by Hayes, S. I.
“Easy there, I’m the kind that can make or break you, everywhere. One call form me and no one will touch you. Like I said, I like your passion.” She scrawled something on a post- it note, tacking it to one of the photographs. “Be at this address, tomorrow night, after having seen a razor and a clean shirt for Christ’s sake. We’ll see just what you’re made of, shall we?”
***
“So she just handed you this paper and said be there or be square? Is that the gist of it?” Janet took a hit off her hand held water bong, holding the smoke before coughing hard with a laugh. “From the looks of ya, I’d say she was smokin’ hot too.”
“I don’t’ know that I’m going to go.” Matthew sat on the couch slumped down, taking the bong from her, he leaned forward, taking the lighter to the bowl. Pepper the puppy nuzzled up next to him sound asleep.
“Why the hell not? Woman invited you to schmooze with some of the big boys. It’s an actual shot.”
“Yeah but at what price?” Matthew coughed. “Besides what the hell am I gonna wear?”
“Ah, see there I can help. Raj!” She screamed through the apartment. A few moments later their front door swung open and a minuscule thin man entered. His hair shone like onyx, with bangs parted just off center to cover one of his large almond shaped black eyes. His skin was a tawny sort of auburn, accentuated by the vast amount of silver and gold jewelry he loved to wear in excess. “Yes, my lovely girl!” He squealed with zeal. “What can I do for my favorite neighbor?” He closed the door behind him, padding over to them, waving away the smoke, and plopped down to the cushion on the hardwood floor.
“We need your help.”
“You’re finally going to let me give you highlights?” He bounced in his seat.
“No.” Janet deadpanned. “Not me, Matty boy here. He’s got a meet up with the Village crowd, tomorrow night.”
“Ooh, my people!” Raj shook out his hair. “We can do something I’m sure.”
“No Raj. Think Donnella Stone… Literally, she actually extended the invite.”
“O-M-G! You met her? What? Get out! I don’t believe you, you’re having a fun with old Raj. Trying to get an old Queen worked up.”
“Seriously, Raj. I’m hopeless.” Matthew took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Not hopeless. We just have to take you shopping for a few things.”
“I’m flat broke. I got like twenty bucks till the first, when I get paid again.”
“I’ll float ya.” Raj smiled. “Can’t have my starving artist actually starving. C’mon we’ll go over to the Palisades. Pick you up a few things. I’ll even drive, since you two stoners are well, too well stoned.” He laughed.
3
Donnella sat the lounge of the Hotel Wyatt-Arms, her father having bought it almost thirty years prior, it was one of the few places that still understood discretion. She threw back her fourth apricot brandy sour of the hour as she watched the door nonchalantly. She’d made the rounds saying her hellos and carting the man of the hour Claude Gentry around. Now Claude was probably balls deep in a cocktail waitress, but she didn’t really care anymore. He wasn’t her problem. As of six O’clock that evening their deals were done and he was on his own. If he had not learned anything from her in their time together and blew his budding career that was his own fault, and again, no longer her problem. When she’d met Claude he was trying to break into the music scene. He had talent but no connections. A year after meeting Donnella, and being under her influence and he was just coming back from the Summer fests and on his way to head line for the likes of some heavy hitters, to finish up with his own world tour set to start in April. If he didn’t fuck it up. Donnella warned him about the groupies, but he was going to do as he pleased. No matter, tonight she was looking for something different. A passionate photographer, who may just be standing her up. Then she spotted him, towering over the crowd.
“Boy has got to be six- four, maybe six- five.” She mused, standing abruptly. Her balance just a bit off, but she recovered quickly. He looked about, seeming to appear ready to bolt at any moment.
***
“She must be in here somewhere.” Matthew whispered, looking over the tops of many a head in the crowd. His stomach was twisted in knots. Getting to the door was easy, the guards there had his name on the list. He’d never had his name on an actual list before. It was sort of pleasing to him and at the same time made him wan to upchuck right on his shiny new shoes. Which were truth be told a little too tight. Raj told him to suck it up for fashion which he did, along with the off the rack chinos that they had to let the hem out of, which he was used to having to do anyway, but Raj insisted on an Armani Jacket. Not letting Matthew see the price tag on it, demanding that he shut up and wear it. Matthew had to admit, it looked good with the white shirt and skinny navy tie. He just felt out of sorts. Then he saw her, crossing the sea of people, her copper hair pulled up with curls falling down about the top, her hand upstretched to get his attention.
She wore an emerald green off the shoulder cocktail dress that hugged the curves of her body graciously, with side running pleats for a modern fit to her form, the hem ending just above her knees. Her heels were again ridiculously high, and silver, open toed to match the clutch in her hand and the diamond solitary pendant she wore which matched her earrings perfectly.
“Matthew!” She purred, as though she’d known him her entire life, as he approached her, she reached for him. “You finally made it. What took you so very long?” She asked in a whisper.
“Train was delayed. Then couldn’t catch a cab.” He half laughed, nervously.
“Come, let me introduce you around before we go.”
“Go? Where are we going?”
She laughed. “I sent you here to get me out of here, silly.” She poked him on the nose playfully, pulling him forward.
***
“Well that was an experience.” Sitting in the back of her Stretch Lincoln Towncar, Donnella kicked off her shoes, rubbing the back of her heel a moment. Matthew sat across from her staring at her with a look of utter confusion and brimming anger.
“What? Was meeting the Mayor of New York not an experience for you? Did you not get a chance to schmooze properly?” She laughed. “Do you know how many people would have killed to be on that guest list tonight and get in for even half the time you got?”
“Yeah? Well I don’t like being used. And what was all that I found him, bull shit. I recall I walked into your gallery with an earned appointment from my University’s allotment. I’m not just some rat off the street like you were making it sound.”
“Semantics, my way sounds better.”
“Your way sounds like we have an agreement, which as you so poignantly put it last night, you’re not taking on photographers, or are you too smashed to remember?”
“You’ve got some balls on you, boy. That’s twice you’ve insulted me to my face, in as many days…” Her eyes darkened as she crossed her legs tapping the glass. The car stopped. The door opened, and to Matthew’s surprise it had begun to rain. “Now you have a choice. Mister Mayfield. You can apologize for your rudeness to me, and hear what I propose to be a very good thing for us both, or you can get the fuck out of my car and take your chances in the cold.”
He stared at her wide eyed a moment looking outside at the two men in suits waiting for his decision, he looked back at her, she did not look at him, merely picked at her manicure with a shake of her foot.
“Time is money, Mister Mayfield and you are costing me both. In or out, final offer.”
I’m going to regret this. He thought to himself as he reached out grabbed the car door pulled it closed and locked himself inside with the dragon.
***
They drove for about an hour in silence, long enough to be well out of the Village and into the City of Manhattan proper. The car stopped and the door opened, the men in suits reappearing with a large umbrella to shield Donnella from the onslaught of rain, They made Ma
tthew wait in the vehicle while she was escorted safely to the entrance of the building then one of them left her returning with the umbrella for him, which he in turn took being the taller of the two of them.
“Can I ask where we are?” He leaned toward the man in the suit.
“She keeps an office here.”
“And here is?” He looked up, he was standing outside the Stone Tower. A high-rise that catered only to the elite of the city, it was rumored that Harmon Stone had built it so that his wife and daughter could have the best views of the city without ever having to leave it. The Penthouse was said to have a balcony that wrapped perfectly around the entire building, but Harmon never allowed the press upstairs so no one could vouch as to ever having seen it.
“Doesn’t she live here?”
The man shook his head no, almost violently.
“Okay…” He looked up seeing her reach out for him only to push him through the door.
“I can take it from here. Go get a late supper. If I need you I’ll buzz.”
“Ma’am, I would rather we were-”
“Cordell, my sweet boy. I’m just fine I promise.” She winked. Shooing him and his partner away, back out into the cold city air.
***
Matthew stood staring at the plaques on the walls, names of different politicians and philanthropists, who had frequented the halls of the Stone Tower over the years, even a couple of Presidents of countries he’d read about in school, but could scarcely pronounce.
“Impressive.” He smiled as she came up next to him.
“In its heyday it was. Now it’s left to rot for the old fogies and their bastard children who can still afford it. It’s disgusting.” She pushed her key into the elevator console, bringing it down to them. “After you.” She put her arm out before him.
“Ladies first, I insist.” Matthew put a hand on the small of her back urging her inside, she let him lead her. “Are you going to tell me what we are doing here?”
“I have a proposal for you. That requires a bit of discretion, I understand if you will want to have it looked at by a third party, but I can assure you that it is all in perfect order.”
“Uh, huh.” He watched tentatively as the numbers on the wall above him rose as fast as his heart.
The doors opened and they were greeted by Harold and an open floorplan. The floors were high shined oak in front of him, down a small set of stairs was a large fireplace that one could see through to a balcony, which overlooked the Hudson River. He spied boats as they tugged along, their little lights wisps in the night. Two large white couches sat to the left and right of the fireplace with a black furry rug filling the space between them.
“Welcome back, Miss Stone.” Harold smiled, with a tray holding two brandies and two bottles of water.
She nodded taking a brandy, Matthew shook his head no, saying nothing as he looked around.
“Christ you could fit my whole apartment just in these two rooms…” He mused seeing the formal dining area that appeared to get little if any use from the bits of dust on the fake flower centerpiece. The table was made of mahogany with a granite top, the chairs studded with leather were clean but appeared to also see little use.
“This way.” Harold urged him, past the industrial sized kitchen with its double ovens and glass counter cooktops, which made Matthew green with envy. As much as the man loved his art, he loved to cook. He was rather proud of his talents in both areas equally. They approached an open set of doors to find Donnella sitting on the edge of yet another large sparingly covered desk. It occurred to Matthew that for a woman who owned an Art Gallery her offices and home like areas were surprisingly devoid of anything resembling something remotely artistic.
“You can go Harold. If I need anything more…”
“You’ll buzz.”
She nodded, picking up a packet of papers from the desk. “So, what do you know about my relationship with Claude Gentry?”
“Nothing? Why would you ask me that?” He shifted in his space between her and the door. He did not know why but he suddenly felt very small, as though the room were closing in on him. It was something in the way she looked at him. As though she could devour him in an instant. While not the most unpleasant way to go, he thought to himself he wasn’t quite ready to push off this mortal coil, just yet.
“See that’s my point. Nothing. I build careers, and ask for very little in the long run. Very little indeed.” She traced the first page of the papers in her hand. “See I have what everyone wants Mister Mayfield. Money. Power. Connections on both sides of the law… Do you know what I don’t have?”
“Your own private island?” He mused under his breath watching her sip her drink.
“A man I can trust.” She put down her drink, and crossed the distance between them, her movements graceful and filled with a purpose he was still very unsure of as she held out the papers. “I can’t just trust people you see. Not when I know what their motives are. Everyone has them. You have, I have. So why not be open and honest about them?”
“What are you driving at, Miss Stone?” He stared down into her eyes which had a glint of mischief in them as her lip curled upward.
“I don’t do relationships because I don’t believe men can be trusted in them. You cheat, you lie, you manipulate. I will not have that in my life. I do not have the time for it frankly. But what I do have time for and enjoy most are mind blowing orgasms. My last few lovers came up short in that area, and I am in the market for something, someone new.”
“That involves me how exactly?”
She ran a finger up his bicep. “Have a seat and give that a read. I’ll be just outside. Let me know what you think…”
***
He sat at Donnella’s desk, the rules in his hands. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? A shot at the galleries. An opportunity to make a name for himself without having to resort to dropping the name that could open every door he could dream of without showing a single piece. She was offering him opportunity, not promises. It clearly stated that in exchange for his services to her she would make the introductions to the art world that he needed to get his foot in the door to the people he wanted to make contact with, Marc Turner, the owner of Verve, the high end gallery on the Upper East end. He’d already met the Mayor who could open doors for the wounded warrior’s he so wanted to help. Granting access to the hospitals and the programs that could aid them. All Donnella Stone seemed to want was a companion. An attentive and accessible lover who would attend functions and bed her when she saw fit. For this she would provide everything he needed to take the steps to get out of his dingy apartment in Westport, Connecticut. Giving him a new address, a monthly stipend and time enough to work on a project of his choosing to showcase at The Keynote by the end of the contract. To sink or swim as the saying went, with her aid concluding the night of the showcase. During the six months which was the length of the term he was not allowed to see any other women except those that were vetted and approved for appearances. Whatever that meant, and he was to keep in the lifestyle that Donnella felt he should become accustomed. He was also not allowed to tell anyone of the arrangement. Should Donnella choose to end the relationship early Matthew would be given a lump sum equal to but not to exceed the cost of completing the costs of finishing the Showcase which would then be moved to another gallery at his discretion. Should Matthew choose to leave the relationship early he would agree to no further attempts at showing in New York City for up to one year, and to never step foot into The Keynote again.
His mouth was dry. She was a beautiful woman, he’d be out of his mind to say no. But he’d also be trading one shackle for another. His father was a man with a name. A man whose name could open doors, but he gave up that name. Taking his mother’s years ago, because he wanted to make it on his own. Wouldn’t taking Donnella Stone’s help be the same thing? He needed to think. He spun around in the chair, seeing the doors to the terrace behind him. Taking the papers with him, he opened the doors and
stepped outside. The rain had stopped. The chill in the November air was crisp but not unpleasant. As he overlooked the skyline he noticed Harold standing at the edge of the railing not too far from him. He took the moment to cross to him.
“You know what this is?” Matthew asked gingerly.
“I drew it up myself.” Harold smiled. “I assure you it is most sincere.”
“Does she do this often?”
“A few a year.”
“What’s a few?”
“Three or four.”
“How many of how many will I be if I were to say yes?”
“As of tonight?”
Matthew nodded.
“One of two. Samuel Sinclair, the fashion guru is on the books until May.”
Matthew nodded. “I thought he was gay.”
“Oh don’t I wish.” Harold laughed lightly. Bringing a short chuckle from Matthew as well.
“And I’ll have to sign this?”
“Actually that’s just the rules, what you’ll be signing is a non-disclosure contract, stating that you will be discreet in your actions as they pertain to the rules and the relationship with Miss Stone.”
Matthew nodded. “Is she?” He pointed behind him into the apartment.
Harold nodded. “Kitchen, probably. It’s where the wine is.”
***
Donnella sat against the Kitchen Island, this was the part she hated. The waiting. The uncertainty of it all. It was always fifty-fifty. Like any relationship, It could go horribly wrong. But she had a feeling about this one. The way he’d looked at her, she liked that he wasn’t afraid to challenge her. It had been a long time since anyone had the balls to speak their mind to her, Harold notwithstanding. Her mother had always been honest. But she’d been gone nearly ten years, the aneurism coming out of nowhere. Her father although alive flew the country in his mourning, and only sent his regards at her birthdays and holidays. Leaving her to run the Stone Company since his departure, giving her his fifty three percent controlling interest. With that she had managed to build up the hotel, refurbish the Stone Tower, buy her gallery and now she was working with the Mayor and the governor on some city restoration projects. If all went well, and her forecasters said it was looking very good, The Stone Company would have one hell of a legacy. A far cry from its bootlegging, speakeasy roots.