Partners in Their Prime.

On the page Donna Grant and Virginia DeBerry speak in one voice to produce a brilliant new saga of family ties

The real-life tale of Grant and DeBerry almost seems too incredible to be true: two New York women--one living in Manhattan, the other in Buffalo--both accept the dares of friends and try out for jobs as plus-size models. They are signed by the same agency and enter the glamorous, dog-eat-dog world of fashion--making the rounds of Madison Avenue look-sees and interviews that can either make models rich or force them to fit in temp gigs on the side. As much as needing a job, the two women discovered that they needed a friend. Their first encounters took place at their agency or at castings, never on a shoot.

"We were never booked together because we were both black models and there would only be one on any given booking," Grant recalls. "So although we never directly worked together, we discovered that we really liked each other--that we cracked each other up and had a lot in common. We were both English majors in school, so there was a whole range of conversations we could have surrounding what we were reading at any given moment.

"We had a lot of life in common. We realized that the client was going to book who they wanted to book--that the decision had nothing to do with us--so there was no reason to let that get in the way of our getting to know each other. And, these many years later, we're still hanging out."

It's that kind of no-nonsense attitude towards friendship that has made their literary work together appealing. Over the next few years, they shared .joys and hardships. When the appeal of modeling began to wane, they produced a fashion newsletter for Hanes, which led to all offer to publish a fashion magazine, Maxima, for full-figured women. For months they did everything--assigned, wrote and edited stories; set up fashion shoots; made lunch for the models. They were thrilled by their accomplishments, and shocked when, on New Year's Eve, after only one year, the publication's backers pulled the plug.

"It was horrible," says Grant, "we went through all of the emotions that you can expect. After we stopped cursing and spitting blood--and drinking various and sundry beverages--we decided that the best thing we had ever hit on was working together. There was something that the two of us found together that we'd never found in any other kind of working situation."

It was do-or-die, only this time, the dare was one that they issued themselves: "Donna and I used to sit around and talk with a bunch of other people about how we could write this book one day," recalls DeBerry. "When the magazine went belly up, we looked at each other and said, `Do you think we could really do it?'"

They did. After reading a paperback guide to writing and publishing romances, they completed their first novel, Exposures, in four months, in order to nab a slot offered them by Warner Books. Presented under a pseudonym born of their middle names, Marie Joyce, the now-out-of-print book focused on the, 80s-style life and loves of a white fashion photographer. But when their second effort failed to find a publisher, the writers decided it was time to reconsider their approach.

"We thought, `Let's try to move the focus away from what everybody does for a living,'" says Grant. "Let's move away from Manhattan, and the glitter, and move into places like the ones that we grew up in, write about people who were really like the ones we knew."

"At that point, we had both lived a lot of life and made our share of mistakes: You figure out how to make things right; it's a part of growing up. We were both very interested in the whole process of making choices and then dealing with the choices that you made."

In their next joint effort, Tryin' to Sleep in the Bed You Made (St. Martin's Press, January 1997, $24.95, ISBN 0-312-15233-7), the writers took their questions and observations and created a captivating story of a difficult, but lifelong friendship. Linked by a tragedy and a secret, Gayle and Patricia were raised as sisters, then traveled along different paths. Gayle, sought security through life's comforts and the approval of others; Pat believed that she could find fulfillment through lofty career achievements. After a period of estrangement marked by disillusionment, the women are brought together, and by confronting their shared past, along with their differences, they discover the missing parts of themselves.

"I think that fiction, when it's working, teaches you something about yourself. It teaches you something about the world" said Grant. "It's not just, `Oh, it's a story.' I think it's a way to explore situations and dilemmas, and maybe to be able to step back enough from the situation to be able to see yourself in it."

In their latest book, Far From the Tree (St. Martin's Press, September 2000, $24.95, ISBN 0-312-20291-1), the conflicts existing between sisters, and between mothers and daughters, was the writers' chosen vehicle. Two adult siblings--Ronnie, a struggling New York model, and Celeste, a high school guidance counselor and doctor's wife--both have concealed the pain of their existences. When their father dies suddenly, they are left alone with their mother, Della, and with the lifetime of secrets and attitudes that have separated them.

"The kind of dual female character--Pat and Gayle, Celeste and Ronnie--become like flip sides of the same person," says DeBerry. "Given a left turn at this corner, or a different day in third grade, one could have been the other. I think there's some of both types in all of us. What we get to explore by making one one way and one the other, is all the ways in which we are--and how our tolerance for ourselves and our differences expands and contracts."

The writers confess that, in another era, their compatibility might have had them burned at the stake. They find themselves finishing each other's metaphors and commenting on each other's thoughts. Every aspect of the writing process is shared. They begin by honing an outline, then develop each character in minute detail. By the time the story is in their possession, the voice they share has taken control.

"In a lot of ways, we balance each other out well," says Grant. "Whereas one of us might be too sweet and glowing and joyful, the other might be a little too brooding and serious. There's this place that you meet in the middle, where both of those are useful; but you have to have one to balance out the other.

"I guess the analogy that I've found is where people work collaboratively on music. It's not an exact analogy because generally it breaks down where somebody does the lyrics and somebody does the music. But there is this kind of communal, creative vibe that we share. And you either share it or you don't. I'm not sure that you can look for it. I'm not sure that you can make it happen. I think it just is or it isn't."

To DeBerry and Grant, the fact that others sometimes find their working relationship remarkable is most interesting indeed. Their response is spontaneous:

"We were surprised by how many people ..." Grant begins the sentence.

"... were surprised that we're doing this," DeBerry completes it.

Grant continues: "We had not realized how much of a perception there seems to be that black women can't work together. It never occurred to us that that was an issue."

DeBerry concurs. "I remember being a young girl and watching my mother interact with her friends," she says. "And whether it was friends from church, or friends in the singing group my mother was in, or relatives sitting around the kitchen table snapping string beans, I've always seen examples of women working together for a greater good. That's how I thought women interacted."

For them, the hassles of friendship are reserved for the blank page: "It's not one of those partnerships where at the end of the day, we go, `Oh, God, if I had to be around her one more moment, I don't know what I would do," says Grant. "It just isn't like that. We have a great time together and we also get to do something that we both really love."

Sharon Fitzgerald is senior editor of American Visions magazine. She writes extensively about black art and culture, has contributed freelance articles to Ms., One World, American Craft, Essence and Freedomways. A recent scholar-in-residence at New York City's Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, she is presently working on the biography of Harlem librarian and activist Jean Blackwell Hutson. She lives in New York City. In this issue of BIBR, she chats with authors Virginia DeBerry and Donna Grant.