A Love of My Own

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Yes, sir, it is,” Bristol said as he opened the door and waited for me to walk in.

  The office was large; I would guess maybe more than 950 square feet, the size of an apartment. It had blond parquet floors that were polished to perfection and an Oriental rug strategically placed under the desk. There were built-in bookshelves on each side of a closed cabinet, which looked to be an entertainment center. I opened the door and out popped a thirty-six-inch flat-screen television. I also found a six-disc CD player, a video recorder, and a DVD player. Through a huge window I took in the view of Times Square, which included several large billboards advertising everything from current Broadway shows to cologne and underwear. I paused for a moment and thought about calling Trent and telling him about this office, but wondered if he would appreciate my success. I wondered if he’d ever been proud of me.

  My new desk was large with oval leather in the center and wood surrounding it. My chair was blue leather and steel. I looked around the office and saw a comfortable navy blue leather sofa with two matching chairs and a glass-and-steel coffee table covered with issues of Bling Bling and several other magazines. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I noticed a black-and-steel wet bar in another corner.

  “Is everything okay?” Bristol asked as he walked into the office.

  “Everything looks fine,” I said as I looked at not one but two computer screens on my desk. I guess I really had made it big.

  “Did you see the spectacular view?”

  “How could I not see it,” I said, laughing.

  “I’ll give you a chance to get comfortable, but if you need anything, just push this button,” Bristol said as he pointed toward a phone that had more buttons than I’d ever seen.

  “Thanks, Bristol. Give me a little time to get used to everything,” I said.

  “Sure. Do you have a Palm, Mr. Tyler?”

  “I sure do.”

  “Why don’t you let me have it so I can transfer your old data to the new one I purchased for you. It’s updated with all the most recent entertainment and service information for New York City,” Bristol said.

  “Sure,” I said as I reached into my briefcase, pulled out my Palm, and handed it to him.

  “Thank you, sir. Oh, and I took the liberty of picking out some CDs for you to start off your office collection. If you’d like some other selections, please let me know. There’s a record store in the building, and I’d be more than happy to run downstairs and pick up whatever you like.”

  “Great, Bristol. I’m sure your selections will be just fine,” I said.

  When Bristol left my office I walked back over to the window to watch the throng of people moving through the streets below and tried to muster the sense of triumph I thought I’d feel when I dreamed of reaching this type of success, but the only thing I felt was an overwhelming sadness inside. I never thought being so successful would feel so lonely.

  Standing there, looking down at Times Square, I realized that everything in my world had changed. My life was like a puzzle in a box, and I had to figure out a way to put the pieces together. Again.

  * * *

  From Bling Bling Confidential

  Davis McClinton didn’t like all the press African Americans like Richard Parsons, Sylvia Rhone, Kenneth Chenault and Stan O’Neal were receiving by heading Fortune 500 companies and spent a great deal of time thinking about how he could return to the front pages and covers of some of the top business magazines. He’d spent a great deal of time in the late nineties competing with Earl Graves, Cathy Hughes, and Robert L. Johnson. There had to be an area of business where once again he could reign supreme.

  * * *

  3

  __________________

  I could tell I’d already missed the first round of drinks when I entered the dimly lit restaurant, Rosita’s, and heard Justine laughing. I spotted her and Kai and another woman I didn’t know munching chips and salsa and sipping from half-filled margarita glasses.

  “Hey, ladies. What’d I miss?” I asked as I took the empty seat at the corner table illuminated by the plum-red glow of a covered candle.

  “Bitch, where have you been? I told you six-thirty,” Justine said.

  “I have a magazine to run,” I said as I turned to the stranger and extended my hand and said, “Hello, I’m Zola Norwood.”

  “Hi, Zola. I’m Roberta Garrison Elmore, president of the Greater New York Panhellenic Council.”

  “Nice meeting you,” I said. “And how are you, Kai?”

  “Honey, I am doing just fine. What’s going on at Bling Bling?”

  “Same ole same ole. The second week of September is Fashion Week, and my assistant spent most of the day begging a bunch of white designers assistants for tickets and decent seats to their shows. I guess they think my readers don’t buy designer clothes,” I said as I looked around one of my favorite Mexican restaurants for our regular waiter, Hector. I loved the atmosphere but didn’t like eating a meal there unless I was depressed or had lost a few pounds. Mexican food was just too fattening.

  Justine Rice was my best friend from way back. We’d grown up in Nashville and attended school together from fourth grade until we parted ways after high school. Justine attended Memphis University because she got a full scholarship and after graduation moved to New York. She was a professional events planner and moonlighted at one of the posh hotels, catering to the needs of their special clients.

  Justine was a heavyset beauty with a strong sexual presence and confidence when it came to men. She had wonderful deep-set brown eyes and a soft round face. One moment she could be as calm as a Sunday-school teacher, but after a few drinks her personality and voice would suddenly change, and she would become more sure of herself and sound like an emcee at a raunchy strip show. The girl could cuss like a comedian.

  Justine and I met Kai Davidson at one of the events Justine had planned. Recently divorced from her doctor husband, Kai was the only child of an upstate New York federal judge and a clinical social worker. Kai graduated from Sarah Lawrence with a degree in Art History but hadn’t worked a day in her life, unless you counted all the volunteer work she did. She was now living off a hefty divorce settlement and occasionally took classes in interior design. Her ex, whom we called “the good doctor,” was more than happy to part with some of his money when Kai discovered he had gotten not one but two nurses pregnant within months of each other. Kai was so hurt that since her divorce she had sworn off men and sex and now called herself a second-chance virgin. She was as tall and slender as a fashion model, which both Justine and I couldn’t understand because Kai ate nonstop like she smoked blunts all day and had perpetual munchie mania.

  Kai had helped me navigate the New York social scene and had been invaluable in helping me decorate my renovated Harlem brownstone, including a music room which held my treasured baby grand piano.

  Hector brought more chips and salsa to the table and a glass of white wine for me. We clinked our glasses in unison and took a sip of our drinks. Roberta looked at her watch, took another sip and said, “Been nice meeting you guys. I’ve got to run. Have to catch the next train to Mount Vernon.”

  “What, no car and driver, hon?” Justine said, laughing.

  “I wish,” Roberta said as she pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the table. She looked at Justine and said, “I’ll look over your proposal and get back to you in a few days.”

  “Do you have a card? I’d like to send you a copy of my magazine.”

  “Sure, that’d be nice. Maybe it’ll earn me some points with my teenage stepdaughter from hell.” Roberta laughed as she pulled her card from her wallet and passed it to me.

  “Smooches to you, Roberta. I hope I’m invited to your big shindig,” Kai said.

  “Your invitation will be in the mail. See you ladies later,” Roberta said as she walked out.

  When Justine was certain Roberta was out of the restaurant, she took another sip of her drink and said, “The shit I have to go
through to make a dollar.”

  “What are you talking about? She seemed perfectly nice,” I said.

  “She’s a snobby bitch from a middle-class ghetto trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. That type of woman just drives me crazy. If I don’t get this event, I’m going up to Mount Vernon to kick her ass like she stole my paycheck,” Justine said.

  “Right . . . right. I got your back, girl. Just let me know so I can get my Vaseline. Can’t risk getting this face damaged,” Kai said, laughing as she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and glanced around to see if anyone was looking. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Yes, I mind,” Justine said.

  “I thought you stopped smoking?” I said.

  “I did.”

  “So?”

  “I started back,” she snapped.

  “Well, you know you can’t smoke in here,” Justine said. “I don’t know why your crazy ass is trippin’.”

  “I’ll take care of the tip and Hector will let me do whatever I want,” Kai said.

  “So I guess it doesn’t matter what we think, or if we get cancer from your secondhand smoke,” I said.

  “If you get cancer, I’ll get you gift certificates for free visits with my ex,” Kai said, laughing.

  “That shit ain’t funny,” Justine said.

  “So what’s wrong with Roberta?” I asked.

  “You know the type—she thinks because she’s got a little clout she can make a sister jump through hoops and then turn around and give the business to some dizzy white girl,” Justine said as she broke a tortilla chip in half and dipped it in salsa.

  “Sisters got to jump through hoops every day for everybody,” I said. I was thinking about all the calls I had made, the crying and pleading I had to do to get my entertainment editor into premieres, not to mention sleeping with Davis to make sure he kept pumping money into Bling.

  “Do you ever wonder what you’ll be wearing when you’re lying in a casket, getting ready to be put into the ground for eternity?” Kai asked.

  Justine and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. It was one of the things Kai did that drove us crazy. We could be having a completely normal sister-girl conversation and Kai would look away and release these stupid-ass questions about life. Sick questions. After about six months of actually trying to answer some of the questions, Justine and I figured that if we didn’t respond, Kai would return to earth and stop acting so wacky.

  A moment of silence followed, and sure enough Kai came back around. “So what are we doing for dinner before I stuff myself with these chips?”

  “I feel like some jerk chicken,” I said.

  “That sounds good to me,” Kai said.

  “Then let’s finish our drinks and get to stepping toward Island Spice,” Justine said.

  * * *

  From Bling Bling Confidential

  Davis greets his tea-colored reflection with a smile each day after finishing his shave. He’s not happy because of his wealth and power but because every day he wakes up he moves farther from his past.

  * * *

  4

  __________________

  On my fifth day in New York I had a long lunch with my new boss, Davis McClinton, at Le Bernardin, on West Fifty-first between Sixth and Seventh avenues, one of the city’s toniest restaurants.

  The maître d’ had a strong French accent and greeted us with a warm smile. He clasped Davis’s hands and said, “Monsieur McClinton, so great to see you again. I have your regular table ready for you. How’s business?”

  “Très bien, Henri,” Davis said. “Et la famille, comment ça va?”

  I followed Davis and Henri and noticed several of the lunchtime patrons staring at us. They probably recognized Davis’s face from the covers of both Fortune and Forbes magazines. Finally black men were beginning to be recognized for their business smarts instead of for playing sports, or being in entertainment or being associated with crime.

  We reached our table and Henri pulled out the leather chairs for Davis and me and said, “I’ll send Tucker right over.”

  “Thank you,” Davis said as he removed his glasses and put them in a snakeskin case. The waiter came over and warmly greeted Davis with a smile and an amber-colored drink resting over several ice cubes. He looked at me and asked, “And what can I get for you, sir?”

  “Just some iced tea,” I said.

  Davis looked at me with a frown and teased, “Are you trying to impress the boss? Order a drink.”

  I didn’t know if I should follow his instructions, but I remained firm and said, “No, iced tea will be fine. I want to get some work done this afternoon.” When Davis nodded, I was happy to see that he wasn’t one of those egomaniacs who thought things should be his way or no way.

  “Are you glad to be back in New York, Raymond?”

  “Yeah, I am,” I said.

  “New York, the most exciting city in the world. I wouldn’t live anyplace else, even though I have homes in Paris, The Hamptons, Telluride and Miami. But if I’m away from the city for more than a month, I start to get a little crazy,” Davis said.

  “Yeah, I must say I’ve missed the city a lot,” I said as I looked out on the busy sidewalk.

  “So tell me about yourself. I mean, the stuff I don’t already know,” Davis said.

  “Like what?”

  “Your family?”

  “You know I’m from Birmingham, Alabama. I have a younger brother who plays for the San Diego Chargers. My parents are retired and live in Naples, Florida. My father was a civil rights attorney and my mother was a teacher. They’re both retired and enjoying life. What about you? I mean besides the stuff you read in magazines?” I asked, trying to turn the tables on Davis.

  “My family is from New York,” Davis said.

  “Harlem?” I suggested. There was very little personal information about Davis in the case study.

  “Fuck no,” Davis snapped. “I grew up on the Upper East Side.”

  I started to apologize, but Davis didn’t give me the opportunity as he began to speak proudly of parents who were second-generation millionaires. He told me they had made their money selling insurance and burial polices to African American families all across the country, but mainly in the South. Davis told me he attended prep school in Boston, then went to Harvard undergrad and Harvard Business School. He created his first business while he was a student at Harvard, a messenger service for students in the Boston area. He described it as a ground FedEx for students at Harvard, Radcliffe, Boston University, and Tufts. After graduation Davis sold the business and bought his first radio station, a country-western station in Huntsville, Alabama, and turned it into one of the top R&B stations in the South. When he talked, he glowed with boundless pride. I wondered how Davis had gone from insurance to media.

  “Who did you hire as messengers?” I asked.

  “Some black kids from Roxbury. At least it kept them from begging on the streets in Cambridge,” Davis said as he shook his head in a mixture of frustration and disappointment. Then he added, “Our people. Can’t do with them. Can’t do without them. This is a great country. I just wish more of our people realized that.”

  I didn’t have a proper response for Davis’s statement, so again my eyes roamed the spacious restaurant. I was relieved when the waiter returned with my drink and the menus. Davis didn’t look at the menu, he just instructed the waiter to bring him the usual. I knew that didn’t leave me much time to decide, so I just asked for grilled salmon and a vegetable.

  “Would you like a salad, sir?” the waiter asked. Before I could answer, Davis told him to bring me a green salad.

  “So, you’re married?” I asked.

  “Yep, been married more than fifteen years. Some good and some bad. I have two perfect children, Morgan and Logan,” Davis said proudly.

  “How old are they?”

  “Logan is thirteen and he’s away at prep school in Connecticut, and Morgan is eight going on twenty-eight and she
attends the Chapin School here in the city. Do you plan to have kids? Even though you’re gay? Not that it’s a deterrent, especially in a city like New York,” Davis said calmly.

  I raised my eyebrow in surprise, even though I figured it would come up sooner or later. My sexuality had become public several years before, when I was nominated for a federal judgeship.

  “I didn’t realize I’d put that on my résumé,” I joked.

  “Raymond, now, you don’t think I’d hire someone for such an important position and not know as much as the best investigators in the world can find out. Besides, I have no problem with it. I think it’s best to tell the truth about yourself so no one could ever blackmail you,” Davis said.

  “Was my being gay something you thought about when you offered me the job?” I asked.

  Davis responded quickly, “Hell, yeah. You’re a double minority, black and gay. I get a lot of points for that when I go after government contracts. Now, if I can just find me a handicapped black lesbian, I will have hit the jackpot,” Davis said, laughing. I was shocked by Davis’s insensitive remark and suddenly I felt as if I were being entertained by the devil himself, but instead of challenging him, I decided to change the subject.

  “Tell me about Zola Norwood, your editor in chief,” I said.

  “Smart girl, Zola. I think she’s doing a good job, but she’s made the mistake most women do, she thinks her pussy can take her places in the world of high-powered people, and it’s good pussy, so it can, but only so far. She’ll learn,” Davis said, leaning over the table, whispering as though he wanted to make sure Henri or the other waiters or patrons heard the sudden change in his language from business-speak to straight from the ’hood.

  “So your relationship isn’t strictly business?” I asked.

  “She’s one of my women,” Davis said. “But someone like me got a lot of bitches who think they can serve me up some good pussy and get over because I got both wealth and power. Women love that shit. Even though they think they’re the only one, they don’t know I have more than one box of diamond studs in my safety-deposit box. My assistant makes sure everyone gets fresh flowers every week, especially my wife.”