Drama Is Her Middle Name by Wendy Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

appearance for the station.
She was to come on the stage, give a few shout-outs to the
audience, introduce the deejay, and kick it back to the studio.
It was Mix-Jam Fridays broadcasting live on WHOT, where
they featured three hours of club music. Ritz was late—as
usual. But she made up for it with energy.
    â€œHey, everybody!!!!!” she shouted, pulling everything together so quickly that Chas was shocked how she went from
disheveled to perfect in a split section. “You all look great.
Let me hear some noise! Is Brooklyn in the house?!”
    The crowd went wild.
    â€œLet me hear from my people in Jerrrrrrsaaaay!!!!!!”
    A roar went up.
    â€œIs there anyone here from the Boogie Down?!!!!!!”
    Whoops and hollers followed.
    â€œThat’s more like it!” Ritz said, feeling her rhythm. “So
what are we here for?” And the crowd shouted unintelligible
blather.
    Ritz had officially gotten the party started. She capped it
off with a few more borough calls and some birthday shout-outs, which always were a hit, and she was ready to send it
back to the studio for the music.
    â€œThat’s right! We’re here to PAR-TAY! So let’s get this
party started, right?” Ritz said as the deejay started his set.
“Let’s hear it for Deejay Smoooooooooooth!” And the crowd
went wild again.
    Ritz walked behind the deejay booth and took a deep
breath. She didn’t even notice Chas in the corner looking
at her.
    â€œNice job, Miss Thing,” Chas said.
    â€œWhy, thank you,” Ritz said, smiling.
    â€œI’m Chas. And I like your style. You have a real future.”
    â€œ
This
I know,” Ritz shot back, halfway insulted but trying
not to look it.
    â€œThis is a tough business,” Chas said, shouting over the
music. “I think I can help you.”
    â€œAnd what do you do? What are you, a manager or something?”
    â€œNo, I’m even better than that. Let’s talk tomorrow before
your show and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. This is not a
good place to conduct business.”
    Business? “Who the hell did he think he was, P. Diddy or
something?” Ritz thought. But she liked his boldness. Chas
was one of the most confident and sure people Ritz had ever
met. “If just a little of that could rub off on me,” Ritz thought.
It was worth hearing him out. She took his number and they
agreed to meet at the Starbucks on the ground floor of the radio station on Thirty-fourth Street.
    Those first cups of coffee turned into a friendship, or at
least a budding partnership. Chas gave Ritz insight into herself that no one else had. He told her that she had to do
something about her look.
    â€œHoney, I know it’s radio, but you have to
think
bigger than
that if you want to
be
bigger than that,” Chas told her.
    He had Ritz thinking about making some serious changes.
At five foot eight, Ritz was above average in height, but
everything else about her was average. Her hair was boring.
Her body was nothing special. She carried herself like a
frump. Chas put her in contact with a style guru of his, Darryl Brown, who connected her with a hairstylist who gave
Ritz a whole new look. It was over-the-top—long, honey-blond, and big—and it suited Ritz to a T.
    After the hair, Ritz started thinking about increasing her
frontal net worth—a double D increase, to be exact. She got
her boob job on a payment plan.
    â€œThink of it as an investment,” Chas said. “Trust me, it
will pay off!”
    Ritz’s transformation, except for the boob job, which took
everyone by surprise, was subtle and gradual. It started the
night she and Chas met, and it solidified when Ritz made up
her mind that her career would take off—if it killed her.
    Her mother used to tell her about the five P’s that would
carry her through life: Proper Planning Prevents Poor