For the Love of Money

  “Oh, you’re gonna go all out all right,” Raheema joked with me.

  I laughed, and we talked and talked and talked about everything under the sun until we forgot about the time and ended up falling asleep on the couch together. That was me and my girl, just like old times, friends forever.

  Philly Girl

  Yeah, that’s me,

  T-r-a-c-y,

  and I USED to be

  flyy,

  but now I levitate

  mentally.

  You can’t get

  into me.

  What you get is

  NOT

  what you see.

  Roll your eyes

  and cook your lies

  if you want,

  but you’ll need ketchup

  ’cause I’ll be

  GONE in the wind.

  Now let me be blunt.

  Are you my lifetime FOE,

  or can you be my friend?

  Because where I come from

  WE

  DON’T

  FRONT!

  Copyright © 1989 by Tracy Ellison

  March 1997

  The Seduction” was about a sister who invites a mysterious and sexy brother into her life because of her yearnings for a special kind of love. This guy wines her, dines her, loves her like a god, and disappears from the face of the earth. My theme was that deep down inside, a lot of women want to be controlled by an uncontrollable man. It’s almost as if we are looking for God in a man, but as we all know, God cannot be negotiated with, nor can these playboy men. So sure, we may talk about a sharing, caring, and equal relationship, but in our guts, if a man is not in control (like God), then he is not desirable to us.

  I’m sorry for my betrayal, sisters, but I guess I wrote “The Seduction” in my state of depression with Victor, and of course, all of the males at Conditions of Mentality jumped up and down at the chance to produce it as my first full script for the show. However, they changed my original brown characters into your apple-pie white couple. At first I was teed off about it, but once I thought it over, I figured it was better to get my point across to America as a whole than to have my script stereotyped as just a black thing. As much as we may like to think that humans are humans, and we all go through the same kinds of things in life, white Americans like to throw covers over their minds whenever they see brown faces, because they are so damned used to seeing their own faces up on the silver screen. The more Hollywood continued to spoil them, the more they continued to ignore anything with brown faces in it, and that cause and effect became an unbreakable cycle. Nevertheless, I was happy as hell to see my first produced script, and be paid the big cheese for it.

  Kendra called me up as soon as the show went off of the air. She had taped it, along with ten to twenty of my other friends and relatives that I had informed about my first script. I never told anyone where I got the inspiration to write it though.

  “So how do you feel about it?” Kendra asked me. She wasn’t excited or anything, just curious. That told me that we had a long conversation on the way.

  I said, “It was directed well. They got everything right.”

  If Kendra wanted an argument over feminism, then I was going to let her start it. However, I admit that I did feel defensive about the script, especially after the show aired with my name on it.

  Kendra asked, “You know why I haven’t been out on many dates lately? I don’t trust myself to choose the right men. I came right out here to California and got myself involved with some real losers, but you couldn’t tell that they were losers from the outside.”

  I was pleasantly surprised. Kendra wasn’t calling me to rant and rave about protecting the sisterhood, she was calling me up to discuss her own truths. I admired her for that, because some sisters let their egos go to their heads sometimes, as if they have never been heartbroken before.

  I said, “Yeah, it would be easier for all of us if the losers walked around wearing signs around their necks that said ‘I’m a loser, don’t fuck with me!’”

  Kendra laughed. She asked me, “Where did the inspiration come from? Because it seemed to come from the heart.”

  I paused. Did I really want to tell Kendra about my night in that hotel room with Victor? No, so I passed on it.

  “It’s a little bit of everything,” I told her. “But the only reason they accepted the script is because the guys wanted to see it. They say it reminded them of a movie called Thief of Hearts?”

  “It reminded me of a lot of these black relationship books,” Kendra commented. “Except that it starred a white girl.”

  “Yeah, it reminded me of that too. But is life imitating art, or is art imitating life?”

  Kendra didn’t miss a beat. “Art is imitating life. No question.”

  “That’s what’s so sad about it,” I said. “All of these damn broken-heart stories are real. We live them every day.”

  “Yeah, and now I’m afraid to create another one by choosing another loser,” Kendra reiterated.

  “So, what do we do, just say ‘Fuck men!’ period, and move on?” I asked her.

  She chuckled and said, “Move on to what, your career? I’ve already done that. Does it make you feel better about things? No, it just messes up your groove for your next date, like a basketball player who hasn’t played in a while. You’re just rusty, but you still want to play.”

  “In that case, you make it sound like we’re supposed to keep going through the garbage anyway,” I responded.

  She laughed again. “Are you sure you haven’t been through something recently, because you seem very jaded right now. Usually you have a lot of optimistic energy about you.”

  “Oh, I still do, just not about guys,” I told her. “I’m all about my work now. I’m brainstorming for my next script as we speak.”

  “Oh yeah, you have any new ideas?”

  “A few, but none of them are really developed yet. I mainly wanted to write something about the consequences of being a player. You know, like, a rubber pops, and the woman tells the man she has AIDS, and then she fakes her own death while he goes crazy thinking he’s going to die. That would be fun,” I said with a laugh.

  “So, you all can write a bunch of crazy stuff on that show?”

  “That’s why it’s called Conditions of Mentality,” I told her. “At first I wasn’t really interested, it was just a job, but now I like it. You can do a lot more with your imagination.”

  “I guess so,” she said. “Well, you’re on your way to stardom, Tracy. You have your first script produced, and you haven’t even been out here for a year yet. I’m impressed!”

  I smiled and said, “Thank you. You just have to be willing to work for it, and that’s what I’m out here to do. Express myself.”

  “Well, go ’head, girl! You got my vote!” Kendra said excitedly.

  When we hung up, I answered phone calls that night from Yolanda, Raheema, Mom, Mercedes, and my little brother Jason. They all called to congratulate me, even Richard Mack from the HFI crash course. We had stayed in touch off and on, but it was nothing continuous.

  He said, “That was some good work. I liked it.”

  “Thank you, but I’m not finished yet. That was just a start,” I told him.

  He laughed. “Good, because I have a project that I’m working on right now that I might want to hire you for.”

  “Oh yeah.” I was just listening. It could have been just a game, but listening didn’t hurt anything.

  “Well, I’ll stay in touch with you and let you know once I know something definite, because I’m still working out all of the details with the studio and my agent.”

  I was tempted to ask him what studio he was working with, but I declined. I didn’t want to show too much interest in case it was all bullshit. I still needed an agent to represent my own work. However, Yolanda was still in my camp as a good lawyer who knew the ropes, so at least I was safe.

  I said, “Okay, well, stay in touch, and I’ll see wha
t’s what when it all happens.”

  “You got it. And keep up the good work.”

  Later on in the week, I got a call from Juanita’s man, Reginald. He caught me at home for a change, because I had been avoiding the guy. I was sitting in bed eating coffee ice cream of all things—Yolanda had turned me on to it—when he called me.

  “I saw your work, Tracy. People are buzzing all over about it.”

  “Really? There are a hundred new shows a week. I didn’t know that writers could get that popular,” I told him.

  He laughed and said, “Well, the insiders know who you are. You always have to keep your eyes on new talent.”

  “I bet you do a heck of a job at that,” I said. I didn’t really feel like talking to him. He represented what all women needed to get themselves the hell away from: the wrong kind of man.

  I asked, “So what has Juanita been up to?” just for the hell of it.

  He paused and said, “I think she went back to New York. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Yeah right, I thought to myself.

  “Look, if you need a mentor or anyone to take you around and introduce you to important people, just let me know,” he told me.

  I asked, “Are you a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  “My mentor is,” I told him, referring to Yolanda.

  “Oh, so you have somebody already.”

  “How do you think I got this job?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “Tim Waterman is the boss over there isn’t he?”

  “I didn’t get the job that way,” I snapped, irritated by his insinuation.

  “What?” he responded to me, playing the innocent role.

  I said, “You know what, you are a sad excuse for a brother. I just want you to know that.” I had no time to bullshit with him, and my tolerance level was at zero. He had Victor’s narrow ass to thank for that!

  Reginald paused a long time. I think I got to him. I wanted to see how he would respond to it. He said, “You don’t really know me to be saying things like that. I’ve helped out a lot of people in the business.”

  “It seems to me like you’re more concerned with helping out yourself,” I responded.

  He said, “I don’t know how people are in Philadelphia, but out here, you definitely want to make more friends than enemies.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well maybe you should learn to play by your own rules for a change. How many enemies do you have?”

  That skinny-ass man was getting on my last nerve that night. He couldn’t do a damn thing for me, not even lick my fucking toes!

  He said, “Have it your way then,” and hung up.

  Three minutes later, he called me back.

  He said, “You know what? You are really starting to irritate me. I’m trying to go out of my way to help you out, and you treat me as if I’m trying to harm you.”

  I said, “Look, what the hell do you want from me?”

  “What do I want from you?”

  “Yeah, what the hell do you want? I never asked for your help.”

  “Sister, don’t even go there,” he whined.

  “Don’t give me that sister shit, brother! All that is is a front. If you acted presentably, then I would treat you that way!” I told him.

  “Why do you think I’m trying to hurt you so much?” he whined again. He sounded like a big punk.

  I said, “Look, I was enjoying my night, sitting up in bed and eating ice cream. Okay? I don’t need this shit. So don’t call here no fuckin’ more!”

  It was my turn to hang up.

  CLICK!

  I went back to eating my ice cream and thought nothing of it.

  $ $ $

  At the trailer that week, on the job for Conditions, we all had a visit from Tim.

  “How’s everybody loving the show so far?” he asked us. “I’m sure loving it.”

  The head writer, Joseph Keaton, mumbled something about a raise and laughed it off.

  Tim looked at him and said, “That’ll come, Joe, but right now we have to focus more on our consistency, and we did pretty well in our market share last week due to Tracy’s first script.”

  I heard my name and froze. He was singling me out.

  “Oh, thank you,” I said.

  “Yeah, it seems that we had a lot more women who tuned in for last week’s show, and we didn’t lose any men. You got any more scripts for us, Tracy?”

  I froze again. I was supposed to be an assistant writer. I don’t think the other writers took too kindly to me stepping on their toes with a superior script. Nevertheless, I was not planning on backing down from a challenge.

  I said, “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

  Joseph Keaton shot an ugly look at me that I caught before he could smile it off. I knew what he was thinking: my scripts would turn Conditions into a girl show.

  Tim said, “Well, these next couple of months are very important to see if we’ll be picked up for next year. Everything looks promising so far, but let’s not lose our edge on anything.”

  “That’s right. Let’s keep it edgy and fresh,” Joe commented. It sounded to me as if he was sending a clear message to stay away from “girl” scripts, but I didn’t plan to write any. As I had already informed Kendra, I wanted my next script to be more from the male perspective.

  It’s funny how things can change when other people feel that you’re moving up in the world. Elizabeth Finley, one of only two women staff writers (outside of myself and another assistant) on the show, began to ask me things that she didn’t seem to care about before.

  “Hey, Tracy, so what’s it like in Philadelphia? Is it pretty rough?”

  Liz was a flaming redheaded California girl. I guess she got into the science fiction thing just to take on something new, because she didn’t appear to be too successful in her scripts. They were manly enough, but far-out. I think most people just didn’t get it. Maybe Liz was ahead of her time.

  I thought about my book and answered, “It’s only as rough as you make it. If you hang around with the wrong crowds, it can be very rough, just like it is in different parts of California.”

  She nodded, in deep thought about it. She asked me if I had ever been to the Watts housing projects in South Central Los Angeles.

  “For what?” I asked her.

  She shrugged and said, “I don’t know, just to visit I guess.”

  Why, because I’m BLACK?! I wanted to yell at her. I kept my cool instead.

  I shook my head and said, “I have no reason to go over there.”

  “Would you want to go out there with me? You know, maybe we could come up with some script ideas together.”

  I looked at her and smiled, venomously. “Like a safari trip to the ’hood, hunh?” I was being sarcastic, but Liz didn’t even get it.

  She smiled and said, “Yeah, exactly.”

  I said, “Would we take a couple of wide-lens cameras too?” This white chick is crazy! I thought to myself.

  Liz finally stopped herself and frowned at the idea. “Well, I don’t know about that. I mean, do you think that we could get away with cameras? You know, I don’t think they would like us taking their pictures.”

  “Oh, no, they wouldn’t mind. We could just line them up with their blue and red scarves on their heads and start snapping away. You know, because gang members love to take pictures.”

  Liz looked at me and caught on to my sarcastic drift.

  “You’re wild,” she told me. “But I’m seriously thinking about going out there.”

  “I know you are, but I’m not the person to take you there,” I told her. I could see it in her eyes. She was excited even to mention the name Watts. I wasn’t. I had seen all of that hard life shit before. It wasn’t any news to me.

  After Liz was finished with me, Joe walked over to add his two cents for the day.

  “So, are you working on any new scripts for real, or you just didn’t want Tim to think that you were done for the year.”

  He was insul
ting me, and being rather blunt about it.

  I said, “Well, I signed on to Conditions as an assistant because I wanted to break into the writing game, not because I wanted to help others to write their ideas. Of course I’m working on new scripts.”

  I was thinking that maybe I had come off a little too strongly for him, but he responded with a nod.

  “Well, let me see it as soon as you have something, okay?”

  I looked at him hesitantly. I didn’t trust him. Maybe he wanted to have a quick opportunity to shoot my script down. Well, I had news for him: I was not planning on rushing anything.

  “When it’s ready, it’s ready,” I told him. “I had ideas since I walked on the job, but I didn’t present ‘The Seduction’ until I felt good about it. That’s just the way I work.”

  He wasn’t going to rip apart my script ideas. I was way ahead of him.

  He said, “Well, when you become a regular staff writer one day, you won’t have the luxury of popping scripts out of your lab whenever you get ready to.”

  “I guess that being an assistant has its advantages then,” I commented like a smart aleck.

  He got me right back when he said, “In everything but the pay. Are you sure you don’t have another script ready?” he asked me again.

  I guess he figured that my three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar pay was an insult, but I had news for him again: most people would kill to make that much money in one week. I paid Joe no mind. I would hand in another damn script when I was good and ready to, because I was far from starving!

  That same night, Tim Waterman called me at home. He said, “It was the smartest idea ever to hire you on as an assistant, Tracy. What do you think about that? Have you learned a lot with us?”

  “Of course I have,” I told him. He knew that already. He was getting at something else, so I waited for the hook and bait.

  “How hard will it be for us to hire you on for next season as a full writer? You seem like the type of woman who has bigger and better things on her mind. Are we just a stepping stone?”