The two men he had hired to help him with the job met him in the hospital lobby. It was unusually busy, he thought, with a lot of people who looked neither sick nor like medical staff.
“What's the commotion about?” he asked the security guard at the front desk of the hospital. Everyone had to sign in and show ID. Security was extra strict.
“Ritz Harper is a patient here, and those people over there are reporters trying to catch a scoop,” he said, pointing to the ragtag team stationed in the emergency room waiting area. “Over there are plainclothes cops. They're checking every single person who comes in. Whoever shot Ritz Harper is still out there.”
“Ritz Harper?” Randolph said, looking puzzled. He hadn't really followed the news or gossip pages. He had read somewhere that the radio shock jock had been shot, but he had no idea she would be in the very hospital he'd be working in.
“Yeah, that bitch on the radio who's always gossiping about someone,” the guard said. “Someone tried to put her out of her misery, I guess.”
Randolph didn't respond. He was in a daze. He flashed back to the very memorable evening he spent with Ritz Harper and how he really did have to take a cold shower when he got home. She left quite an impression. He expected to see her again. He just never expected it would be like this.
Randolph had a brief meeting with his men and showed them exactly what they would be working on for the day. Ironically, their work zone was on the same floor as Ritz Harper. Randolph took the opportunity to stop in and see her. There was a guard standing in the outer area. He showed him his contractor's ID and told him that he was a friend.
He put his electrical-tool belt down and walked in. The hospital had set up a mini waiting area in the room next to Ritz's room. He hesitantly poked his head into the room. His eyes locked with Tracee's and he could have sworn he saw her blush.
“Hi, I… I don't mean to disturb you all, but I just wanted to stop by and see how Miss Harper was doing,” Randolph said. “How is she?”
Tracee was sitting in front of the door and Madalyn and Cecil were next to her. Ritz was sleeping. They were all waiting for the doctor to come by and give them some news of her condition.
“We don't know much,” said Tracee, who smiled for the first time in a week. “She's out of the coma, but she isn't completely out of the woods. But she thinks she is, which is a good thing. Ritz has a lot of fight in her.”
“What did you say your name was?” Aunt Madalyn said.
“Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, my name is Randolph, Randolph Jordan,” he said. “I fixed Miss Harper's Jacuzzi a couple of months ago. She's quite a lady. I hope she has a complete recovery. I started listening to her on the radio and I miss her. I just wanted to come by and pay my respects.”
“Okay, we'll tell her you stopped by when she wakes up,” said Aunt Madalyn.
“I'll be around for a while. I just got a contract to do some wiring on this floor in the hospital,” he said. “So if it's okay, I'd like to stop by tomorrow.”
“Of course you can,” said Aunt Madalyn.
“Thank you,” Randolph said. “I'm going to get back to my work. I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Madalyn and Cecil said in unison.
The pleasure will be all mine, Tracee was thinking. She felt very naughty. But what she said was “See you tomorrow.”
Randolph smiled at Tracee as he left.
“And he has the nerve to have dimples, too,” Tracee said to herself.
It had been more than a year since she had a relationship. When she left New York, she left everything, including the boyfriend she had been seeing for three years. Her life had been superficial. She had the high-profile job as a record company executive. She had the perfect Manhattan loft and the perfect investment banker boyfriend. He was Jack-and-Jill, Alpha Phi Alpha, 100 Black Men perfect. He was bring-home-for-Thanksgiving and fit-right-in-with-the-family perfect. He was there for the Grammys, American Music Awards, the BET Awards. He wore Brooks Brothers and Armani, spectacles, and had perfect diction. He would have made the perfect husband and the perfect father. Had Tracee stayed around, they would have had a house in the Hamptons or Sag Harbor and two-point-five children within four years.
One snag. This man didn't believe in God. When Tracee started going to church, he refused, saying, “Please don't get too caught up in that holy-roller stuff, Tracee.” The more Tracee got caught up, the more she started reading her Bible and studying the Word, the more she realized that she was leading a shallow life. Her life was all about the appearances, but it had very little substance. She started looking at her man beyond the worldly eye, the career, the clothes, the look, and found that he wasn't the kind of man that she wanted to raise a family with and live happily ever after. She discovered that he wasn't really into Tracee as much as he was into
Tracee's lifestyle. He got major points with his boys going to the Grammys and walking the red carpet.
When Tracee announced that she was considering leaving her job and taking the platinum parachute, he lost it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said. “You're such an ungrateful bitch! You have the best job in the world. People would kill to have your job, and you're just going to throw it all away. For what? For Jesus? Shiiiiit! That's the dumbest thing I ever heard.”
Mr. Perfect had perfect grammar, but he also cursed like a ten-year-old in a schoolyard. Tracee was not going to be called a bitch by anyone, not even by Mr. Perfect in his Brooks Brothers suit. If he spoke to her like that now, what would he be saying to her in five years? Would he go from punishing her with his mouth to punishing her with his fist? Of course he would.
She decided it wasn't worth explaining— at least not to him. She was going to follow her heart, and that meant walking out on the “perfect” job and the “perfect” man in search of a real perfect life. She never looked back. But there were times when she felt incredibly lonely. There weren't many people from her old circle who understood what she was doing and why. Not even Ritz. Ritz tolerated Tracee's changes. She accepted them. But Ritz didn't understand them. There were many things Tracee could no longer talk to her friend about— like men.
Celibacy was not something Tracee ever set out to practice. She just said she wasn't having sex with anyone until the right one came along. The problem was that Mr. Right seemed to be taking his time. And as much studying and reading and going to church as Tracee was doing, she was still a human being with human needs. She wasn't like some women, praying for a man, begging God for Mr. Right. But she did indulge in fantasy every now and then. She would allow herself a taste of some eye candy and some mind candy. Tracee knew when she was close to improving herself, she would be in a position to receive that man. She was always of the mind that you would never find the right man until you were right within yourself. Somewhere, long ago and far away, she had read:
Marriage can make a good life great. Marriage cannot make a bad life good.
She had never forgotten that advice. In fact, she lived by it.
“Why in the world would God do that to some good man by having him get involved with a woman who wasn't right?” Tracee would say to the women in her church. “That is not love, that is biology, a natural reflex, like scratching an itch. Fix yourself first, be a good woman, and you will attract to you what you are. He will come to you.”
Tracee wondered if her man had just come to her. She couldn't quite explain it, but it seemed as if she knew this Randolph Jordan. She felt like she knew him well.
And as Tracee daydreamed, Cecil and Madalyn were having a similar experience about Randolph.
“Cecil, did that young man seem familiar to you?” Madalyn said. She was frowning.
“He seemed very nice, but I don't know about familiar.”
“He looked very familiar to me. You know I don't forget a face.”
“Baby, I know that for a fact,” Cecil said. “You think you've seen him somewhere before?”
“Y
es, I think he is someone I've seen before,” she said. “Or someone very much like him.”
“Who?” asked Cecil.
“He called himself Randolph, but he reminds me of someone named Ritchie.”
“‘Richie'? Like Richie Rich, the cartoon character?”
“No, Ritchie with a t. Like ‘Ritgina.'”
“Like who?”
“Like Ritchie Jordan. Ritz's daddy.”
17
Ruff decided to throw a WHOT Block Party/Welcome Back Ritz Party in Washington Square Park in the West Village of Manhattan. He pulled some strings to get a park permit. He contacted the head of publicity at Universal Music Group and booked a couple of the hottest artists to perform. Station manager Abigail Gogel was not in agreement with any of it.
“So not only are we not firing that Ritz Harper, but we're throwing her a fucking party?!” she said. “I don't know who is crazier— you for coming up with the idea, or me for going along with it. I don't know, Ruff. I don't know about this.”
“We will get mucho media attention. And we can make some money through sponsorship packages,” said Ruff. “Besides, Ritz wants to come back big. She wants a spectacle. She said she wants to show people that she's not scared.
What better way than a big, splashy, public event? You got to give it to her. She has balls.”
“Yeah. She's got balls, all right. Maybe she can do us all a favor and get shot again!”
“Come on, Miss Gogel!”
“You want publicity?! Now, that would bring us a lot of attention. In fact, it would be nice if Ritz could get her ass shot every four months or so, when they issue the new Arbitron book. I'll speak to her about it. I'll tell her she should be a ‘team player.'”
“I don't want it like that,” said Ruff, trying not to laugh. “I know how you feel about Ritz. But she has been a cash cow for us. How many people would come back from being shot and fight so hard to get back on the air? I respect that lady. I respect her a lot.”
“Only because I respect you, I'll keep my thoughts to myself from now on,” she said. “But I still wouldn't mind seeing her fat behind get drilled again. Okay, let's change the subject.”
“Okay. How's your love life?” Ruff sneaked out a chuckle.
“That's enough, smart-ass.”
Even though Ritz was weeks away from being back on the air, the party would be a way for her fans to celebrate her recovery and that she was alive. Ruff thought it would be a great idea, and he rounded up Ritz's team to help. Jamie, Aaron, and Chas were called to the office and told the news. They all agreed to do anything that needed to be done. Ruff wanted them to man a Ritz Harper booth where they would sell Ritz Harper T-shirts, hats, and mugs, and give away autographed promotional pictures.
“But Ritz won't be there,” Chas said.
“I know, but her team will be. Trust me, people will be happy to get a piece of her. She will be like the Wizard of Oz, there but not there. It'll work.”
Ruff asked Chas to stick around after Aaron was sent back to man the boards. This was the first day of fill-in hosts, and he had to make sure everything was right.
Jamie had a lot of preparation to do for this woman Michelle Davis. Jamie didn't know what to expect from her, but she had made it known that she wanted to be tight, as she always was. She was excited. She had hopes of them taking their little thing to another level.
“Chas, I want to thank you for being a trooper,” Ruff said. “Thank you for pitching in and making this hectic time less hectic. You are a real pro. I know it's been difficult. I know you had other plans, but you put all of that aside, rolled up your sleeves, and made it happen here. Thank you.”
“I just want to win,” Chas said. “I want to be number one.”
“Do you think you can be number one with anyone who sits in that seat?” Ruff asked.
“I don't think I can. I know I can.”
“Would it matter to you if Ritz didn't come back?” Ruff asked.
Is this a trick question? Chas thought. He had better be careful in answering this one.
Maybe Ruff was setting him up, trying to see where he stood. He had to stay inside if he was ever to get what he really wanted. Chas was a patient man. What he wanted now more than anything was Ritz out of the way. But he couldn't have his fingerprints on that. Law No. 26 in the 48 Laws of Power states: Keep Your Hands Clean. “Maintain a spotless appearance by using others as scapegoats to disguise your involvement.”
“Ritz is the diva. She is a fierce competitor and she loves to win,” said Chas, not answering Ruff's question.
Ruff didn't pursue it. He thanked Chas again and told him that if he needed anything, to feel free to come to him.
Back in the studio, Aaron was feeling a little out of the loop and depressed.
“I miss Ritz,” he confided in Jamie.
“Believe it or not, I do, too,” Jamie said. “She was so crazy that she made the job interesting.”
“I know. It was like we were creating something special here. We were being noticed. Even some of my friends were giving me props. Ritz talked to me so much on the air and let me go buckwild with the sound effects, it's like I had my own show within a show.”
“I know. But I don't miss being the gofer. She was a bit much with that, and putting me on blast on the radio wasn't cool,” Jamie said.
“She didn't do that to you often. You should have seen the last three interns. All she had them do was buy her super-size Kotex. She must have a goddamn Grand Canyon between her legs! They really got the hammer, and none of them lasted long. Ritz needed you. And even if she didn't say it, she appreciated you. I hope she comes back soon.”
“Yeah.”
“So who is this Michelle Davis bitch who is filling in for the week?”
“Watch that ‘bitch' shit,” Jamie shot back. “And boy, you need to up your game a bit. You don't know Michelle Davis? She's only the hottest up-and-comer in the news business. Fox News has her as their next big thing. I think she's very good. I don't know how she'll roll with radio, though.”
“I hope she falls flat on her face!”
“Aaron! Come on, now. You have to be professional,” Jamie warned.
“Don't worry, I'll be very professional. But she ain't getting none of my extras. No sound effects, none of the cute things that I do to make Ritz look good. If this Michelle Davis is so good, she's going to have to show it.”
Chas walked back into the studio.
“Okay, team, you guys ready for today?” he said.
“Yes, sir. Ready and professional as can be,” Aaron said, winking at Jamie. “So what did old Ruff want with you?”
“Nothing, just tying up some loose ends. Some programming stuff. So we have two guests booked for Ritz's fill-in. We might not get any callers, and I don't know if this lady knows how to work the audience. She's never done radio, so Aaron, I need you to be on point. I will be here to direct traffic for her, but if it blows up, we need to have a Ritz interview in the can ready to go. How about the interview when Ritz gets Heather Jones to admit she has herpes? We haven't used that in any of the Best ofs, have we?”
“No, we didn't use that one,” Jamie jumped in. “And how about the interview with the pedophile who called up? I didn't use that one either. Ritz is up for an Edward R. Murrow Award for that.”
“That's great. Cool. Well, we're ready.”
“When is Ritz coming back?” Aaron asked.
“You miss her, huh, li'l fella?” Chas said teasingly. “I don't know. But I do know it will be soon. Miss Thing is about to bust at the seams, and I know they're about ready to kick her out of the hospital. Can you imagine her coming back from being shot and in a coma and being more fierce than ever? Ritz Harper is hell on wheels.”
“That's what I'm talking about,” Aaron said. “That's what I miss. That fi-ya!”
Jamie didn't say a word.
“What's going on with you, baby girl?” Chas asked Jamie.
“Nothing. Nothing
at all.”
“How are you and that fine hunk of a man doing?”
“Oh, he'll be here right after the show to pick me up,” Jamie said. “We're doing well.”
“You are so lucky that he's completely straight, or I would be trying,” said Chas, who wasn't “visibly” gay but certainly wasn't in the closet. “I ain't going to lie. I can see what he's packing under those clothes.”
“You can't even imagine,” Jamie said, pushing Chas playfully. “As a matter of fact, scratch that. I don't want you imagining. Take your dirty mind off my man.”
“No need to worry. I'm not the kind of man who likes to chase after a man who I know is straight. I don't need the ego boost if I can get him over to my side. That's a waste of time. And I don't have any to waste. Besides, there are plenty of sexy available men out there who want to be had.”
It was one thing for Chas to talk about Derek to Jamie. She didn't mind that at all. It was harmless. Jamie was used to women flirting with Derek. He had something about him that was so damn attractive. Jamie wasn't the jealous type. She never let a man get that close that he could make her jealous. She would just as soon walk away from a relationship than be played out. Derek made it easy being with him. He never even looked at another woman. He made her feel perfectly secure. He wasn't a dog. She knew he wasn't an angel, either. But at least he was real genuine and honest.
The only time she felt remotely uncomfortable was the last time Derek came up to the studio, when Ritz was overtly flirtatious with him. It wasn't Ritz's action, it was Derek's reaction to it. Ritz came over to him during the break and leaned across him to get a pen on the other side of his seat.
“Excuse me,” Ritz purred.
Derek didn't say a word. He nodded, and it looked like for a split second Ritz and Derek's eyes locked and Derek blushed. In all the time Jamie had known Derek, she had never seen him blush; she didn't think he was capable of it.
What the fuck is that nigga blushing about? Jamie thought.
Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? Page 8