19
Mystique and I are enjoying lunch at Paschal’s in honor of the Vibe photo shoot. The magazine’s editors decided to use the picture of me and Dreya for the cover, which annoyed Evan, but made Dreya happier than a clam.
“I’m buying a house,” I say. “Do you know any real estate agents?”
“Yes, I have a good one. I’ll tell her to call you. What are you in the market for?”
“I want a big house. Five bedrooms at least, four, maybe five, baths, a pool, and a theater room.”
“Whoa. All that? Where you want to stay?”
“Buckhead, I think. I’m not trying to have to drive too far to go to school.”
“Buckhead? Girl, how much you trying to spend?”
“I don’t know. Five hundred thousand at the most.”
Mystique taps her chin. “You might be able to get something in foreclosure for that price.”
“Good. That’s what I want.”
Mystique picks up the magazine and smiles. “This picture is so cute! It’s almost like an alter ego shoot, and who knew Dreya could look that sweet?”
“She is a good actress! And the photo shoot was fun.”
Mystique flips through the pages. “Did they interview y’all for the article?”
“Not really. They asked a couple of questions here and there but nothing formal.”
“Have you read it yet?”
“No . . .”
Mystique scans the article and breathes a sigh of relief. “You are lucky! There’s nothing damaging here. Haven’t I schooled you better than that? You always ask what they’re going to print before they print it.”
“I guess I wasn’t thinking about that.”
“That’s obvious. You also aren’t thinking about your figure eating all that fried chicken.”
“I know, I know. When I’m old like you, I’ll watch my figure. Right now, my metabolism is kicking some serious tail, so I’m gonna eat what I want.”
Mystique chuckles. “Okay. You got me. I am approaching thirty. I remember when I could eat whatever I wanted. Trust, you’re going to be eating sprigs of lettuce just like me in a few years.”
Mystique pulls out her tablet and goes to the Internet. “By now, your Vibe photos are all over the Internet. Let’s see what BlackCelebrityGossip.com has to say. They’ll either love the photos or hate them.”
I cover my mouth and giggle at Mystique. Any time she does an interview she says, “I never look at the blogs. I don’t care about gossip. Family is the only thing that’s important.” She checks the blogs religiously, and has a Google alert set up to send her a message every time her name appears online.
“Oh no!” Mystique says.
“What?”
Instead of answering, she spins her tablet around and points. The story says: Is Reign Records Coming Apart at the Seams? An insider from the Vibe photo shoot, tells us that Bethany was high as a kite the entire shoot. Fake lovebirds Sunday and Sam both showed up at the shoot with dates. And y’all didn’t hear it from us, but Ms. Squeaky-Clean Sunday just got caught cheating at Spelman. Looks like her cousin’s ways are rubbing off on her. Speaking of Drama, she is the only one who seemed genuinely happy as she could barely keep her hands off of her sponsor, Evan Wilborn, but she was also vomiting every few minutes. Was it a hangover, or should we be asking Drama where she’s registered the baby?
“Was Dreya really throwing up all over the place?” Mystique asks.
“She threw up one time. This is such an exaggeration. They always are.”
“So she’s not pregnant?”
I blink once and pause before responding. “I really don’t know.”
“You paused too long, Sunday. You know something.” I think I know something, but I haven’t talked to Dreya since the photo shoot, so I’m sure not about to confirm or deny anything to her sworn enemy.
“She would choose right now to get pregnant,” Mystique hisses. “Just when I was about to make my announcement about my pregnancy.”
I guess my silence was all the confirmation Mystique needed. “Maybe she’s not pregnant.”
“I gotta give it to her, she’s smart. Epsilon is dropping her after this next record, so she should have plenty of time to spend Evan’s money and raise their child. He sure won’t be there.”
I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “How do you know about Epsilon dropping her from her record deal?”
“Come on, Sunday. You don’t really have to ask that question, do you? She’s getting dropped, because I’m walking if they don’t drop her. My contract is up after my next record and they want to keep me happy.”
I shake my head and move the fried chicken pieces around on my plate. I feel trapped in the middle. Mystique is my mentor. I’ve been listening to her music since I was in middle school. I look up to her and respect her, but I’ve got to admit that she’s ruthless and cutthroat.
When I don’t reply, Mystique continues, “And you’re cheating, Sunday? What’s up with that?”
“No, I’m not. I was accused, but I didn’t do it. Dreya bought a paper for me from the campus hustler.”
“So you’re not going to say anything about me asking Epsilon to drop Drama?”
I swallow my food and then clear my throat. “I just have one question. Why are you so threatened by her?”
“It’s not so much that I’m threatened,” Mystique says with a smile. “She has crossed me one too many times. I don’t play that.”
I’m not convinced she’s telling the truth. I think she is scared that someone is going to take her spot. And apparently, she thinks that person is going to be Dreya.
“You think she’s crossed you. You don’t have any proof.”
Mystique laughs out loud. “I don’t need proof! I just get rid of all enemies in my path. Dreya made herself an enemy to me from day one, so I’m just finishing what she started.”
A few tables over, a group of fans wave at Mystique. She turns on her high-wattage smile and waves back with one finger. I guess that was supposed to be a cutesy gesture, but for some reason it irritates the heck out of me. Maybe because she’s talking about destroying my cousin’s career and pretending to be sweet at the same time.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mom. Emergency family meeting. I don’t care what you’re doing, get yourself here in an hour.
I take a hundred-dollar bill out of my purse, and place it in the middle of the table. “I gotta go. It’s an emergency. Thanks for lunch, it’s on me.”
“That’s a pretty generous tip, Sunday. Our food is only fifty dollars.”
I shrug. “It’s cool. We had a good waitress. She didn’t ask to take our picture with her cell phone.”
I skip the customary embrace that I usually have with Mystique. I don’t hug potential enemies, and that’s exactly how Mystique is coming across right now. Seriously, how soon is it going to be before she’s threatened by me? How long will it take for her to start destroying my career?