By spring, the girls had fallen into a comfortable routine with Alba and each other. They’d meet somewhere in the Upper West Side, talk (about Maya’s shitty work life or dates with eligible bachelorettes; Gabbie’s anxiety around her growing following and unsolicited updates about Dan; and whatever details they could wrench from Delali, which was usually just a synopsis of whatever she was reading at the moment). Sometimes they’d test whatever potion Gabbie had last made. Then they would transport to Alba’s for their lesson.
“What about Saturday?” Gabbie asked, scrolling through her calendar. Delali and Gabbie were sitting at a sidewalk table waiting for Maya, which was par for the course, and Gabbie was attempting to schedule filming for a TikTok about natural hair personalities.
“Can’t,” Delali said, taking a sip of her latte. “Rehearsal.” After reading Dr. Portillo’s mind, Delali decided that if she was going to have to deal with nepo bullshit everywhere, she’d rather do it somewhere that at least paid her a lot and had fun parties. When she’d opened the script, well, Lionel was right. It did capture her. Within minutes of finishing it, she was deep in her Google search results, imagining herself in a short, permed wig, coiffed to fall over her forehead just as Hansberry’s had. She could already see herself huddled over a vintage typewriter, sporting a slouchy patterned sweater and cropped slacks, in a re-creation of Hansberry’s June 1959 Vogue photoshoot. The magazine headlines practically wrote themselves: “Young, Gifted, and Black: Delali Tamakloe on the Journey from Set to School and Back Again.” It wasn’t the fussy, moralizing story she’d expected. It was glamorous and sexy and just smart enough.
She couldn’t wait to send a fuck-you-I’m-not-graduating email to President Toggsworth, the dean who had courted her before and during her time at school, only to apparently bar her from getting the Pythagoras Prize. He was obsessed with adding more high-profile students to the school’s alumni list and was particularly bitter about former stars who had failed to graduate. But before sending her triumphant email, Delali needed to actually land the role. Lionel had worked his ass off to get her the first audition slot, an opportunity to cement her rendition of Hansberry in the minds of the casting directors before the other actresses got a chance. Undertow Media, the production company, was being super secretive about who was in the running, but Delali knew from the quality of the script alone that it would be all the heavy hitters (Anna Bloodswirth-Johnson, Zoe Mitchell, and of course, Celeste). She’d have to bring her A-game.
Gabbie withheld a squeal. She was so excited about Delali’s return to Hollywood, even if she refused to give up any details.
“I could do Monday afternoon?”
“No,” Gabbie sighed, crossing her leg. The red patent leather of her new ballet flat—which she’d purchased after a long night on Pinterest helped her define her style as hyper-feminine Rachel Green ’90s revival French girl normie—shone as she jiggled her foot. “That’s the day of KinkyCurlyCoilyCon. And I think Maya’s working that day.”
“A Saturday?” Delali asked.
Gabbie nodded. “Apparently the CS blacklist is no joke.” She clicked off her phone and pulled on her baby-blue mittens. “Whatever, we can do it another time. It’s evergreen content.”
Delali laughed. “Totally.” She loved Girlboss Gabbie.
“Can I ask you, like, a kind of invasive question?” She lifted her hot chocolate to her pink-glossed lips.
Delali shifted in her seat. “I mean, no. But yeah.”
“What’s it like to be, you know . . .” She raised her eyebrows. “Famous?”
Delali laughed, twirling a braid around her finger. “Gabbie. I mean, I don’t know. Sometimes it’s fun and sometimes it’s not? Like any other job I guess.”
Gabbie nodded, taking this in. “You’re so down to earth,” she said admiringly. “I have like eight hundred fifty thousand followers on my TikTok now—which is obviously nothing compared to your social media—but it’s already kind of freaking me out.” For a person who once ran a DelAdrian fan account, Gabbie felt she’d practiced a lot of restraint with Delali over the last few months. But a few weeks ago, she’d done a TikTok showing off her classroom’s Valentine’s day transformation, and since then she’d been rapidly approaching the million mark. It felt like a big deal, and she needed some guidance.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Delali said. “As long as you don’t get weird about your fans. Actually my publicist Gracie used to do this course called ‘How to Deal’ for girls who were coming up fast in the industry. The title’s corny but it’s actually really good and I’m sure some of the advice could work for influencing. You want me to text her about you?”
“Oh my god,” Gabbie said. “That would be amazing.”
Just as Delali took out her phone and entered the passcode, Maya, approached, her cropped leather trench blown open as she sped up the sidewalk.
“Sorry guys,” she said, out of breath as she walked around the barrier that read Café Lalo. “This shoot at work ran late.”
Delali opened her mouth to commiserate when Maya interrupted her.
“But fuck the shoot,” Maya practically shouted as she sat down in a flurry. “My metric!”
That was when Delali noticed the dark ball in Maya’s hand. Gabbie gasped. Delali grabbed the ball, her mouth open, and turned it around in her hand to inspect it.
“Come on, Delali,” Maya teased. She was the first, and though she’d been skeptical when Alba had said “you’ll know when it’s done,” it turned out to be true. She’d simply transported from home to work, like she did almost daily now, and when she’d arrived, felt a weight in her bag that hadn’t been there when she’d left her apartment. At her desk, she fished out the metric to find that the once weightless orb was now heavier than most of her Pilates weights, and was filled with a deep purple, nearly as dark as a night sky. “Just say congratulations.” There had been a distinct lack of praise in her life since the Khrystiana incident.
“Congratulations,” Delali allowed, handing the ball back to Maya. She really hadn’t been withholding the compliments—it had been obvious for a while that Maya would be first, and she was the only one who had reached four sanctions. She was just awed by the transformation of the metric. Delali had basically stopped going to school after reading Dr. Portillo’s mind, but doing deep research into Lorraine Hansberry had given her more than enough opportunities to use her magic, and she’d been filling her metric at a steady clip. She wanted to know what a full metric looked like, because she was so sure hers was almost there.
“Seriously, Maya, amazing job,” Gabbie gushed.
“Thanks Gabbie,” Maya sang, throwing her arm around Gabbie’s shoulder and pulling her close. She planted a kiss on Gabbie’s cheek, overwhelmed by the feeling of accomplishment. “You’ll be there soon, don’t worry.”
“Oooh!” Gabbie said, peeling Maya’s hand off her shoulder to examine her nails “Is this Mint to Be?”
Maya laughed and shook her head. “Close. A Fair Minimum Sage.”
* * *
When they arrived at Alba’s, her door was ajar, as it sometimes was, and Maya entered triumphantly.
“I did it,” she announced.
Alba, who had her back turned and was lighting a candle on the mantel, jumped.
“Oh,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “Welcome ladies. Please sit.”
“I filled my metric,” Maya said.
“I know you did, Maya,” Alba responded. She waved out the match’s flame and turned to the girls.
Maya crossed her arms, annoyed to have the wind knocked out of her celebration. Of course Alba already knew, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be excited.
“I conjured you some champagne to celebrate,” Alba said, relieved to have correctly anticipated Maya’s accomplishment. She nodded to the coffee table, where, in addition to the usual charcuterie spread, she had included a bottle of pink champagne.
“For me?” Maya said feigning humility. That was more like it.
“That is adorable,” Gabbie said, pulling out her phone to take a picture. “For my Insta story,” she explained to Alba.
The girls settled into their positions on the sofa, and Alba offered them a proud smile from her seat.
“Congratulations, Maya,” she said. “Of course, we knew it was coming soon from the way your metric looked last week, but still, it’s an incredible accomplishment. To complete your training so quickly. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything like it. Please, go ahead and eat.”
Delali popped the champagne and poured everyone’s glasses, her eye catching a price sticker on the bottom of the otherwise unlabeled bottle.
“Are these from the liquor store?” she asked with a laugh. Alba had just said she’d conjured the champagne.
“Hm?” Alba asked. She looked to where Delali was pointing. “Oh, no. Though the last champagne I drank was from the liquor store. That champagne was my mind’s basis for conjuring and I guess I was a little too faithful.” She laughed and reached for a cracker.
“Oh,” Delali replied, placing the bottle back on the table. Duh.
“So, when do I get my assignment?” Maya asked.
“Whenever these two,” she nodded to Gabbie and Delali, “fill their metrics, too. You’ve started your training together, and it’s customary in the Sphere that you’ll finish it together, too. It’s a reflection of the ethos of the Sphere—of the interdependency and sisterlike bonds that are necessary to sustain it.”
Maya sat back on the sofa. “Yeah, I thought you’d say something like that.”
“I think we’re pretty close,” Delali offered. Gabbie shifted in her seat.
“I assume you are, too,” Alba replied. She paused and fiddled with her curls, apparently lost in thought. “Well, if there aren’t any other questions or concerns, I’ll start us on today’s lesson.”