Love in a Carry-On Bag

by Johnson, Sadeqa

Inside her office, Erica sipped her coffee and rehearsed what she wanted to say. This was the most important conversation of her adult life, and she only had one shot at getting it right. Erica wanted the Director’s position now more than she ever had before.

  At ten o’clock sharp, the publicity department filed into Claire’s office and took their appropriate seats. Assistants on the floor, publicist and above on the sofa, but no one sat in Edie’s chair. Claire stood glowing in a heap of jewels behind her desk, making her petite frame seem taller. She asked about their weekend, and once everyone finished bantering, she cleared her throat to begin.

  “I have some good and bad news,” she pressed her fingertips together. “The good is that you have all done a phenomenal job in Edie’s absence. Erica, Reverend Black is still singing your praises.”

  It was always an honor to have your name recognized in the meeting, and Erica smiled her thank you.

  “The bad news is that Edie will not be returning,” Claire paused to let her words sink in, and Erica knew her face was caught between a grimace and smile. She wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed and she prayed she wasn’t too late. Claire went on to say that Edie had decided to stay home full-time with the baby, and the disappointment of losing her business partner was obvious in her eyes.

  “But I’ve found someone to replace her.”

  Erica’s stomach turned. Would Claire announce her promotion without consulting her first? Wouldn’t they need to discuss the details like salary, office with a view, and the other perks that come with moving up?

  “His name is Athan McKinley,” Claire said, and on cue Karen passed around his bio to all fifteen people in the room. Erica was struck silly. Claire had gone outside of the company to hire someone without even considering her. How could she do that?

  “I’m sure you’ll all love him. He comes from Miramax films. He was their head of publicity for seven years and has been a good friend of mine for ten. I’ve often bounced ideas off him in the past, and I think he will fill Edie’s irreplaceable shoes just fine,” Claire smiled.

  Erica had grown tired of feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her. Work had been the one safe haven, until now.

  “I went ahead and pulled someone from the outside because I wanted fresh, innovative ideas; someone who could come in and shake things up a bit. He starts a week from Monday, and I hope you will all do your best to make him feel welcome. Any questions?” she asked.

  None.

  “Great. The announcement will be made companywide this afternoon.”

  The meeting adjourned, and the department filed out of the office in the same schoolyard manner in which they had entered. Karen motioned for Erica to stay, but she really just wanted to go.

  “What do you think of my news?” Claire gave her that motherly smile that usually put Erica at ease, but it didn’t help. “I know you’re going to love Athan. He’s so smart, and I’m really looking forward to him showing us new ways of doing business.”

  “How come you didn’t consider me for the position?” Erica stared straight into Claire’s eyes. “From day one I’ve handled the top-notch campaigns, worked with the most difficult authors, all with stellar results. Why not me?” she knew the anger was oozing out, but she decided that it was now or never.

  Claire reached for her bottled water and took a long sip before returning Erica’s steadfast gaze. “You are doing a wonderful job, and it’s true that you are my go-to-girl. Experience is what Athan has that you’re lacking, and I think he will be instrumental in teaching you how to hone those skills needed.”

  “How much longer?”

  “It’s hard to say. Why don’t we see how the spring plays out and revisit this conversation?” Claire extended her hand, which meant it was time for Erica to go. “I’m really counting on you to help Athan get settled.”

  Of course she was; wasn’t that always the case? The black woman gets passed over by some white man, when in fact she has to teach him the job for which she had long since been qualified. Returning to her office, Erica called over her shoulder that she was going for coffee. Outside, the air wasn’t fresh enough. She bypassed the truck on the corner with the stale bagels and headed to the new gourmet shop three blocks away. She needed to put some distance between her and Claire’s news. Light jazz was playing when she walked into the coffee shop, and the small wood-burning fireplace was lit. Indian throw rugs and overstuffed cushiony chairs lent the room comfort but did little to lighten Erica’s mood. Sweets would do that, and she ordered a fatty latte and a thick slice of marble cake and wolfed it all down.

  She took the long way back to the office, and no sooner had she removed her coat, Prudence bounced, in swinging her brown hair, with two message slips. The girl was so cheerful that it was sickening.

  “Warren called and so did LaVal Jarvis,” Prudence handed Erica the slips.

  Warren called? Her insides fluttered and she couldn’t concentrate on the next five things that Prudence said.

  “Goldie was emphatic about needing it by the end of the day. Erica?”

  She was pulled from her thoughts. “Yes. Sure. Fine. Thanks.”

  Prudence backed out of the office. What did Warren want? Had Blanche told Warren about her showing up at his apartment? Erica picked up the telephone, hesitated, and dialed LaVal.

  “Jarvis.”

  “LaVal, Erica Shaw from B&B returning your call.”

  “How are you?” his voice was husky, and he made small talk before getting down to the nature of his call.

  “I’m in New York at the end of the week, and there’s something that I’d like to discuss with you. Can we meet?”

  “Of course,” Erica replied, and scribbled down the appointment.

  Warren’s message stared at her from the desk, and although she was itching to call him, she balled it up and tossed it in the trashcan. Being hurt twice was not an option.

  Warren brought home some files from work, along with an 18-year-old single malt Scotch. The Knicks were playing, but it was no fun watching the game without Erica. Even when it was a weekday game, they would watch over the phone. Why hadn’t she returned his calls? Warren had left a message with her assistant, and tried her cell phone so many times that he felt as though he was becoming a stalker. He was ready to talk and clear the air. Could she have moved on?

  His bottom lip was still slightly swollen, and it had curbed his thirst to shed. The love affair he had with his trumpet was like being in a marriage—some days his lust was so strong that he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, while on others he didn’t want to be touched. Right now it was the latter, and he was glad that his band didn’t have rehearsal until Wednesday night.

  Blanche had offered to buy him a drink as he was leaving the office but he declined, deciding that it was best to put some space between them. He really hoped that she would get the hint. Alan seemed to be watching them, and the last thing Warren needed at work was Alan scheming behind his back, especially with Brett’s chest puffed out over Warren’s unannounced absence.

  Warren was used to getting looks from women, but lately they had become bolder. Monday night, a short-haired girl with a nice smile was practically throwing the booty at him when he got off stage. Warren was flattered, but he only wanted Erica. Once he made up his mind on something there was no turning back.

  Athan McKinley, the new Director of Publicity, had reported to the office, and Erica spent her days explaining campaigns and operations, while Claire carted him around to meetings showing him off like a brand new kitten. After a few days with him, it was clear to Erica that while Athan may have come with more publicity experience, she knew publishing. And the two professions were as different as swimming in a four-foot lake and deep-sea scuba diving. The fact that he had stolen her job and was benefiting from her knowledge was like a noose around her neck. Her only act of refuge had been leaving the office each day at five. No more working ten- to twelve-hour days. If Claire noticed the change, Erica d
idn’t care.

  She had read once that in a single day, 75 percent of an average person’s thoughts were negative, and as Erica moved through her day, her negativity went from thoughts to actions. She snapped at her assistant for forgetting to give her a message, cursed out the guy at the mail desk because two boxes of books that she needed were missing, accused the clerk at the deli of giving her the wrong change, pushed her way onto the subway, knocking a too-skinny woman out of the way so that she could squeeze into the last seat. Her day had been out of sorts, and to remedy what was left of it, she stopped at the fish shop on the corner of 125th and Fifth Avenue and waited in line behind ten people for a large order of fried porgies, hush puppies, collard greens and potato salad. Nothing was more comforting than salty soul food, and she practically ran up the four flights of stairs to her apartment with her tongue dragging over the wet paper bag.

  Since she sent her mother back to Newark, and was passed up for the Director’s position, Erica couldn’t stand to be in her apartment alone, spending most of her time over at Tess’. Hercules had turned out to be another dud, and the girls distracted themselves from their man troubles by eating, listening to old music, and watching every Diana Ross movie that Tess could get her hands on. They drank woo woos by the pitcher, a drink made with peach schnapps, vodka, and cranberry juice. Tess swore the drink had healing powers and Erica didn’t complain because it helped her sleep through the night. But after so many consecutive nights of boozing, she couldn’t help wondering if her mother’s addictions had begun this way, couch-potatoing with a girlfriend while pity-partying over some man. She still hadn’t returned Warren’s calls, and once Tess heard the full story of Blanche, she called Erica a ditz.

  “I woulda slapped that bitch upside her head and kicked her out of the apartment. Sugar, I don’t know why you didn’t wait for Warren to come back. I’m sure there was a logical explanation,” Tess said every time the subject came up. But Erica had stopped listening. Tess was such a hopeless romantic that Erica had to take her advice in small doses. Erica was sick to pieces of feeling like a wheelbarrow on wobbly wheels, and although she missed Warren like an amputated limb, she was done. It was time for her to develop the thick skin of a rhinoceros and move on. She would only do what was necessary to survive, and once Erica had set her mind to something she could be as stubborn as the Arizona sun.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Love-Burdened Eyes

  Friday came like it did every week, and Erica was determined to have a good weekend from the minute she hit the lobby of her office building. She hopped the 1 train, which rattled uptown to 28th Street. She was meeting LaVal at the Plush Bar and Grill, a lounge with thatched ceilings and a bamboo-inspired theme restaurant that as of recently was getting a lot of play. The 28th Street station deposited her across the street from the restaurant, and when she swept through the doors, she made a mental note of how long she could stay. Erica needed LaVal to get to his point quickly. After their drink she had to hurry to midtown for Tess’ performance. She was the opening act, so Erica couldn’t afford to be late.

  He waved her over to a corner booth and jumped up to help her with her coat when she rounded the table. Erica felt his eyes on her back and tried not to quiver. It was the most male attention she had received in what felt like a long time.

  “Is this spot okay?” he asked, smoothing out his pecan-colored tie against another stylish suit. She could smell aloe vera on his hands when he slipped next to her in the wrap-around seat.

  Erica had a hard time that morning finding the right look, but had settled on a clingy wool dress with a floppy turtleneck and gold-beaded jewelry. It was still early, so the after-work crowd was sparse around the bar, with only two other couples sitting in the lounge area. Popular shoulder-moving music played at a volume that was good for conversation.

  “Mind if I order a few appetizers?” he asked when the waiter approached. Erica did mind, but nodded politely. What did he want? She tried not to look at her watch as he ordered a Pu Pu platter and two glasses of pinot noir.

  “I’m just getting in from Scottsdale. I had a lecture at the university and then squeezed in a few rounds of golf.”

  “You play?” she chuckled.

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  From the drug corners of Chicago to the exclusive golf courses in Scottsdale, LaVal Jarvis is sure to open the country’s eyes to a new breed of black men with his memoir, 365 Degrees of Change. Interesting, Erica thought.

  “What are you thinking?” he grinned, making those dimples pop, but she didn’t have the heart to utter such a rough pitch.

  “What did you want to discuss?”

  “My lectures. I’ve been receiving quite a few requests, and it’s getting harder for me to get back to everyone,” he paused. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in working for me part-time,” he placed his glass on the table.

  Erica studied him, wondering if this was some sort of trap. “I have a job.”

  “Just a side venture, I’d pay you a percentage of course.”

  “Why not hire a lecture agency?”

  The waitress brought the platter, and LaVal helped himself to a little of everything.

  “Because I don’t trust them, and they charge huge fees when I’m doing all the work.”

  “So you’re looking for cheap labor?” Erica reached for a spring roll. The aroma had made her hungry. Fried food was her new weakness.

  “Concentrated labor,” LaVal flashed his teeth. “You’re an enterprising woman, so I know you realize by now that a nine-to-five isn’t going to keep you satisfied.”

  Did he sense what she was dealing with at the office? It was a risky move. She was his publicist via B&B, and she was sure that there was something in the handbook that would say no to doing outside business with clients. Nonetheless, the opportunity intrigued her.

  “I need to think about it,” she placed her fork on her plate.

  “It’s a big decision, I know,” he wiped his mouth.

  Erica told him that she’d get back to him in a week or so and began gathering her things.

  LaVal dropped his napkin on his plate. “What are you doing later?”

  “A friend of mine is singing tonight.”

  “Can I tag along?” His eyes held hers.

  Erica hesitated. She didn’t want to say yes, but how could she say no? He had just offered her a job. Maybe Tess would find him interesting. She was on the rebound from her fling with Hercules and LaVal was fine.

  “Okay,” she reached for her coat, “but we have to hurry.”

  Erica had printed Tess’ email with the show’s information before leaving work, and was in such a rush that she stuffed it in her bag without reading it. LaVal was rambling on about his lecture in Scottsdale when she read out the address and realized that she was heading to the Iridium, the club where she met Warren. Why was this happening when she was on the verge of growing her rhinoceros skin?

  On the drive up the Avenue of the Americas, LaVal kept up the chatter, and although Erica nodded and laughed, she had let her mind wander to the details of that first time she and Warren came together. When the taxi pulled up to the curb, LaVal insisted on paying the fare and Erica didn’t have the time to fight him. Tess was going on in five, and the Iridium always began on time.

  Jazz clubs in New York City were notorious for cramming in more tables than was comfortable, and the Iridium was no exception. Erica followed the hostess to their table with her handbag pinned to her chest, saying excuse me and trying in vain not to bump her hip against people’s shoulders and heads. Tess had made the reservation, and since she was on the program, Erica’s table was front and center. The odd-shaped furniture, quirky gold-trimmed mirrors, and hanging light fixtures were what Erica remembered most from her many nights there with Warren. Nothing had changed.

  Three tables to the left was where she sat on the night she watched him struggle through one of the longer cuts of Miles Davis’ Sketches of
Spain. One table back and two tables to the right was where they had celebrated their one-year anniversary, and every table in between was where she had watched him jam session after session. The Iridium had been their place, and even though LaVal was just her client, it felt weird to be sitting there with him. Erica kicked herself for not reading the location on the flyer before allowing him to come.

  LaVal must have sensed something because he touched her elbow and then ordered them both dirty martinis. Alcohol was just what she needed, and as soon as the waitress returned with their drinks, the lights went down and on glided Tess. She had changed her hair to a jet-black straight ’do, which was tucked behind her ears, pinned with a lavender gardenia. Her mint dress criss-crossed at the breast, showing off mounds of cleavage dusted in glitter. The gardenia was her tribute to Billie Holiday, but when she parted her mouth, it was the whispery sound of Diana Ross that held the audience still.

  “That’s my friend,” Erica whispered.

  “She’s good,” he mumbled, but Tess was better than good. Her voice was surreal, like the first cry of a newborn, seconds after being pushed from the womb. Angelic. The room seemed almost afraid to breath for fear of missing a note.

  Shimming her hips halfway to the floor, Tess threw up her arms, and then belted out the last note, holding it longer than humanly natural. The audience was awestruck. Erica was the first on her feet, clapping until her palms stung.

  Tess’ signature was to bow three times before blowing two kisses and sashaying off the stage. No sooner than she did, the lights changed from bright yellow to the color of dust, and a horn started wailing in the wings. The sound was as pure as hungry chicks chirping, announcing the onset of spring. Suddenly, like warm sun pushing through thick clouds on a rainy day, the music opened into a soulful Sunday-morning swing. The lighting moved from dust to bright orange and Warren strolled onto the stage, with that cocky walk that was either to be admired or despised. He wore black from head to toe, and his almond skin glistened from the sheer joy of sharing his gift.