Just Another Damn Love Story

by Caleb Alexander

  The Upper Montclair Country Club was one of those blue blood facilities that had been established at the turn of the twentieth century. It dated back to 1901, while its clubhouse dated back to the 1920’s. It boasted several dining facilities, each tailored to its various member’s mood and requirements. There was a banquet room that could seat one hundred and eighty people, a club room for casual dining, a member’s grille for less formal dining, a terrace for dining al fresco, a West lounge for more intimate dining, and a traveler’s room for business luncheons or private dining. But what Sterling loved most about the facility, was its golf course.

  The course was a 27 hole affair, designed by none other than Robert Trent Jones Sr. It was immaculately maintained, while the service, amenities, and pro shop were something that could only be experienced. It seemed as though the facility anticipated its patron’s needs, even before the patron’s could express them. It was this service, and the facility’s convenient location to his Montville, New Jersey estate, that kept him coming back.

  “Man, you should have seen her,” Sterling told Wilson. “Yellow bone, with skin like buttermilk. Green eyes, a sexy pixie haircut, nice up top, thick hips, and butt that you could sit a coffee cup on!”

  Wilson and Sterling broke into laughter.

  “I mean, baby girl was fine with a capital F,” Sterling continued. “And she had it all together. She was witty, charming, and she had this sexy confidence about her.”

  Wilson snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, are you talking about the one you sent to the office the other day?”

  Sterling shook his head. “I didn’t send anyone to the office. Especially anyone that looked like that!”

  “I could have swore she said that you sent her,” Wilson said. He paused for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well. Anyway, it’s good to hear you talk about a women with so much passion again. I never thought that I’d hear you so excited about another women, not after Carmela.”

  This time Sterling shrugged. “I never thought I’d be like this either, but baby girl had it going on.”

  “And she wouldn’t give you the digits?” Wilson smiled and shook his head. “You need some help from the master?”

  “The master?” Sterling swung his club once again, and sent another golf ball flying down range. “Please! You couldn’t catch a cold if you walked across Alaska naked and dripping wet.”

  “Sterling, do I have to take you to the club and prove it to you again?” Wilson asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  “I don’t do the club thing anymore, and that’s good for you, or else I would have to take you up on that bet.”

  “Bloomingdales, Neiman Marcus, Saks, Walmart, you name the place!” Wilson said excitedly. “The teacher will take you to school!”

  Sterling and Wilson laughed heartily.

  “Will, you’re crazy,” Sterling said, concentrating on his swing once again.

  “So how do you plan on finding this mystery lady?” Wilson asked.

  Sterling shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. She said that she worked for Mocha. Maybe I could have someone do a little checking around.”

  “Mocha, Mocha, Mocha, hmmm.” Wilson lifted an eyebrow. “I could have sworn that sister that came to my office said that she worked for Mocha. But I could have sworn that you sent her. How else could she have gotten past security? This is weird. In fact, I believe I gave her a purse.”

  Sterling peered up from his practice. “She definitely had one of our handbags, but I didn’t send her. Are you sure she said that I sent her?”

  “I believe so,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “But then again, I don’t remember. I’ve been seeing dozens of people the last few days, searching for models for the upcoming fashion event in The Hamptons, interviewing designers, and interviewing executives to run the line, as well as dozens of other people for various positions around the company. I just don’t remember.”

  Sterling waved him off. “Ahhh, don’t worry about it. If it was meant to be, I’ll run into her again.”

  *****

  “I don’t understand what the fuck this bitch is trying to say!” Laquisha shouted, throwing the fax from the corporate office across the room. “Them bitches in Atlanta gots me all fucked up! AOL Time Warner can kiss the blackest part of my ass! Kimberly, Jerome, Pamela, Aisha, and Lani, get y’all asses in here!”

  The group filtered into the office one by one.

  “Take y’all time,” Laquisha told them.

  The group seated themselves in various chairs arrayed around the office.

  “First off, what the hell is this?” Laquisha asked, tossing some papers to Lani. “This is supposed to be a tug-at-your-heart piece about Haitian immigrants coming across the water in shoddy makeshift life rafts. Instead, I get a technical piece about immigration and the courts, and the legal challenges facing the Haitian immigrants. Try again.”

  Laquisha wheeled, and turned toward Aisha. “And you! You’re supposed to be my fashion writer, but the only articles you’ve been sending me, have been dealing with the business of fashion, and not the clothing itself! I know you want to move over to what you consider more serious writer pursuits, but for right now, you work for Mocha as a fashion writer. So write about some damn fashion!”

  “And you!” Laquisha shouted, turning toward Kimberly. “Why I get a call from the Benz dealership, asking if your ass was alright? What the hell is wrong with you? What did you go down there and pull? You were too sick to close a deal that was basically in the bag? I’ll bet your ass won’t be too sick to walk in here and pick up your damn paycheck on Friday, will you? This is some straight up bullshit!”

  “And you!” she shouted, turning toward Jerome. “Your little fairy ass fucked up my Army contract, flirting with the fucking ad specialist! They requested that I send someone else!”

  “Someone else!” Jerome shouted. “That bastard! He didn’t want someone else when he was trying to get into my panties!”

  “Drawers, Jerome!” Laquisha shouted. “You wear fucking drawers! You’re a man!”

  Jerome shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  Laquisha through her pen up in the air and rolled her eyes. “Why did I walk into that one?”

  “What did I do?” Pamela asked.

  “Actually, nothing,” Laquisha told her. “But I just didn’t want you to feel left out. Since I have nothing to yell at you about, I’ll just say this. Keep on getting my paper!”

  Laquisha ran her hand across her sweaty brow, clearing away the perspiration that she had worked up. She drew in a deep breath, calming herself before continuing. “Now, the reason I called you all in here, is because I have to send some of you to the fashion show in The Hamptons this weekend. Naturally, I’m going to send my least fucked up people. Pam, you and Kim go and work the crowd for accounts, and Lani and Aisha, you go and cover the show for the magazine. I’m sending Pezo to take the photographs for us. His shots, plus whatever we’re able to buy from the freelancers should cover us pretty good.”

  “Are we staying in The Hamptons?” Kimberly asked.

  “What do you mean?” Laquisha asked.

  “Is Mocha paying for us to stay in The Hamptons?” Kimberly clarified.

  “Is the Pope Baptist?” Laquisha cackled. “Hell no, Mocha ain’t paying for you to stay in the damn Hamptons.

  “Why can’t I go?” Jerome pleaded.

  “Because you’re on my shit list right now!” Laquisha shouted. “Look, I want some good shit outta this weekend. I want great photos, fantastic stories, and a lot of fucking ad sales. Do y’all got that?”

  Nods went around the room.

  “Traditionally, this show has been a big producer for us, and it’s always given us a boost in magazine sales,” Laquisha told them. “I want that tradition to continue. So let’s get out there and get it done.”

  “Laquisha, one question,” Lani said, rising from her seat.

  “Yeah?”

  “What kinda hum
an interest story am I going to get from The Hampton’s fashion show?”

  “I don’t know, you’re the writer, you think of something!” Laquisha shouted. “Maybe some skinny model bitch breaks her nail and believes that her career is in ruins.”

  “I got the perfect stories for you,” Aisha told Lani. “You can do designer profiles, chronicling their struggles to make it in the industry. I can hook you up with some of the designers.”

  “That’s what I like to hear!” Laquisha told them. “You bitches work together and get my money!”

  Chapter Eight

  The Hamptons were known for its collection of high dollar mansions, star filled social season, and mind blowing celebrity parties. It was also known for its yachting regalia, its charity events, and its star studded fashion shows. This year's biggest show, was being held at Guild Hall, a restored five-acre estate in East Hampton Point. All of the industry’s movers and shakers would be there.

  This year’s theme was Feng Shui, the ancient Chinese art and science for protection and good fortune. None other than Eric Clapton, Chris Brown, and Mary J. Blige, would be performing the first night, while Elton John, Keisha Cole, Lauren Hill, and Goapele would take center stage the second night. Wyclef Jean, George Straight, Rhianna, and Usher, would close out the third night with a bang. This year’s event was being sponsored by Imani Cosmetics, Bobbi Brown Cosmetics, Mercedes Benz, and Tanqueray.

  The sponsors had spent huge sums turning Guild Hall and its corresponding acreage into a beautiful Chinese botanical paradise. Ponds had been constructed, and Chinese lanterns, vases, and screens had been placed throughout the estate. And it was all done in white.

  “Gianna, your designs are off the hook!” Sterling said excitedly.

  “Thank you, sir,” Gianna said, bowing slightly. She was Vespasian’s in house designer from Milan. And she had designed this year's premiere exhibits for the design house.

  “I don’t know how you pulled it off,” Sterling told her. “But you and Amerigo nailed this year’s theme to the tee. When the other designers see what we have this year, they’ll be filled with envy.”

  Amerigo bowed his head in modesty. He too, was one of Vespasian’s hot young Sicilian designers, working out of the company’s Milan office. He had nailed the white, cotton, double breasted men’s suits that Vespasian would be showcasing. The suits were reminiscent of the fine Italian suits worn by the famous Chicago and New York gangsters during prohibition. They were the same suits worn by the Japanese Yakuza, and Chinese mafiosos, and thus gave Vespasian the theme for their men’s line. They gave the white diamond suits, porcelain pin stripes, offsetting the base color just enough to be seen by the naked eye. They put Tommy guns in the hands of their male models, put them in some porcelain colored gators, some white diamond fedoras, and placed some fat Cuban cigars in their mouths. Vespasian also brought in some white diamond colored, nineteen twenty Lincoln Continentals for their models to ride in on. And they made sure that all of their models were Chinese. They were going to show out this season.

  As wonderful as the men’s line was, the women’s line was going to be even better. Gianna had paired a white pearl Kimono type dress with flowing butterfly sleeves, with a pair of white pearl espadrilles with six inch wedges. The white pearl dresses had white porcelain colored dragons flowing over them, as well as the Chinese characters for Feng Shui. Her Chinese models also carried white silk umbrellas, with white bamboo handles that matched the dresses. Their faces were painted white, and made up in the style of the Geisha. Sterling said that she had showed her ass off with this first design.

  Gianna’s second showing, was a strapless white Georgette style dress with flowing butterfly sleeves and a flowing and layered butterfly hem. The dress had gold V’s printed over it, and was paired with some T strap chain sandals, that had gold Vespasian V’s as the chains. The look was East meets West; a pairing of Beijing and Milan, uniting the best of both worlds.

  Gina’s third showing, was a white form fitting dress, with a sweetheart neckline, that she paired with a breathtaking pair of quarter-calf, leg-wrap sandals. The sandals, whose tiny white straps wrapped themselves up to a quarter of the wearer’s calf, were show stealers. The crowd couldn’t stop the gasping, and then clapping and cheering after seeing them.

  And Sterling went all out with his last showing. He chose to have Rick Ross’s song ‘Boss’ blasted on the loudspeaker when the model strutted out onto the stage. She wore a white, oversized, rabbit fur, hooded parka, with rabbit feet sewn the length of it, serving as the toggles. It fit right in with this year’s motif of good fortune. This year, even Donatella had to bow down and give him his props.

  “Okay, you showed your ass, this year,” Kimberly told him.

  Sterling turned in her direction. “Hello!” He was surprised out of this world.

  “Allow me to introduce my friends and colleagues, Pamela Winslow, and Aisha Green,” Kimberly told him.

  “Please to meet you,” Sterling told them, shaking each of their hands in turn.

  “Kim said that you work for Vespasian,” Pam said nodding. “I have to admit, you guys stole the show this year.”

  “That white Kimono was off the chain!” Aisha told him. “And that model, with her teeny-tiny feet in those high ass wedges, she looked just like a damn Geisha! You guys are off the charts this year!”

  “What exactly do you do for Vespasian, Sterling?” Pam asked.

  “Everything!” Sterling said laughing.

  “He’s right, I saw him carrying boxes,” Kimberly said laughing.

  “Oh, so you’re just like us,” Aisha said. “A jack of all trades, but under appreciated by all the higher ups.”

  The ladies all lifted their glasses in a toast.

  “To the under appreciated!” Kim said. “The ones that make the company go round and round.”

  “But who get stepped on!” Pam added.

  “And who get the shitty assignments, and the worst pay!” Aisha added.

  “This is not exactly a shitty assignment,” Sterling said, waving his hand around at the beautiful set up.

  “No, not this one,” Pam agreed. “But wait until you’re on that plane flying coach.”

  “With that hollering baby in the seat across the aisle,” Kim said, shaking her head.

  “And that bad ass little boy behind you, kicking the back of your seat,” Aisha added.

  “And that fly mouth, flippant stewardess who looks down on you because you’re flying coach!” Kimberly said.

  “And the cheap motel room, the funky crowds of journalists, the…” Aisha started.

  Sterling held up his hands. “Okay, okay, I get you.”

  Aisha pulled out a tiny digital recorder. “So, can I interview you?”

  “Are you somebody worth interviewing, Sterling?” Pamela asked.

  Sterling laughed. “That depends on who you ask.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m not going to let y’all torture my friend,” Kim told her friends. She interlaced her arms with Sterling’s and led off. The two of them slowly made their way through the crowd, toward the pier.

  “So, are you here on assignment?” Sterling asked.

  “Something like that,” Kim replied.

  “So, what exactly do you do for Mocha?”

  “I’m an ad executive.”

  “Oh, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you were in the building that day, and why you’re at this fashion event today,” Sterling explained. “You’re lining up advertisers for your magazine.”

  “Correct.” Kim said nodding. “And you’re here because?”

  “Working for Vespasian, helping out with the fashion show, making sure everything goes right.”

  “Okay, so what exactly do you do for them?” Kim asked.

  “Everything.”

  “Everything,” Kimberly laughed. “There goes that answer again. You’re real mysterious, you know that?”

  “I�
��m not trying to be,” Sterling smiled. “In fact, I really want you to get to know me a lot better.”

  “Really?” Kimberly said, lifting an eyebrow.

  Sterling nodded. “Really. You running off without giving me your telephone number was torture.”

  “Torture?”

  “Torture,” Sterling confirmed. “I couldn’t sleep at night, I couldn’t eat. All I could do was think of you. Your smile haunted my thoughts and dreams, all day and all night.”

  “Oh, you’re good,” Kim told him. “You’re a charmer. I don’t give my number to guys as smooth as you.”

  “I get penalized for telling the truth?” Sterling asked. “I put it on everything, I thought about you a lot since that day on the elevator.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it's not everyday that one comes across a sister so beautiful, so charming, so intelligent, so well together as yourself. You’re a very memorable person. A person who I would really love to get to know a lot better.”

  Kimberly swallowed hard. She found herself staring into this man’s hazel eyes and almost melting. He was definitely a charmer. Smooth as silk, with a voice that had her feeling moist in places that shouldn’t be feeling moist. The two of them approached the pier and peered out over the yacht filled waters.

  “Wow, what do you think one of these runs?” Kimberly asked.

  “That one, about fifteen million.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice to have,” she said softly. “I would live on it, and just sail around the world. The only time I would stop, would be for food and fuel, and maybe to walk on an occasional beach, or to take in an occasional sunset.”

  “You should never turn down the opportunity to take in a sunset,” Sterling said, leaning forward and whispering into her ear. He caressed the side of her face, and gently touched his lips against hers. “Especially, if you have the opportunity to watch the sun’s reflection in the eyes of someone as beautiful as yourself. You should see the sun radiating off of your skin right now.”