Grandma sighs all the air out of her frail frame. 

“Trios don’t work.”

I feign interest as she spits her hatred for triads. My eyes drift to her vinyl collection. 

There’s no easy way to look at the shelves. The collection stretches from the floor to the angled ceiling. Disks are stuffed into every possible crevice. Multicolor packages swirl together and each sliver of vinyl fights for my attention. My head spins

That old wooden thing has to be choked with dust.

A vinyl on the top shelf is neon purple with white stripes. The corners have frayed but that blazing purple is still strong. My fingers itch to slip it in my purse, but I must wait for Grandma to run out of breath. 

“...and there’s always a duo within a trio,” Grandma puffs. She eyes me to make sure I’m still listening.   

“Right, right.” I wholly regret my decision to complain about school drama. It’s irritating to think about Chimwemwe and Padmini spreading rumors behind my back. But it’s more frustrating to hear my beloved Grandmother rant about trios for the umpteenth time. 

She shakes her head and waves her hands in the air as she proclaims, “I don’t think you understand. How could you? You have no frame of reference!” I swallow an incoming sigh and keep my face still. I’m still thinking of that purple vinyl.

Grandma lifts her eyes to the ceiling, almost as if to gather strength for the rest of her speech. I match her gaze but I don’t know what she’s looking at. 

“Have I ever told you what really happened between me and Diana?” Grandma leans in. Her wire honeycomb glasses slip down her nose as she asks. I hesitate, the word ‘No’ stuck in my throat.

When I had just barely mastered speech and couldn’t even write my own name, my parents sat me down and told me to never utter ‘Diana Ross’. It didn’t matter that Motown was in my blood. My parents played it on every road trip. Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight, and Arethra Franklin roar through my speakers every Saturday morning. I would rattle off all the leading groups from Hitsville, U.S.A on command. But I was told to never, ever, look at Diana Ross and The Supremes. The Williams Family avoided that group like the plague.

Or, we were supposed to. Months ago, I heard a funky song filtering out of my parents’ bedroom. The lyrics spoke of love and regret. Its atmosphere was so familiar, yet I had never heard the song before.  I turned on Shazam and learned that it was from “Someday We’ll Be Together” by Diana Ross. My eyes widened as I rushed to question my parents. But the bright red 72% circled on my math test stopped me. I could have brought up the song in the same way that my parents could have brought up that grade. Instead, I closed my eyes and savored those three minutes. 

Grandma peers into my eyes. She’s questioning my loyalty.

This isn’t in Grandma’s usual script. Normally, she’d be pacing the room and waving her hands as she huffs out her hatred. But she’s offering to break the oath of the Williams Family and talk about Diana Ross. 

“Tell me everything,” I whisper.

She stands up and her silk robe billows around her. Dust particles swim as Grandma glides to the corner of the room. She traces her finger along a middle shelf of her vinyl wall. A green vinyl surfaces. Grandma hugs it close. Between her arms, I see three women with tall dark wigs on the cover. Their eyes lead somewhere beyond the camera. Their lips - various shades of pink - are parted in faint yet polite smiles.

I shift in my seat, trying not to make a sound. I fear that a single distraction will snap her out of this pivotal moment. I have to know this bit of history. I can feel my blood race through my body. I force my heartbeat back into my chest. 

Grandma lets out a deep sigh and begins...

“Diana Ross and The Supremes were Motown’s biggest band. But I was the reason the group even got started. You see, Florence, Mary, Diana, and I grew up singing in the church. Diana’s uncle was a pastor, so she got all of the lead singing parts.”

Grandma’s nose wrinkles as she says this. Her eyes are focused somewhere above me as she continues.

“I was obviously the better singer. I worked harder. My notes were stronger. I had more charisma.”

She clicks her tongue and hands me the vinyl. It reads “Where Did Our Love Go?”.

Grandma points at the different women and notes, “There’s Mary Wilson, Florence Ballard, and Diana Ross.” She spits out Diana’s name, and I nod my head.

“Oh, I loved Florence and Mary! We were the original gang. We slept at each other’s houses every Saturday night just to practice Sunday’s songs. Diana always stole the best parts, so I sang the next best things. Florence and Mary backed me up. Their parents put up with our belting because they loved me. Let me tell you, I could just wink and smile and adults would fall head over heels.”

It’s because of her dimples.

“Florence and Mary were okay with just being backup singers?”

“Nope. I was the best singer around, but not only because of my vocals. I had confidence. Florence and Mary were fine with fading into the background, so long as they got fair treatment. And we were all friends... it worked out.”

Grandma’s eyes look wistful as she says this. She twists the ring on her right finger and her eyelashes droop downwards.

So dramatic.

“You know, mama sewed sequins onto my dress so that everyone would watch me. I swayed my hips to the beat. I added vibrato to all the songs. People stared and I soaked up that attention.

Then came Diana. She didn’t appreciate the fact that everyone looked at me while she sang the leads.”

“She said that?”

“No, but I could tell. One Sunday, I caught her feeling the sequins on my dress. I smacked her hand away and her eyes glazed over with envy. I knew then that there would be competition between us.”

A smirk sprouts on Grandma’s lips as she says this. 

Old people can smirk?

“Yeah... Florence and Mary loved her, though. It's because of her damn dimples. She’d smile and toss out compliments and they were desperate for her affection. Desperate enough for Florence to invite Diana to one of our Saturday night sleepovers.

The minute Diana stepped into the foyer, she wrinkled her nose. She fanned the air in front of her and screeched, ‘Oh my! What is that smell?’”

Yikes.

“My mother was cooking crab legs. It was as if this girl had never heard of a spice rack. I would have kicked her out then. I should have kicked her out then. But I digress...

Florence and Mary were competing for her attention. She would make corny jokes about the weather and the girls would force laughter until their bellies ached. It was completely ridiculous! They cut each other off to compliment her hair and nails and clothes. I sat in the corner of the room, watching the madness. I was filled with disgust.”

“Wait, so how did you guys make a band?”

“That was already in the works. I wrote songs in my own time and added parts for Florence and Mary to sing. We’d put on shows in the living room. Momma paraded us around town while we sang our little hearts out. Florence and Mary insisted that I add Diana to the group. I remember that Diana was standing in front of them, SMIRKING at me. She was smirking! If I said no, Florence and Mary would have joined Diana and made their own group... I didn't want to lose their friendship, even if it meant letting a snake like Diana in.”

Oh.

“So you did it because you wanted to stay friends?”

“Well, that and the fact that I didn’t want to burn bridges.”

Grandma winks and juts out one hip as she says, “Every connection matters in the performance industry. Diana’s uncle was a well-connected man and it would have been so easy to spread lies. I would choose death before I let my career be stunted by a jealous [redacted] like Diana.”

I lean in and the couch’s plastic cover squeaks like a broken shopping cart. The mist over Grandma’s eyes disappears and she groans.

“That sound reminds me of old Berry. Lemme tell you, that man loved to put weird noises in his music. He hosted this party in ‘61 and invited the top music kids from Michigan. I walked up to him during the party, but his eyes were fixed on Diana. I tried to introduce myself, but he beelined towards her. She flashed her dimples and let him smother her with compliments. Berry didn’t even notice us until Diana turned him around. She introduced Florence, Mary, and me (in that order!) and we were in.”

“In?”

“He invited us to sing at his recording studio. Diana practically seduced the man into getting us a deal.”

“Did Berry love her?”

“Yep. That conversation at the party sparked an overbearing flame. When we sang for him, he gave Diana the leading parts. I could only chime in every few bars or so. I was kicked down to the same level as Florence and Mary.”

Jeez. “Did you do anything about it?”

Grandma hesitates, her words caught in her throat. Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out. She lays the back of her hand over her forehead and drapes her body over a plush chair. To be frank, Grandma looks like a patient in a therapist’s office.

So dramatic.

“It was horrid, my dear! I was so jealous I couldn’t think straight. It was my band, but I was pushed into the background because of a sleazy manager and a stuck-up [redacted]. You couldn’t imagine how angry I was.”

Grandma bunches her robe in her fist and shakes with the force of those words. Her eyes are unfocused. She’s somewhere else entirely as she says, “I wanted revenge. I deserved revenge. My plan was to fry her vocal cords. You can’t seduce a man with a raspy voice – it reminds them too much of other men.”

“But what was the plan?” Grandma’s emotion charges the room. My leg is cramping, but I can not shift positions and distract her. I need the full story. .

“Singers drink warm tea to soothe their voices. We try to avoid alcohol and coffee because it can dry out your throat. I wanted Diana to never sing again, so I put some alcohol into her tea after every session with Berry.”

She chews her lip and shifts her weight with this statement. I can’t tell whether she’s proud. 

“I put a few drops in her tea every day for a week, but it didn’t work. Her notes were never as good as mine, but my god! Berry never got tired of that [redacted].”

“Why didn’t it work?”

“Mary caught me. She was too damn good at fading into the background. She confronted me one day out of the goodness of her heart.

She said ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. You’ve been a kind friend for years. But Diana's going to take us further. She and Berry are going to carry us to international fame.’

Mary didn’t want me anymore, but it didn’t matter! I was not going to be threatened by a backup singer.” 

Grandma’s lower lip juts out and her eyes become watery. She blinks several times and lets out a forlorn sigh.

“I left the band and never looked back. If that [redacted] was going to steal my spot, I’d make something else of myself. And I did. I’m here now, at least.”

“That’s terrible...” I try to offer up comfort.

“I know. If you learn one thing from your glorious Grandmother, let it be this; loyalty is key, and it’s too fickle in a trio. Don’t mess with trios.” She sighs and says, “They just don’t work.”