Sunday, November 7, 2010

Superstar

   Tony Davenport was the lead actor in the hit drama series, " Cliche' Street." Every Friday I tuned in to find out how sexy Xavier Inez (Tony) conquered the cliches of life on his very street. Last Friday he proved that all men don't cheat by passing up an opportunity to sleep with an accomplished executive in his firm. He actually went home to his non cooking girlfriend and made love to her as if she had cooked him a full course meal. This Friday Xavier Inez (Tony) was defeating the cliche' that black men were deadbeats by adopting a young black boy, whose mother was addicted to cocaine. The fact that Xavier, (Tony) was biracial was irrelevant. Before the show would end Xavier, (Tony) would always say, " Remember that giving a person a chance, may create a chance for yourself. I am Xavier Inez on Cliche' Street." How that man made me melt. Beautiful, flawless, fair complexion. Masculine jaw line with the most impeccable pink lips I had ever seen. Tony obviously worked out and his twelve pack proved it. He spoke with such authority that would have made the most independent woman submissive.
    After fantasizing about Tony for so long, I began to live like he was actually my man. Pretending to hear his voice at night as I lay there, my body humming from the shock waves of a vibrator. Wearing a ring on my wedding finger as if we were married. High school stuff. On my way to work as a youth counselor, there was a contest on the radio about Tony Davenport. Whoever was able to recite the famous line at the end of every show correctly, would win an all expense paid trip to California and meet Tony Davenport! I called every minute until I got through. Unfortunately, I didn't win. Some white girl did. I did leave my name and number with the DJ in case there was something of Tony's I could buy, like season 1and 2 of Cliche' Street. With my head between my legs at the thought of that clueless white girl going to California to meet my man, I brought a gallon of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey and settled for reruns of Common Clause, a legal show I watched when nothing else was on.
     Two days later, I received a phone call from the DJ. Apparently, the white girl caught the flu! The DJ said I was the only one that left my name and number to buy something from a superstar like Tony Davenport.
Since I was obviously the biggest fan, I would get the plane ticket to L.A. The day of departure, I kissed my shabby old apartment goodbye. In a matter of seconds, I knew I could wrap Tony up into my little web and make him mine. At least that's what I thought. When I arrived in L.A.X, there was a man dressed in all black holding a sign with my last name on it. Walking over and politely greeting the chauffeur, I was escorted to a black Chrysler 300 stretch limousine.  Arriving at the Hilton Hotel, I was then escorted to a suite, where I would rest and meet Tony the next night for dinner at an exclusive restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. It only took minutes for the designer to knock on the door followed by the hair and makeup crew. They matched and compared this and that. I had never been given that many instructions in my life. Don't chew gum when I meet Tony. Don't eat before dinner or my belly would swell. Do Not talk about Cliche' Street unless Tony brings it up. Absolutely Do Not criticize ANYTHING Tony says or does!!!!! Celebrities were very sensitive when it came to their craft. They hated for anyone infamous to tell them what their doing wrong. Everything was perfect in their perfect little world. My feelings toward Tony were beginning to fade. All these people were so surreal. Every word was "Don't" or "Can't". The designer indirectly calling me fat and the makeup girl tapping this and that color on my face was getting annoying. For some reason in my mind, I thought I would walk in and Tony would be sitting on the bed with a dozen roses and that million dollar smile. But instead his assistant was there calling the shots, having people poking and probing me like a alien.
     After they all left, I looked the same as I did before they arrived. It made no sense to me to go through all of that and have to wash off the makeup, lose the clothes and still not be able to eat in order to fit into a dress two sizes too small. This was crazy. Finally the night had arrived. Butterflies had taken over my stomach like a brigade. Even though I hated every single one of them, the dream team, they called themselves, made me look like a star. My makeup was flawless. The designer red dress I wore complimented my figure just right. There I sat at the table waiting for Tony to come in on his white horse and sweep me away to a magical land filed with diamonds and great wine. After waiting forty-five minutes, a greasy, black, pot belly man walked up to the table. He sat beside me and informed me that Tony couldn't make it. He had an "emergency" that needed his attention.
    "On behalf of Mr. Davenport, your dinner will be on him and the rest of your night as well." With a quick smile, he stood up and left. My heart dropped into my over priced designer shoes. In the back I could hear laughing. Turning toward the flashing exit sign, I saw Tony walking out the door with a mixed bitch on his shoulder. Anger flowed through me like a hot lava. I was hurt and confused. Rage fueled me to walk to the back of the restaurant and confront Tony. I told him how I felt about him. How I thought he was an amazing actor and how I loved the realness of his character. Tony just laughed. In fact, everyone laughed. Then that pudgy greasy man spoke,
    "Sweetheart, your not the first or the last that thinks that way. Tony is a celebrity and he has no time for desperate women like you. Now in all reality, you got a chance to meet him. Now he must be going." All of a sudden the room went black. I felt myself falling. Then I saw me as a child playing with my Raggedy Ann doll. When I came to, I was sitting in the back of a patrol car covered in blood. Screaming for someone to help me, a detective opened the door and asked me if I knew where I was.
      "What happened to me?" He looked at the other detective and the next thing I knew I was on my way to interrogation. While waiting for the officer to come in, I saw on a small T.V that actor Tony Davenport had been stabbed earlier that night at an exclusive restaurant in downtown L.A by a fan.
    "My first thought was that jealous white girl. She was mad that Tony and I had taken pictures and gotten married. Some people are crazy." The lead detective told me that I killed Tony. That I had stabbed him with a fork in his neck. Apparently, according to L.A.P.D, I suffered from a mental condition called Bipolar Disorder associated with many characteristics of Schizophrenia. I just laughed. They too were jealous of me and Tony.
    

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