The Come Up

by Nia Forrester

  Makayla watched as Jamal squinted in confusion. “An all-staff meeting? Since when?”

  All-staff meetings almost never happened. The company was too large for that, so generally, anything huge that needed to be conveyed was done in separate but simultaneous department meetings. There had only been one since Makayla had been at SE, when a rumor had been floated that the company was going public. The rumor was untrue, but the rumor caused enough nervousness that Chris thought it important to address it personally. Going public could mean people were getting rich if they had stock options, or it could mean they were getting fired so to tamp down any panic, an all-staff meeting had been called and everyone’s questions answered.

  “It’s been on the calendar for a while,” DeJuan said.

  “Well I never saw it.” Jamal looked at Makayla and she thought he seemed torn.

  “All staff,” DeJuan said again. “So … you too.” And since he didn’t seem inclined to leave without them, Makayla and Jamal followed him toward the elevators.

  On the ride down to the atrium, the only place in the building large enough for everyone, Makayla heard Jamal sigh with what sounded like frustration. She felt the same way. For a second there, it felt like they were going to have an actual breakthrough. But it could wait. He obviously wanted to have the conversation, and that was a lot more than she’d believed to be true less than a half hour ago.

  The elevator doors slid open and just as they stepped off, the cheers and whistles and applause was deafening. For a few moments, Makayla was disoriented, wondering what was up, and then Brendan Cole was there, putting an arm around Jamal’s shoulder and ushering him forward to a small temporary stage that had been erected near the security desk. At the podium onstage, Chris Scaife waited, along with what looked like all the department heads. Jamal looked shell-shocked as Brendan led him up to where Chris had taken hold of the mic and was motioning for everyone to simmer down. A few lone whistles pierced the space once more and then it was quiet.

  “It was hell of a feat pulling this off,” Chris said into the mic. The crowd laughed. “But we did it.”

  Everyone erupted into applause once again, and again, Chris had to get them to quiet down. Then he grinned and shook his head, looking at Jamal. From where she stood, still near the elevators, Makayla thought he even looked emotional.

  “This … this motherfucker right here,” Chris said. More laughter. He gave Jamal some dap. “This company was built on his hard work as much as it was on mine. And some years, more so on his work than mine.” He took a deep breath. “And see, for about two years now, I think Jamal’s been laboring under a misconception. And the misconception is this: he thought that because I might be planning to step down, he had to compete with a bunch of other qualified candidates to take over day-to-day operations, as chief operating officer.

  “But lemme tell you, the truth is, there never was any competition.” Chris looked at Jamal, nodding. “There never was, man. It was always gon’ be you. Some of you don’t know the kind of dude he is. You may know that he’s a lawyer, and he’s got business sense and that he can pick a star and make a star like no one else in this game. And maybe you know his … dating history.”

  More laughter.

  “But what you might not know, is his heart. When I lost so much money one year, back in the day that I couldn’t even afford to pay him, he had my back. When I was out running around and acting a fool instead of takin’ care of business he had my back. And when my wife …” Chris’ voice actually cracked as he spoke. “When my fiancée almost died, he had my back. He had her back. That’s the kinda dude he is. So today, nothing gives me more pleasure than to announce Jamal Turner’s appointment, not as chief operating officer, but as chief executive officer, CEO, of Scaife Enterprises.”

  As the cheers and applause went up, Makayla felt the tears on her face. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could barely see Jamal’s face through the crowd and from that distance. But she knew him well enough to know that he was probably feeling similar things. Similar but much more profound. He’d done it. He made it to where he wanted to be, and even higher. As CEO, he wasn’t just going to be the top guy executing what were largely other people’s decisions; he was the decision-maker.

  “I considered a lot of things,” Chris was saying now. “Giving him a COO function and keeping my place as president and CEO. Working less, but keeping the title. But nah, he damn sure deserves it all. And as for me, I think it was Russell Simmons that once said, ‘I’ve done well, but now it’s time for me to do some good.’”

  Suddenly, Brendan Cole grabbed the mic. “Nah,” he said, looking at Chris. “I’ma let you finish, Chris …” The room howled for almost a minute. “I’ma let you finish, but I just wanted to point out that Russell did not say that. I was the one who said that. East Hampton, the summer of 2012 at …”

  Chris grabbed the mic back from Brendan Cole and shook his head. “That dude was never under consideration, just so you know. Anyway. Jamal Turner, y’all …” And then he handed over the mic to Jamal who took it, still shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Remember this day, folks. Jamal Turner is speechless.” Brendan called out. “You won’t see that again!”

  “I am,” Jamal said finally. “I don’t know what to …” He looked at Chris. “Man …”

  Watching him struggle for words, Makayla smiled. It was true. This would never happen again. And then, as he fought back the emotion, someone else got up on stage. It was Madison. She walked up to Jamal and put her arms around him, pulling him into a long, heartfelt hug as everyone cheered.

  Backing away from the scene, unable to sort through the complex mix of elation for Jamal, but hurt and jealousy at who he was sharing the moment with, Makayla hit the elevator call button. The door opened immediately—because of course everyone was in the atrium—so within moments, she was ascending, the distance between her and the celebratory scene below growing thankfully wider by the second.

  22

  Almost immediately it began, from the very day of the announcement—the whirlwind of interviews with press, meetings with other CEOs, business partners, board members and staff. Jamal had spent so much time contemplating getting the gig that he didn’t know that he’d ever truly thought about what it would be like to have it. Every other day, he was on a plane with Chris. And when he was with Chris, he wasn’t flying commercial, he was flying private as they went to personally answer the questions, allay any fears and solidify old relationships. As a company that was so heavily associated with a single personality, SE became vulnerable when that personality stepped aside. And Chris was no-kidding-around stepping aside. Jamal was going to be President and CEO, heading up SE’s board as well as running the company.

  In his few quiet moments, alone in his apartment, when his native confidence faltered, Jamal hoped he was up to the task. Practically overnight, he’d gone from running one of the smallest, albeit most successful departments in the company, to being in charge of the whole damned thing. Of course, there was going to be the six-month onboarding process, when he would basically shadow Chris, but at the same time, he was going to have to manage the hiring process for his replacement in development and keep that department on its toes. DeJuan was dropping hints that he wanted to be the guy, but Jamal already knew he couldn’t give him the nod.

  DeJuan was effective as a second-in-command, but his moral compass was faulty. Unless he was able to get that in check, he would never advance beyond the number two spot. So they were doing a national search.

  I bet you didn’t know how good you were until you had to think abouth replacing yourself, Robyn said to him over dinner one night.

  He’d been having a lot of dinners with the Scaifes lately, either socially or because he just happened to be there working with Chris when dinner time rolled around. He almost hadn’t had time to think about Makayla. Almost. Truthfully, he never really stopped thinking about her, especially now that he never saw her anymo
re. The day after the announcement, he was on a plane to Paris with Chris to talk to the folks over there. And since then it had been wall-to-wall trips, then back in New York for a couple days, then on the road again.

  Every night he was in New York, he did one of two things—went to the Scaifes, or went to sleep. There was no room for anything more than that. Madison was often at the Scaifes too, mostly by Robyn’s design. It seemed his friend’s plan to get him married off was back in high gear now, and since she’d heard that he and Madison had a few dates, she was doing her part to ensure that it turned into more. Jamal’s head was too full to even think about that. Full of the weight of his new responsibilities. Full of Makayla.

  Now, he was sitting on the tarmac at JFK, having just landed after a trip to Atlanta for more glad-handing. Chris had bowed out on this one so he’d handled it alone. The deference he got from folks, just with the impending change in his status was a little disorienting. He was the same guy, meeting with people he’d worked with for years, and yet their attitude had changed. Someone who had called him ‘Jamal’ for at least ten years now called him “Mr. Turner.” Never mind that even Chris didn’t like being called ‘Mr. Scaife.”

  Jamal definitely wanted the job, but the ivory tower was looking a little cold.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the flight attendant announced. “You are now free to use your handheld devices, as long as they are within reach but we ask that you remain seated until the plane parks at the gate.”

  Jamal pulled out and turned on his phone, listening to the series of chimes from voicemail and text messages sent while he was in the air. Scrolling through them all, he saw that they were all business-related, with the exception of one from Madison, asking him to call when he landed, so they could have dinner. He considered doing just that, but didn’t feel like it. Instead, he tapped out a text message.

  Hey. How’s the new job?

  Waiting for a few minutes, Jamal almost gave up and put the phone away when a response came through. It’s fine. I should ask you the same. Congratulations, Mr. CEO.

  Thank you. That was a hell of an interruption. We still didn’t get to talk.

  It’s fine. You’ve been busy, came Makayla’s answer. But how are you, really?

  Jamal smiled. She always asked him that when they talked on the phone. When they used to, anyway: how are you really?

  In other words, ‘not the socially-acceptable answer, the real one’.

  I’m tired, he answered honestly. Lots of planes and cars.

  Where are you now?

  Just landed in NYC.

  Welcome home.

  Thanks.

  And like a conversation that had grown awkward, neither of them said anything more. Twice Jamal saw the ellipsis that indicated that Makayla was typing, but no message came through, so whatever she’d been planning to say, clearly she’d changed her mind.

  While he deplaned, Jamal checked his phone a couple times more, but she said nothing more. When he got out of the terminal and was hailing a cab, it chimed and he grabbed it out of his pocket so fast he almost dropped the damn thing as he climbed into the backseat and slung his carry-on onto the seat next to him.

  When are you leaving again? she asked.

  Day after tomorrow, he typed out.

  Oh. Well, safe travels.

  “Safe travels?” he said out loud. “What the hell does that mean? She doesn’t want to hear from me between now and then?”

  “I think it means she wants you to have a safe trip, buddy,” his cab driver said.

  _______________

  “Did I overlook an email from you, Jamal?”

  He sighed. “No, Robyn. You didn’t.”

  “How am I supposed to plan a party for you if you don’t send me a list of people you want to be there?”

  “Well, you could always, I don’t know, not plan the party.”

  Robyn looked at him across the table, her face expressionless.

  They were having lunch in SE’s cafeteria. It had come to that. This was the first full week he had been in the office since his appointment, and leaving the building at all during lunch, unless it was a working lunch, was darn near impossible. The day before, he’d done four back-to-back interviews of candidates to replace him, and today it was just going to be clearing up a backlog of paperwork on his desk. The last thing he wanted to do was think about a party.

  “For god’s sake, Jamal, don’t turn into Christopher. You used to love a party!”

  “I do. I just don’t have time to think about stuff like that right now. Just … use your discretion. We know the same people more or less.”

  “This is why you need a wife,” Robyn said in a sing-song voice.

  “Don’t start with that.”

  “So how’re things with Madison?”

  “I don’t know. Ask her.”

  Robyn put down her turkey sandwich and wiped her hands on the napkins from her tray, her face. “Don’t sleepwalk your way into a relationship if you’re not sure you want it, Jamal. Believe me. Been there, done that.”

  He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’ve been pressuring you a little bit …”

  “A little bit?” He laughed.

  “Okay, a lot. But I’m not invested in any specific person. And you’re always so … dispassionate when you talk about Madison, so …”

  “She’s a’ight. I enjoy her company,” Jamal shrugged.

  “Enjoy her company?” Robyn rolled her eyes. “I enjoy Mrs. Lawson my housekeeper’s company. Anyway …” She sighed. “Did you want me to invite Makayla to the party?”

  Jamal looked up and laughed. “Will you stop it?”

  “Stop what?”

  “If you want to ask me something, ask me.”

  “What happened with her? You two were dating and then … kaput. And then Madison was back on the scene, and now …”

  “Makayla is twenty-six years old. She’s still in grad school.”

  Robyn wrinkled her brow. “And …”

  “And when things blew up with Devin Parks, things blew up with us as well.”

  “And … did you want that?”

  “Yeah,” Jamal said. “I wanted things to blow up.”

  Robyn looked at him. “What happened to you? You’re not funny anymore, you’re snide. Maybe you need some rest.”

  Or to get laid. He hadn’t had sex in almost two months. That had to be a record for him. He and Madison, though they had rekindled their dating, hadn’t done any kindling of another type. Jamal’s theory, which was beginning to seem flawed even to him, was that he already knew that he and Madison were sexually compatible. That wasn’t the question. The question was whether he could vibe with her beyond that.

  And so far, he wasn’t sure. They had dinners, during which they talked about her work, and about his transition process to CEO. Madison listened to him describe his trips, gave him good pointers for some of his meetings, and even gave him the names of contacts of hers he might find useful. But they rarely laughed, and never just hung out doing nothing. They weren’t … friends. She was “the woman he was dating” but nothing more.

  Even the kissing felt a little clinical.

  “I’ve got to head back to work,” Jamal said now. “Go ahead and invite Makayla to the party if you want.”

  Planning to take the elevator to his floor, on a whim, Jamal decided to make a stop a couple floors lower. When he got off, the floor receptionist perked up and smiled.

  “Mr. Turner,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  “Jamal,” he corrected her.

  “Jamal,” she said. “Can I announce you for someone?”

  “No one’s expecting me. But where can I find Makayla Hughes?”

  “She’s three doors down that hallway, on the left.”

  Jamal walked slowly, wondering what the hell was up with him. Robyn must be right. He was tired. Because no way was he … nervous?

  She was staring at her compute
r monitor. Frowning at it, really, forehead wrinkled and her cute bow lips bunched up tightly in a frustrated little pucker. She was wearing a blue blazer atop a white shirt, and her hair knotted at her nape. And, what was this? Makeup? In a matter of weeks, Makayla had developed a little more polish about her appearance, like she’d decided to become a junior executive or something.

  Jamal smiled and knocked on the open door. Makayla looked up and smiled so wide he imagined for a moment that she might come from behind her desk and jump all over him the way she had that time when he came back from L.A.—the same night it had all gone to shit.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Mr. Turner.”

  “Aw shit. Not you too.”

  Makayla laughed. “What does that mean?”

  Inviting himself into her office, Jamal looked over his shoulder and shut her door. “People have been acting real funny around me since, you know.”

  Makayla gave a funny, mock-mournful pout and then smiled. “Lonely at the top?”

  “Just lonely in general,” he said.

  Makayla’s smile disappeared. “Really? I see a lot of pictures that indicate otherwise.”

  There had been a few of him out with Madison, going to assorted functions around town in the last couple of months. Lately, he’d become a favorite target of photographers’ at industry events, now that his ascension was public knowledge.

  “Are those fact … or fiction?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “They’re not fiction. But … they’re not fact either.”

  Either he was crazy or that look in her eyes was hope.

  “How’s your grandmother?”

  “The same,” she said, but her voice seemed to indicate otherwise. Going from Makayla’s voice alone, he would guess that her grandmother wasn’t the same at all, but worse.

  “And … Devin?”

  “Better.”

  “I was thinking about him the other day,” Jamal said carefully. Devin was the fault-line in their relationship. Even now. “I’ve been doing all these meetings, and ran into this guy I know. He does independent consulting … for indie artists. So he does development work, but not with a label or anything. So if he was interested …”