by Rita Ewing
But once they exited on 125th Street, she pushed thoughts of work aside, relishing the fact that she was now truly home. They moved slowly in the heavy traffic, but Nona didn’t mind. There were faster routes, but Ray knew Nona loved this street. The slower they moved, the better for her. It gave her a chance to really welcome herself home as she soaked up the atmosphere of the place she loved so much.
An eclectic mix of the past and present, 125th Street was lined with buildings that had been standing since the turn of the century–five-story walk-ups that housed families who had lived in the neighborhood for as many generations.
But the old Harlem was being infiltrated by the new. The Apollo Theatre stood in all its glory, the sound of decadesof music almost audible even through the closed windows of her truck. Yet not far away, a crowd gathered under the green and cream striped awning of Starbucks, where young black professionals sipped three-dollar cups of coffee and waited for an occasional glimpse of former President Clinton arriving at or leaving from his Harlem office.
They turned onto Lenox Avenue and headed south, toward 116th Street. Seventy-five minutes after she got off the airplane, they entered the parking lot of Brickhouse. Ray slowed the car as they passed parked Mercedes, Lexuses, and Jaguars with license plates covering the tristate area.
Nona peeked through the window at the massive three-level redbrick structure–her second home. It was an old factory that had been renovated to become what Muscle and Fitness magazine called “the sleekest gym in America.”
The SUV barely came to a stop before Nona opened the door. She smiled as Allen Wade trotted down the brick stairs toward her. Even after all their years working together, she still marveled at Allen’s Hollywood good looks. She almost laughed now as she remembered their first meeting and how she’d mistaken him for Rick Fox. Nona probably would have been offended that Allen had never tried to ask her out back in the day, but she had been so fixated on her plans for her gym, the thought of dating her business partner never crossed her mind.
“Hey, you,” she exclaimed.
Allen grinned and pulled her into his massive arms. “How’s my girl?” He squeezed her tightly
She rested for a moment against his large, muscular frame. “Tired and glad to be home.” She turned back to the car. “Ray, can you and Marco take my bags over to my place? Odessa’s there.”
Ray nodded. “Will you need anything else this evening, Ms. Simms?”
Nona shook her head and wished again that Ray would call her by her first name. But after almost two years as her driver, he said he felt more comfortable with “Ms. Simms.” “I’ll drive my car home tonight,” she said as she took Allen’s hand and climbed the steps into the building. “It’s still here, isn’t it?” she asked Allen teasingly.
He nodded and laughed.
“So, how are things?”
“No questions until we’re in your office and you tell me how much you missed me.” He smiled. Allen had a natural flirtatiousness about him, but when it came to Nona, he remained the consummate professional.
Nona laughed, but gave Allen a long glance. There was humor in his words, but not in his tone. And the glow in his light brown eyes had dimmed.
They walked through the wide reception area, filled with the early after-work crowd.
“Hey, Nona.”
“Good to see you, Ms. Simms.”
“Oh, no. You’re back. I’m still hurting from your last class.”
Nona chuckled and waved to the clients, feeling as if she were walking through the airport once again. They moved through the long narrow hall, past the administrative offices, to her office suite in the back of the building.
“It’s good to have you back.” Sarah grinned from her desk outside Nona’s office. “The drums are beating overtime. Everyone knows that you’re returning today, and the phones haven’t stopped ringing. Should I put your calls through now?”
Nona shook her head. “Pretend I’m not back … yet.” She grinned and pulled Allen into her office.
It was a private haven. Soft earth tones covered the plush furniture, and the massive white oak desk was different from the streamlined chrome, glass, and steel designs throughout the rest of Brickhouse.
When Nona closed her office door, she lost her smile. “So tell me, what’s going on?”
The ends of Allen’s lips turned down a bit. His eyes darkened, becoming almost as black as his jet hair. “You know me, don’t you?”
“Being best friends has to count for something more than free workouts. Now stop stalling. Tell me.”
Allen sighed, walked across her wide office, and reached for an envelope on top of the pile of mail stacked high on her desk. He handed it to her.
Nona scanned the manila envelope with the green card attached that signified the letter had been sent certified.
“It’s not good news,” Allen whispered. “It’s from Reverend Watkins and the Harlem Empowerment Office–specifically, the rezoning committee.”
Nona frowned. “Is this about the new mall off Harlem River Drive? What’s it being called again?”
Allen lowered himself into one of the massive cream chairs in front of the desk. “Harlem East. They announced the name at a groundbreaking ceremony three days ago. It seems they’ve devised a strategy to force businesses into the new retail complex. They’re rezoning, turning this entire area into a residential-only zone.” He allowed his last words to settle before he continued, “From the look of things, Reverend Watkins and his cronies have the support they need to do it.”
“What?” she gasped.
Allen knew he didn’t have to explain further. But he continued. “That would mean Brickhouse wouldn’t be able to stay in Harlem.”
Nona sank into the plush chair behind her desk. “Why would–”
“So that every major retail business has to operate from Harlem East. This is all being done with the mayor’s, City Council’s, and New York City Zoning Commission’s blessing.”
Nona stared at Allen for a long moment, then she stood. She paced behind her desk. “Are these people crazy?” she asked, stopping in front of Allen. “So you’re telling me they’re going to close every business in Harlem that is not part of the new mall?”
Allen nodded. “All retailers east of Frederick Douglass Boulevard that are over a certain size. Only the smallest of the mom-and-pop shops and street vendors will be safe.”
“That’s ludicrous. Besides it being crazy to try and force everyone in Harlem to shop in one place, don’t these people understand that they’re going to be destroying businesses?”
“The plan offers compensation–if you close down or move your business into the new mall. In your letter it says that the mortgage on this building will be completely paid. Guess whoever sent out this form letter doesn’t know that you paid off your mortgage a long time ago.”
“They can’t really expect me to leave this building that I own and then rent forty thousand square feet in the mall.”
Allen nodded.
“That’s insane. Those developers are charging a premium–midtown leasing rates for that space. Not to mention that moving this gym out of this residential area would be operational suicide. People go to malls to shop and to eat. Not to work out.”
“I think they realize Brickhouse will be out of business,” Allen whispered, as if he didn’t want to speak the words too loud. “It just doesn’t matter to them.”
“But what about all the taxes we pay, all the people we employ?”
Allen shrugged. “From what I’ve been able to find out, we’re nothing compared to the plans Reverend Watkins has for Harlem East.”
“So he’s just going to push me out? Make me walk away from my business?” Nona’s voice rose a decibel with each syllable. “We built Brickhouse from the ground up. I own this building, and no one is going to take this away just because some insane, Bible-thumping, Al Sharpton-wannabe has decided that Harlem needs a mall. Has everything become so political?”
Allen stood and raised his hands in the air. “Calm down, Nona. Remember, you thought the mall was a good idea.”
“I thought it was a good idea before this.” She picked up the envelope, then slammed it on her desk. “I agreed to put my restaurant in the stupid mall …”
“I know.”
“Reverend Watkins gets my commitment and my money for the restaurant and then he does this?” she screamed.
“I know you’re upset, Nona, but–”
“Upset?” She squeezed her hands into fists. “No one has seen upset yet.” She turned toward the glass wall behind her desk. Cars and buses fought for their space along Lenox Avenue. Pedestrians rushed from the subway to catch buses, or strolled on the street, stopping in the market, or cleaners, or liquor store on the corner. She could see the new yogurt shop that had opened across the street. Many of her clients purchased protein smoothies after their workout from there instead of from Brickhouse’s restaurant. But Nona didn’t mind. There was enough business for all of them. It was about everyone doing well. At least, that’s what she thought.
She turned and pointed her finger at Allen. “I think Reverend Watkins had this plan all along. You know he’s known for underhanded schemes. He always planned to rezone and push me out. But he figured I was in too deep. That I’d already committed to my restaurant in Harlem East, and that would be enough for me. I’d let Brickhouse go, but I’d still do the restaurant with him because I’d never say no to Harlem …”
“And he’s right,” Allen whispered. “You could have chosen any city in the world for your next venture, and you insisted that the restaurant be here. Reverend Watkins had nothing to do with that.”
Nona crossed her arms and tried to breathe deeply. But all she could feel was the pounding in her chest.
“Nona, maybe you could meet with Reverend Watkins–”
She held up a hand, stopping her friend. There was no way she’d meet with that son of a–"I should just pull the plug on everything. Take my business and my money and walk away.”
But even as she spoke, she knew she wouldn’t do it. And she didn’t have to look at Allen to know that he knew this was only her anger speaking.
Harlem was more than her home; it was her mission. She had built her business as much for herself as for the community where she’d been born and raised. Harlem flowed through her blood in a way that few could understand. She remembered how her fellow students at Barnard College had looked at her when she told them she was from Harlem. Their eyes said what their lips were too polite to speak–Harlem, oh, my goodness. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that at least while they were in school, they were residents of Harlem too.
Although the students at Barnard never uttered their dis-dain, others were not so kind. She couldn’t count the number of well-meaning fans who suffered from foot-in-mouth disease.
“You’re from Harlem and you still live there? Why? Aren’t you making money?”
“Don’t you have a child? How can you raise her in Harlem?”
“Aren’t you afraid to go out at night?”
With as wide a smile as she could muster, she addressed their comments, chalking up the stupid statements to the fact that these people didn’t know what she knew. That Harlem was a true community, where she knew everyone who lived in the building she’d grown up in across the street from Marcus Garvey Park. That she was blessed to live in a multicultural city where she learned Spanish from the girls in her Girl Scout troop who lived in Spanish Harlem, and French from the Haitian women who sold their native wares on the street. That her neighbors were in her life as much as her own parents.
Harlem was her home, her love, her past and future. No matter what kind of hardball the reverend and the Harlem Empowerment Office were playing, she would stand firm at home plate.
Nona turned back to Allen and blinked to keep the tears from her light brown eyes.
Allen moved to her and pulled her into his arms. “We’ll get through this. I believe you’ll be able to keep Brickhouse exactly where it is and open your restaurant in the mall.”
She leaned back. “Sounds like you’ve got a plan.”
He nodded, directed her back to her seat, and then perched himself on the edge of the desk. “It’s going to be a battle, but it’s a war we can win. The only thing is that you’re going to have to fight this from the front line.”
She squinted and motioned for him to continue.
“The community will rally behind you, Nona,” he said. “The people know you and what you’ve done. We’re a faithful group of people.” He paused. “Remember O.J.? And you have a much better reputation,” he joked, trying to lighten the moment.
She almost smiled as she nodded at his words. Yes, she had built quite a name. When God granted the miracle allowing her to buy this building, it had been as much of a blessing for Harlem as it had been for her. She’d become a major employer–with almost one hundred employees. And she poured her dollars back into the community. She advertised in the local newspapers, used local suppliers, and contributed to any Harlem-based fund-raiser–from supporting the new day care center to speaking at the annual Harlem Hospital Kids’ Day program. She was so recognizable that many times people cheered when she walked down the street.
“But …” Allen’s voice forced her away from her thoughts. “There’s a catch to all of this.”
She remained silent.
“You’re going to have to be here to make sure this happens.” Allen leaned toward her. “You’re going to have to change your focus. The book tour, the appearances, all of the traveling is going to have to stop … for now. You have to spend time reestablishing your old ties … going to the other neighborhood businesses, speaking at churches … depending how things go, even leading a neighborhood rally. You’ll have to become the politician, building your own support base so that it’s more than just you saying no to Reverend Watkins.”
Nona nodded.
“I think you should start by contacting other businesses,but you’ll have to do it rather quickly The first hearing is in two weeks.”
Nona stayed quiet, staring at Allen, absorbing his words. Finally she said, “I can do it. I’d already decided to slow down a bit and stay closer to home,” she said. She needed to cut back, not just for this rezoning issue, but there was something far more important than all of this–she had to make time for Kelly. “Let’s do it.” She felt suddenly rejuvenated by Allen’s talk.
The door to her office burst open, and Toni Lee glided in as if she were floating on a magic carpet. She was dressed in a winter-white pants suit, with a matching ankle-length cape draped over her shoulders. Her blond hair hung straight, blending in with her outfit. Her green eyes sparkled as she smiled wide.
“You are here,” Toni exclaimed as if she were surprised. “Sarah wasn’t at her desk.”
Nona wanted to be annoyed. Her friend had, after all, blown into her office while she was in the middle of this important issue. But Toni’s glow only made Nona smile.
“It’s so good to see you.” Toni’s words slipped through her lips in her affected actor’s tone. With one hand, she flung her cape over a chair, and with the other, she tossed a gold envelope onto Nona’s desk. “You’re both coming, right?” Toni asked, placing one hand on her hip.
Nona matched Toni’s stance. “What ever happened to ‘Hello, Nona. How was your trip, Nona? How are you, Nona?’ “ She rolled her eyes, feigning frustration. “This ain’t no scene in one of your movies, girlfriend. If you keep this act up, you can just turn around and waltz your li’l butt right out of here.”
Allen laughed as he watched the two friends, knowing their usual tag-team banter was about to begin.
Toni fluttered her French-manicured fingernails in the air as if the motion would cast Nona’s words aside. “Just look at you. Obviously, everything went well.” Toni fell into the chair. “So, are you coming,” she asked, glancing at the envelope on the desk.
Nona sighed
and picked up the packet. “What is this?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Toni paused. “I know you didn’t forget the premiere. Love’s Desires is opening, and I must have the two of you there.” Her eyes moved between Nona and Allen. “It’s going to be more fabulous than my last picture.”
“Really? I didn’t think anything could surpass Scandalous.”
Toni didn’t seem to notice Nona’s sarcasm. She moved to the edge of her seat. “You know who’s going to be there?”
Nona sat behind her desk. Toni had been her friend for more than five years, but she still amazed her. Nona would have loved to talk to her friend about her issues–the rezoning challenges, Kelly, everything. But that would never happen. At least not yet. Not until they exhausted every issue in Toni’s life.
Nona sighed. The self-centered, egotistical, top-billed actress also had a golden heart. Toni had come to Nona’s rescue on countless occasions–the most important time being when she helped Nona get the financing for Brickhouse.
When Nona was finally ready to move to a much larger facility, she had taken her expertly honed business proposal to every major lending institution in Manhattan. Not one loan officer had been willing to risk such a large investment on this black woman, even though Nona was no novice. She came to the table with credentials, experience, a sizable amount of her own money, and an already profitable operation. If the money brokers weren’t willing to give her a loan, she couldn’t imagine whom they would finance.
Then Toni stepped in. She introduced Nona to one of her past suitors, John Bradford–a very young, very handsome, very savvy manager of a private asset management group. It was a wealthy group of private investors who afforded Nona the opportunity to break ground for Brickhouse.
It had turned out to be a win-win situation for everyone. Nona had her business and had paid back her investors in record time at a handsome interest rate. Today she owned Brickhouse free and clear, with no regrets, and only Toni to thank.
“So, who’s going to be there?” Nona finally asked, knowing that Toni would not leave until she had poured out all her news.