He reluctantly grabbed the door handle, looked around the street, then quickly stepped inside, shutting the door.
“Where to, Chauncey?” I asked, looking at his tense face in the rearview mirror.
“Please, sir, you cannot—”
“Where to?”
He leaned forward, gripping the collar of his shirt and holding it there for a while; but he eventually loosened his tie and sat back. “Harlem, sir. One Hundred Thirty-Fourth Street and Malcolm X Boulevard.”
I drove the car at a snail’s pace all the way up to Harlem. Chauncey told me about life in Senegal, about the famous people from his land, like the father of African cinema, Ousmane Sembene, and about ceebu jën, also known as thieboudienne, which is basically their version of paella. Before moving to America, Chauncey had completed his PhD in renewable energy, but when he arrived here, no university would offer him a professorship, so he got a job as a driver through his cousin.
Thirty minutes later, we were there. I handed him the keys. He kissed his hand and raised it to the sky. Damn, is my driving that atrocious?
“Tell Amina I said happy birthday and that I’m sorry for keeping you away from her.”
“I will, sir, but no apologies necessary.”
I started walking down the street, hoping I could catch a cab all the way up there.
“Sir?” he called, holding the Tesla’s open door.
“Yeah?”
“I do not know what you are doing with all of these new people, but whatever it is, I know it is good. You are a good person, sir.”
I quietly saluted him, turning back down the street. I already knew what I was doing with ‘all of these new people.’ One of them would be the ticket to getting Barry off my back. After that, Sensei Buck would cut the rest loose.
25
“Where’s Rose?” I asked, looking around the Time Warner Center’s lobby. It was seven. “I said 6:45 p.m., didn’t I?”
Earlier in the day, I’d met with Barry, who finally explained why getting this SDR was so important. He said that the CEO of the hip-hop sponsorship company, X-Ploit, was the son of a wealthy Arab who could use his connections to help Barry get closer to a minority stake in the Giants. It was stupid as shit, but Barry wasn’t the type of person I’d want as an enemy, so I told the troops to meet at the Time Warner Center that night.
“You did,” Brian said.
Jake pointed toward the glass doors as Rose walked in. “Ova there.”
“Why are you late?” I asked, as she strolled over wearing black leather from head to toe.
She patted my shoulder, unconcerned. “Because I’m late. Is there anything I can say that’ll really make you feel better?”
“No.”
“Exactly. So what’s the plan?”
I scanned my motley crew. “Tonight is a celebration of all of your hard work over the past couple days. I want to thank you for making this an exciting week and for trusting me to lead the way.”
“This jus’ the beginnin’, Mr. Buck,” Jake said, slapping my shoulder with his oversize hands.
“Yeah, so we’re going to go up to the fourth floor to enjoy a delicious and expensive meal at Per Se,” I said. “But before we do, I want all of your wallets.”
“For what?” Rose asked, hesitantly reaching into her back pocket.
“Because Sensei Buck says so, that’s why.”
They each threw their penny-thin wallets into my bag and we entered the elevator. Four floors later, we reached a pair of royal-blue wooden doors. The four of them, wearing nothing even reminiscent of fine-dining attire, stood speechless before I pushed them inside.
Tables full of people lined the windows overlooking Columbus Circle, Central Park, and the skyline. A pretentious, likely hazardous, fireplace crackled behind glass. Six or seven white-clothed, candle-lit tables stood on a level higher than the others. After a little trouble, we were shown to one of them.
“Where are the individual prices?” Brian asked, scratching his cheek as he scanned the menu.
“There are no individual prices, it’s a fixed menu,” I said.
“Down there.” Ellen pointed to the bottom of Brian’s menu. “See that? It says three hundred forty per person. Service included.”
“Dang,” Jake said, looking over at me. “You sure you gon’ pay for all this?”
“Of course, it’s my pleasure.”
After I ordered a bottle of one of their most expensive champagnes, explained what prix fixe meant, showed Brian how to lay his napkin across his lap instead of shoving it into his collar, and told them to ignore all of the rich white people staring at us, everyone lightened up.
“So what we gon’ do with these new sales superpowers?” Jake asked, smelling his champagne before taking a sip.
“What do you want to do with them?”
“Make loads of money, obviously,” Rose said, swinging her head around the table for confirmation.
“Now tha’s a plan,” Jake said.
Brian silently nodded.
Ellen wiped her mouth, and said, “Of course money. But also use them to get ahead and help others do the same.”
The rest murmured agreement, and I slapped my hands together. “Perfect, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Because I have an opportunity. But for only one of you.”
“Who gets it?” Rose asked.
“It’s only right that it goes to Brian, since he was here at the beginning.”
“Will there be others?” Ellen asked, her blank stare seeing right through me.
“Maybe,” I said. “We’ll see. But either way, at least you all have learned something useful, right?”
Of course, Barry needed only one SDR, but that wasn’t my fault. The way I saw it, if the rest of them wanted to better their lives, they were now more equipped to do so. I didn’t owe anyone anything.
Reader: This is called information asymmetry, which basically means that one person has more information than another, giving them an advantage. It used to be more prevalent in sales before potential buyers could google everything, but it still exists, and the sleazier types of salespeople exploit it whenever possible. Don’t be that salesperson.
Everyone nodded, the air heavy with disappointment.
Brian’s eyes darted around the table, ashamed. “What’s the opportunity?”
“An interview. Monday at 9 a.m. You in?”
He took a sip of water and nodded. Everyone took turns rubbing his head, pulling his ears, and shaking his shoulders.
“You got this, boy!” Jake said. “I also want to thank you, Mr. Buck, for takin’ us all in as family.”
“Of course. No problem.”
“Not to get all sentimental, but it’s never been the easiest for me to make friends ’n’ keep ’em, since I spent most of my teenage years in ’n’ outta juvie, ’n’ doin’ all other kinds of foolishness, so I’m grateful for you,” Jake said, looking at me before addressing the table. “For all y’all.”
“Same here,” Ellen said. “I’ve moved around most of my life, seen terrible things, and sometimes still forget who I really am, but I feel grounded with all of you. To Buck.” She raised a glass of champagne.
“To Buck!” everyone echoed.
After we devoured and drank everything in sight, the waiter appeared. “Will there be anything else?” he asked, refilling everyone’s water glasses.
“Just the check,” I replied.
He bowed and walked away.
“This check ’bout to be big as fooook!” Jake shouted, obviously drunk, tipsy, or whatever they call it over in Kentucky.
I doubled over, laughing. “That’s right.” I gripped my stomach in pain.
“What’s so funny?” Rose asked.
“You didn’t think this was going to be that easy, did you? A free meal, and one, two, three”—I snapped three times—“you passed?”
“Whatchu mean?” Jake asked, now sober.
“For your last test”—I waved them in cl
oser as if I were the quarterback in a huddle—“you have to convince the waiter that we’re not paying.”
Brian, as black as asphalt, turned a few shades whiter.
“You’re a sadist,” Rose said, knocking back the last of the champagne straight out of the bottle.
“Regardless of what I am, none of you have your wallets, the bill is going to be bigger than your monthly rent, and I’m sure as hell not paying, so . . .”
“So we have no other choice,” Ellen said. Her face turned red and tears began forming in her eyes.
Jake wrapped an arm around her. “Dang, Ellen. It’s okay.”
“I’m not seriously crying,” she whispered. “It’s for show.”
“One of the most important part of sales is objection handling. You need to do everything in your mortal power to overcome the hurdles others place in front of you.”
The waiter returned with the bill, stood behind me as I reviewed all 2,830 dollars and 75 cents of it, then remained where he was, waiting for us to pay up. I handed the bill to Ellen, who handed it to Brian, who, with trembling hands, handed it to Jake, who, like a kid playing hot potato, tossed it to Rose.
She looked at the bill, then up at the waiter, and said, with a straight face, “We’re not paying this.”
The waiter let out a theatrical gasp like everyone does at the end of a mystery movie when you find out it was the butler who murdered the queen. “Is there an issue?” he asked.
“The food wasn’t good,” Rose said, holding his stare.
“But, madam, you already ate the food. Every last bit of it. Plus, all of the champagne is gone. How can you expect not to pay?”
“It—DICK!” Brian shouted, not even attempting to cover his mouth. “It wasn’t good. It got my friend sick,” he said, pointing at Ellen.
Ellen, who was now full on crying, held a napkin to her mouth, nodding.
“ ’N’ your atmosphere’s racist,” Jake added, leaning back in his chair, gesturing toward the portraits of various white men and women on the walls. “Where the Black folk at?”
The waiter, seeing that I was the best dressed of the group, shot a terrified, pleading look of desperation my way. I shrugged.
“I see.” He straightened out his shirt before retrieving the bill. “If you’re not going to pay, then I’ll have to get the host.”
The waiter power walked toward the host, who swung his head at us, baring cigarette-stained teeth. Red-faced, he whispered into an earpiece.
Three oversize goons in suits started toward the table, getting closer with each passing second.
“What do we do, what do we do, what do we do?” Brian asked, sweat pouring from his face.
“The elevators!” Rose shouted.
We each took off in different directions, causing the three bouncers to separate. Jake knocked one over on his ass, and two pale-faced, powdered-donut-looking women shouted as he crashed into their table, sending their trout into the air like it was jumping for joy.
Rose, with her dirty boots, leapt from table to table, as if she were making her way across a rocky river. Ellen blended in with the crowd, acting like she was talking with various similarly skinned patrons, stealthily making her way out of the sliding glass doors untouched.
They were all in the elevator by the time I got there, and Rose slammed the DOOR CLOSE button with her fist. Just like in every action movie, the doors closed right when the three bruisers showed up.
“Tha’s what it is!” Jake screamed, wrapping his large arms around the four of us. But after exiting the elevator, we realized that someone was missing. Brian.
“I thought he was right behind us,” I said, watching subsequent elevators arrive without Brian.
“Dang,” Jake said. “What now?”
I took a deep breath and let it out. This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Everyone go home. I’ll wait here for him and talk to the cops. It’ll be fine.”
I returned all of their wallets and everyone except Rose left. “You should leave,” I said, looking back at the elevators, anxiously waiting. “I can give you some money for a cab or something.”
“I’m okay.”
“Where do you live, anyway?”
“Here and there,” she said, avoiding eye contact.
“Here and there? C’mon, Rose. You force your way into my life, I go along with it, and that’s all you’re going to give me? ‘Here and there’?”
She plopped down on the floor and started to play with her shoelaces. “Why are you so fucking nosy?”
“Because I don’t even know you, and I’m investing my time in you.”
She laughed and looked up at me, her eyes shining like bubbles in sunlight. “Your precious time,” she spat. “I’m fucking homeless. Is that what you want to hear? How I spend some nights in a shelter, others with friends, playing a big game of musical chairs around the city hoping I always land on my feet?”
What the fuck? I thought, unsure if it was a joke, just another way for her to press my buttons. But it’d be some cruel joke. I knelt down beside her. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. No one knows, and I like keeping it that way. I never want to be the girl people pity. Just another sad Black girl in need of saving.”
It was crazy to see how she looked then, on the floor of the Time Warner Center, hands tangled in dirty shoelaces, eyes heavy with pain. This wasn’t her typical tough self.
“Come on.” I extended a hand to her. “You’ll come home with me.”
“Like I said, I don’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity; it’s just a place to stay. Once you get a job, you’ll be making a ton of money in no time and can move out.”
“What about Brian?”
“He’ll be fine,” I said, unsure. “He probably left another way. I’ll call him tomorrow, and if things somehow didn’t work out, I’ll fix it. I promise.”
“No. I’m not leaving Brian.”
I kept my hand out. “Rose, he will be fine. Trust me on this. Brian’s a lot tougher than you think.”
She stared at my hand for a few seconds and eventually took it. “Fine. Maybe you’re right.”
We walked outside and grabbed a cab. As she leaned her head against the window, the lights of New York City traveling across her face like faded spotlights, I turned to her, and asked, “What do you want out of life, Rose? Aside from money?”
“A family,” she said, letting out a lungful of air into the cab. “What about you? World domination? Best salesman in the world? Trophy wife who sucks you off every night?”
I shook my head. “No. I just want to make my mom proud.”
“I wasn’t expecting that.” She finally faced me. “Is she hard on you?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, looking out the window at all of the buildings blurring into one sloppy mess of a city. “She was.”
* * *
Having Rose stay over felt like what I imagined having a younger, messy, foul-mouthed sibling was like—one who raided your fridge, left dirty clothes everywhere, and watched endless amounts of Netflix, HBO, and, weirdly, the History Channel until five in the morning. She was annoying as hell, but I can’t front, it was nice having some platonic feminine energy around.
“We’re low on Cap’n Crunch,” Rose announced on Sunday morning, sitting cross-legged on the couch and staring with zombielike fixation at the TV.
“You mean you’re low on Cap’n Crunch,” I said, shoving her over so I could sit on my couch, in my apartment, to watch my television.
“Weren’t you the one who said, ‘What’s mine is yours, Rose, treat this like it’s your own spot’?”
I stared at her, impressed by her relentless wit. But before I could respond, my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” a robotic voice said. “This call will be recorded. This is a prepaid collect call from”—then I heard, “Brian Grimes,” in Brian’s trembling, panic-stricken voice—“an inmate at a New York County det
ention facility. This call is subject to recording and monitoring. To accept charges, press 1.”
“Who is it?” Rose asked, still staring at the TV.
“No one.” I pressed 1 and shot up from the couch.
From the way she turned and looked at me—eyes narrowed, face scrunched—I could tell she knew I was lying. “Is it Brian? Is he okay?”
“Thank you for using T-Netix,” the robotic voice said. “You may start the conversation now.”
“Buck?”
“Brian, where are you? We’ve been worried sick, and Per Se wouldn’t give me any information about what happened or where you are. It’s been almost two days, man.”
“I’m scared, Buck.”
“Scared? We just skipped out on the bill, Brian. Relax, it’s not like we killed someone. I’ll get you out and pay whatever the fine is.”
There was a pause, and I imagined Brian dressed in an orange jumpsuit with INMATE in black block letters over his heart, shaking with the pay phone in his hands. “It’s not that simple, Buck. I’m at Manhattan Detention Complex, and they do think I killed someone.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said. “Stop playing. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“I’m not playing—VAGINA! Sorry. I’m serious. I ran down some stairs in the back of Per Se and the cops were there. They grabbed me, read me my rights, and said I’m under arrest for the murder of some guy I’d never even heard of. They brought me in and finally let me have my phone call, so I’m calling you. I don’t know what to do, Buck. Tell me what to do. I feel like Wolverine when he was locked up in Weapon X.”
Tell him what to do? I had no fucking clue. Who was I, Johnnie Cochran? “Brian, just try to relax. Everything will be fine. You didn’t do it, so they can’t hold you. Let’s wait one more day, and if you’re not out, I’ll speak with someone, maybe Barry, and get you a lawyer. Can you do that? Can you hold out for one more day?”
I heard him fill his lungs and let it out. “Yeah, Buck. Okay. Sounds like a plan. Thank you.” Click.
“What the fuck is going on?” Rose stood behind me in my bedroom, hands on her hips.
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