make money.”
Bethany’s eyes widen. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. I need a man like that.”
Michelle laughs out loud. “You’re a baby. You don’t need a man at all.”
Thank you, big-donk girl, for spitting knowledge in the atmosphere! Sometimes I really don’t know about Bethany. Some of the stuff she says is twisted.
“If y’all want some more, it’s on the stove,” Michelle says. “I’m going back downstairs.”
“Are we allowed down there?” Bethany asks.
“Maybe. I’ll ask, and if they want y’all to sit in on the session, someone will come upstairs and get you.”
Michelle jiggles out of the kitchen and leaves us there to finish our food. Stripper or not, she knows what the heck she’s doing in the kitchen. This lasagna is the bomb, for real!
“She looks like she stinks,” Dreya says.
“Hi, hater,” Bethany replies with a giggle.
“Seriously!” Dreya exclaims. “How can you wipe a booty that big?”
“Ewww, you nasty,” I say. “Leave me alone so I can eat my food.”
“I don’t want nothing that booty girl fixed,” Dreya says.
“Okay, you can starve then.”
Bethany and I scarf down our lasagna and soda like we haven’t eaten in weeks, while Dreya watches.
“Didn’t she say something about some pound cake?” Bethany asks.
Just when Bethany and I are about to go in search of dessert, a teenage boy comes into the kitchen. He stops in the doorway of the kitchen, leans on the wall, and checks each one of us out.
“Y’all wanna come downstairs?” he asks.
Dreya stands up. “Yeah. It’s about time.”
The boy looks at Dreya’s untouched plate of food. “You didn’t like the lasagna?”
“I don’t eat food cooked by strippers.”
The boy looks offended. “I’m not a stripper!”
I burst into laughter. “I don’t know who you are, but, boy, you put your foot in that lasagna.”
“I’m Sam, the studio engineer and junior producer. I also like to cook.”
“I’m Sunday, this is my girl Bethany, and the hungry chick over there is Dreya.”
Sam smiles at me, and I smile back, although he’s far from a hottie. His clothes are fresh and his haircut is nice, but he’s barely cute with his big nose and lips. He’s got a great smile, though, and since I’m not looking for a boyfriend, that’s good enough for me.
We follow Sam downstairs to the studio area. Shelly is chilling on a couch reading a book. Truth is in the booth with a headset on, and I guess Big D is the one at the control panel. I’ve never met Big D, but the giant medallion of the letter D across his chest is a giveaway.
“Which one of you young ladies is Truth’s girl?” Big D asks.
Dreya pipes up, “That would be me.”
“Well, you betta talk to your man. He needs to finish up this album and he ain’t belting out this hook the way I need him to. Sing it again, Truth, while your wifey’s down here.”
Big D hits some buttons on the control panel and a loud, pulsing beat blazes through the room. My head involuntarily starts to bob, and a melody forms itself around the bass line.
Truth opens up his mouth and sings in a gravelly tenor. His singing voice isn’t bad, but the melody is lacking. The one I’m thinking of is a lot hotter, and more fitting for the beat. Obviously, Big D isn’t feeling it either because he turns off the music.
He fusses into the microphone leading to the booth. “Truth, man. Come on.”
I clear my throat and tap Big D on the shoulder. Dreya’s eyes widen like she wants to strangle me, but it’s whatever. He needs to hear what I have to say if he wants to make this track hot.
“You interrupting me, right now?” Big D asks.
He sounds irritated, but I’m not scared, because I know he’s gonna be pleased when he hears what I have to say.
“I think I can help. The hook you’ve got him singing doesn’t really fit the track.”
“You got something better?”
I nod.
“Then let’s hear it.”
Big D turns the track back on, but waves at Truth to let him know he shouldn’t sing. I close my eyes, open my mouth, and sing the lyrics I just freestyled to the track.
“You say I’m the best now show and prove / If I’m the one then make your move / I’m a lady, I’m not sweating you / now what ya gonna do, what ya gonna do?”
I repeat the hook a few times while the track plays, and on the second time, Dreya and Bethany harmonize with me. We sound hot! I’m so proud of them, especially Dreya, because she doesn’t go flat even though she does a little run at the end.
Big D claps his hands together. “All right, baby! Now we talkin’. That’s gonna be a hit right there. Wifey, go get in the booth with your man and belt that out.”
What? Did everyone not hear me freestyle and lead that hook? Is it my imagination or does he really want Dreya to sing on the track? What in the…
“She’s got a little bit more flava to her,” Big D explains. “You look kinda Disney, sweetheart. We can use her in the video. But you and this whooty right here can sing backup.”
Disney! I look Disney? I am beyond annoyed as I watch Dreya sashay into the booth and put the headset on. Big D hits the track again and she nails it on the first time. Her soprano sounds pretty good, like Ashanti with a little bit more soul.
“Can I at least get a songwriter credit on the track?” I ask.
Sam grins and Bethany’s eyes widen. I wonder if I’m asking