Read Online For the Love of Money by Omar Tyree - Free Book Online Page A

the way that only black men could, like fine, dark wine. After a minute or two, I decided to step out of the way and return to my old room. I guess I had a long face when I did it.
    â€œTracy, you can stay here if you want,” my mother compromised. “I heard that you Hollywood types are spoiled, but God!” she joked to rub it in.
    I shook my head and grinned. “I was spoiled
long
before I went to Hollywood.”
    My father laughed out loud. “Tell us something we
didn’t
know.”
    I made my way up the steps and into my old room. I fell to the small, twin-size bed and thought of all of the memories I had there: Mom and Dad arguing in the hallways at night, sleepovers with Raheema, Bruce hiding inside of my closet for dear life, Timmy sneaking up to my room after school, late-night phone calls on the cordless, and many fantasies about Victor spending the night in my bed with me. I even pulled out my pen and notepad and wrote a poem about it: “My Old Room.”
    Before long, all of my worries that night had slipped away, replaced by soothing flashbacks of the past, as I crashed into a much needed sleep.
    $   $   $
    â€œTracy! You have that interview on Power 99 this morning, don’t you?”
    My mother was standing at my door. I looked up at the alarm clock. It was six thirty-seven in the morning. I forgot to set it.
    I mumbled, “Yeah, I know,” and didn’t budge.
    â€œWell, that Wendy Williams is very popular here. A lot of people listen to her. I listen to WDAS myself. I like the older music.
    â€œAre you doing Mary Mason while you’re here, on WHAT?” she asked me.
    â€œOn Thursday,” I told her. “I do NBC that same morning.” I was showing everyone love. It was all a part of my homecoming celebration.
    â€œNBC? With Steve Levy? Well, what are you gonna wear?” my mother asked me.
    I smiled and said, “Why, you want to pick something out for me, Mom?”
    â€œNo, you do okay with that, because I would
tell you
if you didn’t. I just figured I’d ask.”
    My father stuck his head in the door and said, “I’ll see you later on, Ms. Grant.”
    My mother grinned at it.
    â€œI’ll need to explain that today,” I told her. “I hear a lot of people are assuming things about it.”
    My mother shrugged her shoulders. “Do what you have to do. I have to get ready for work myself,” she said, walking back out.
    I climbed out of bed to pick out my clothes for the day. I didn’t plan to look all spiffy for a radio show. It wasn’t as if anyone could see me. However, if I
did
look fabulous, maybe Wendy Williams would say something about that over the air. Nevertheless, I went with some loose-fitting blue jeans and a lime green cotton shirt, like an ordinary Josette.
    I had to decide whether I would take the Infiniti for the day or catch a taxi. I guess I should have thought about that once I decided to wait an extra day to surprise my father with his birthday gift. The original plan was to take my father’s Buick after I gave him the Infiniti. Maybe he could sell the Buick, store it in a garage, or use it just to drive to work at the hospital. That way he could cut down on unnecessary mileage on his new SUV.
    Despite the carjack attempt from the night before, I figured I
had
to take the Infiniti. I didn’t feel like jumping in and out of taxis all day, and I wanted to make a run to King of Prussia Mall for a big-time sale that they were advertising.
    So I took the Infiniti that morning and arrived at Power 99’s studio in the Roxborough area around fifteen minutes of eight. I couldn’t even get inside of the place. I walked from the front door to the back, and back to the front again, only to have to walk a second time to the back to get in.
    â€œOffice hours start at nine o’clock?” I asked the quiet brother who finally let me in.
    He grinned and