by Grayson Cole
As if on cue, Lysette sauntered into her office and plopped down into a chair. “There is no such file, Nya honey.”
“What do you mean?” Nya asked, wrinkling her brow and swiveling from her computer to her desk. Her fingers flew over keys even though she had already searched their personnel database and come up empty-handed.
“There’s no record anywhere of us handling any work with the name Bernard French on it.”
Nya brought her hand up in front of her mouth and sat stricken with silence. How could that be?
“Funny, ain’t it?” Lysette added, leaning back in her chair.
Nya began twirling her pen. “That’s odd. I know that’s what was on the crates, I saw it. I’m sure of it.” She moved back to the computer again and tapped the name into the company’s database. Again, she came up with nothing. “Was he new? Why don’t you check the new artists up for the scholarship this year. We wouldn’t have actually ‘dealt’ in their work, but we’d probably have some.”
“I’ve done it already, honey, and there is nothing there.”
“But there has to be something.”
Lysette responded, “What I mean is, we don’t have a file on an artist named Bernard French. If he was a part of Art Sentries—”
“We know he was. We know he shared studio space with Rossi Fontana. We saw the picture of the kid in the paper. I saw his art bundled with the other three.” Nya’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“Yeah, I know. But I’m telling you we don’t have him in the system. Wait, you said ‘the other three.’ ”
“The other three scholarship recipients that were killed.”
“They didn’t all die at the same time.”
“No.”
“And they weren’t exactly friends.”
“No.”
“And their media was all different.”
“Yes.”
“So why would their work have been catalogued and shipped together, especially if we don’t even have one of them in the system so we can pay him?”
Nya pushed back in her chair. “I don’t know. That’s a good question. It may mean something, it may mean nothing. Can you find the manifest for that shipment for me? I still have the inventories, invoices, and manifests boxed up over there.” She waved to a stack of boxes in the corner of her office.
“You are really taking this administrative assistant thing too far. I don’t know how Tasha did this and answered phones up front.”
Nya wrinkled her nose.
“I love you anyway,” Lysette said with a sigh. Then she perked up. “Let’s talk about something fun.”
“I don’t want to talk about anything fun.”
Nya removed the long, slender rods holding her twists in place on her head and shook her hair out. “This Bernard French thing is going to drive me crazy. Did you ever get my mother on the line?”
“Hattie’s painting,” Lysette replied and Nya frowned. If Hattie was painting, there’d be no talking to her until she was finished.
“How long has she been at it?”
“Jerry says it’s been three days now. And, Nya, you really ought to talk to your sister. I mean, I talk to her more than you do.”
“Well, if Mama’s painting I won’t be able to get through for days. Knowing her, she knows I want to talk to her and she’s just being difficult.”
“Y’all fighting?”
“No, she’s just been trying to marry me off again. Seems like everybody is. And I do talk to Jenine. It’s just that every time I do, it’s Aaron this and Aaron that. I get enough of that newlywed nonsense from you.”
“You’re just jealous.” Lysette giggled. “Oh, your father called about fifteen minutes ago. I didn’t patch him through because I didn’t think you wanted to talk to him.”
“I didn’t,” Nya affirmed.
“Thought so, even though you know he’ll be calling back demanding to speak to you in no time. He said that he knew you were avoiding him, but that you wouldn’t be able to do so for very long, especially with this weekend being Hattiversary.”
Nya knew how true this was. Hattiversary was the biggest weekend in Hatsheput’s year and fell on the date of Hatsheput’s creation, November 17. Each year, the employees and executives alike got together to celebrate the birth of Hatsheput Industries through a weekend of fun and games. It would start Friday night “unofficially,” with the company party. This party was usually held at the Birmingham house which was now Nya’s and was a place where position and title were forgotten and everyone gathered for a good time of dancing and eating. After that it was the Saturday afternoon barbecue and fish fry where they would play games and collect prizes. Then that Saturday night was the Contributors’ Ball to be held at the galleries where the “friends” of Hatsheput, upper management, and the cream of Birmingham’s social crop would gather for, in Lysette’s vocal opinion, pulling up stockings, pulling down skirts, and pulling away from married men who got handsy after a couple drinks. However, Nya knew that Lysette would be there with bells on, and anything else that would get her in the Harrison Tribune’s full-color society spread.
Then Nya’s mouth dropped open. What was she going to wear? She looked at Lysette, whose eyes were squeezed shut anticipating the explosion. “Lysette, did you get me that dress last week?”
“Not exactly,” she replied. “See I was going to get it but there’s been so much going on these past couple of weeks what with preparation and everything. I didn’t have any time to do it until a couple of days ago and it was gone.” She smiled nervously.
“So do I have anything at all?”
Lysette shook her head.
“I can’t take much more of this, you know. I can’t. I feel like I’m going in five trillion directions at once, and I can’t waste time trying to find a dress for this weekend.” Nya pressed a hand to her neck and thought for a moment. “You get Ericka to send something to my house. She’s going to be ticked it’s so late, but I just don’t have time to pick something out. Also, call Harrison. You tell him to be there, photographer in tow. It would be perfect for his social page and the updates on the case. Did Alex send him an invitation?”
Lysette nodded. “Yeah, he did. You know he wouldn’t miss anyone; Alex lives for this event. And I’ve already called Ericka.”
“I think that’s what I like about this job,” Nya said, her panic allayed. “Delegation.”
“Amen to that,” Lysette replied. “And maybe you could throw an assistant my way so I can ‘delegate’ a little.” Nya only smirked in response. “And did I hear correctly? You want Michael there.”
“Yeah, I figure since he and his sister are determined to keep us in their paper—in the best light, of course—that this will be a nice addition. Once this is done and the investigation is closed, he’ll be out of my hair and out of my face.” Nya threw her hair back in emphasis.
“Are you sure that’s the real reason why you want him there? Are you sure you want to get rid of him at all?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Nya retorted, making a face. “He’s a distraction, and, beyond that, even if I were interested, I have more important things to spend my time on. I plan on being president of the company someday, even if I have to kill myself working to do it.”
“When are you going to realize that, no matter what you do, it doesn’t matter? Nyron doesn’t want you in that position. In fact it seems that the better you do, the harder you work, the more resolved he is to keep it out of your reach. I just think you ought to save yourself some heartache and let up. Have a good time.”
“This company has meant everything to me since I was a little girl. I can’t give it up.” She began rubbing the sore muscles at the base of her neck.
It was true. Lysette could remember when they were younger and went to the gallery. Nya would tell her about each painting and each artist. She had memorized it all. She’d walk around giving orders to anyone who listened and listing all of the things she would do when she was big and
running the company. “Nya, I know. All I’m saying is that I don’t want to see you hurt, which means that I don’t want to sit here and watch you set yourself up for a fall.”
“I’m not doing that,” Nya replied. “Daddy will have to come around.” She lowered her eyes, knowing that she had expressed a confidence she didn’t feel. “Anyway, what makes you so sure that Harrison is the answer to all my woes? I’m not sure I even like the man.”
“ ‘Woes?’ ” Lysette balked at the word. “Nya, Nya, Nya,” Lysette chided, leaning in towards her friend. “I know you. I see the way you look at him. You told me how you kissed him.”
“Correction, he kissed me.”
“And you kissed back! Don’t trip.”
Nya was thankful that she had kept the night on St. Thomas to herself.
“I know you like him and if you just let yourself, there might be something real there. He cares a lot about you.”
“Yeah, he cares a lot about getting on my nerves,” Nya scoffed.
“You saw the look in his eyes when he came to your door that night you got back from Norfolk. You saw how scared he was. You’ve got to at least give the man a chance. When was the last time you had a date? If I recall, Ike and Tina were still married.”
“A little before my time.” Nya chuckled.
“He’s given you some space to think things over. Do that. And maybe you’ll actually have a good time.”
Nya changed the subject. “I’m going to have a good time this weekend no matter what, so you need not worry on that score.”
“Oh, I know,” Lysette replied, excitement in her voice. “Hattiversary’s second only to Christmas and my very own anniversary.”
“That would make it third,” Nya said, laughing whole-heartedly and feeling a little less harried than before. That was Lysette’s doing. She always helped Nya to see the lighter side of things. She needed that.
After Lysette was gone, Nya leaned back in her chair, chewing on the end of her pen. She slowly let a vision of broad shoulders, a powerful build, and hypnotizing eyes and smile appear before her. She couldn’t figure the man out. He had come on so strong at first, but recently he had backed off altogether. Maybe he was still angry because of Elphonse, but she couldn’t help feeling that there was more. She wondered if he was no longer interested. Something, something deep inside her, made her pray to God that that wasn’t so.
Chapter 13
Nya watched Lysette touch up her hair in a large, round mirror mounted on her bedroom wall. Outside, they could hear the music from the Hatsheput office party in Nya’s backyard. The party was a tradition before the formal Hattiversary celebration.
“Did you see Terry Abernathy and Sheila from payroll?” Lysette proclaimed with a good bit of evil glee in her voice. “I tell you, some people can’t hold their cheap liquor.”
“Oh, stop,” Nya said, laughing. She was certain that there were no people left on the invite list about whom Lysette hadn’t said her piece. But she didn’t mind, not at all. She was having more fun than she’d had since last year’s party. She had been so wrapped up in her work, she hadn’t actually relaxed in longer than she could remember. Even when she had been informed that Jamie’s strawberry daiquiri-making experiment with her new blender had gone awry, she had only laughed and said that she’d worry about it later. Even when Muhammad from marketing had declared that he was the daiquiri champ of the business world, though she knew very well the man didn’t drink, she wasn’t worried. And even when Andre declared he was a wiz with a blender—she faintly remembered that he needed help each day with the copier, coffee maker, and even the day-to-day functions of his PC—she did not get tense. As far as she knew everything in the kitchen was cleanable and the party had remained in her backyard. There was nothing that could worry her.
“Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you.” Lysette didn’t look at her. “I talked to Michael. He said he may be a little late tonight.”
“Michael who?”
“Harrison,” Lysette announced with a flourish, adding under her breath, “as if you didn’t know.”
Nya turned and caught her reflection in the mirror. Lysette shrugged innocently, and Nya continued to stare daggers at her in the mirror until her scrutiny was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“This room is off limits,” she called out with a smile, recognizing the knock. The door came open anyway. “You don’t listen, do you?”
Elphonse poked his head in and flashed her a quick smile before he entered. “No, princess, I don’t. Lysette,” he said in a derisive greeting without looking at her.
“Elphonse,” she returned just as dryly and made a face in the mirror. “What hole did you just crawl out of?”
“The same one your husband was in trying to dig his way to safety,” he returned and put his arm around her shoulders.
“Now children,” Nya intoned, gathering herself up from the softness of her bed. “No need to fight. El, I didn’t think you were going to be here.”
“Now you know,” El said, grinning at her, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t miss a party.”
“Glad to hear it,” Nya said soberly and pointedly.
He got her meaning and gave her a playful squeeze around the midsection as he whispered, “I’m alright, Nya. You know I’m always gon’ be all right.”
Nya squeezed him back, reflecting on how much older he looked. The past two years had aged him like ten.
“Well, I think you could be with a nice kick in the—” Lysette’s face was smothered into his ribs as he clasped her in strong arms. Nya laughed at the small frame clasped tightly against his tall one.
“I just know how much you love me, Lysette,” he said, smiling over her head as she struggled futilely to free herself. “There’s so much love in this room, I’m strangling with it.”
He let Lysette go, and Nya couldn’t contain her giggles as Lysette started a refrain of not-so-ladylike utterances while starting to repair her hair all over again. “Can’t we all just get along?” she asked plaintively before breaking down into laughter again.
“Come on, Nya. Come dance with me,” he said, grabbing her hand.
“Okay, but none of that freaky stuff.” She giggled and followed him out.
“Man can’t dance no other way,” Lysette muttered, following them out and wondering if Michael was there yet.
h
Michael forced himself to walk slowly through the house and to take time chatting with those people he had gotten to know so well over the past weeks. He tried to keep his eyes from wandering past people and through the crowd to seek out the one face he truly wanted to see. After being stopped at least four times, he made his way into the kitchen. It looked as if an entire Kool-Aid factory had exploded all over it. At the center of it was Jamie Hendricks, a giant at six feet, seven inches. He had one hand down the disposal and the other fanning a pan of hot wings that looked as if they really were on fire, or had been in the recent past. His cohorts, two men Michael recognized from Hatsheput’s marketing staff, were hovering over a slimy, red blender with screwdrivers and sponges in hand.
“And to what would I attribute this mess?” Michael asked, laughing.
“Mess?” Jamie asked in an incredulous, booming voice. “This is no mess, bro. This is art in the making, just you wait.”
“Uh-huh, yeah,” Michael said in a disbelieving tone as he moved past to the back door.
“Don’t stay out there too long,” Jamie called after him. “The real men are in here doing what we do best. And by the way, don’t mention the blender.”
Michael shook his head as he stepped out of the door and onto the deck. The rhythmic beat from the steel drum band placed unobtrusively to the side of the deck rang in his ears, impregnating the entire area with a poignant energy. His eyes roamed over the people seated on the deck in white and blue chairs that glowed in the bright moonlight from above. Then, looking over at the small dancing area out on the soft grass, he saw the
crowd moving together in one electric beat. Then as someone shifted, his eyes caught sight of the person he had longed for all night. There was Nya with the infectious smile he rarely saw lighting her eyes. He watched as she moved gracefully to the music. Her arms were above her as she danced and her eyes were closed. A smile tilted her lips appealingly upward. Her hips swayed beneath long, thin hands….Who the hell was she dancing with? Michael edged closer to the railing on the deck and watched until he could make out the guy. Elphonse Deklerk. Michael could feel the growl deep within him, and at first he couldn’t move. He was transfixed by the picture of Nya moving so closely with this man who he was convinced had sabotaged her company. He was paralyzed by the familiarity with which Deklerk touched her, almost with protectiveness. And then he was in motion, walking toward them, unable to see, hear, feel anything else. He watched as Elphonse moved behind her and put his arms around her as they moved to the music. Nya covered his arms with her own, still swaying along with him. Michael knew her laughter was genuine and caused by this man who couldn’t possibly care half as much as he did.
She saw him first, he was sure. Deklerk was bending and whispering something in her ear when her eyes met his. He saw her turn to Deklerk and say something. Deklerk looked up and sought out Michael. Nya whispered to him again. She was asking him to go, Michael was sure of it. Deklerk then, with a kiss on her cheek, moved in another direction. Again, as in the museum, they were separating and he didn’t know which one to go after. But he continued towards Nya. At that moment Deklerk didn’t matter at all, nor did Michael’s anger towards him. Just watching Nya, he could feel another emotion taking over. As if on cue, the band began to play something slow and heavy and as Michael reached her he grasped her hand.