Intermission

by Phyllis R. Dixon

Genres: Friendship; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

An insightful and dramatic novel of women’s friendship, feuds, and fame as a 1990s pop music group, reminiscent of Destiny’s Child, reunites for a second shot at mega-success and must deal with both the new demands of today’s social media and the same old traps of yesterday. Perfect for fans of Terry McMillan and Sheila Williams.

Angel. Carmen. Doreen. Jade. Talented Memphis girls who had a brush with pop music fame—guided by Carmen's warm-hearted mother. But when she was elbowed out for a bigger manager, Carmen walked too. The bitter breakup shattered the Diamonds' never-easy “sisterhood” —and cost them the big-time. Now a reunion offers a fresh start, just as mid-life struggles are pushing all four to the brink.
 
Angel hopes to reignite her failing solo career, but her insatiable ego keeps getting in the way. . . . Carmen was the group's peacemaker, but with her son in serious trouble, she’s run out of patience. . . . Doreen longs to recapture the highs of performing, minus the drug haze—even as it risks her life as a pastor’s wife. . . . And Jade, always the wallflower, is determined to get recognized this time around.
 
As the women contend with the new and overwhelming demands of celebrity, they find that the old traps have stayed the same. Can they ever reach true sisterhood—and help each other become the sparkling gems they were meant to be?
 

Release date: July 25, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Twenty years later . . .

Carmen placed the pineapple cake on the stand and licked icing from the spatula. It was Saturday morning, but her kitchen smelled like Sunday dinner. It seemed strange not to gather at her mother’s house for the Fourth of July. Gloria always invited the neighbors and the celebration became a combined block party and family reunion. But over the last nine months, Carmen and her siblings had gradually moved more of Gloria’s things to her house. So now, it was easier for Carmen to host the family.

While the other Diamonds splurged on drugs, clothes, cars, trips and more drugs, Carmen bought her mother a house and one of her own. Other than dusty gold records on the dining room wall, those houses were the only tangible evidence from her days in one of the hottest girl groups of the nineties. One of her proudest moments was handing her mother a deed stamped paid with her name Gloria Mae Ellis typed in the owner space. When her mother finally left her last husband, Carmen, her older sister Faye, and younger brother Sonny moved five times in two years, outrunning eviction notices. Gloria found a job at McDonald’s and worked her way from fry cook to district manager. She also worked part-time at the radio station and sometimes sang with bands in Beale Street clubs. Carmen loved singing with the girls, but her goal was to make her mother’s life easier, and ensure they never again had to worry about a roof over their heads.

Angel, Doreen, Jade, and Sophia begged her to party after shows, but Carmen preferred to read and hoarded her money. The girls said she squeezed a dollar so tight you could hear George Washington holler.

The subdivision was new when Carmen moved in twenty years ago, and the two-story colonial had seemed like a mansion. There were some newer features she wished she had, but her home had the most desirable trait of all—it was almost paid for. Between her music teacher salary, sporadic child support, and an occasional royalty check, she had managed to provide her children stability and security.

When people learned she had been a Diamond, they expected her to have a bankroll stashed away. But even though the Diamonds sold millions of records, when she left the group in 1997, Peak Records claimed the Diamonds owed the company money. Carmen sued for unpaid royalties, and they countersued for breach of contract. Lawsuits dragged on for years. They finally settled four years ago, and after taxes and legal fees, Carmen got forty thousand dollars—not the high six figures she expected. After a new roof, braces for both kids, and a splurge trip to Disney World, her windfall had dwindled to less than twenty thousand. Money she added to her children’s college fund.

The oven had warmed the house, and Carmen cranked up the air conditioner. She had planned to bake last night, and not heat the kitchen today, but Nathan called and she decided the cake could wait. They went to get ice cream, then to Lake Park to watch fireworks, and then, went to make their own fireworks behind closed doors. The memory brought a contented smile, and she hummed an Aretha Franklin tune as she loaded the dishwasher. The back door opened and she looked up. “It’s about time you got here. Oh,” she said when she saw it wasn’t David.

“You certainly aren’t healthy for a girl’s ego. Here, I had this in my freezer.” Gloria handed her daughter a container of hogshead cheese, a dish saved for special occasions.

“Sorry, Mama. I was expecting David.”

“I just talked to Faye. She said business was slow, so she let David go around ten. He was getting a haircut, then coming home.”

“He knows the barbershop is packed on Saturday mornings, and the buses are slow,” Carmen responded. “He asked to take my car; maybe I should’ve let him.”

“He probably stopped by his little girlfriend’s house. I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Gloria said, as she sat down and pulled a rib from the pan.

“He’ll get an earful from me when he does get here. David promised to help.”

“You know,” Gloria said, pointing the rib at her daughter, “If you had brought your fast tail home at a decent hour, you could’ve gotten an earlier start.”

Carmen breathed deeply and ignored her mother’s commentary on her private life. “I had planned on being outside, but it’s starting to rain, so we’ll all be inside, and the house is a mess.”

“It’s family. We’re not guests. You’re stressing over nothing,” Gloria advised as she reached for the cake.

“You know you’re not supposed to eat this,” Carmen said, sliding the cake stand away from her mother.

“Living with you is like being in basic training. I checked my sugar, it’s fine.” Gloria was diabetic and had a stroke just before Christmas. The doctors said it was a light stroke, although it still sounded serious to Carmen. Thankfully, other than weight loss, she had minimal side effects, but she needed to start dialysis. Since Faye and her husband kept long hours at their florist shop, and her brother Sonny shared a small apartment with his newest girlfriend, they convinced her to stay with Carmen, at least until she adjusted to dialysis.

“David knows I’m going to fuss so he won’t answer,” Carmen said, calling him again.

“You’re too hard on him. He’s an A student, on the student council, basketball, and debate teams—and he has a job. Faye says he’s one of her best workers,” Gloria said. “Let him enjoy this time in his life. Hope should get out more too. She said she had to work today. That child has the rest of her life to work. She should be on the phone giggling about boys.”

“Hope has enough time to worry about boys. I’m glad she wants to be independent and have her own money. And I don’t want David thinking he can get by because he’s cute and can bounce a basketball. I definitely don’t want him living with me when he’s thirty-five, like some people.”

“Sonny has his own place now, and he’ll have plenty of money when he gets his lawsuit settlement.”

“He’s been waiting on that settlement for years,” Carmen said. “And he’s moved in with his girlfriend. That’s not the same thing. She could kick him out at any time. Then he’ll be back at your house.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I don’t like my house being empty. Sale papers and the Yellow Pages were sitting on my porch this morning, announcing to all thieves the house is empty. Folks these days will steal the butter off your bread. And the post office isn’t forwarding all my mail. What if the sweepstakes prize patrol comes and I miss them?”

“Most of those so-called sweepstakes are scams. And insurance covers your stuff if there’s a break-in.”

“That stuff, as you call it, is priceless—all my pictures, my mother’s dishes,” Gloria said. “My album collection shouldn’t be left in a hot house. Angel sent me designer shoes and hats from around the world. Heat isn’t good for them either. And my fur is there. Angel gave it to me when I joined her at President Obama’s inauguration. The more I think about it, the more I worry about my house,” Gloria said. “I don’t need to be babysat. I want to go home.”

“I’ll come to your next doctor visit and see what he says. And your house will be fine,” Carmen insisted, as she pulled out the vacuum cleaner. “I doubt if a burglar wants old baby pictures, and Angela’s hand-me-downs are as worthless and phony as she is.”

“Don’t start bad-mouthing Angel.”

“Is it bad-mouthing if it’s true?”

“I didn’t raise you to be so judgmental,” Gloria remarked with a sigh. “It’s been years. You girls should settle your grudge.”

“A grudge would be an upgrade, and I’m not wasting another second of my holiday talking about her,” Carmen said. “Right now, I have a floor to vacuum.”

“Do it tomorrow. Hope has been teaching me that new ‘Cha Cha Slide Number Six,’ and I plan to show you young folks a thing or two,” Gloria said as she snapped her fingers, stepped from side to side and shimmied her ample behind. “Between dancing and folks tramping in dirt, it’ll get dirty again anyhow.”

“All right. Wallace finished the ribs and chicken this morning and said he would do the burgers and hot dogs this afternoon,” Carmen said, as she texted her son again.

“He sure is persistent,” Gloria said. “What’s that song you girls sang, ‘Searchin’ for the Right One’? Well, you’ve been searching ten years, it’s time to pull in your net. I don’t know why you won’t settle down with him.”

“We’re just friends,” Carmen insisted.

“At forty, you can’t waste time with friends,” Gloria said, using her fingers to make air quotation marks. “No man is going to get up before dawn and barbeque for your family because he wants to be your friend.”

“We don’t click. Wallace is nice but . . .”

“Baby, nice comes home at night, nice pays the bills, and nice doesn’t call you at the last minute for a booty call the night before a holiday. Nice spends the holiday with you.”

“Mama, I don’t appreciate your opinion on my relationship with Nathan.”

When she started seeing Nathan, she had just ended a yearlong relationship. After yet another dating bust, she declared she was taking a break and Nathan was a cute diversion. But as weeks turned into months and now a couple years, he remained in her life—sort of. His job transferred to Atlanta. But his parents were still in Memphis, and he came back to town just enough to keep Carmen content. She didn’t need or want a man underfoot twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. His wife could worry about that.

“I know times change, but I don’t think what you and that no-good Negro are doing can be called a relationship. If you lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas,” Gloria said. “Wallace just needs fixing up. Get him to shave his head and stop those homemade haircuts, switch to contacts, and take him to a dermatologist. He’ll start clicking then.”

“Mama, me and my kids are fine. My bills are paid, and we’re all healthy. Life is good.”

“Then come back to Blessings. There are several single men in the choir. We’ve got some on the usher board too. Doreen always asks about you.”

Carmen and Doreen were the only Diamonds still in Memphis. They lived less than fifteen miles apart, but rarely saw each other. After reminiscing about the old days, and sharing news about their children, they had little else to talk about. And eventually, Doreen would try to get her to come to church. Carmen grew up in church, but was now a CME member: Christmas, Mother’s Day, and Easter.

“Where there are church men, there are church women, which equals drama. No, thank you.” Carmen said.

“It’s too late now, but you probably gave up on your marriage too soon. Vernon’s doing so well, and you have two beautiful children. Men take longer to mature and settle down.”

“You cannot be serious. We were married six years and that was five years too long. Correction—I was married six years. Vernon never honored his vows,” Carmen said. “Why so much concern about marriage? I don’t see you and Mr. Wilson rushing to the altar.”

“We’ve been together five years, and like things the way they are. He’s seventy-five, so my sixty-four makes me his PYT. And there’s no Social Security or pension issues.”

“Mama, I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think you’re what Michael Jackson had in mind when he sang that song,” Carmen said, laughing. “And haven’t you been sixty-four for a few years now?”

“You’re missing my point,” Gloria replied, waving her hand. “I worry about you. You’re still young, and should be spending these years with some sexy, smart man who makes your toes curl and pampers you—not stuck in a hot kitchen baking cakes and washing dishes.”

“Never thought I’d consider forty young. But since Mr. Sexy, Smart, Toe-Curler hasn’t appeared, I’ll hang with my family today,” Carmen said. “And I’m going to beat you in spades.”

“Child, I taught you to play spades. Go get dressed.”

Carmen reluctantly left the vacuum cleaner and headed to her room. It wouldn’t take long to dress. She wore minimal makeup on her youthful, sandy-colored face, and just needed to dab moisturizer on her edges. Last year, to commemorate her fortieth birthday, she had done the big chop, cutting the perm from her hair, and letting her hair loc. Gloria disliked the small twists, saying, “Those things look like worms.” Her locs were now almost shoulder-length, and with added auburn highlights, even her mother thought they were becoming, especially when she flashed her dimpled smile.

Her closet was stuffed with clothes she couldn’t wear. Size twelves, fourteens, and sixteens had been pushed to the back, and she refused to buy many clothes in a larger size as an incentive to lose weight. But it was July, and her New Year’s resolution to lose weight was a distant memory. Life was too short to waste time counting calories and fat grams. Besides, Nathan loved her curves and even insisted she undress with the lights on—something she usually avoided.

Carmen had been a chubby baby with a round face and big cheeks. Growing up, she was called big-boned, healthy, or thick, and wore a C-cup bra in junior high school. She was a shorter, lighter-skinned version of her mother, and her weight was never an issue until she became a Diamond. The record company put her on weight loss programs and nagged her to slim down. When she left the group, she was free to eat whatever, whenever, and pounds accumulated on her five-foot three-inch frame. She lost weight a few years ago, but regained it when she quit smoking. She’d get serious about her diet when school started back and she wasn’t home with the refrigerator all day.

She planned to wear white pants and a red-and-blue family reunion T-shirt. But the pants were too tight. She selected a pink sundress instead. Not patriotic, but it would camouflage her jiggly thighs, and be cooler than pants.

Her phone rang as she stepped into the shower. She didn’t recognize the number, so she let it go to voice mail. She hummed a tune she planned to introduce to her class this fall. She was in such deep thought, she jumped when her mother opened the shower curtain.

“I’ve been calling you,” Gloria stated. “Your phone kept ringing, so I answered it.”

“I’m sure it could have waited,” Carmen said.

Gloria handed her a towel. “It’s David’s friend, Julian Weaver, and he insists on speaking with you.”

“I don’t remember a Julian,” Carmen said, as she took the phone. “Look, I have no time for games or excuses. Tell David to get on this phone right now—Car accident? Is he all right?”

Carmen was silent and the only sound was the shower spraying. She then stated, “I’ll be right there.”

“Well, what happened?” Gloria asked.

“He was in a car accident,” Carmen said, while turning off the shower.

“Is he hurt? Is he in the hospital?”

“No.”

“Praise God,” Gloria said, and plopped on the bed. “From the look on your face I thought he was seriously hurt. Since you’re not dressed, I’ll go get him.”

“I’ll go, Mama.”

“You stay here and greet your company. Besides, this is no time for an ‘I told you so’ lecture. What’s Julian’s address?”

“Julian is at the hospital. David is in jail.”

A smoky haze hung over Lake Michigan, as the last bright crimson fireworks trails dribbled to earth, then vanished. Angel drank the rest of her Dom Pérignon, blew out the magnolia scented candle, then carried the crystal flute inside. From her balcony, she could view the fireworks without the hassle of crowds. Today was officially Independence Day, but this was also her personal independence day. Most people make New Year’s resolutions, but Angel couldn’t wait until then. The ink was barely dry on the outrageous divorce settlement and Lorenzo, her newest ex-husband, was already engaged. Peak Records didn’t renew her contract, even though they had made millions off of her. Her gynecologist told her she was in premenopause. And, according to Brooke Watson, her business manager, she was flirting with bankruptcy and needed to drastically cut expenses. Over the years, she paid a lawyer, agent, husbands, and business manager, yet she seemed to be the only one in financial straits. No more. Angel was making changes, starting today.

It was years since she’d been home on the Fourth of July. She told her agent she needed time off, but the truth was, she didn’t accept the jobs offered. He wanted to book her at the Hard Rock Cafe in Madison, Wisconsin, but she told him it was an insult to play a small market on a major holiday. He told her he could get her a gig as the opening act for a comedian at a casino in Florida, and she insisted Angel Donovan was always the main attraction. He said she could be the closing act on an old school revue. She reminded him she refused to be classified as an oldies act. The only holiday job she’d booked was an appearance on an AIDS telethon, which was great exposure, but no pay. Her dissatisfaction grew the more she thought about it, and firing him had been her first act of independence today. She called and told him she was Angel Donovan, and if he couldn’t find her suitable work, his services were no longer needed. Brooke could handle whatever little bit he was doing.

Angel relished the time off but wouldn’t be spending it lounging. This would be her last holiday in Rose Manor, the lakefront estate she’d called home for almost fifteen years. She’d spent the day packing and purging, but stopped to watch the fireworks.

Brooke urged her to sell the house years ago, saying it was a drain on her finances and she didn’t need so much space. But Rose Manor was Angel’s reward for the traveling and butt-kissing she’d done to advance and sustain her career. When Peak Records moved their headquarters to Chicago, Angel happily left Memphis too, even though it meant leaving her daughter, Crystal, to be raised by her ex-husband as well as leaving her mom and dad. She received a big advance when she went solo, and began house hunting in Chicago. She wasn’t looking for a large property, but when she saw Rose Manor featured in the Sunday paper, she wanted it. Rose Manor was a seven-thousand-square-foot mid-century modern house located on an acre near Lake Shore Drive. The gated entrance, circular driveway, mature elm trees, and meticulous landscaping reminded her of palaces in the fairy tales her mother read to her as a child. Before her health declined, her mother loved to visit and often marveled that her daughter was living the fairy-tale life she’d read to her. But last year she’d become combative and almost set the house on fire, so they moved her mother to a memory care facility. What a cruel twist of fate: Alzheimer’s was robbing her mother of memories she had made possible.

When Lorenzo moved in, Angel agreed to a substantial remodel. She thought it was sweet that he wanted the house to have their stamp on it, not just hers. She didn’t have time to work with the interior designers, so she let him oversee everything. The result was tremendous. Unfortunately, so was the remodeling bill.

The first Realtor suggested an insulting lowball asking price, and Angel didn’t call her back. The second Realtor didn’t last either. She signed a listing contract, but he wanted to stage the house, and said Angel’s artwork was too personal. When he brought new artwork, Angel realized he meant her artwork was “too black,” so she terminated the contract. The third Realtor was a better fit. Angel signed a contract and the house sold within six days. The buyer wanted to close by month’s end, giving her four weeks to find a new place, pack, and move—not nearly enough time. But based on the mortgage company’s letters, Angel knew she had no leverage to request more time. The mortgage company agreed to halt foreclosure proceedings when Brooke told them they had a buyer, but insisted there would be no more grace periods.

She stepped over boxes in her gourmet kitchen and searched through cabinets filled with expensive cookware and exotic spices. Cooking was not her forte, so she settled on peanut butter and jelly, which the cook kept on hand for when she brought her granddaughter to work.

Angel smiled as she recalled the peanut butter sandwiches her mother fixed for her school lunch. She wondered if her mother remembered those times. The sandwich was so tasty, she fixed another. This was vastly different from the dishes Lorenzo prepared when he tested recipes for the restaurant he predicted “they” would open someday. The restaurant that had its grand opening on Memorial Day. The restaurant he’d built with her money.

It still made her furious to even think about him. After her third divorce, she vowed never to marry again. Lorenzo was ten years younger, and worked for a firm that catered one of her parties. They had an instant sexual attraction, quickly became friends with benefits, and he eventually moved in. He wasn’t trying to be her manager, like her second and third husbands, and wasn’t intimidated by her. Lorenzo didn’t make her feel wicked because she was tenacious about her career and wasn’t interested in making more babies. After three years together, he became husband number four. She thought she had finally found her soulmate, until she accidentally turned on the security camera app on her phone and saw him “entertaining” in her house while she was on tour.

When he requested a ridiculous settlement, she kicked herself for not getting a prenuptial agreement, as her attorney advised. They settled on two hundred thousand dollars to be paid in four installments. Brooke wanted her to refinance Rose Manor to pay for the settlement or set up smaller payments, but Angel refused. She wanted him out of her life as soon as possible. She planned to immerse herself in work to help make the payments. But there was no work.

Her phone rang and she saw it was her father. Her antenna went up since he rarely called after dark. “Hi, Daddy, is everything okay?”

“Hey baby girl. I was trying to text you to tell you your mother had a very good day, and I hit the wrong button. Sorry for calling so late.”

“No need to apologize. I’m always glad to hear from you.”

“Maybe Crystal’s visit perked up your mother. And Crystal told me the good news.”

“What good news?” Angel asked.

“That you’re moving back home.”

“I’m still thinking about it. I wish Crystal hadn’t mentioned it to you.” Angel was considering moving back to Memphis. Her hometown still loved everything connected to Peak Records and she’d be the big fish in the little pond. Another benefit: Rose Manor sales proceeds would stretch farther in Memphis. Also, she was an only child and her parents weren’t getting any younger. The move made sense on paper, but she was still trying to convince her heart.

Angel loved Chicago and considered it home. It reminded her of New York, but better smelling, with more soul. It had an accessible lakefront, great museums, amazing pizza, and it was centrally located. It would be hard to go from the Magnificent Mile to a city whose signature store was a Bass Pro Shop.

“I’m thrilled you’re considering it. I wish you could’ve come for the holiday. Your mother has had some really good days lately.”

“Me too, Daddy. I wanted to come, but . . .”

“No need to explain. I know your business doesn’t leave much time for family. I’m just glad to have my granddaughter close. We’ll see you soon.”

Angel didn’t tell her father she couldn’t find a decent holiday gig and was limiting personal travel to save money. Her father was her number one fan, and impressed whether his baby girl sang at Carnegie Hall or in the shower. But Angel didn’t want to admit how far her star had fallen. Besides, this was just a temporary slump.

She slipped into silk pajamas and was channel surfing when a familiar tune caught her ear. It was the Heavyweight Band jamming at the Essence Festival. They had been on the same label as the Diamonds and toured together. There was Eric Hamilton, still singing lead. She recognized the bass guitarist and the drummer. The other members were new. In the post-concert interview, Eric announced the band was back together. He listed upcoming tour cities and encouraged fans to check their website and social media pages for updates.

She and Eric had a fling back in the day, and he was still fit and fine. The Heavyweights had several hits, but the members didn’t own their masters and hadn’t produced songs, so performing was the only way they made money. This was a lesson Angel learned late. The Diamonds also had a string of hits, and money flowed as long as they were out there singing. But when they stopped touring and their records stopped selling, the money train stopped too. She was lucky enough to have had a successful solo career. During her shows, fans always bombarded her with requests to sing Diamonds songs, which she usually rolled into an eight-minute medley. If people bought her solo records, some of which she cowrote, she made more money. There was renewed interest in 1990s neo-soul music. Commercials and ringtones, and artists from rap to country sampled the tunes, generating renewed cash flow for songwriters and record labels, but very little for the artists.

Then the idea hit her and she called Brooke. “Guess who I just saw?” she excitedly asked, oblivious to Brooke’s groggy voice. “The Heavyweights are on national TV. We had as many hits as they did, and fans are always asking if the Diamonds are getting back together. Why can’t we tour? Once those greedy record company executives see the ticket sales, they’ll be begging to give me a record deal. Maybe I’ll even record a song with the other Diamonds on my album.”

“You’re forgetting one little roadblock,” Brooke said, in a sleepy tone. “You tol. . .