“So you grew up in the general area surrounding your business location, right?”
“Yes. South side girl all the way.”
“What is it about the south side that’s so appealing, anyway? Princess Danai wears that as some type of street credential, or something.”
“Street cred is important to rappers. They like their music to resonate with the common people, so if you’re born in an area like Chicago’s south side, you’ve been through some things, ergo your fan base identifies with your upbringing. And now that the POTUS also hails from the general area, it’s of even more consequence.”
“Sort of like how business credit scores at Dun & Bradstreet are the calling card for a small business?”
“Exactly. Great analogy, White.”
“I pay attention sometimes when Danai is talking.”
“So, do you two just have a business relationship?”
She asks nonchalantly, but I know beautiful women worry about other beautiful women, regardless of sexual orientation. This question is tricky, nonetheless. I lead with truth and answer right away to avoid sounding like I’m lying. “Yes, we’ve had a business relationship since she began her career.”
“What made you interested in backing a rapper?”
“I keep up with popular culture, somewhat, and I knew it could be a lucrative investment.”
“One word: Jay-Z.”
“Is that a word, or a name?”
“Well you know what I mean.”
“Yes, and would you be surprised if I told you I’ve met him and his beautiful wife several times.”
“Get out!” she cries playfully.
“One of the perks of being me,” I tease.
“I might have to remain friends with you, because you’re very well-connected.”
“Then it might behoove you to accept my offer. As your Dom, everyone I know and everything I have would be at your disposal.”
“That wouldn’t be the basis for my decision,” she says with a frown. “Please don’t make this about your money.”
“I apologize. I’d see it more as you having access to my vast network of connections. The only money to be spent would be what I lavish on you as my submissive, if that’s the way you want it.”
“Why does there have to be any money spent?”
“I would expect you to be on my arm to attend various events, and I wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed by having to wear a dress off the rack when the other women have access to designer fashions, as do I.”
“Well, when you put it like that, I guess that wouldn’t be so bad. Although, I could possibly faint if I were to see the price tag on such fashions.”
“Then I would instruct my personal shopper not to let you see the price tags.”
“You have an answer for everything don’t you?”
I shrug. “Most things.”
“Let’s talk about something else, like your favorites.”
“My favorite what?”
“Color for starters.”
“Right now it happens to be the color of your skin when it’s next to mine. Your eyes. Your hair. You’ve bewitched me, Ms. Beale.”
“You’re so full of it, Tristan. Stop saying stuff like that, when you know you don’t mean it.”
“Who says?”
“I do, Mr.-I-haven’t-had-a-girlfriend-in-that-sense-of-the-word since-elementary-school. If all we’re going to have is a business arrangement, I don’t want the flowery words or compliments.”
“You don’t believe there can be romance between two people without a label of commitment?”
“No.”
“Then you’re more jaded than I am.”
“No, I’m not. It’s just a way of avoiding having my heart broken.”
“Fair enough. I won’t use those words then…unless I mean them.”
“Which means what? You didn’t mean what you just said?”
“I didn’t say that. I meant what I said to you, but you asked me not to use the words. However, I’ve only agreed not to use them, unless I don’t mean them. And for the record, I meant what I said.”
She groans. “You’re incorrigible.”
The smile I begin fades from my face.
“What is it?” she asks, anxious to discover why I froze mid-banter.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. Although, I feel like I’ve been revisited by my mother, who used to call Nathan and me incorrigible when we were naughty based on a book she read to us when we were kids. I don’t tell Ms. Beale this, because I’m not ready to be vulnerable with her, and not sure I’ll ever be.
“I’m incorrigible only when errant women tell me I can’t say certain things.”
“Give it a rest. So, what’s you favorite movie?”
“I don’t have one,” I say sheepishly.
Her mouth drops open. “What was the last movie you saw in the theater?”
“Nate and I saw Basketball Diaries with some friends from the Academy.”
“That is sad.” She has no idea just how truthful that statement is, since it is the last movie Nathan and I saw just before our mother died.
“We had a large home movie library, but our parents wouldn’t let us see Basketball Diaries, so we sneaked into the show and saw it.”
“Why?”
“We were thirteen and because of its rating, we had to be accompanied by a parent.”
“Oh, okay. Then what’s the last movie you’ve seen recently at home, on television, or whatever?”
“The Bourne Ultimatum.”
“That came out at least seven years ago. We need to bring you into this decade.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“Of the classics, I love Imitation of Life. It’s a film my mother introduced me to which tells the story of this blended family: A white single mother who aspires to be an actress and her daughter, and a black single mother who’s a maid, and her daughter. It’s all about being who you are no matter what your ethnicity is, and how societal expectations shape who we are.”
“Interesting. And of current films?”
“I’m a comic book geek, so I love anything to do with the Avengers, X-men, any movie based on a comic book.”
“I like those, as well.”
“Then we must get you caught up to today’s versions. Do you have copies, or do we need to go movie shopping?”
“I’m sure Mrs. Naven has kept the library current.”
“Then why aren’t you watching?”
“I’m usually working.” Or playing with submissives, which is more entertaining than any movie.
“You know what they say about all work and no play.”
“Yes, as my father recently reminded me how dull I am.”
“Does he live here in Chicago?
“Yes.” I need to change the subject quickly before she asks about my mother. “Just so you know, if I agree to watch movies with you, you have to do something with me.”
“Have you stooped to blackmailing me into more than being your submissive?”
“No. I do have some scruples, Keisha. I was going to say, I’d like to teach you how to fence.”
“You mean selling hot property to dirty pawn shops?”
I glare at her and she laughs. “I know what you meant, I just thought that was a pretty funny joke.”
“I don’t do jokes,” I say.
“Ever?”
“Never.”
“See, I’m going to have to lighten you up, White. I mean, what do you do for fun?”
“Invest in businesses that make me tons of money?”
“That’s your job. You really are sad. I have half a mind to agree to be your submissive so I can teach you to have fun.”
“I would not be opposed to that.”
It isn’t until the limo stops at the curb in front of La Perla that I realize I’ve held Keisha’s hand throughout our commute.
I squeeze her hand and release it. “I’ll call you later.” Moses opens the doo
r for her.
She hops out and beams at Moses, who graces her with a goodbye salute. I watch the gentle sway of her hips until she disappears into the store. I’m not aware that Moses is waiting for further instruction until I hear him clear his throat.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know where we’re going next, old man,” I say.
Moses laughs more than half the way to my office building.
Just before lunch I page Darryl to come to my office.
“Yes, Mr. White,” he says the moment he pokes his head into the door.
“Did you call Ms. Jameson and then fax the budget and contract Legal fast-tracked this morning?”
“Yes, I collected all hers and Ms. Beale’s personal and business information when I spoke with her.”
“Good. Now, I need you to order some items of a personal nature for me.”
He readies himself with pen and paper. “I’d be happy to, sir.”
“I’d like you to order a bouquet of two dozen roses. Send them to Keisha Beale and Jada Jameson with an appropriate welcome note from me. Also, a bottle of the best chilled champagne you can get at such short notice that’s shippable. I have a gift for Ms. Beale alone which I’ve wrapped and will include with your shipment. I’ll give it all to you after lunch. Spare no expense in getting everything delivered tonight.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“Have the crew at Midway ready my jet. Nathan and I are going on a business fact-finding mission to Atlantic City.”
“I’ll take care of everything, Mr. White.”
“Thanks, Darryl.” I don’t have to tell him that my thanks is his dismissal as he goes off to complete the tasks I’ve given him.
One of Darryl’s clerks delivers my lunch immediately after he leaves and I settle in to enjoy an organic hot lunch from one of my favorite local farm-to-table restaurants. I take out my stationary and pen a note to Ms. Beale:
Keisha,
Please accept these gifts with a promise. If you agree to be my submissive, this is only the beginning of what I desire to lavish on you.
The credit card enclosed will be activated on Wednesday after the signing of the contract. It is for you to use to bolster your wardrobe and anything your heart desires, within reason, as long as you are my submissive. I will expect you to attend various functions with me and need you to always dress tastefully and appropriately as a woman befitting my social stature. My personal shopper will be at your disposal.
I’m looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday. Please plan to stay with me after the meeting, and I’ll answer any further questions you might have about the lifestyle. Then we’ll move on to more pleasurable things.
Tristan
P.S. I don’t consider your acceptance a foregone conclusion. I wouldn’t presume to second-guess you, but I think you made your decision Saturday. It just hasn’t dawned on you yet. For what it’s worth, that’s when I made up my mind about you.
Next, I call my bank and inquire after the emergency credit card I requested this morning. They assure me it’s on its way via courier as we speak. I take out the package in my bottom desk drawer which I had Keisha’s ridiculous boss wrap for me at La Perla. I fold the note I’ve written and place it in an envelope to await delivery of the credit card and the other items Darryl is responsible for collecting.
After lunch, I stop at Darryl’s desk on my way out and hand him the package and the sealed envelope containing the note and newly-delivered credit card. “These items are to be addressed to Ms. Beale only. For her eyes only. Got it?”
“Got it. And FYI, I secured the following for Ms. Beale and Ms. Jameson: A bottle of chilled Dom Perignon Vintage 1995 White Gold Jeroboam champagne, a tin of Beluga caviar, and a basket of gourmet nuts, cheeses, and the like. The message says, ‘Ms. Jameson and Ms. Beale, please enjoy the flowers and have a mini-celebration on me. Here’s to a long and mutually satisfying business relationship.’”
“Perfect,” I say. “I’m off to meet my brother at Midway. Hold down the fort.”
“Absolutely.”
Although, I promised myself I wouldn’t call Ms. Beale at her place of work today, I find myself speed-dialing her on the way to airport. She doesn’t answer, but I assume she’ll have a lunch break within the hour, so I expect her to call me back before I’m airborne.
She does not.
After greeting my brother at the hangar, I try her again. Still no answer, and a direct route to voice mail. Once they put us through our paces and we finally board the plane, I dial her again. No answer. When we’re belted and ready for takeoff, I try Keisha’s number one final time. I frown and try not to get upset about it. I call Velasquez.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Eyes on Ms. Beale within the hour. Text me back with proof of life.”
“Do you have reason to believe she’s in danger?”
“Not unless it’s at my hand,” I say. “She’s not answering her phone. I just need a visual.”
“Okay, I’m on it.”
Nathan is grinning at me when I hang up.
“Who’s the new sub?”
“What makes you think she’s a sub?”
“Have you ever had any other kind of relationship?”
I don’t dignify that question with a response, but I answer his previous question. In a fashion. “Her name is Keisha Beale, and I’d like to train her as my submissive, if she’ll have me.”
“No shit! You’re training a newbie?”
“Well, tell the whole goddamn crew all my business, won’t you?”
Nate raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, brother. I’m just excited for you, is all.”
“Why’s that? You don’t have a submissive either.”
“But I’ve been without a much shorter time than you have. It’s about time you found someone again.”
Nathan asks more questions about Keisha during takeoff and I tell him only what I’m comfortable sharing about her. She’s too new to me to share everything about her with anyone right now. Besides she hasn’t yet agreed to be my submissive, but I’m hopeful.
“So, she’s a demon in a blue suit. Fine Catholic institution of higher learning,” Nathan says.
“That it is,” I agree. “And she has this wicked sense of humor.”
“What? Has she met your buttoned-down ass?”
“Fuck you, Nathan.”
“In fact, have you met you?”
“If you keep that up, I’m not telling you anything else.”
“Okay, I’ll stop. What does she do?”
“She’s about to open a recording studio and retail music store with her partner who also happens to be her roommate.”
Nathan raises his brow. “A roommate?”
“Keisha isn’t in the lifestyle, Nate. So what are the odds that her roommate would be?”
Nate looks crestfallen. “Not likely, huh?” Then he brightens up again. “But I can do vanilla dating, you’re the one who refuses.”
“But for how long?”
“You’ve got a point there. Anyway, what made you target this vanilla girl as your sub?”
“I met with her in my office about their business a couple of Fridays ago, and she was all, ‘yes sir, no sir,’ and I had the most visceral reaction to this girl that I’ve had for any woman. Since…you know.”
Nathan nods. “Still can’t say her name, can you?”
“I can think it, and I think of her. But, no. I can’t talk about her without going to a dark place. She’s forgiven me, but I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself.”
“That’s fucked up. You know this, right?”
“Listen. Let’s not go there now. I’m happier than I’ve been in a while with just the prospect of training Keisha.”
“Keisha.” Nate narrows his eyes. “Is Keisha African American?”
“And Brazilian.”
“You know what my teammates say about going black?”
“I’m sure I don’t want to know.”
> He answers anyway. “You never go back. So, tell me. Is she good?”
“That’s a crass question which doesn’t deserve an answer.”
Nathan laughs. “So you have tapped it. You just don’t want to engage in a little locker room banter with your brother. I see where you’re coming from.”
“Where I’m coming from has nothing to do with anything. Let’s just talk about this possible business venture you want to invest in.”
“No, no I want to talk about Keisha. You have to finish telling me why you think she’d make a good submissive.”
“She shows all the classic signs of being a true submissive, and maybe a part-time Domme.” I grin. “She’s bossy.”
“She’s a strong bi-racial woman, that’s all. My teammates talk about that, too.”
“Is there nothing sacred in that damned locker room?”
Nate thinks for a minute. “Nope. I’m surrounded by eighty-five percent African Americans on my team alone. Most of whom grew up in the lower socio-economic bracket of American society. Their pastimes growing up were shooting hoops and playing the dozens, also known as telling horrible jokes about each other’s mamas. What do you think?”
“How do you stand it? What with Mom...?”
“I’ve never told them our mother is dead.”
“They have to have heard it during an interview you’ve had over the years.”
“Maybe so, but I prefer they treat me like the rest of the guys, so I let them do their worse.”
I had no idea my brother had to endure jokes that maligned our mother in that way. Now he’s saying he’s come to terms with it. If I were on his team, I’d be fighting like a juvenile delinquent in an urban schoolyard. There are two people I cannot abide anyone speaking ill of, possibly three now: My mother, Aimee Gabriel, and Keisha Beale.
The stewardess comes out and takes our drink orders as soon as the fasten seat-belt sign goes off, and Nathan and I have entered our own head spaces. I have a text message from Velasquez, with a photo of Keisha taking care of a customer in her store. I thank him for checking up on her, then I text Keisha:
The Venture Capitalist Page 11