Brickhouse

by Rita Ewing

  “Well, Ms. Simms.” Reverend Watkins stood as they entered the room. “A surprise, but a pleasant one. I’m glad you decided to join us.”

  She remained stiff, her face stretched with seriousness as the reverend reached for her hand. “I’m sure you realize I have a special interest in this meeting …” She glanced down at her hand, which was still gripped inside his. She looked back at the reverend and raised her eyebrows.

  He smiled as his thumb caressed her fingers.

  Nona shivered as she snatched her hand from his grasp. In that moment, she wondered how the reverend kept his twenty-five-year-old Jheri curl so shiny.

  Reverend Watkins grinned, then nodded at Allen. “Please have a seat. We were just about to get started since we didn’t really expect anyone.” The reverend returned to his place at the head of the conference table. “No need to waste time; everyone knows how good this plan is for Harlem.” Reverend Watkins chuckled, and the men around the table joined him.

  Nona sat in one of the front-row seats and glanced at the participants. She knew everyone–the congressman whose district included Harlem; the councilman; the assemblyman; a community leader who had made his name as one of the cochairs for the Harlem Welcomes Former President Clinton Committee; the commissioner for the New York City Zoning Commission; and the mayor.

  Nona paused when she looked at the mayor. Anthony Leone gave her a quick nod, then lowered his glance to notes that rested in front of him. She frowned. Anna was her friend, but over the years, she’d come to think of Anthony the same way. But today the mayor didn’t seem friendly at all.

  She shook that thought away. This meeting was driving her into a sensitive emotional zone, and she didn’t need that. She needed to be aware, watch every move, study every gesture. Her instincts were screaming–something was going on here, and if she was going to win, she had to find out what it was.

  “Well, let’s get started.” The reverend leaned back and adjusted the pants legs of his light blue suit. “Obviously, this meeting is just a formality. Everything’s set. I’m going to review–”

  Nona raised her hand, but began speaking at the same time. “I didn’t realize that anything had been decided. I thought the reason for this meeting was to hear from those who are affected by having Harlem rezoned. To discuss the issues.”

  Reverend Watkins frowned and looked around the table as if he didn’t understand what language Nona was speaking. “Ms. Simms,” he began, not even looking at her, “what issues need to be discussed? It’s a known fact, the whole world agrees … this rezoning, as well as Harlem East, is wonderful for our community.”

  Nona stood. In her mind, she fast-forwarded through the words she’d rehearsed this morning in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She eased her knee-length suit skirt down a bit as the reverend’s eyes roamed up her legs. She took a deep breath. “I agree that Harlem East is a good thing for this community, but what I don’t understand is why rezoning has been added to this project. Three years ago when Harlem East was just a concept, I was one of the first people to support the plan because it was going to build, not destroy. But this plan now … to move every business into the mall–I don’t understand how this is good for the community.”

  “Oh, Ms. Simms.” The reverend chuckled as if he’d justheard a comical statement from a child. “Didn’t you have a chance to read the proposal?” He put on his glasses and glanced at a folder in front of him. “I know you were sent a package.”

  “I’ve read through everything–”

  “Then you know that this is a two-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar project designed to bring more corporate business into Harlem and as a by-product will create jobs, better housing–”

  “You do not need to review the benefits of Harlem East.”

  “Well, I thought I had to since you mentioned building our community. That’s what we’re doing.” Reverend Watkins finally looked at her.

  “I’m not talking about Harlem East as a project. I’m talking about forcing all businesses into the mall. It doesn’t make sense–expecting every Harlem resident to shop in one place.” Nona looked around the table, hoping to draw a response from someone other than the reverend. But every committee member’s eyes were focused on Reverend Watkins–as if it had been decided he was their only mouthpiece. James Pace, the Amsterdam News reporter, remained as bored as when she’d first entered the room.

  “It may not make sense to you, Ms. Simms, but it is clear to everyone else.” He paused and glanced around the table. The other members nodded in agreement. “The only reason we’ve been able to attract companies like IBM and Disney and major retailers like Macy’s, Sears, and Old Navy is because we have designed this project to draw people to Harlem East. We are getting the support of major corporations because we’re rezoning to bring businesses, and thereby more traffic, into the mall.”

  “Even if I were to buy that, what does this have to do with Brickhouse? Why would you need to close my busi-ness? Shutting me down is not going to increase business for Harlem East.”

  “Ah, now I see.” Reverend Watkins chuckled and looked around the table as if he’d finally understood the punch line of a joke. “This is personal for you, Ms. Simms.”

  “No, not personal. I’m just asking–”

  “You’re not thinking about what’s good for Harlem. You’re only concerned about yourself.”

  “I’m asking the question–”

  “Nona … may I call you Nona?”

  “No.”

  “Nona, there are many who are giving up something because our community means so much. You’ve got to see past Brickhouse and stop looking at just yourself.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m–”

  Reverend Watkins held up his hands. “You’ve made this all about you.”

  Nona took a step toward the conference table. “If you would just let me finish–”

  “There’s nothing for you to say. This is about the greater good–”

  “The greater good, my ass–” Nona almost screamed. From the corner of her eye, she saw James Pace perched on the edge of his chair, his pen racing across his reporter’s notepad.

  “Whoa, let’s not let this get out of hand.” The mayor’s voice was a welcome reprieve from the reverend’s.

  Allen stood and rested his hand on Nona’s shoulder, urging her back into her seat.

  “Now, the purpose of this hearing,” the mayor continued, “is to hear all positions.”

  “I agree, Anthony,” the reverend said to the man he sawmore as his buddy than as the leader of New York City. “But we can see just by the attendance at this meeting that the community agrees with us. We’ve had larger turnouts when we were nominating the dog-catching committee.” He was the only one who chuckled.

  Nona took a deep breath. “I don’t care who’s at this meeting and who’s not. I need to understand why Brickhouse has to be destroyed. For goodness’ sakes, my business is good for Harlem. I employ almost one hundred people, I pay more taxes, I support any cause that will build this community.”

  “But you’ve decided to end your support here.” The reverend smirked.

  “If you’re defining my support as closing down my business, then my support stops here.”

  Seconds later, the commissioner turned to Nona.

  “I don’t understand.” The commissioner frowned. “I thought you were in total agreement with this, Ms. Simms. I have to admit that I was surprised when I heard you had agreed–”

  The reverend coughed, then stood. “Listen everyone, we don’t need to get into details. It’s under control.”

  It was Nona’s turn to frown. What was the commissioner going to say? Her eyes moved between the commissioner and the reverend. She leaned back in her chair. Now she was sure. This smelled like one of the reverend’s schemes.

  The reverend turned to Nona. “Ms. Simms, I’m sure you can understand that we can’t stop the progress of an entire community for you. Now, we’re prepared t
o give you a buy-out as well as incentives for the restaurant you’re opening in the mall. And don’t worry … no one is planning on tearing down your precious Brickhouse. A real estate developer on the board believes we can turn that building into some jazzy condos.” The reverend looked at his watch. “This has gone on far longer than expected.”

  Nona sat still as the mumbles of agreement rose from the table. She felt as if she were in the twilight zone. Turn her gym into condos?

  “Unless there is any …” The reverend paused and looked at Nona. “Unless there is any new business, we need to review the financial packages that have been accepted with Harlem East.”

  Nona stood. “I’m putting every one of you on notice now,” she began, making eye contact with each man at the table. She’d worked with most on one committee or another. They all knew her commitment to Harlem. But they also knew that she was a fighter. “I’ve worked too hard to build a business to now lose it just because some …” She paused and looked at the reverend. “Because someone believes that closing my business is good for Harlem. I will not let that happen. Just understand that every company, every business that has committed to the mall will hear about this.” She grabbed her briefcase and stomped from the room, with Allen following her. In the silent instant that followed, the Amsterdam News reporter shot out of the room. He couldn’t wait to go to press with his latest scoop.

  Just before the conference room door closed behind them, Nona heard the mayor say, “Reverend Watkins, I think we have a problem.”

  Nona slammed her hand against the elevator button. She pressed it again and then turned toward the door marked “Exit.” Without a word, she trotted down the stairs.

  “Nona, slow down.” Allen puffed trying to keep up.

  She didn’t stop until they reached the lobby. “You knowthis is not about helping Harlem or anything else. This is only about benefiting that bootleg preacher up there.”

  Allen rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

  “I don’t know if this is about money, or power, or what. But I swear, Allen,” Nona said as she paced in front of the staircase door, “I’m going to stop that curl-wearing, polyester suit-loving excuse for a pastor.” The heels of her pumps clicked against the marble floor, accentuating each syllable as she spoke.

  “You’re … right,” Allen breathed. “I know … they’re up to something. Don’t worry; we’ll figure it out.” He paused as a wave of heat washed over his body. “Let’s talk about this at the office, but first I’ve got to find a restroom.”

  “Okay, are you riding back with me?”

  Allen nodded. “I took a cab over. I’ll meet you outside.” He watched as Nona dialed Ray from her cell phone to bring the Escalade around. The lobby security guard pointed him to the restroom.

  Allen sighed as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Beads of perspiration spotted his face like chicken pox. He turned on the faucet, allowing the water to get as cold as possible as he took off his tie. Then he lowered his head and splashed the water onto his face. He kept the water coming until he couldn’t stand the ice-cold fluid anymore.

  His eyes were closed as he reached for a paper towel and was surprised when one was handed to him.

  “Oh … thanks,” he said wiping the water away. When he opened his eyes, the reverend stood, leaning against the adjacent sink.

  “Not feeling well, Allen?”

  He looked at the reverend for a moment, then turned back to the mirror. “What can I do for you, Watkins?”

  “Ah, a man who gets straight to the point. I like you.”

  Allen thought of a million retorts, but stayed silent. He dried his hands, then turned to the door. “Have a good day, Reverend.”

  “We have a mutual friend.”

  Allen shook his head. There was no way he shared any associates with the reverend. He reached for the doorknob.

  “Talmadge.”

  Allen stopped.

  “Talmadge Williams.”

  He felt as if he were being swallowed by the air.

  “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” the reverend queried.

  The reverend repeated the name, and each time, Allen felt as if he lost four beats of his heart. He finally faced the reverend.

  Reverend Watkins had been standing with his arms crossed, but now he took a step toward Allen. “I thought that would get your attention.”

  Allen felt as if his tonsils had swollen, blocking his ability to speak. It took seconds for him to say, “What do you want?”

  “Well, first, tell our friend Talmadge I said hello.”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  The reverend gave a short chortle, then looked at his watch. “I don’t have time to play chicken with you, so here’s what I know. Talmadge is your long-term drug supplier. I wonder what Nona would think about that.”

  Allen hoped his face didn’t show his relief. This was nothing new. Everyone knew that he had had a problem once. But it was long gone–at least in the minds of everyone else.

  “Watkins, Nona knows what I did years ago. But shealso knows that I’ve worked long and hard to break that addiction,”

  “So Nona knows that you were late to this meeting because you were filling up on your supply?”

  The room was now airless, and Allen felt as if he were spinning with the questions that swirled in his mind. How did the reverend know where he’d been? How did he know that Allen was running late? What else did he know?

  As if reading his thoughts, the reverend continued, “The rest of the world might think you’re a recovered steroid abuser, but I know the truth. You’re back on that stuff again, Allen.” He paused. “And by the looks of you, I won’t have any problem proving it.”

  Allen used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

  The reverend continued, “If the police were standing outside that door right now, could you guarantee that you’d be free after a body search?”

  Before he could think about it, Allen tapped the pocket inside his jacket, then pulled his hand away as the reverend laughed.

  “I wonder what would happen to Nona if it was revealed that drugs were being supplied through Brickhouse.”

  “That’s not true,” Allen yelled, then lowered his voice. “No one is selling drugs out of Brickhouse.”

  “Oh, really. What about Todd, the mayor’s son? Where did he get the drugs that killed him?”

  Allen had to hold on to the wall to steady himself.

  The reverend said, “Oh, yes. This could be interesting news for the mayor.”

  “You could never prove anything.”

  “You know what’s great about this, Allen? I don’t have to prove anything. Just a few phone calls to the right peoplewill have this city buzzing. I may even be able to get a criminal investigation started. Doesn’t Nona have a daughter? What would happen to her if her mother ended up in jail?”

  He snatched the reverend’s polyester lapels before he could stop himself. “Nona has nothing to do with this,” he growled.

  “I … know … that.” Reverend Watkins shook himself free from Allen’s grasp and shoved him aside. “But it doesn’t have to be true. I need to place just enough innuendos to keep this in the news until the rezoning is complete … and Brickhouse is gone.”

  Allen squeezed his hands into fists.

  “Now the way I want to do this, Nona would walk away with quite a package. She’d get compensation for her club …” He paused and held up his hands, stopping Allen from speaking. “I know it’s a pittance compared to what she’d earn, but she’ll still have her restaurant in the mall.” He paused again and snapped his fingers as if he had a sudden thought. “And you know what I’ll do? To show you the kind of man I am, I’ll throw in a bonus. I’ll rent Nona an additional space in the mall. She can open … a juice bar or something.”

  “Nona doesn’t want the pennies you’re throwing at her. And she doesn’t want a juice
bar. She’s worked hard to build Brickhouse,” Allen said through clenched teeth. “We’re going to fight for that.”

  “I don’t think so.” The reverend shook his head. “I have enough on you to shut Brickhouse down, and then Nona won’t get a thing.”

  “You won’t be able to do that,” Allen said, although his strength and his conviction were fading.

  “Oh, Allen, I’ve taken down men much greater than you. Do you really want to take that chance? Nona could lose her business and her reputation.”

  “You are a–”

  “Whatever you call me, it’s nothing compared to what you are.” The reverend took a step closer. “You’re a stonecold murderer. And that alone will bring Nona, and her business, and her family, all tumbling down. And you, my friend, will be the cause of Nona Simms’s great fall.”

  Allen pressed his lips together.

  “So do you want to test me?” When Allen stayed quiet, the reverend said, “I didn’t think so.”

  “What do you want?”

  His laugh lasted for long seconds. “Nothing much. Just convince Nona to move Brickhouse somewhere else. Far, far away from Harlem. I don’t want her taking her clients with her.”

  Allen frowned. “Why would you care about her clients?”

  The smirk disappeared from Reverend Watkins’ face. “You’ve got your own business to worry about. Stay out of mine. Just do what I told you to do … or else.” He turned to the mirror and straightened the collar on his jacket before he walked toward the door. “And one last thing. Don’t you ever put your hands on me again.” He brushed past Allen, leaving him trembling in the middle of the public bathroom.

  Nona clicked off her cell phone the moment Allen climbed into the SUV. “What took you so long? Was there a line in the men’s room?”

  “Yeah.” Allen leaned back against the soft leather seat as the Escalade rolled away from the curb and turned south onto Frederick Douglass Boulevard.

  Nona laughed, but then eyed Allen. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing,”

  “It’s Reverend Watkins, isn’t it?”

  Allen’s eyes widened. “What … do you mean?”