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By Root 930 0

when that stopped happening when I moved to the West Coast. I was used to the seas parting for me. But I guess LaLa Land hadn’t been warned about me. 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.

I arrived in LaLa Land with no agent or manager, no permanent residence and very little money. Thank God the real estate market in New York was so hot; I was able to get a much-needed equity loan against my East Side town house. The L.A. weather was so inviting when I arrived that it was hard to close myself off from the world, as I had intended. I went to Malibu, did lots of window shopping and started reading the trades looking for work. The only contact I had with New York was a call every other day from my good friend Windsor, who was staying in my house until the right offer to sell came along.

One night I found myself having dinner alone at the hotel’s Polo Lounge restaurant. After finishing a chicken caesar salad, I went into the bar, had a drink and soon found myself singing and confiding in the piano player. Turns out Bobby Daye was not only a talented piano player, but a wonderful songwriter as well. After he finished his set, he took me to several other clubs while I told him my life story. When he dropped me off, he looked at me and said, “I’m going to write some songs for that voice.” I thought it was the liquor talking, so I was shocked when he showed up a week later at my suite with five songs written just for me. Three weeks later, we were in a West Hollywood studio recording a demo. One month later, not only did I have a record deal with Motown Records, but an agent and manager as well. Who said dreams can’t come true in Hollywood anymore?

Right now I’m living right in the middle of Beverly Hills, in a lovely two-bedroom guesthouse behind the mansion of my manager, Malik Jackson. Malik (a.k.a. Roosevelt) stopped counting birthdays some fifteen years ago but looks to be in his early fifties. I get to live rent-free; I just have to perform a few duties for Malik every once in a while. Trust me when I say I’m not talking about cooking and cleaning.

I’ve been so busy recording my CD that I’ve had very little time to concentrate on my movie career, but that will come soon enough. I do know that Hollywood is a lot like New York. A few divas (Angela, Nia, Lela, Ms. Jada and Vanessa L.) get all the work while the rest just pray the unemployment checks come on time.

I’m an actress and a damn good one. And if my word isn’t enough, just ask anyone who was at my wedding. Even though Basil