Boss Lady: A Novel
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Tracy Ellison, the star of Omar Tyree’s Flyy Girl and For the Love of Money, returns in this bestselling novel, Boss Lady.
Everybody’s favorite flyy girl is a little bit older, a whole lot wiser, and just as sassy as ever. After a series of triumphs in the world of letters and acting, Tracy takes on the dazzling world of Hollywood’s A-list players to film a project close to her heart.
Told from the point of view of Tracy’s cousin and personal assistant, Vanessa, Boss Lady chronicles the trials and tribulations of adapting the story of Tracy Ellison’s life. In this novel, Flyy Girl is becoming a major motion picture and Tracy is prepared to do anything and everything to tell her story and to make sure it's done right, from screenwriting to producing to designing. In the meantime, she’s also juggling the highs and lows of her famously turbulent love life. Is it better to remain single and committed to her career? Or is she ready to take the plunge and embrace the married-with-children life?
Written with Omar Tyree’s irresistible urban style, Boss Lady finds the author’s best-loved character at the top of her game, thoroughly in charge, and taking life strictly on her own terms.
done. I just want to make this movie. I’m not gonna be in it anyway.” Tracy smiled and said, “That’s what I first thought when I started shopping scripts out here.” I said, “But you still have more personality than me for an actress. Most of my moves are made mentally, not physically, so I wouldn’t translate well in film.” “Not if you come dressed like you are now. You’d definitely translate on-screen,” she teased me. I smiled back at her and said, “We’ll see.” We stepped into the car; Tracy
Jordache, Sergio Valente, Gloria Vanderbilt, Coca-Cola, Gucci, Lee Jeans, Laura Biagotti, Members Only, Izod, Le Tigre, Aigner, Guess. And if you think for one minute that I’ll have any of these old designers in my movie without having my Flyy Girl Ltd. out first, with a logo that young girls and old can lock in their minds on sight, then you gots to be crazy.” She said, “I don’t even need words in Japan, just my logo. I don’t need words in Germany, just my logo. I don’t need words in Brazil,
with it in these reality shows,” I commented. “That’s not real content,” Tracy responded. “Those shows are as phony as they wanna be. And those people are all sacrificing their privacies for a few thousand dollars and a magazine article.” Tracy hit the nail right on the head. I was supposed to be in there listening, but I guess I was just too damn tired at the moment. That’s when you start yawning and rambling on at the mouth—and I was doing both. My cousin noticed it and said, “Okay, I think
Germantown Avenue near Chelten, and we both took a breath before we climbed out to approach Victor’s store. “Well, here we go,” Tracy commented. As soon as I stepped out of the limo and walked toward the store, I didn’t feel nervous anymore. My nervousness was wiped away as we approached our goal. It was an everyday store with a plate glass window, health foods on counters to the right, drinks inside of freezers to the left, and a tall order counter toward the back center where you ordered hot
afternoon. Since the Marriott was only a twenty-minute drive from the airport, we had all morning to be lazy. Sasha and Jasmine’s room seemed to be our headquarters, so we were all holed up in there again. “Well, this is it,” Jasmine commented. We had our luggage stacked by our doors ready to take down to the limo. We had all said our good-byes to everyone, including my phone call to my family in North Philly, and it was nearing our time to check out. “We’ll be back,” Sasha stated. “We have a