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Any Way The Wind Blows by E. Lynn Harris
About a month ago, my record company gave a listening party at one of Hollywood's newest eateries, Reign, for my soon-to-be-released CD, I'm Not in Love. The party was swimming with members of Hollywood's black elite and their flunkies and was a West Coast version of a Ghetto Fabulous plush bash. It was a great event, but if I had to rank them, it was the second-best party where I was the guest of honor. The best party I ever attended was the day before I was supposed to get married. We had a spectacular party at Laura Belle, in New York City, and as delicious as that party was, my wedding day was an equal disaster. My groom-to-be dropped a full-tilt nuclear assault bomb on me: He decided the morning of our wedding that he would rather spend the rest of his life flip-flopping between the beds of both men and women instead of sleeping with just me. But when I really think about it, Basil and I had more problems than a college entrance exam. He had a difficult childhood. I had a miserable one. He lied about his past. I embellished mine. He wanted children, while the only thing I desired with the letter C was a Career. And not just any career, mind you, a C-A-R-E-E-R that would rival that of any diva, living or dead. My name is Yancey Harrington Braxton, now known to the recording world as "Yancey B," pop singer fabulosa. (Move over, Whitney. Step aside, Mariah. J-Lo, get outta my way.) I relocated to Los Angeles a day after being left at the altar, and it has turned out to be the best move I've ever made-that is, if you don't count not speaking to my former fiancé and my mother. nothing she could do about it. She couldn't turn on the air conditioner in the car. No way could she afford to burn up her gas like that. These days, she had to make the dollars stretch as far as she possibly could. As she stood at her front door, her bulky brown purse slipped off her left shoulder, which, in turn, caused her to lose her balance with the grocery bags, which were already weak because they were made out of paper and soaked all the way through. Desi always chose paper over plastic. At least it was biodegradable, recyclable, something. She'd been in California a long time now, and subscribed fully to the idea of living a clean life and leaving behind a clean world.
Any Way The Wind Blows:Part 1 | Any Way The Wind Blows:Part 2 | Any Way The Wind Blows:Part 3 | Order Any Way The Wind Blows |
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