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Excerpts

1
City of Angels

May 2006
Caroline Y. Issacs

Backing out the driveway of my sweetie Julius's Malibu bungalow, I was already reminiscing about what a hot night we'd had. Had I not had a full day ahead of me, I'd have gone back inside for more. I pushed the button to slide back my convertible roof and I pulled out of the gates of Tara West. The condos and the beautiful landscaping were surrounded by palm trees and bordered by the Pacific Ocean. Now safe on the street, I dialed my parents, who'd been on vacation in Thailand. I'd had minimum contact with them while they were gone, so I was eager to know they'd made it home safely.

"Hello?" My mother's sleepy voice answered the ringing phone.

"Mom, hey, you're home. When did you get in?" I asked, turning the corner onto Greenwater Lane.

"Late last night. We're still in bed. Where are you, honey?" my mother asked in between yawns.

"On my way to the studio."

"Why don't I call you later when we're both up? I have lots to tell you. We brought you back some beautiful things."

Just then Mary J. started belting from my speakers. I reduced the volume and said, "All right, Mom. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. See you soon."

It had been six months since I'd seen my parents, so I was about due. I usually went to visit them in Philly, and at other times my brother Maurice and I would join them wherever they were vacationing, but Thailand was a little more than I could handle. All those bugs and the rain -- I'm too spoiled for that kind of adventure. No sooner had I hung up the phone than it rang again.

"Kia, hey, what's up? Are we still doing lunch?" I asked my best friend.

"Yeah, but I can't be too long. I have a photo shoot at two-thirty and you know how your ass likes to stop and talk to everybody you know."

Kia may have been unmanageable as hell when it came to money, but she had me beat when it came to time management on any day.

"Are you saying I can't stick to a two-hour lunch?"

"Please...you always need longer than that to finish a meal. I'll meet you at the Ivy at one o'clock."

"Cool. I'll see you there."

Kia and I had been friends since I moved out to LA five years ago, when we'd both been living at the Four Seasons. Both of us had been far away from home, me loving it and Kia in tears every night, as she'd never been too far from her family in West Virginia. The furthest she'd been was New York, where she'd begun modeling, but since acting was her goal she'd moved out to LA and was now bicoastal. So here we were both caught up in the glamorous world of Hollywood, Kia as a high-fashion model and me as a veejay for VMT. But it was no wonder how we'd remained friends. We'd both learned early on that the only way female friendships survived in Hollywood was by maintaining a no compete clause. My goal was to have my own talk show -- and yes, my idol was Oprah. For Kia, well, her goal was to one day slip into Halle Berry's shoes.

Driving along the scenic Pacific Coast Highway, I was glad my days started late because I'd never been one for early mornings. I usually tried to get into work by 10:00 a.m. and out of there when my show ended at 7:00 p.m. I switched the CD from Mary and opted for the radio, my ears craving some variety, but it was more of the same. All the deejays did was play the same tunes and talk the same trash every day, making me glad my short career path had led me to TV instead of radio. At least being a music television veejay gave me the opportunity to not only be seen but to be up close and personal with my audience.

Forty-five minutes later I was pulling up to the circular five-story Lowery Building, where I hosted Top of Da Charts, an urban music video show.

"What's up, Linney?" the parking attendant said, greeting me as I drove over the speed bump past his booth.

"Freddie, what's it look like today?"

He stepped out of the booth to light his cigarette. "Gonna be a big one."

I backed into my reserved spot but not before noticing the growing line for the studio audience that Freddie was referring to. Crazy how these folks lined up for a show that wasn't scheduled to begin for over five hours, but that's what made us number one.

The studio was on the first floor and we shared a floor of conference rooms on the third with our sister radio station, which was housed on the fourth floor.

I took the elevator to the second floor, where our offices were located, and pushed through the heavy wooden doors.

"Morning, Caroline."

"Good morning, Ms. Gwen," I replied to our receptionist, who was about fifty years old and well versed in everything hip-hop. She didn't take any crap from visitors or staff.

Without looking up she nodded her head toward a cup of hot water and lemon she had ready for me every day when I arrived. It all started a few months ago when I'd suffered with laryngitis, so regardless of what time I arrived, she'd have it waiting.

I stepped around the UPS boxes that were stacked in the lobby and began making my way down the winding hallway, past walls lined with platinum records and autographed artist's photos.

Before I could reach my office, my assistant, Erica, approached me at a light trot from around the corner.

Erica was twenty-nine and had been at VMT when I arrived from Philly. Initially we'd rubbed each other the wrong way, which was probably my fault because I'd felt so out of place when I arrived. I think she'd thought that at the age of twenty-one I'd be too immature for the job, and I had to admit a few times I made quite a fool of myself. But now I was twenty-four and a lot less insecure. I simply referred to her as E.

"Linney, good morning. First thing you should know is that your guest has been changed today from Diamond Studz to Raw Dawg. He's arriving around five-thirty, so there won't be time for a preshow interview."

"Morning, E. I'm not surprised," I said, jangling my key ring for the right one.

"Here," Erica said, stepping in front of me to unlock my office door.

"E, Raw has been on the show three times in the last two years and he's never arrived early enough. Just because he has a new album coming out we're supposed to drop everything for his ass. Next you'll tell me that he's not going to perform either," I said, while stashing my backpack into my bottom desk drawer and kicking it closed.

"Nope. He's going to show his new video and spend time talking with you and the audience. You know he likes to give you exclusives."

I switched on the computer and said with a smirk, "That ain't all he'd like to give me."

Erica picked up the remote and turned on the television that was suspended from the ceiling. "You might wanna see this. Ree-Ree was on Leno last night and she mentioned how you inspired her."

"Smart girl," I said, watching the fourteen-year-old songstress from the suburbs in Philly, not far from where I'd grown up. "So what else is up?"

"We'll also be running three other artists' videos from Dawg's label and you'll have one open slot and the closing video." Erica propped herself on the corner of my desk and opened her leather folio.

"Here's your script for the interview," Erica said, handing me the predetermined questions sent over from Raw Dawg's publicist.

"Thanks a lot," I grumbled. "I thought this was my show. Looks like today is gonna belong to Raw Dawg and his label. Is that it?"

"The studio is going to be packed. Guess you saw that coming in. The audience probably heard he was coming."

"I don't have to guess how that happened," I added, certain the leak came directly from his label.

"Here, let's go over your schedule for the day," she said once she'd pulled it up on Outlook.

Erica began reciting from the timetable we both leaned over to see.

"Production meeting is starting later today, like around eleven-thirty, so you can go to wardrobe first, but I'll come get you when they're ready. Then you'll have a two-hour window for lunch or whatever. Three-thirty I've got you set up for phone interviews and some calls. Five-thirty you're back to wardrobe and then..."

"Six o'clock you're on," we both said together.

"Oh yeah, and over there" -- Erica pointed to the small conference table -- "I've set up a stack of new videos that came in yesterday for you to take a look at." She then dashed out the door to a meeting with the station's publicist.

If one more thing landed in my small and overcrowded office, I'd have to literally sit on my desk. I reviewed the list of calls Erica had pulled from my voice mail, returned a few, and then headed over to wardrobe to see my stylist. Raphael, who'd come highly recommended, had been with me for the last year. He was a thirty-year-old white queen who handled my makeup, hair, and clothes for the show. And if I needed him for special events, he was always on call. Raphael was tall and thin, with bleached blond hair and a year-round perfect tan. He was one of the few people I knew who was a native of LA. His favorite pastimes were gossiping and surfing, but he also loved beautiful men and beautiful clothes, in which order I'm not sure.

I tapped on his open door and Raphael waved me in.

"Linney, git in here, girl. I have some funky pieces for you. Here, sit down," he said, pushing a high stool to the middle of the floor.

"Well, let me see what you got," I said, and then kissed him on the cheek. Raphael always wore the best cologne and smelled so good that I'd usually go out and purchase whatever he was wearing for Julius once I got a whiff.

Looking in the three-way mirror in front of me, Raphael pushed his fingers through my hair, trying to decide how he'd style it for today's show.

"Mmmm, what am I going to do with this today?" he said, now brushing my hair. "So, tell me, girlie, what color, designer, fabric, whatever you want, to put on that cute bottom of yours. I've got everything fresh."

"Why don't you just pick?" I said to him, because I knew that's what he wanted to hear.

He removed two dresses, a pair of shorts, a tank top, and three different pairs of jeans from one of the racks, spreading them out on the dressing table. I stood up to take a look.

"Here's what I'm thinking.... A few have been altered already, and the others I can touch up. This one is from Dolce," he said, holding up a beautiful printed halter. "The jeans and tank are Baby Phat, and wait a minute, this is from..." -- he looked in the collar for the label -- "Missoni. Is that what you're feeling?"

I disregarded what he'd laid out when I glimpsed a sexy turquoise Gucci jumpsuit with a low-riding waist still hanging on the rack.

"You keeping that for yourself?" I asked, pointing to the piece.

He covered his mouth to hide a girlish giggle. "What makes you think I don't already have one?" he asked, pulling down the jumpsuit and adding a funky belt from Christian Dior.

"I know you're waiting to tell me where you hung out last night -- go on," I said as I slipped my foot into a pair of three-inch Samanta heels he slid in front of me. That was all Raphael needed to get him going on celebrity gossip.

"You are not going to believe who I met last night. Oh, girl, you ain't gonna believe it."

"Probably not but go ahead."

Clasping his hands to his cheeks, he said, "Boateng! Linney, that man is so exceptionally fine."

"Who?" I asked while taking a stroll around the room in the high-stepping shoes.

"You know, the men's designer from London, the brother. Are they too high?" he asked, pointing to my feet.

I had no idea who he was talking about, especially someone who only designed for men. It didn't matter to Raphael because he would tell me everything regardless of if I wanted or didn't want to know.

"We were at the Blue Pelican and he and his wife walked in and oh, girl. I could've eaten him right up. Oh yes, a scrumptious thing he was."

You couldn't help but laugh when Raphael talked about men; he was just like having a girlfriend. As Raphael continued to talk about last night, who he'd seen and who he'd like to do, thirty minutes passed and I'd tried on two outfits.

In the midst of him telling me who he thought needed to come out of the closet and what celebs simply didn't know how to dress, Erica came through the door.

"You ready, Linney?"

"And hello to you too, Ms. Erica," Raphael said.

"What's up, Raphael?"

"Without a doubt, let's go," I said, leaving him with the decision of how to put my outfit together.

"Hey, we're not finished here yet," he said, posing in the doorway.

"Be back with her at four-thirty," Erica promised him.

Erica pushed the button for the elevator to take us upstairs to the executive conference room. "Linney, I wanted to remind you that I have a stack of résumés for you to look over."

"Résumés for what?"

"Uh, your summer intern, remember?"

"Sure I do," I lied.

Inside the cluttered third-floor conference room I found Sharon, the show's producer; Brad, the director; and three production assistants.

"Good morning, Caroline," said Sharon.

Sharon Stone Face Washington, was how we referred to her. Sharon's demeanor was strictly business. Always in a skirt suit, as if she didn't know the phrase chill out was in the dictionary. I would be uptight too if I had as much at stake as she did. The word around the studio was that she'd taken a cash-out from a major network after a highly publicized sexual harassment case, which explained why she was determined to prove her professionalism.

"Looks like we have a full house. What's the hot topic?" I asked, spinning around one of the swivel chairs to sit on.

"Summer ratings," Brad gestured, swishing the spreadsheet in the air.

On the other hand the show's director, Brad Cohen, had been nicknamed the "Grease Man" by Raphael. He was good at what he did, he could cut up a tape to perfection, but his only topic of conversation was food. Brad claimed to have been to every restaurant in California and maybe across the country;however, all we ever saw him eat were tuna sandwiches, which he washed down with coffee. None of this helped his breath especially.

"We were just going over some of the feedback on your blog. I think you'll find it interesting," Sharon said.

Caroline Tells All was a Web blog I started one night while I was trying to respond to the show's many e-mails. Once we announced it on the air, the webmaster had to create additional space on our site just to keep up with the entries. It was a way to give the audience a look into my life and a supposedly candid view of what happened behind the scenes and in the streets, and the audience in turn was able to add comments.

My fans weren't the only ones interested in Caroline Tells All. Celebrities and their publicists were wearing out my phones with requests to leak gossip on them, especially around album release time. In just a few months it had gotten so controlled by the industry that I secretly vowed to one day add some of the real underground stuff that nobody wanted put in print. But I had to be careful because I didn't want myself or our show to be caught in the middle of a record label war.

The thing nobody knew was that my brother, Maurice, sometimes would have his friends put comments on my blog to add fuel to the fire about things I couldn't personally put out there.

I reached over to gaze through the printouts. "I hope there are no crazed stalkers in the pile."

"No stalkers, but your fans love you and the females think you should start having some of your favorite designers on as guests. What do you think?" Sharon asked, twiddling her pen.

"This is a music video show," Brad added, before refilling his coffee cup.

"I think it's something we should at least consider. Everyone knows these artists are trendsetters when it comes to fashion," Sharon piped in.

I winked at Erica, who wore a size six same as I did, and always welcomed whatever I passed off to her. "So long as they fill up our closets. But for real, isn't it enough they get credit at the end of the show?" I asked.

"It's what the audience is asking for," Sharon said, ever the diplomat.

"If you think it'll help the ratings, maybe we could try one or two along with the actual artist wearing the clothes to see what the response is," Brad suggested. "Can't hurt."

For my ears only Erica mumbled, "Next we'll be doing makeovers."

"Caroline, the audience is also asking when you're going to bring some athletes on," Sharon added.

"Sharon, they gotta start making some rap songs that aren't bullshit," I said impatiently. "Now can I see the ratings, since you saved that for last?"

"It's about the same, which isn't good, since the competition plans to go head-to-head with us on a reality show in thirty days."

"So what's the plan?" I asked, glancing down at the multicolored spreadsheet.Brad took a bite from his tuna sandwich like it was a delicacy.

Sharon opened her notepad. "Don't know. That's why we're all here for a good ol' brainstorming session. We need to come up with some fresh ideas for a summer show if we don't want to air reruns all summer."

"All right, everyone, let's see what we've got," I said.

For the next two hours we went from one stupid idea to another, none of which sounded impressive to me or anyone else. Since it was my show, the situation was left in my hands. I didn't have much time either, because the summer was about to kick off in one month. All some kids did with their summer vacation was sit in front of the TV and watch videos the entire day, and those kids were our worst critics.

After our meeting I went back to my office to get my purse, then walked down Robertson Boulevard to meet Kia at the Ivy, but not before stopping at Lisa Kline to pick up two items they'd been holding for me.

I saw Kia waving at me from where she stood beside the restaurant's white picket fence. She was a country clean white girl and to hear her tell it, she'd gone from trailer trash to the cover of Vogue. Kia stood exactly six feet tall in her bare feet and weighed 125 pounds with no signs of anorexia. Her biggest complaint was still having to be shoved into skimpy and tight clothes, so when she was off camera she chose to wear free-flowing sundresses like the Free People number she had on today.

I knew her waving was all for show, to make sure the paparazzi's lenses that were always focused on the Ivy could get a good shot of not only her face but of the beautiful six-month-old cleavage she was sporting.

Seeing my shopping bag, Kia teased, "Linney, I know you ain't been shopping. It's impossible for you to get anywhere on time if there's a store within a hundred miles."

"I'm not late, so shut up."

Kia and I hugged, then followed the hostess inside. Before we could get to our seats my cell phone rang. I saw that it was Julius so I picked up.

"Hey, Jules, baby," I said into the phone. "Did you finally get your butt out of bed?"

"How's a man supposed to get up for work when you knocked me out like that last night?"

Julius was a budding sports agent who'd left the law firm he'd been with to start his own agency. So far he had three clients, two football players and one hockey player. I'd met him about two months after I'd moved to LA, when he was still an uptight lawyer. He was four years older than me, certainly mature, which was just what I needed to keep me grounded. Julius and I didn't live together, but most of my nights were spent at his house in Malibu when he wasn't out of town schmoozing prospective clients.

During the time we'd been together, a solid two years, marriage had come up more than once, but he wanted to wait until he had a more solid financial situation. Mine was as solid as it would ever get, since I'd already been deemed a trust-fund baby. Julius wanted to make sure that he could give me whatever I needed so I'd never have to touch that money. At the rate he was going it wouldn't be long, so when he told me to keep his spot warm, I was sure we were both on the same page.

The waiter pulled out my chair, seating us outside on the shaded patio. I didn't bother to look at the menu because I'd be having my usual.

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy that little show I put on for you," I told Julius.

"What was that, anyway? My private welcome home party?" he asked, referring to the well-rehearsed strip show I'd performed when he'd gotten home after being in Dallas for three days.

"That sounds about right. But don't go taking your ass out of town any time soon. Where are you now?"

"On my way to meet a client. You coming back over tonight? Because I want to know if my spot is gonna be warm."

"You think you can handle some more of me?"

"Bring it on home to big Papa, baby!"

I could feel the smile spreading on my face when I hung up.

Kia didn't miss it. "You two are sickening."

I sipped my water. "Don't hate me just because the men you're seeing can't bring it like mine."

"At least I have options when one of mine is out of town. I'm telling you, you're going to get bored one day having just one man to turn to," Kia chided, referring to the three men she was currently dating.

"Never! I love that man to death," I boasted.

Kia threw up her hand and flagged me. "Anyway, new subject. What's going on? Who's on the show today?"

"Raw Dawg bombarded his way on, promoting that new album of his."

"That boy is really feeling you, Caroline. You might wanna check him out, is all I'm saying."

"I am not interested -- no way, no how. You know my rule; I never, ever date rappers, singers..."

"...Actors, actresses, nobody, absolutely nobody, in show business," Kia finished. She knew me well.

"So have you heard anything yet?" Kia asked.

"About what?"

"Come on, People magazine...You know what I'm talking about. You have to make it again this year," Kia cried, visibly more excited than I was.

"I don't know. I mean, if I make the list this year, it'll be the fourth time in a row. Isn't that asking a bit much?" I pondered, yet still glad that my name was in the running. "But how about you making Maxim's Hot One Hundred?"

"Yeah, and you know what I had to do to get on it too. But for real, Linney, how could being named one of the fifty most beautiful people ever be a bit much?"

She was right. I did want to make the list, but I also didn't want it to get old. Would fans stay interested year after year?

"It's no biggie; it's only because I'm in people's living rooms every day," I stated, realizing that in Hollywood everything was about making lists -- even the negative lists. As long as you made one you were still visible.

"You're telling me that being beautiful has nothing to do with it. Stop downplaying yourself."

"Well, looks definitely help," I consented, wondering if being beautiful would be enough for me to reach my career goals.

The waiter appeared at our table.

"What are we eating?" Kia questioned, as if she expected us to get something different than our norm.

"Caesar salad, mesclun salad, or arugula salad?" the familiar waiter asked, well aware of our eating habits.

"We're so stuck in our ways. Why don't we just order fat-ass burgers with fried onions and mushrooms, and some cheese fries with salt, pepper, and ketchup?" Kia urged, nudging me with her foot under the table.

"Yeah, right, and then neither one of us will have a job." I looked up at the waiter and simply stated, "Caesar salad for me and arugula salad for my friend. That way we can share."

While we picked at our lunch I signed a few autographs and posed for a few pictures with passersby. I usually didn't like to be bothered while I was eating, but in all honesty I really did want to make that list again. So if that meant signing autographs and answering a few questions, then so be it.

"Have you made any vacation plans for the summer yet?" I asked Kia, who was signing a picture of herself on the cover of Vogue.

"No, I'm going to be working. I'm leaving in a few weeks for Brazil, a Town & Country shoot, then I have a private show for La Perla's new line. What about you?"

"Nothing yet. Julius wants us to do something, and I'll probably fly out to see my parents."

I made my way back to the studio and was in with Raphael by three o'clock for hair and makeup that would take at least an hour and a half. Styling my hair always took the longest amount of time. I'd always had shoulder-length hair and some might even describe it as "good hair," but there was nothing thick about this limp stuff. Even though I preferred less infusions and hair spray, I knew I needed it to hold my look in place. I kept threatening to cut it but every time I mentioned it, Sharon jokingly threatened me with my job. Since she didn't have much of a sense of humor, I didn't take any chances.

While Raphael worked me over, I met with the show's publicist in reference to three charity appearances she wanted me to attend. Then I returned a call from my agent about a possible perfume endorsement. Erica also sat with us for a few to read through some of the fan mail that came in by the bin from the post office. For me it was another day at the office that was only halfway through.By five-fifty I was waiting behind the thick blue velvet drapes for my music to be cued up to go on stage. I noticed Raw Dawg slip into the studio and up behind me.

"Hi, Raw. I didn't think you were making appearances yet for the new CD." I could overhear his publicist telling Brad that he would be performing and what he needed for his setup.

"You can get me whenever you want, Linney," he said all up on my butt.

I responded with a kiss on his cheek. "Is that so?" I asked, swaying my hips to the beat of the music.

"I'll bust some rhymes if you chill wit' me tonight."

There wasn't time to answer his invitation because I was bouncing out from behind the curtain and on to the stage to begin my monologue.

"Linney here, y'all, with Top of Da Charts! What's happening? I've got a hot, hot show today that's gonna turn you on your heels, so I hope you came prepared with your Nikes, your Adidas, whatever it is you call your dancing shoes, 'cause Linney promises that today's guest is gonna turn it out!"

"RAW! RAW! RAW!" the audience chanted practically making the stage vibrate.

I yelled to my deejay, "Cue it up, Wakeel," and he brought up the first video of Raw Dawg's duet with the Marley brothers.

We showed two videos and three commercials, then were back, and I officially announced our guest for the day. Raw Dawg lumbered his way around the corner to the stage and threw up the V sign for his label before pouncing down onto my couch. As usual he sat closer to me than any of my other male guests, and it wasn't just because he had two of his artists with him.

After the audience's response I began like clockwork with my round of questions. I read sporadically from the teleprompter and he casually answered me as if he had no idea what I would ask. While Raphael touched up my hair and lip shine during a commercial, Raw started in on me with his rap game.

"You ready for me yet? I'm telling you, Linney, we could do some things."

"Why do you ask me that every time you see me when you already know what the answer is? I'll tell you again, Raw, I'm in a relationship with one person and you're in a relationship with what...several?"

He put his hand, three fingers of which were filled with bling, on my knee and squeezed it. It wasn't that Raw wasn't attractive. Oh yeah, he was built better than most athletes, even had begun a line of workout clothes for men and women and had already opened his first gym in Cincinnati. He was an entertainer and I didn't do those.

"Don't believe the hype, Linney. All this could be yours."

I'm assuming he was referring to the rumor that he was so well endowed that his profession prior to rapping was servicing women in exchange for money.

"Just not mine alone," I added.

With that he nodded to one of the many guys in his crew who -- just as we went back on air -- rolled out an eight-piece Louis Vuitton luggage set filled with apparel from his sports line. He'd timed it perfectly so I had no choice but to show my gratitude in front of my audience by giving him a hug and thanking him for my gift.

All of this gave him ample opportunity to try to kiss me, and if I hadn't turned my head quick enough, it would have been on my lips instead of my cheek.

After two more videos Raw asked the audience whether or not they wanted him to perform. They responded with a screaming yes. He took the stage to my right where his deejay was set up, and I went to stand with the audience. As always his performance was outstanding and, unbeknownst to the audience, well rehearsed. Not much was spontaneous when he was releasing a new album.

When the show ended I changed out of my stage clothes, Raphael broke down my makeup, and I guzzled a quart of water. Being under all those lights and talking for an hour straight sometimes took all my energy, especially when I hadn't gotten enough rest like last night, when I stayed up late playing around with Julius.

Finally I made it to my office, where I spent another two hours returning some calls and taking a telephone interview from a writer with Blender magazine.

There was also an e-mail I needed to respond to from Vibe magazine requesting my opinion on Raw Dawg's new release. While answering their questions, I simultaneously popped in one of the music videos to be aired next week. After that I began reviewing the list of top ten videos that would be played on Friday's countdown show.

Breaking my concentration, Sharon appeared in the doorway of my office and said, "Great show, Caroline."

"Thanks."

"I need you to come in early tomorrow for our meeting."

"Anything in particular happening?"

"Besides needing a summer theme, I want you to settle the intern thing."

By 8:30 p.m. I was starved and ready to make my way back to Julius's house. When I phoned him his cell went straight to voice mail, which meant he'd be home late, so I decided that for dinner I'd pick up sushi at Mama Foo's. My Julius was not a sushi man.

When I got to the reception desk I heard Erica calling after me. I couldn't believe she was still in the office.

"Hey, wait up!" she yelled down the hall just before I was out the door.

I turned around to see what the big rush was. "What is it? I'm outta here."

"I know, I know, but you need to be here in the morning by nine for the interviews."

"Interviews?" That quickly I'd forgotten about Sharon's reminder.

"Yeah. Here's the folder of résumés I put on your desk while you were at lunch. Remember you have to select a summer intern. Did you forget?"

"You know I forgot," I said, retrieving the folder from her hands. "I'll look over them tonight."

When I arrived at Julius's he still wasn't home, so I let myself in with the keys he'd given me. Placing the bag of takeout on the dining room table, I noticed that Julius had left me a note letting me know he'd had to make a quick trip to San Diego and would be back around midnight.

I was actually kind of glad he wasn't there so I could veg out in front of the television, maybe do my own brainstorming of sorts, but I needed to shower first.

Julius called just as I finished moisturizing myself."Hey, you get my note?"

"Yes, baby. How'd things go?" I asked, walking into the kitchen. "Football player, right? Tight-end."

"Very good, Caroline."

"How was your day?"

"Not bad," I answered, undoing the container of mango tango and salmon skin rolls.

"I saw you had Raw Dawg on. You didn't let him make no moves on you backstage, did you?"

"Yeah, right. You know I belong to one man. Speaking of which, what time are you flying back?"

"It'll be late, but keep my spot warm. Matter of fact, I need it to be hot tonight."

Julius Worthington's spot would always be warm with me because I had no interest in any other man. With that I sat cross-legged on the couch to chow down. Later I opted to enter my thoughts into Caroline Tells All. All right, y'all, tomorrow I'm interviewing for my summer intern. I'm hoping that person is ready to get their grind on and have some fun. Know anybody who wants to fill those shoes?
Anyway, tomorrow's the day. So y'all intern wannabes better be somebody hot and fresh off the block, 'cause Linney don't do no knockoffs.

Copyright © 2008 by Brenda L. Thomas