G.E. Butler's Blog: Important Note - See Sidebar Please, page 4

Question from a Reader: How Did You Write This Novel?

     Thanks for your emails. It's been a pleasant surprise that the novel is being received so well, and I really enjoy engaging with readers over the different subjects that come up around it.

     Like I said, I'll use this blog as a space to answer your questions and shed more light on different aspects of the book and related topics. Right now I'll answer a question I feel a little hesitant to discuss but since it is fast approaching the number one question I get, I'll address it here.

     It seems the first question people ask me face to face is whether the book was plotted and outlined, because of the complexity of the storylines and the way everything comes together by the end of the novel.
 
     The answer to that question is no.

     I did begin the novel armed with a few things: how it would ultimately turn out for one character in the end (Beatrice Ball), a mental snapshot of two scenes that fall in the middle of the book (at the time I didn't know who the characters in the scenes were other than Beatrice), and the first line of the novel.

     Before the general idea of the story came to me, I was suddenly driven to collect all of the varied research that ultimately came to use in writing the novel.  Most nights I passed out in front of my computer and sometimes had vivid nightmares due to the nature of the things I was studying – something that readers report, as well, while reading SOUL'D OUT. I've never had terrifying dreams before – certainly not ones I will always remember like the ones I had while researching this book. By the time I felt I had digested what I needed, I was overwhelmed with where to begin; the territory was so vast, I didn't know at which point to enter it.
   
     Then one night I knew the next day I would begin to write the story.  So I went to bed and when I woke up a few hours later, the first line dropped into my head: Beatrice called it Ghosting, walking among regular people totally unnoticed.

     For the next few months, I would wake up at exactly the same time very early in the morning and write.  Rarely did I know what I was about to type.  Many times I would read the words on the screen as if someone else was putting them there and wonder where the story was going.  I very much felt like a spectator throughout the entire process.

     This is a phenomenon that many creative people report, and it is discussed in SOUL'D OUT from the point of view of the artists in the book.  There are many interesting interviews and videos on Youtube with actors and especially musicians discussing how they essentially become possessed with a spirit who takes over for them and uses their bodies as an instrument. I have seen a few interviews with Oprah, Denzel Washington, and Beyonce talking about how they actually get on their knees and pray to these entities to come into them and use them.

     This was especially fascinating to me because although I didn't pray or invite it to happen to me, I knew what they were talking about. I didn't understand what was happening at the time, but hearing these people (and others) discuss their experience, I instantly knew that I had been possessed, too.

    I will attempt to tell this story without compromising the privacy of the other people involved.

    Almost ten years ago, before I was saved and converted to Christ, I had a relationship that went sour.  It was one of the most influential relationships of my life and had horrible fallout that lasted for years and still lingers to this day; as a matter of fact, I had an extremely vivid dream about this person last night.

     When the relationship ended, it took me a year for the grief I felt to transition into a deep and bitter rage. It was so deep and hidden under emotional pain that I wasn't aware of how angry I was at this person until the very end, when I had unleashed a great deal of destruction their way. You see, I never wanted to be an angry or bitter person and therefore had no idea how to process and express those kinds of feelings. I almost had a fear of anger, and hated confrontations of any kind, bending over backwards to avoid them and working hard to be as happy and accommodating as possible all the time. When I did get angry, my default reaction was to feel hurt and perhaps cry.

     But something was different this time. Instead of frustrating or scaring me, the rage I felt was exhilarating.

     While this was happening, I was engaged in a creative community service project.  The idea for this project presented itself to me at work one day, when I saw a clear need in the people around me.  It was writing-centered. I began a blog.

     From the moment I started this blog, every word was dictated to me by a very clear voice in my head. It was more than a voice: it was a persona. He had a name, specific preferences for what he ate and drank, and very strong opinions. He shared the index of knowledge in my brain, but used expressions and words I didn't. He said things I would never say. He wrote more than I ever did, never needing to redraft or revise any of his posts - up to two thousand words at a time. At the height of the blog's popularity, a reporter from the New York Times wrote me an email saying she was in awe of my prolific output, and that she knew it was daily because of the references within them. What she didn't know was that after I came out of the trance of writing a post, I wouldn't even recognize the words on the screen or believe that I had written them. The blog was posted to every day at midnight, and my email inbox would fill up with people looking for the latest post if I was a few minutes late.

     It would be fair to say that I was "in character" as I wrote. Having attended performing arts school for most of my educational years, I know what that means, and this was not that. It never shut off. I basically stopped eating and would wake up in the middle of the night speaking like the voice in my head. I dressed differently and in the periods the voice was dormant, I would revert back to being the severely depressed person I was before the voice came to me.

     After a year of being an emotional wreck, letting this spirit take me over was a bit of a relief.  Suddenly I wasn't cowering from anything; I had a gigantic chip on my shoulder. Work progressed on the blog and soon it was famous and being read around the world. Book deals were offered.

     At the height of the madness around the blog – which was anonymously penned under the persona's name – a gear shifted.  A platform had been created, an audience of my peers was assembled, and confirmation came through that the single reader the spirit was writing for was indeed reading the blog. At that moment I was a spectator when I realized what the intention behind the blog was all along.

     It was at that point that the momentum and credibility of the blog was turned into a weapon and a character assassination was executed. It was breathtaking in its cruelty.  By this time, my involvement in the blog was suspected though not proven, and people who were friends with my victim called and texted me begging me to stop. Emails of encouragement also poured in, they were gasoline on the fire, and I published even more horrible things about this person, culminating in a coup de grace that I still cannot stand to think about. Friends who witnessed this final shot – a post I took down pretty quickly after it went up – said their stomachs were in knots of empathy for my victim, a person they had once hated and ostracized me for being involved with.

     And then, as soon as it had begun, the spell was broken. Suddenly I realized the horrific thing I had done. I was overcome with grief and regret. And for the first time since it started, I suddenly knew I was alone.  The voice was gone.  I could feel its absence in my body and mind.

     To this day, there are no words to express the regret I feel. What I did and allowed to happen is inexcusable. Like I said, the fallout still lingers, and for many years I actively punished myself for hurting another human being the way that I did, not to mention the other lives that were touched by this, including the one person I cared about most. That's how things like this work. You're not allowed to hurt anyone without inflicting the same damage or worse upon yourself. It was only until I completely changed my life and converted that I was able to find relief.

     So when the idea came to write this novel, I was especially sensitive to the source of my inspiration.  It was my life's dream to author a novel, something I had never remotely managed to accomplish before and had recently decided was never going to happen.

     But I prayed faithfully that God would bless me, somehow someway.  And that was when the idea for the novel was first dropped into my spirit. I continued to pray that whatever I wrote would be coming from the highest place of good, and I allowed myself to be led through the process of research and then writing the novel.  Throughout the months I did the work, constant miraculous confirmations came through that I was on the right track.

     Much like the blog, I can't say that I wrote this novel.  Friends and family are witnesses to the fact that I had no idea what I was writing or how the story would go.  I sat down at my computer everyday without a single thought in my head as I began to type. Especially at the beginning, I couldn't see why or how certain new characters and plotlines would ever fit into the narrative. When the action began to complicate, I didn't have a clue how it would resolve.  The only thing I knew besides the snapshots of scenes I didn't understand yet but which came to be written, was that one character in particular would still be standing at the end.

     Ralph Waldo Emerson, my favorite philosopher, says that all writing comes by the grace of God. Although I have been blessed to experience the conception and birth of a novel – truly the one dream I held closest in my heart – I can say it is not only God who gives us visions. As artists and people, we have to remain vigilant over what we choose to express and bring into the world, because ultimately what you create will find its home within you.
   


   
   

   

Real Life Coincidences: Beyonce, Sasha Fierce, and the Superbowl

This is a great video from goodfight.org and answers a lot of questions readers are sending in regarding a wide range of themes in SOUL'D OUT.

Question from a Reader: Is SOUL'D OUT Porn?

Tom S. from Burbank, California, asked:

 "SOUL'D OUT is on my list of books to read, but I saw a Netgalley* review today labeling it as hardcore porn. I'm confused like the writer of this review was, that the book is categorized as Christian Fiction. Would you please explain?"
    The review, from a woman named Haley Taylor of the Ladies POP Group, reads:
"This book is labeled as being Christian, but I don't know of any Christians who would read this! 
It is highly disturbing, with bad language, graphic depictions of drug and alcohol abuse, pornographic sex, gay sex, rape and sexual abuse of both adults and children, among other, equally horrifying things. 
If there was any Christian content, it was buried so deeply in the garbage I was not able to find it... But, I could not finish it."
*Netgalley.com is an online galley service that publishers use to give free access to books to reviewers and other professional readers such as librarians and book bloggers.  It's a convenient, green, and cost-conscious way of getting advance word out before a book is published in either paperback or hardcover. The service is free to readers who are either invited by a publisher to view titles or who qualify as professional readers.                    Thank you for your question.
     To begin, this is not the first Internet posting by a reader who was unable to make it past the extreme nature of the opening chapters - it's the third.  These people are entitled to their opinions, even if they are incorrect in judging the genre of this approximately five hundred page novel by its first fifty pages or so.
     To address the elements of the review you forwarded, I can assure you that the writing is not pornographic, which is defined as being "designed to arouse lust." It is an unfortunate reflection on the presumably Christian person who wrote this opinion that she found the situations of a sexual nature in the book arousing.  If that's what she indeed meant.           If this reader was trying to say that the ideas represented in the small number of paragraphs addressing sexual themes in this novel were disgusting to her, that's fair enough.  It is a novel about show business, and unnatural sex – including rape and pedophilia – is a large element of that industry.           I think pornography is one of the greatest scourges on society, and pedophilia is akin to murder.  I think the entertainment industry as a whole is run and populated by morally corrupted people and has done incalculable damage to humanity. I wrote this novel to illustrate why. I used characters and situations that could be - and are apparently mistaken as being - lifted from real life. That is a commentary on REALITY, not my fiction.  
     To address the other element of this Netgalley opinion piece, I don't believe Christian Fiction precludes sex and curse words if they are applied as they are in SOUL'D OUT, as illustrating the adversarial element of a story. What makes a hero great is that his antagonist is as strong, if not stronger. This is a contemporary fiction novel about show business.  I'm not sure what kind of fairy tale one would expect to read, but looking at pop culture, personally I have yet to see any happy endings. Evil, wickedness, and death I see everywhere.
     If this reader had ventured past the first few pages of the novel, she wouldn't have had to dig at all to get to the reasons why the publisher chose as one of three sub-categories for this novel Christian Fiction.  The other two are Urban Fiction and African American Fiction. This blog is a good illustration of the balance between Christianity and secularism found in the book.
    Finally, the afterword was written by a well-known Brooklyn-based Reverend who also did me the favor of fact-checking the theological and scriptural passages of the novel before it was published. The man expressed nothing but support for the message I'm attempting to communicate through SOUL'D OUT, and continues to do so.
     I hope I've addressed your concerns sufficiently.

Question from a Reader: How Much of SOUL'D OUT is Fiction?

Thank you for taking the time to write to me. With readers' permission, I will occasionally post and answer questions sent in through this website.

From Amy S. in Milwaukee, Wisconsin:

     "Are the characters in the novel based on actual celebrities? How much of real life is in the story? I see so many things that make me think these people are real and these events pretty much happened and I would love to know how much is fiction."


     Thank you for the compliment, but the events and characters in the story are not written as disguised accounts of actual events or individuals who are alive or dead.

     That said, over the course of writing the book, many events occurred in real life that were in the story which I then changed in the novel to avoid what we're talking about here. Once the book was finished, more coincidences came to pass in real life, but at that point the novel was beyond the point of changing. And I continue to see these coincidences happening almost everyday, which is one of the uses of this blog – to draw people's attention to the fact the story may be fiction, but deals with current reality.

     For example, many readers commented to me that they were reminded of a key scene in the novel as they watched this year's Superbowl Halftime show with Beyonce.  Even though the novel was finished before Beyonce was even announced as this year's performer, and that I personally don't see similarities between her show and the show in the book, many people were tuned in to the occult symbolism present in her show. This pleases me, because awakening a certain awareness in readers was the intention behind SOUL'D OUT.

     In terms of characters' similarities to celebrities, these are my thoughts.  I've worked for two decades interacting heavily with the public in the restaurant business. Over the course of many years, it became obvious to me that like the twelve categories of horoscopes, people reliably fall into a general type. Just like there are archetypes in the restaurant business (i.e. Young Manager Drunk on Newfound Power or The Verbal Tipper) types exist in show business, and always have.

    On that note, what's interesting to me is that readers have suggested a variety of celebrities for any one of the characters, further cementing the point that types exist. I have been asked if Beatrice is based on Beyonce as well as a number of other stars.  Readers have wondered if Mylita is based on Madonna, Whitney Houston, and/or Angelina Jolie. Others have suggested Vanessa is a disguised version of Rihanna or Britney or Miley Cyrus.  Because William Mitchell is a white rapper, many readers assume he is based on Eminem though his background resembles other individuals', and everyone who has played this guessing game thinks Mezziah is drawn from Jay-Z and Zeta Leafwing is Oprah, though they also admit these characters resemble other artists and celebrities.

     As far as events and phenomenon in the book, I have and will continue to use this blog to point readers to my source material.

     Like I said, the intention behind this book was to draw attention to certain realities of the world we are living in.  Stories have always been the best way to accomplish what I sincerely hope SOUL'D OUT has done and will continue to do for readers: open eyes.

   

   

Question from a Reader: How Much of SOUL'D OUT is fiction?

Thank you for taking the time to write to me. With readers' permission, I will occasionally post and answer questions sent in through this website.

From Amy S. in Milwaukee, Wisconsin:

     "Are the characters in the novel based on actual celebrities? How much of real life is in the story? I see so many things that make me think these people are real and these events pretty much happened and I would love to know how much is fiction."


     Thank you for the compliment, but the events and characters in the story are not written as disguised accounts of actual events or individuals who are alive or dead.

     That said, over the course of writing the book, many events occurred in real life that were in the story which I then changed in the novel to avoid what we're talking about here. Once the book was finished, more coincidences came to pass in real life, but at that point the novel was beyond the point of changing. And I continue to see these coincidences happening almost everyday, which is one of the uses of this blog – to draw people's attention to the fact the story may be fiction, but deals with current reality.

     For example, many readers commented to me that they were reminded of a key scene in the novel as they watched this year's Superbowl Halftime show with Beyonce.  Even though the novel was finished before Beyonce was even announced as this year's performer, and that I personally don't see similarities between her show and the show in the book, many people were tuned in to the occult symbolism present in her show. This is pleasing to me, because awakening a certain awareness in readers was the intention behind SOUL'D OUT.

     In terms of characters' similarities to celebrities, these are my thoughts.  I've worked for two decades interacting heavily with the public in the restaurant business. Over the course of many years, it became obvious to me that like the twelve categories of horoscopes, people reliably fall into a general type. Just like there are archetypes in the restaurant business (i.e. Young Manager Drunk on Newfound Power or The Verbal Tipper) types exist in show business, and always have.

    On that note, what's interesting to me is that readers have suggested a variety of celebrities for any one of the characters, further cementing the point that types exist. I have been asked if Beatrice is based on Beyonce as well as a number of other stars.  Readers have wondered if Mylita is based on Madonna, Whitney Houston, and/or Angelina Jolie. Others have suggested Vanessa is a disguised version of Rihanna or Britney or Miley Cyrus.  Because William Mitchell is a white rapper, many readers assume he is based on Eminem though his background resembles other individuals', and everyone who has played this guessing game thinks Mezziah is drawn from Jay-Z and Zeta Leafwing is Oprah, though they also admit these characters resemble other artists and celebrities.

     As far as events and phenomenon in the book, I have and will continue to use this blog to point readers to my source material.

     Like I said, the intention behind this book was to draw attention to certain realities of the world we are living in.  Stories have always been the best way to accomplish what I sincerely hope SOUL'D OUT has done and will continue to do for readers: open eyes.

   

   

SOUL'D OUT Amazon Rankings

The Amazon rankings are constantly shifting, but over the past week SOUL'D OUT has managed to break the top 100 in Religious Fiction and post nice numbers in the general fiction category as well as in the overall books category.

Thank you for reading.

Superbowl Rehearsal

Excerpt 2

Tammy and Beatrice meet Mezziah for the first time at Calvary Entertainment's offices:

     When the car pulled up to Calvary, the driver jumped out quickly and ran around to get the door.  The ladies exited the car and entered the building just in time to hear a couple of people say “Hey!’ and “Look!” and “Isn’t that?”

     Once inside the vast lobby, Tammy and Beatrice were approached by a fashionable young woman who walked quickly toward them and lead them to the right bank of elevators, waving off the security guards at the long front desk who wanted credentials. “Ever since the attacks they want to ID everyone,” she said apologetically.     They got into the elevator and the woman pressed the penthouse button then turned to them.  “Mezziah is on the way, but he asked me to introduce you to Juvenill and Vanessa Card first.”     “Why?” Tammy asked rudely.     The woman reared her head back slightly in surprise.  “Mezziah asked that I introduce you.”     “I heard you the first time, I’m asking why my daughter needs to meet them.”     The woman raised her eyebrows and smiled.  “Ma’am, I work for Mezziah, and when he tells me to do something, I hardly presume to ask him why.  So to answer your question, I don’t know.” The woman turned her back to them and faced the elevator door. Beatrice put her hand on Tammy’s arm, who scowled at her.     The women emerged from the elevator into a large and elegant reception area with a panoramic view of the city.  The atmosphere was serene.  Three receptionists stood behind a large desk; two of them went around to take Tammy and Beatrice’s coats. Their guide led them through a door to the right.     Immediately Beatrice saw Vanessa standing at the far corner of the open plan office in a glass-walled conference room, looking out the floor to ceiling windows.  She was wearing a short and tight beige dress that at first glance made her look as if she was nude, her incredible mane of blonde hair cascading down her back. A young man sat in a chair at the long table, his head down, writing something. “They just got back from Vanessa’s L.A. movie premiere,” the woman said.     “They work here?” Tammy asked.     “They’re waiting for Mezziah.”     “Are we going to be kept waiting?” Tammy asked tensely.     The woman turned back and said, “No, Ma’am, Mezziah will be seeing Beatrice first.”     “Miss Tammy,” came the response.     “As you wish,” the woman said.     “He’ll be meeting the both of us,” Tammy corrected her.     The woman smiled.  “Let’s get you comfortable and my assistant will bring you something to drink,” she said, leading them into a spacious lounge off of the main area.     “How long will we be kept waiting?” Tammy asked.     Suddenly a man bounded into the room.  “I’m here, I’m here, sorry about that, the team kept me longer than I expected,” Mezziah said, taking Tammy into his arms and hugging her.  He held her at arms’ length.  “Miss Tammy, I’ve been dying to meet you!”  Tammy was clearly flustered as he hugged her again.  “I know we don’t know each other yet, but we will!” He stepped back and shook his head, staring into her eyes. “Anyone who can manage a career like Beatrice’s from the grassroots is someone I want to know.  You’re a self-made lady and I love it! I don’t want to sound like a chauvinist, but the best men I know couldn’t maneuver a career like Beatrice’s,” he said respectfully.  Beatrice watched in wonder as Tammy began to beam at him.     Mezziah turned his tall frame to Beatrice.  “Here she is,” he said admiringly.  “Even more gorgeous in person.”  Mezziah held out his hand and took hers in both of his, holding it.  “Your ears must’ve been burning, Bea. I was just meeting with some guys from my team and they were talking about how I had to get you to meet Devin and sing him 'Happy Birthday' at the next game. I do believe he’s your biggest fan and you can imagine the noise he gets for that,” he said grinning.  “The guys are strictly hardcore and he insists on playing you in the locker room. But he’s the captain, so,” Mezziah shrugged his shoulders and winked at her.     “What team is that?” Tammy asked, confused but smiling.     “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Tammy,” he looked embarrassed.  “Um, I sort of have a team now.  I mean, I got a basketball team.”     “Oh, isn’t that nice,” Tammy said.  “Where do you play?” Both women looked at him with polite curiosity.     Mezziah smiled and put his head down.  “Um, we play different places.  Mostly in Brooklyn or the Garden.”     Tammy smiled and nodded her head.  “Nice to have room for a garden.”       Mezziah’s smile grew bigger.  “Yes, Miss Tammy, I’m blessed.” Beatrice watched as her mother clearly fell under his charm. He was dressed simply in a white t-shirt and jeans, his white sneakers spotless.  The only jewelry he wore was a platinum watch and a long chain around his neck with a rose diamond cross.     “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, leading them back out of the room.  “We have much to discuss, but first can I bring you to meet a couple of the artists?”     “Of course,” Tammy said.     Mezziah brought them across the large office to the conference room, with every employee they passed nodding respectfully first at Mezziah and then Tammy. Young well-dressed people manned the desks, working diligently and speaking thoughtfully into headphones. “All my busy bees,” he said proudly.      They arrived at the meeting room and stood together at the doorway.  William and Vanessa turned around to look at them.  William immediately stood up from his seat at the table, staring at Beatrice like he knew her. She instinctively looked at Tammy, who had her eyes on Vanessa and a subtle but recognizable expression of disapproval on her mouth.     “Yo, I want y’all to meet our newest addition to the team,” Mezziah said enthusiastically.  “This is Tammy and Beatrice Ball.”     William walked over to shake Tammy’s hand and then Beatrice’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is William Mitchell,” he said quietly before backing away. Tammy approved of him, Beatrice could tell. Beatrice and Tammy then looked at Vanessa, who uncocked her hip and sauntered over to them. Up close, Beatrice could see her dress barely covered her and that she wasn’t wearing any underwear, the open weave fabric of her garment revealing much of her admittedly flawless body.     “Ain’t you the chick who won ‘Wish Upon a Star’?” she asked with a slight sneer.  Beatrice felt Tammy tense.     “Bea’s done a lot of dope stuff, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coming!” Mezziah clapped, smiling at Beatrice.  “Yo, Bea, I loved that Muckraker joint,” he said, referring to her recent Number One.  “I got him producing for me now cause of that track.”     “My mother found him, he was selling CD’s out of a barber shop in Atlanta,” Beatrice said proudly in an attempt to soothe her. Tammy was in a posture of attack toward Vanessa, who was openly smirking at her.     “That’s what Muck said!” Mezziah practically shouted in glee.  “Your moms is the business, ain’t she? Everyone wishes they had back up like that, you don’t see good parents too often,” he said, glancing at Vanessa.  She glared at him and threw herself down into a chair, legs spread defiantly. Tammy opened her mouth and Beatrice put her hand on her arm again.     “Let’s go to my office and chat for a bit,” Mezziah said to Tammy, herding the two women away.  He turned to Vanessa and William.  “Ima check in with you later, this could take a while.  Go on back to the studio, a’ight? Eris is gonna meet you.”     Vanessa shot him a look of pure hatred as the trio left the room. William picked up his notebook and stuffed it in his bag, then went to leave.  He stopped at the door and looked back at her.  “Yo, you better keep it together,” he warned.     “Fuck off,” she said.     “Do whatever you want,” he said, leaving.     “I will!” she shouted after him. He didn’t acknowledge her.  “Don’t tell me what to do!” she screamed in rage, throwing the bottles of water on the table at the glass wall of the conference room.  The people standing in the office a few feet away studiously ignored her from experience. Down the hall, Tammy looked back as they re-entered the reception area, Mezziah and Beatrice ahead of her.     “What on earth was that?” she asked about the noise.     “What was what Miss Tammy?” Mezziah turned around and asked politely, his expression open and curious. Beatrice looked down.     “Never mind,” Tammy said.      Vanessa slumped down in a chair and looked despondently out the window at the setting sun.  A sharp feeling of betrayal overlaid with acute jealousy stabbed at her.  Despite the story she inhabited, truth could blindside her, dispelling layers of delusion in an instant.  She knew Mezziah well at this point and it was obvious to her.      He wanted Beatrice.
***

Excerpt

Tammy and Beatrice meet Mezziah for the first time at Calvary Entertainment's offices:

     When the car pulled up to Calvary, the driver jumped out quickly and ran around to get the door.  The ladies exited the car and entered the building just in time to hear a couple of people say “Hey!’ and “Look!” and “Isn’t that?”

     Once inside the vast lobby, Tammy and Beatrice were approached by a fashionable young woman who walked quickly toward them and lead them to the right bank of elevators, waving off the security guards at the long front desk who wanted credentials. “Ever since the attacks they want to ID everyone,” she said apologetically.     They got into the elevator and the woman pressed the penthouse button then turned to them.  “Mezziah is on the way, but he asked me to introduce you to Juvenill and Vanessa Card first.”     “Why?” Tammy asked rudely.     The woman reared her head back slightly in surprise.  “Mezziah asked that I introduce you.”     “I heard you the first time, I’m asking why my daughter needs to meet them.”     The woman raised her eyebrows and smiled.  “Ma’am, I work for Mezziah, and when he tells me to do something, I hardly presume to ask him why.  So to answer your question, I don’t know.” The woman turned her back to them and faced the elevator door. Beatrice put her hand on Tammy’s arm, who scowled at her.     The women emerged from the elevator into a large and elegant reception area with a panoramic view of the city.  The atmosphere was serene.  Three receptionists stood behind a large desk; two of them went around to take Tammy and Beatrice’s coats. Their guide led them through a door to the right.     Immediately Beatrice saw Vanessa standing at the far corner of the open plan office in a glass-walled conference room, looking out the floor to ceiling windows.  She was wearing a short and tight beige dress that at first glance made her look as if she was nude, her incredible mane of blonde hair cascading down her back. A young man sat in a chair at the long table, his head down, writing something. “They just got back from Vanessa’s L.A. movie premiere,” the woman said.     “They work here?” Tammy asked.     “They’re waiting for Mezziah.”     “Are we going to be kept waiting?” Tammy asked tensely.     The woman turned back and said, “No, Ma’am, Mezziah will be seeing Beatrice first.”     “Miss Tammy,” came the response.     “As you wish,” the woman said.     “He’ll be meeting the both of us,” Tammy corrected her.     The woman smiled.  “Let’s get you comfortable and my assistant will bring you something to drink,” she said, leading them into a spacious lounge off of the main area.     “How long will we be kept waiting?” Tammy asked.     Suddenly a man bounded into the room.  “I’m here, I’m here, sorry about that, the team kept me longer than I expected,” Mezziah said, taking Tammy into his arms and hugging her.  He held her at arms’ length.  “Miss Tammy, I’ve been dying to meet you!”  Tammy was clearly flustered as he hugged her again.  “I know we don’t know each other yet, but we will!” He stepped back and shook his head, staring into her eyes. “Anyone who can manage a career like Beatrice’s from the grassroots is someone I want to know.  You’re a self-made lady and I love it! I don’t want to sound like a chauvinist, but the best men I know couldn’t maneuver a career like Beatrice’s,” he said respectfully.  Beatrice watched in wonder as Tammy began to beam at him.     Mezziah turned his tall frame to Beatrice.  “Here she is,” he said admiringly.  “Even more gorgeous in person.”  Mezziah held out his hand and took hers in both of his, holding it.  “Your ears must’ve been burning, Bea. I was just meeting with some guys from my team and they were talking about how I had to get you to meet Devin and sing him 'Happy Birthday' at the next game. I do believe he’s your biggest fan and you can imagine the noise he gets for that,” he said grinning.  “The guys are strictly hardcore and he insists on playing you in the locker room. But he’s the captain, so,” Mezziah shrugged his shoulders and winked at her.     “What team is that?” Tammy asked, confused but smiling.     “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Tammy,” he looked embarrassed.  “Um, I sort of have a team now.  I mean, I got a basketball team.”     “Oh, isn’t that nice,” Tammy said.  “Where do you play?” Both women looked at him with polite curiosity.     Mezziah smiled and put his head down.  “Um, we play different places.  Mostly in Brooklyn or the Garden.”     Tammy smiled and nodded her head.  “Nice to have room for a garden.”       Mezziah’s smile grew bigger.  “Yes, Miss Tammy, I’m blessed.” Beatrice watched as her mother clearly fell under his charm. He was dressed simply in a white t-shirt and jeans, his white sneakers spotless.  The only jewelry he wore was a platinum watch and a long chain around his neck with a rose diamond cross.     “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, leading them back out of the room.  “We have much to discuss, but first can I bring you to meet a couple of the artists?”     “Of course,” Tammy said.     Mezziah brought them across the large office to the conference room, with every employee they passed nodding respectfully first at Mezziah and then Tammy. Young well-dressed people manned the desks, working diligently and speaking thoughtfully into headphones. “All my busy bees,” he said proudly.      They arrived at the meeting room and stood together at the doorway.  William and Vanessa turned around to look at them.  William immediately stood up from his seat at the table, staring at Beatrice like he knew her. She instinctively looked at Tammy, who had her eyes on Vanessa and a subtle but recognizable expression of disapproval on her mouth.     “Yo, I want y’all to meet our newest addition to the team,” Mezziah said enthusiastically.  “This is Tammy and Beatrice Ball.”     William walked over to shake Tammy’s hand and then Beatrice’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my name is William Mitchell,” he said quietly before backing away. Tammy approved of him, Beatrice could tell. Beatrice and Tammy then looked at Vanessa, who uncocked her hip and sauntered over to them. Up close, Beatrice could see her dress barely covered her and that she wasn’t wearing any underwear, the open weave fabric of her garment revealing much of her admittedly flawless body.     “Ain’t you the chick who won ‘Wish Upon a Star’?” she asked with a slight sneer.  Beatrice felt Tammy tense.     “Bea’s done a lot of dope stuff, but it’s nothing compared to what’s coming!” Mezziah clapped, smiling at Beatrice.  “Yo, Bea, I loved that Muckraker joint,” he said, referring to her recent Number One.  “I got him producing for me now cause of that track.”     “My mother found him, he was selling CD’s out of a barber shop in Atlanta,” Beatrice said proudly in an attempt to soothe her. Tammy was in a posture of attack toward Vanessa, who was openly smirking at her.     “That’s what Muck said!” Mezziah practically shouted in glee.  “Your moms is the business, ain’t she? Everyone wishes they had back up like that, you don’t see good parents too often,” he said, glancing at Vanessa.  She glared at him and threw herself down into a chair, legs spread defiantly. Tammy opened her mouth and Beatrice put her hand on her arm again.     “Let’s go to my office and chat for a bit,” Mezziah said to Tammy, herding the two women away.  He turned to Vanessa and William.  “Ima check in with you later, this could take a while.  Go on back to the studio, a’ight? Eris is gonna meet you.”     Vanessa shot him a look of pure hatred as the trio left the room. William picked up his notebook and stuffed it in his bag, then went to leave.  He stopped at the door and looked back at her.  “Yo, you better keep it together,” he warned.     “Fuck off,” she said.     “Do whatever you want,” he said, leaving.     “I will!” she shouted after him. He didn’t acknowledge her.  “Don’t tell me what to do!” she screamed in rage, throwing the bottles of water on the table at the glass wall of the conference room.  The people standing in the office a few feet away studiously ignored her from experience. Down the hall, Tammy looked back as they re-entered the reception area, Mezziah and Beatrice ahead of her.     “What on earth was that?” she asked about the noise.     “What was what Miss Tammy?” Mezziah turned around and asked politely, his expression open and curious. Beatrice looked down.     “Never mind,” Tammy said.      Vanessa slumped down in a chair and looked despondently out the window at the setting sun.  A sharp feeling of betrayal overlaid with acute jealousy stabbed at her.  Despite the story she inhabited, truth could blindside her, dispelling layers of delusion in an instant.  She knew Mezziah well at this point and it was obvious to her.      He wanted Beatrice.
***

By Readers' Request: Characters

Main Characters In Order of Appearance
Beatrice Ball                   a young starNicolai Webster              son of a record mogulTammy Ball                   Beatrice's motherThadeus Rawls              contract and insurance manMezziah                         music mogul and hip-hop artistElizabeth                        servantZeta Leafwing               media mogul and television starSophie Lepido                spiritual leaderMylita Crescent              international superstarCharlie Pindar                 talent managerAugie Matthews             choreographerPearlese                          housekeeperMichael Bishop              talent managerElva Washington            Tammy's motherCleve Libeaux                bandleaderCallie Powell                  Elva's childhood friendCybelline                       party guestSkip Gray                      pop starVanessa Card                 pop starVincent Webster            film directorElie James                      Beatrice's AuntGeorge & Eleanor Patton               Elie's foster parentsBill & Belinda Crawford          orphanage administratorsEzekiel "Zeke”              a baby from The FarmClaude                          farmerWilliam Mitchell          hip hop superstarOtis Asio                     VP of Calvary RecordsMarquis Armstrong      drug kingpinCassius Armstrong      his sonBuster Vandyke          Cassius' friendCarter                          deliverymanAbbe Hatch                 assistant to Peter BallPeter Ball                     owner of Ball Export ManagementSpenser                        mail clerk/night janitorJack Ball                      Peter Ball's brotherCathy Pilar                  Head of Casting, MBCMarien Kafer               Head of Costuming, EarthworksCalvin                          set carpenterMorris & Simon          Beatrice's securityDr. Joseph Anarama    researcher and professorKatherine Anarama     his daughterDiana                          La Esquina maitre d'Devin Boaz                NBA captainRev. Scott Powell       popular Brooklyn preacherJamie                           Rolling StonereporterMano Cornuto             video directorLiliana Volver             hotel housekeeperMartha Rudnicki         private investigatorHelen Springer            President, Professional Light & MagicPhatlipp & Scotch Roxx                record store employees, hip hop artistsJustin Cambro             People reporterAzaria                         pop starCarla Mouser               actressDeclan Connolly         publisher, National Enquirer