Free Power Couple by Allison Hobbs Page B

rushed to the door, eager to see who had the balls to interrupt my beautifying procedure. Clayton opened the door to a mere crack.
    â€œYes?” he said.
    â€œCan I speak to Cori, please?” said a female voice.
    â€œShe’s busy,” Clayton growled.
    â€œLet her in,” I said, curious to see who the hell had the gall to disturb me while I was getting ready for the camera. I was surprised to see the sole black female contestant. I didn’t know much about her. Couldn’t recall her name or whether or not the meal she had prepared yesterday was appealing. But it took a lot of chutzpah for a contestant to knock on my dressing room door. I looked her over. She was sweaty. Her makeup was dripping off her face and her hair had shriveled into a fuzzy Afro on one side and was limp and lifeless on the other. Maybe this impromptu visitwasn’t boldness at all, but was actually an act of sheer desperation.
    â€œMy name is LaTasha. I’m from Philly, like you,” she said, beaming at me.
    â€œWhat can I do for you LaTasha?” I replied brusquely, ignoring the fact that we shared the same hometown.
    â€œBeing that we’re both Philly girls, I figured you’d understand how embarrassed I’ll be if I’m seen like this when the show airs.” She waved her hand along the fuzzy side of her head. “They’ve had us holed up in one of the kitchens for hours, practicing various recipes from your last cookbook. There’s so much heat in the kitchen, my hair and makeup is ruined,” LaTasha complained.
    Wondering what in the hell she expected me to do, I looked at her like she was from another planet.
    â€œWe’re not allowed to bring anything with us from the hotel, and…” She trailed off and cut an eye at Gina. “I was wondering if I could borrow your flat-iron so I can bump my hair.”
    â€œHair and makeup services are only for judges and the host—not contestants,” Gina reminded her.
    â€œI know, but look at me!” Grimacing, she gestured toward her hair. “I have to do something about this mess before I go back on set with all those cameras pointed in my face.”
    â€œI don’t bring extra equipment with me, and I can’t let you borrow any of the equipment I use on Cori’s hair. That’s unsanitary.”
    â€œThat’s okay, let her borrow one of the flat-irons,” I said, sounding kindhearted. Being an African American woman, LaTasha was a reflection of me, and I simply couldn’t have her hair looking a hot mess on my show.
    LaTasha spilled all kinds of tea while she was working on her hair. She gave us the rundown on all the other contestants. We found out that Touki, the petite Asian girl who smiled so sweetly during filming, was a demanding diva off camera. Yancy Dunlap,the Baptist preacher, tended to spread malicious gossip that kept the contestants bickering and at each other’s throats. The dwarf was a nasty little bastard who masturbated so much, he was given a single room. Becca, the Wiccan chick who dressed in all black, had a drinking problem, and when intoxicated, she would threaten her cast mates with witchcraft powers and had even alluded to casting spells on the judges and me.
    All of that was interesting, but I was more interested in learning who was talking smack about me.
    LaTasha had a bad case of diarrhea of the mouth, but I appreciated getting a heads-up on who my enemies were. According to LaTasha, the gay guy, Lionel, who always wore bright-yellow suspenders, said he wouldn’t dream of serving my heart attack food to any of his friends or loved ones. He went as far as to say that unhealthy slop like mine should be banned from television.
    Although I was deeply offended, the yellow suspenders-wearing guy had a point. I no longer ate the artery-clogging crap I was famous for, either. But still, how dare he come on my show and openly criticize my food among the cast?