“I mean, do you have a place in the Hamptons or the Vineyard?”
“No, I just moved back east,” I said.
“Then I’ll have to invite you to one of my soirees this summer at Fire Island,” Mathis said.
“I see you two are getting along wonderfully,” Veronica said. She had left the head of the table and looked pleased with herself and the party as she circled her guests like a socialized vulture.
“Oh, Veronica, darling, you didn’t tell me that Mr. Tyler was so handsome,” Mathis said.
I looked away in embarrassment while Veronica said, “Who knew.”
Then Mathis and Veronica both laughed and touched hands. The laugh sounded fake. Who was I kidding, it was fake.
I turned to my left and was looking in the face of Danielle and decided to engage in a little small talk.
“So, are you from New York, Ms. DuBois?” I asked.
“Darling, please call me Danielle. I used to live in New York, and I still have a place here, but my husband and I live in Paris.”
“So, what brings you to New York?”
“The evening, of course. Veronica and I go way back, and when she calls and tells me she needs me, well, I just call my pilot and head across the waters,” she said, laughing.
“So, you just came for the evening?”
“Yes. I might do a little shopping in the morning and then head back to the most fabulous city in the world.”
I smiled politely and finished the rest of the excellent piece of beef the chef had prepared.
After dinner Davis and Veronica led us into the music room, where they had a frail man with glasses playing the piano and a lady in a red velvet dress playing the violin. The music was beautiful, but I was ready to go back to my apartment.
I was hoping the servants would move faster with the coffee and after-dinner drinks, but they didn’t seem in a hurry. All the men were smoking cigars and one of the ladies was smoking and coughing at the same time. I was getting ready to bolt, when a tall, well-built white man walked over to me, extended his large hand and said, “I was sitting at the end of the table, I wanted to introduce myself before I left. I’m Chris Thomas.”
“Thanks, Chris. How are you doing?”
“Davis has been bragging about how he had convinced this hotshot lawyer from the Northwest to come and oversee some of his interests,” Chris said, smiling. He looked like a corn-fed football player and had a handsome face, curly brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes.
“So, that’s what he’s been saying. What do you do, Chris?” I asked. I suddenly wished I hadn’t, because it seemed like the question I had been asked more than my name by the other guests. I assumed Veronica hadn’t bothered with providing her other guests with my bio.
“Oh, I’m a lawyer.”
“What kind of law do you practice?”
“Very little these days. I’m a partner in Cook, Johnson, and Kahill. We specialize in employment discrimination cases. Have you heard of us?”
I vaguely remembered a large firm from when I had practiced in New York in the early nineties, so I said yes. Chris and I continued our conversation, and one of my impressions had been correct. Chris, who was from Lincoln, Nebraska, had played football at Harvard and later for the Chicago Bears. I told him about Kirby, and he recognized his name. When I asked how he knew Davis, he told me they had met at Harvard. He also said that his wife, who was unable to attend dinner this evening, was one of Veronica’s best friends.
I found out Chris and his wife, Debi, had created a foundation for AIDS prevention that serviced minority neighborhoods. When I told him about More Than Friends, the foundation I had set up in memory of my best friend, Kyle Benton, Chris suggested I send him some information on it. Chris also told me that his wife was a doctor doing AIDS research and felt like they were coming awfully close to a vaccine.
When I told him about Kyle and our wonderful friendship and eventual loss, Chris pressed his large hand on my shoulder in a very comforting gesture. It was as if he understood that I missed my friend still after all these years. “Time doesn’t always cure everything,” Chris said.
I wondered why Chris and his wife were so interested in AIDS, but I decided to save my questions for our next meeting, since Chris insisted that I have dinner with him and his wife very soon. There was something warm and humble about Chris. I found myself drawn to him and agreed immediately to meet for dinner. I thought it was interesting that the only person I enjoyed conversing with was the lone white guest.
When Mathis cornered me as I was getting ready to leave, I was thankful I had given my last business card to Chris.
* * *
From Bling Bling Confidential
Davis didn’t have any African Americans as members of his household staff or as executive assistants. He was concerned that the lines between professional and personal were so easily blurred when it came to his own people. Besides, he knew if they saw how he and his family lived it would breed jealousy and contempt.
* * *
7
__________________
“Zola, I’m sorry I’m running a little late,” Kirsten Dawson said as she sat down at a corner table at Judson Grill in midtown.
“That’s all right. I know you’re busy. Thanks for agreeing to have lunch,” I said as I took the last sip of my club soda. Kirsten was a tall and lean brown-skinned sister with beautiful locks down her back. She was wearing a thin peacock-blue sweater that was filled to capacity and a shapeless black skirt. She had earrings in both her ears and her nose and wore very little makeup. She had a delicately pretty face, but I wondered why it had never occurred to her to pluck her eyebrows.
I had arranged the lunch with Kirsten, who was one of the city’s top freelance celebrity writers, to convince her to do a rewrite of a cover story on Halle Berry that we had pushed back several months. Her name alone on the cover of a magazine could mean at least an additional twenty thousand in sales. Still, she had the reputation of being notoriously late with stories, was resistant to being edited, and always required final approval on her stories. Perfect for Yancey B., I thought. You had to handle Kirsten with kid gloves like she was more important than the talent. Cross Kirsten, and she and her agent might disappear for months, holding the story hostage.
“Yes, I am. I just left a meeting with Vibe, and when I leave here, I’m headed for In Style. Bringing in the benjamins,” Kirsten said as she grabbed one of the menus standing on the table.
“What’s good here?” I asked.
“Everything. I love the shrimp and avocado salad. Delicious, and the onion rings are the bomb,” Kirsten said.
The waiter came over and asked Kirsten what she wanted to drink, and she ordered a martini. I never understood professional people who could cocktail during lunch and then expect to be productive in the afternoon. It was an off-the-record policy at Bling Bling that staff members didn’t drink during lunch. I knew I couldn’t expect the same from freelancers, even though I was paying the bill.
“So, how much time do we have?” I asked.
“I’ve got a couple of hours. What do we need to talk about? I know you loved the story,” Kirsten said confidently.
“Yeah,” I said softly. How was I going to tell her the feature needed some major work? This was one of the reasons I didn’t really like hiring the heavy hitters, but they could get to the major celebrities that neither I nor any of my staff writers could snag for a one-on-one interview. The best some of my staff writers could get was a phone interview. Kirsten was the type of writer who was regularly invited to the sets of movies and into the homes of stars. Her access really allowed the readers to feel like they were there at the interview.
“When will the article run?” Kirsten asked as she removed the martini olives and laid them on her bread plate. She finished the drink with two long gulps while waiting for me to answer.
“Well, we’re still waiting for some pictures. Do you think there’s any way we could get some pictures of Halle and E
ric’s wedding? No photos have run yet, so it would be major a coup for Bling,” I said.
“I don’t think we can get any photos,” Kirsten said. I guess she had forgotten how she boasted about being so tight with Halle’s publicist that she could get anything out of them she wanted.
“Do you think we can talk to Eric’s daughter about what a great mother Halle is?”
Kirsten rolled her eyes and looked at me like I had called her a bad name and said, “I don’t talk to children.”
“What about some of the people Halle went to high school with? I mean, if we could talk to the girl she had to share the title of prom queen with, well, that would be just priceless,” I said.
“How am I going to do that?” Kirsten asked as she motioned for the waiter. Before I answered, the waiter came over and Kirsten ordered another drink, but this time she requested a double.
I wanted to tell her it was called reporting, but all I could think about was the beautiful and talented Halle Berry gracing my cover with Kirsten’s name running across some amazing outfit Halle would wear for the photo shoot.
“What about some of her ex-boyfriends?” I suggested.
“Why?”
“I just think the story needs some more quotes. A little more depth,” I said cautiously.
“More depth? I thought you said you liked the story,” she said, her voice edged with surprise.
“Oh, I do. I just think it could be stronger.”
“I don’t know about that. Besides, my schedule is tight. I don’t know when I can get around to it,” Kirsten said. I could tell she wasn’t exactly feeling good about me right about now.
“What if I got someone from my staff to help out?”
“I don’t work well with other people. That’s why I freelance.”
“Oh, I understand, but I was just thinking of maybe getting a researcher who could find some of the people I think would make the story stronger and then have you do the interview,” I said.
“I hope you don’t expect me to be going to Cleveland or some-
place like that. I really don’t like traveling to small towns. Let’s order.”
“Okay,” I said, hoping maybe a meal might soak up some of the vodka Kirsten had gulped down and suddenly make her more reasonable. I didn’t really know what the next step should be. I was already paying her four dollars a word, which was going to really put a dent in my budget for future projects. I justified paying her the large amount of money because of the additional revenue the issue would bring in. I decided that I should maybe change the subject from Halle and the rewrite and talk about something a little more pleasant.
“Did you get the invitation to the dinner party for some of our advertisers and top writers?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve got my dress narrowed down to three,” Kirsten said.
“I know you’ll look beautiful,” I said.
“Well, you know I won’t come in there half stepping. You never know when Mr. Right Now might show up,” Kirsten said, laughing.
The waiter placed our entrées down, and I was relieved I no longer had to make small talk. A dull silence covered our corner of the large dining room, broken when Kirsten ordered a glass of Merlot. I figured I would just rewrite the story my damn self.
8
__________________
I had been in New York over a month before I made the phone call I knew I would eventually make, dialing the digits of John Basil Henderson. He was a man I had a love/I-think-you’re-out-of-your-mind relationship with. Basil was a super-sexy gray-eyed ex-professional football player I’d had flings with at different times in my life. I called him a friend, although we rarely saw eye to eye on anything. Still, there was something about the sexy Mr. Henderson that maintained my curiosity, and I knew the feelings were mutual. He’s so cocksure, and he routinely turns the heads of both men and women.
The moment I’d gotten to the city I had thought about calling Basil, but I decided I should get my bearings in my new position before I brought any John Basil Henderson confusion into my life. Besides, I figured there was nothing like a good-looking man to make me forget about my troubles. The last time I had seen or spoken to Basil, he’d been in a great deal of trouble, but I suspected he had somehow made it through since I hadn’t heard from him in a while.
I grabbed my PalmPilot and located Basil’s numbers, but I didn’t know if I should call his office or apartment. I really just wanted to leave a message and let him contact me.
Basil answered after two rings.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Raymond Tyler, what are you doing in New York? Looking for me?” Basil asked.
“How did you know I was in New York?” I asked.
“Now, you know a brotha like me gonna have caller ID. It’s good hearing your voice,” Basil said.
“So that’s why you call me all the time?” I joked.
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Basil said.
“Sure, sure. I bet you tell that to all the boys and girls,” I said. Basil was terribly confused when it came to his sexuality, or maybe he was truly bisexual.
“So we got a lot to catch up on. A lot has changed since we last spoke. How long are you here for?”
“A while. I’ve taken a job here,” I said.
“What? Man, that’s great. When’s your boy getting here?”
“I’m not certain,” I said quickly. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m in love again, and this time it’s the real thing. I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Basil said. There was an excitement in his voice I had never heard, so I was thinking that maybe he had finally met the woman who could tame his wild ways.
“That’s great. What happened to Rosa? More important, whatever happened with that Yancey lady?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you this over the phone or in person,” Basil said.
“You must have big news if you don’t want to talk about it over the phone. What’s going on with the firm?” The last time I had spoken with Basil, he was trying to decide whether he was going to leave the sports management company he co-owned.
“It’s big, and things couldn’t be better at the firm. We’ve signed some of the top talent coming out this year and we got rid of that asshole Nico,” Basil said.
“Nico. I think I remember you talking about him. Was he one of the partners?”
“Yeah, that’s the niggah who thought he was going to get me to leave the firm. I did some checking on his dealings with some of our clients’ finances and, well, let’s just say it was either leave the firm or spend some time in jail,” Basil said.
“Dude, what’s going on with your brother’s agent? The guy in Florida is getting ready to go on trial. I guess I won’t be so judgmental the next time I see some black athlete signed with a white agent.”
“I hear you. But I don’t want to talk about that mofo. I can’t wait for you to meet Talley Henderson,” Basil said.
I was wondering if I had heard Basil correctly. Did he say the new lady in his life shared his last name? Was Basil married?
“Talley Henderson,” I said nervously. I didn’t know why it even mattered who his new lady was. I always assumed Basil would end up with some beautiful lady and keep an equally good-looking man on the side.
“Yes, Talley, and she is beautiful,” Basil boasted.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I said weakly.
“What are you doing this evening?”
“I’ve got to meet with my new boss. You might know him, or maybe you’ve heard of him. Davis McClinton.”
“Who hasn’t heard of him? I mean, that brotha is the big dog. I heard he might be the first black billionaire. Is that true?”
“Possibly,” I said, feeling very small that I had lied about my plans to Basil. I just didn’t want to spend the evening watching him fawn over some beautiful playmate of a woman.
“Maybe we can get together for bre
akfast or lunch. It might be hard for you to meet Talley because she’ll be in nursery school,” Basil said.
“Is she a teacher?”
“A teacher?” Basil asked with a deep laugh.
“Did I say something funny?” I asked.
“Who do you think Talley is?”
“Your new lady,” I said.
“True, but it’s not what you think,” Basil said.
“Who is she?”
There was a brief pause and then Basil said proudly, “Talley is my daughter. Ray, I’m a daddy.”
“What? When did this happen? The last time I spoke with you, the biggest thing in your life was telling your father the truth about you. Now you’re a father? I can’t believe this,” I said.
“It’s a long story, but I can’t tell you how happy I am, Ray. Talley is just beautiful. She’s changed my life.”
“Sounds like it. Who’s the mother?” I asked. I hadn’t read anything in the entertainment magazine about Basil’s ex, Yancey, having a baby. Besides, she knew the real deal about Basil, and I didn’t know a lot of women who would knowingly take a chance with a man who slept with both sexes, unless you were Michelle Adams, Trent’s baby’s mama.
“Rosa. Remember the flight attendant I used to hang with? It’s a long story, and I can’t wait to sit down and tell you.”
“Are you still hanging with her?”
“No, not like that, but we’re cool. Trying our best to be great parents to our daughter,” Basil said. I couldn’t believe how mature and serious he sounded. Maybe this parenting thing was more powerful than I could have ever imagined.
“Let me give you my number. I’ve got to run, but I can’t wait to meet your little girl,” I said.
“Do that,” Basil said.
I gave Basil my office numbers and suggested that we get together soon. I didn’t know if I was looking forward to seeing him, but I knew it was something I had to do.
9
__________________
I tapped gently on Raymond’s office door and I heard a voice say, “Come in.”
A Love of My Own Page 6