Fabulous Page 6

  But this just kicked everything up big-time.

  Starr Lester didn’t get played on blogs. No way.

  Now she was just going to make sure that whoever the lame Diva of Dish was was going to regret not getting invited to her party. Her hater had just kicked everything up a notch and Starr was taking no prisoners.

  She logged on to her Twitter account. The social networking site simply asked: What are you doing? And Starr’s tweets were usually filled with fashion spotlights, random thoughts, inspirational quotes and photos of herself and any number of celebrities streaming through their home. She barely took note that she had a hundred new followers as her fingers flew across the keyboard:

  STARRLESTER: I can be your best friend or your worst enemy. The choice is yours!

  Starr removed her Gucci silk scarf she had tied securely around her head to keep her wrap in place. She knew she had to get ready for school but her mind was distracted.

  “Knock-knock.”

  Swiveling her chair around, Starr faced the door. “Come in,” she said, wondering who was up so early in the Lester household.

  Her mother stepped into the room still dressed in a black short silk robe with her hair wrapped under a silk scarf. “You up?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  Starr frowned. “Yes, but why are you?” she asked in surprise. Her mother never got up before eight and even had her twin brothers trained to sleep in as well.

  Sasha laughed huskily as she walked over to lean against Starr’s desk. “Your father had to leave for an early video shoot and you know he woke me up.”

  “Where did he go?” Starr asked, rising from her seat to stretch her limbs in her Juicy Couture romper.

  “He’s in the city.” Sasha stretched and yawned as she looked around Starr’s room. “I wish I had a room like this when I was growing up.”

  Starr shrugged as she walked over to her closet for one of the dreaded uniforms.

  “Something wrong, Starr?”

  She turned to eye her mother, wondering if this was a chance for one of their rare mother-daughter talks. “Some of the kids at school were clowning that my party won’t be on MTV,” Starr said. She was actually surprised at herself. For one, that she told her mom. And also that Diva of Dish had gotten to her.

  Sasha waved her hand dismissively. “Haters throw shade because they hate to see someone shine,” she said. “Don’t worry about a bunch of silly school kids, Starr.”

  Starr opened her mouth. She wanted to say, I’m one of those school kids.

  “But Ma, people are laughing at me.”

  “What should I do?” Sasha rose to her feet. “We’ll go shopping when you get home from school,” she said, turning to leave Starr’s bedroom. “Retail therapy cures everything.”

  Starr eyed her computer. “Actually, I saw a few things I wanted online,” she began. “Can I just order those?”

  “Go ’head,” she said over her shoulder with another yawn before closing the bedroom door behind her.

  Starr tossed her uniform toward the end of her bed as she eased back over to her desk. One by one she logged into her Barney, Nordstrom, Neiman and Bergdorf accounts and used her father’s credit card info to pay for the items she had saved in her shopping cart.

  A pair of Chloé boots here.

  A Stella McCartney outfit there.

  New undies. An organic romper. A new gold clutch.

  The total came to somewhere around two grand. A little light shopping that did absolutely nothing to make Starr feel better.

  Having a party to top all parties and the Diva of Dumbass’s head on a platter would have to do that.

  fourteen

  Marisol

  September 14 @ 10:45 a.m. | Mood: Amorous

  Today was the last day of taping for the documentary about her father, and just like every other time the swarm of cameras and crew was at her house, she was dressed to the nines. The BCBG sleeveless bib dress she wore was so very completely different from her usual Sunday attire of leggings and a fitted tee. She loved the way the charcoal looked against her bronze complexion. She put on very light makeup, and with one last shake of her now-curly black locks, Marisol slipped her feet into a pair of suede gladiators and slid her BlackBerry into the hidden pocket of her dress before she left her room.

  Marisol had discovered that she loved the cameras and they were crushing on her, as well. And she used the opportunity well, being sure to be wherever the cameras were when her dad was filming. Her impromptu fashion show this week served two purposes. She was well aware that her image was going to be in millions of homes and…

  “Hola, Corey,” Marisol said in her best flirty voice as she walked into the large and airy—and thankfully empty—kitchen. Remember, Marisol. Smile. Just enough to say “I like you” but not enough to scream “I’m psycho.”

  He stopped wrapping a thick black cord around his arm to look over at her with a quick smile. “Hi, Marisol,” he said, before he stooped down to place the cord in a large black case. “You look pretty as always.”

  Marisol’s heart soared. She knew it was today or never. She was soooo tired of waiting for him to make the first move. How many times had she tried to will him, through mind control, to ask her out? She really wasn’t going to accept the premise of the book He’s Just Not That Into You.

  “We’re wrapping up here after your parents do the tour of the house,” he began, looking at her with eyes that made her heart race like she just finished a mad dash through a Neiman’s sale.

  Marisol pouted to let him know how much of a downer his leaving was.

  “Maybe we could hang out sometime,” Corey offered, leaning back against the edge of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets.

  Yippeee! In the privacy of her room she would do a flip. Marisol reached out and lightly touched his hand. “Not maybe. Definitely.”

  They both whipped out their cell phones and programmed each other’s numbers, e-mail and social networking sites. It was always necessary for couples to stay in touch.

  Corey’s eyes fell on Marisol’s glossy lips as he slid his cell phone back in the pocket of his jeans.

  He’s gonna kiss me. Yes! Just wait until I tell Starr and Dionne. Marisol wished she had time to do a breath check. As he lowered his head toward her, she closed her eyes and raised her chin the way she saw the women do on Days of Our Lives.

  “Corey!”

  He jumped back from her and bumped his head on the cabinet.

  And that irked Marisol big-time, but she held her fiery temper in check. He rubbed the back of his head as he strode toward the bellowing voice in the living room. She stomped her foot in frustration.

  “Something wrong, Marisol?” her mother asked in Spanish from behind her suddenly.

  Marisol turned and smiled at how beautiful her madre looked in a burnt-orange jumpsuit with chunky turquoise accessories. Picture-perfect and ready for her close-up. Like mother, like daughter.

  People said Yasmine Rivera resembled a taller, fuller version of the Latina beauty Eva Longoria. Marisol had once overheard her mother joke with her friends that she was more of a desperate housewife than Eva’s television character.

  Marisol just shook her head with a small smile.

  “All these people in our home. I am so happy this is the last day,” Yasmine said as she retrieved some bottled water from the stainless-steel Viking fridge.

  “Not me, Mami, we’re going to be on television,” Marisol said excitedly. And I’m going to have a boyfriend!

  Yasmine watched her daughter as she took a sip from the bottled water. “You are growing up so fast, Marisol,” she said in Spanish, as she screwed the cap back on the bottle. “I remember when you were just a baby in my arms.”

  Marisol leaned against the massive granite-topped island in the center of the kitchen. “That was a long time ago,” she stressed, desperately wanting to be seen as a young woman and not a little girl.

  Yasmine moved around the island and playfull
y bumped her hip against her daughter’s. “Protect your heart and your innocence. Don’t be in a rush to give them away,” she advised. “Life is always filled with regrets.”

  Marisol looked up at her mom and the sadness in her beautiful brown eyes was clear. Seriously.

  At that moment, Marisol’s dad strolled into the kitchen with his camera crew right on his heels.

  “Yasmine, they’re ready for us to tour the house,” Alexandro said as he walked up to her and placed a kiss on her forehead.

  Yasmine’s smile was in place as soon as the lights and the camera shone in her eyes but Marisol didn’t miss the way her mom moved away from her father by walking back to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. She hadn’t even finished drinking the one already sitting on the island.

  Marisol looked around at the crew and noticed Corey was absent. Maybe we can find a quiet spot for that kiss, she thought as she eased past the camera crew out of the kitchen. She dug her peach-flavored lip gloss out of her pocket and glazed her mouth really well as she searched for her new boyfriend. Yes!

  She found him in the foyer and smiled as she walked up behind him quietly.

  “I miss you, too, baby girl. But my dad wants me to work with him.”

  Marisol stopped. Her eyes widened a bit right along with her mouth as her heart hammered like crazy.

  “Ask your mom if I can take you to the movies tonight,” Corey said.

  Oh…heck…no! This clown already has a girl!

  Marisol leaned against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest and waited patiently.

  “A’ight, I’ll see you later.”

  Corey turned and his eyes got big—saucer big—as he faced Marisol.

  Suddenly Corey, “the Cheater,” wasn’t looking so yummy anymore.

  “One thing you don’t know about me, Corey, is I don’t do secondhand,” Marisol said as she stepped forward and plucked his cell phone that had been still in his hand. “Erase me from your contacts.”

  As she turned and walked away, Marisol’s mother’s words of advice came floating back to her in a whisper:

  “Protect your heart and your innocence. Don’t be in a rush to give them away. Life is always filled with regrets.”

  True.

  fifteen

  Dionne

  September 14 @ 11:45 a.m. | Mood: Confused

  Dionne hated Sundays with a passion.

  Sundays meant another weekend of fabulousness was over.

  She snuggled deeper under the covers of her four-poster bed in her bedroom at her daddy’s posh duplex apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was face the start of this day, but her stomach was growling like crazy and she was ready to see her daddy. He wasn’t home when she got in from Starr’s yesterday afternoon. She’d thought she heard him come in late last night, but she hadn’t bothered to get up and check…especially since the last time she went running in her dad’s room she saw way more of him and his latest girlfriend than she ever cared to see.

  Her new Keyshia Cole ringtone filled the quiet of her room. Dionne sat up straight in the middle of the bed causing the colorful pillows to fly over the edge onto the floor.

  She flipped the Sidekick open.

  Hassan.

  Dionne knew she couldn’t avoid him forever and truthfully she didn’t really want to. She really liked Hassan’s swagger. She really liked Hassan. Period.

  Still she sent his call straight to voice mail.

  Hassan didn’t fit into her world anymore. For now memories of their flirting game was all she had left to hold on to.

  Dionne rolled out of bed and made her way into her bathroom to squash any morning breath, leaving any thoughts of Hassan and his serious swagger behind with the phone. Once she made sure she was minty fresh and not funky fresh, Dionne left her bedroom and walked down to the end of the hall to the master suite.

  Knowing her daddy had a late night she hated to wake him so early, but if he was home they always had Sunday-morning breakfast together before her driver took her home to Newark.

  “Rise and shine, Pops,” Dionne called through the solid mahogany door that was as black as hair dye. She knocked two times.

  Female giggles mixed with her daddy’s deep laughter filtered through the door. Hoochie in the house. Dionne rolled her eyes heavenward before she crossed her thin arms over her chest, pouting with major attitude on her face.

  Seconds later the black door opened and the thick haze of marijuana smoke escaped the room and surrounded her head like her own personal rain cloud. Dionne fanned it away with her hand, her bracelets clinking as she did. Her daddy and his whole crew loved the sticky-icky.

  She stepped inside the room, instantly ignoring the blond-haired, dark-skinned, big-butt woman walking her bare-naked, cottage-cheese dimpled behind into the bathroom. Eew!

  And there lying in the middle of his bed in all his splendor is platinum-selling rap artist, used-to-be TRL mainstay (before it went off the air), hip-hop magazine cover model, 106 & Park video count champ Lahron the Don. And all of the accoutrements of his hip-hop swagger were already in place—platinum and diamond chains, sagging True Religion jeans, fresh fade and a mouthful of grills. Downstairs were two expensive rides waiting in his spots in the underground garage. His fancy apartment was a long way from his days growing up in the Bricks.

  “Really, Daddy, you need to open a window, big-time,” Dionne complained as she eyed him flipping through channels on his flat-screen television on the opposite wall.

  “For what?” he asked, pretending to be innocent with a big, bleach-whitened toothy grin.

  Dionne arched an eyebrow as she wove her fingers through the disarray of her hair. “Puh-leeze, Daddy,” she drawled, way past the days of faking like she didn’t know the smell of weed.

  Lahron stood up and stretched his slender six-foot-five frame before using one hand to yank up his sagging jeans. “You better not let me catch you smokin’, ya heard me?” he ordered more than asked in that gravelly voice his fans loved.

  “Weed leads to other drugs. And I’ve lived around enough fiends and ’heads to know I’m not gone be one, Daddy,” she told him truthfully, wondering when he got the newest tattoo of her baby picture on his shoulder. It added to the dozen other tats all over his frame.

  Yet, she couldn’t get a tiny, itsy-bitsy rose tattoo on her wrist. Yet another example of his “do as I say and not as I do” parenting. Bet Starr could get a tattoo if she wanted to, Dionne thought even though Starr was deathly afraid of needles so there was no chance of her even asking. Plus they were too young for any legit tat artist, but in the hood anything was possible…

  “What’s for breakfast?” Dionne asked, ignoring the huge black-and-white sketch of the naked and squatting woman over his bed as she looked around his room.

  Lahron walked over to his ebony wood nightstand and grabbed a wad of cash. “Order something in, go wash, and let me handle June Bug,” he told her, reaching out to affectionately tweak her nose as he did.

  Handle meant send her on her way.

  Deuces, Dionne thought. That was more than fine with her as she reached up to kiss his cheek before she left the room.

  It was daddy-daughter time. Period.

  The ride from New York to Newark didn’t really reveal that much difference. Just more tall buildings, more people walking the streets and more cars making traffic crazy. Still, Dionne felt the change as she sat in the rear of the car headed back to reality.

  She wished her daddy could have driven her himself. But instead Mindy, his personal assistant, who was white and seemed more like a librarian than part of a rapper’s entourage, drove her home looking like she thought they were about to get carjacked at any moment.

  As Mindy’s little yellow Volkswagen Bug made a right onto Sixteenth Avenue, Dionne looked out at Westside Park. There was a baseball game being played and the bleachers were packed with onlookers. Humph, she thought. They make it seem like people in the hood only robbed and got high, or ran from
people who robbed and got high. Stereotypes. Whateva.

  Dionne thought about her own lies to her friends about where she lived, but she pushed any feelings of guilt away. It wasn’t the same. It just wasn’t.

  Mindy had brought her home plenty of times so she knew exactly where she was going and you would think by now she would ease up and realize the whole city of Newark wasn’t waiting around a corner to rob her. As the car neared the three-family apartment building where Dionne lived, she noticed her friends Joshia and Kim walking up the street from the corner store with chips and sodas in their hands.

  Dionne smiled at the sight of them as she lowered the window. She stuck her head out as she ignored Mindy glancing over at her like she was worried the boogeyman was about to jump through the window. “Hey, divas!” she hollered, reaching behind her to wave her hand for Mindy to slow the car down. Mindy didn’t.

  Joshia and Kim both looked over at her and then made a point of looking away. Dionne’s face fell. She had been dissed and dismissed. She knew she didn’t spend as much time with her girls since she started at Pace, but was it really all of that? She frowned as she sat back in the passenger seat, cutting her eyes to watch them in the rearview mirror. They were laughing and having fun. Without me, she thought as Mindy’s car pulled to a stop.

  As she gathered her Gucci duffel and pocketbook and climbed out of the car, Dionne looked up and noticed Hassan sitting on her stoop with his earphones on listening to his iPod. Her heart beat faster as she turned and bent down to look inside the car. “Thanks, Mindy.”

  Mindy’s eyes shifted from Hassan to Dionne. “He’s totally hot,” she said, with an overly dramatic wink.

  Dionne’s face became pained. She had to make herself not frown. There was nothing worse than an adult trying so hard to be cool. “All right. Bye,” she said with emphasis, stepping back to firmly close the door and send Mindy on her way.

  As she stepped up to the brick step, Dionne let herself enjoy the sight that was Hassan Ali. Tall, dark as chocolate, fade shining and freshly cut, cubic zirconia bling shining from his ear and a brightly colored hoodie that perfectly matched his Nikes. There wasn’t a boy at Pace who could touch Hassan.