Chas wasn’t trying to rub it in. He was simply trying to deflect. The truth was that he wasn’t getting as much action as it appeared. He was hustling for the show. His “dates” were really contacts, opportunities for more exclusives. His “clubbing” was really spying to get more exclusives for the show. He liked Ritz and others to believe that he was some sort of magician who could pull stories for the show out of a hat, when in reality he was humping his behind to make sure that Ritz—and really his—star kept rising.
“You know what? I will cancel all plans tonight,” Chas said. “It will be me and you. Let’s order some Indian and pick it up on the way to your place. What’s that spot on South Orange Avenue?”
“Neelam?” Ritz responded.
“Yeah, that one.”
“Okay. I have a few ideas I want to run by you,” Ritz said.
“I can’t wait!” That’s what Chas’s mouth said, but he really didn’t want any ideas from Ritz. He had all the ideas she would ever need. But he decided a long time ago to humor her.
He remembered reading in one of the many Machiavelli-style books that he seemed to devour whenever he got the chance that real power is in what is not seen. The truly powerful leave no fingerprints.
13
ON THE AIR
“This just in . . .” Ritz pressed the cough button to let Aaron know to play her news flash sound effect. “According this fax, LaFrance, hot young R&B diva and lead singer of the group Serendipity, has just had an abortion. This report comes directly from the Upper West Side clinic. Her wig and sunglasses didn’t fool one observant clinic worker. We all know LaFrance as a super Christian. She is even releasing her solo gospel album next month. Stay tuned for more details.”
Ritz pressed the cough button to let Aaron know to kill the news flash sound effect.
“Whoa!” Ritz said. “Can you believe this? I just saw her on the Grammys talking about ‘the Lord’ this and ‘the Lord’ that. Well! Isn’t she a spokesperson for celibacy? Doesn’t she claim to be a virgin? Well, maybe she had an immaculate conception. Maybe she just got rid of the second coming of Jesus. Oops! Did I say that?!
“I see the phone lines are lighting up. But we’re out of time. We can pick this back up tomorrow. I love you for listening!”
Gradually, Jamie the intern began sticking around after Ritz’s shift was over. She learned even more after the show, just being diligent in her work and not saying much. She didn’t talk much, which made people feel really comfortable around her. It was another lesson learned from her father. In fact, Chas and Ritz sometimes forgot she was in the room.
“So, who are we going to ruin tomorrow?” Ritz asked sarcastically.
“You name the person and I’ll make it happen, baby cakes,” Chas said. “Who do you want to take out next?”
“Hmmm. Whitney? Been there, done that! Michael Jackson? Done. Diana Ross? Damn, there’s hardly anybody left worth taking out. Maybe we need a different approach. I don’t know.”
Jamie didn’t react as she pretended to sort and file the faxes from the day.
“Nah. We have to stick with the formula. Ride the horse that brought us,” Chas said.
“I’m getting a little tired of the drama, Chas. I mean, in the beginning it was fun turning over rocks and watching the critters squirm to get out of the line of fire. It was cool because I felt like we were taking down people who deserved it. Now it feels like we’re just messing over people’s lives.”
“Ritz, baby, I know you’re not getting soft,” Chas said in a warning tone. “This isn’t about messing over people’s lives. Like you said, if they don’t want folk in their business, they shouldn’t be out there doing the things they’re doing. You ain’t making them cheat, lie, and steal. You’re just telling on them when they do.
“Do you want to stay on top or what?”
“I do,” Ritz said. “I know you’re right. I’ve been talking to Tracee and she keeps reminding me about karma and how powerful words are. I’m just thinking.”
“You do not get paid to think, baby. You get paid because of your ratings. You get paid to talk and talk about people. That’s what you do. Now don’t get all caught up in that Bible-thumping shit that Tracee is into. Look where it got her—in some damn retirement village. Focus. Don’t get me wrong. I love Tracee. No disrespect. But when Miss Thing breezes into town, I have a few words for her. She’s trying to mess this up.”
“I know. I know. But—”
“But nothing! I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Ritz Harper! You better go home and get some sleep and get your head together. In fact, I’ll walk you out to your car. We need some fresh air.”
Ritz looked over at Jamie, who was still pretending to sort faxes.
“Don’t work too hard, Jamie,” Ritz said. “You aren’t getting any overtime.”
Jamie finally looked up and smiled. “Overtime? I haven’t seen a paycheck!”
“Oh, yeah. You are still an intern.” Ritz winked. “You get home safely. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll just finish up. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Bye, baby girl,” Chas said, then turning to Ritz. “You wearing that old rag again? We’re going to have to go shopping this weekend for a new fur. You’ve got to be runway ready, baby. Runway ready!”
As Ritz and Chas headed out of the studio and toward the elevators, Jamie pulled out her Nextel BlackBerry mobile phone. There were four voice-mail messages and a half dozen e-mails. Jamie kept her phone turned off while she was working. She wanted to give the appearance that she was giving Ritz and the show her undivided attention. And she was.
But Jamie had a recent distraction. His name was Derek. She’d met him on the train a few weeks before. She was attracted to his tough, thuggish exterior. He was attracted to her ass, which he got to look at a lot as they stood for nearly forty minutes on the crowded Number 4 train to the Bronx.
Jamie had been raised in a nice, upper-middle-class (on the edge of wealthy) home in suburban Westchester. She came from a nice, moral home and lived on a tree-lined street. But she always had a secret attraction to boys from the other side of the tracks. Jamie never brought them home and rarely introduced them to any of her neighborhood friends. But bad boys were Jamie’s secret weakness.
Derek was twenty-seven, had his own place, drove a concrete-white Navigator with twenty-four-inch chromes. And it was always clean. His closet was filled with new but understated gear. He didn’t wear jewelry but could certainly afford to. He recognized that his success was attributed to his ability to fly under the radar. Derek was a student of the game. He watched a lot of films like Hoodlum, Lansky, Once Upon a Time in America , and of course the Godfather trilogy. Derek was smart enough to learn from others’ mistakes, and the one lesson he learned as a black man in his game was to not look typical.
He didn’t wear white Ts or hoodies or fitted hats. He was fly-guy casual—Cavalli jeans, Gucci tie-ups. His only jewelry was a Panerai watch with a plain black Toscana strap, no ice. He was clean cut, low key, and spoke in low tones. He was going to learn from his brother’s mistakes and keep his business and his personal life very, very separate. He would roll with very few “soldiers” and had no real close friends.
His new home was miles away from where he did his business, and he made sure few in his business knew where he lived.
“You don’t eat where you shit—even animals understand that,” said Derek’s brother, Jayrod, who had good advice that he himself never followed. Not too many in the “street pharmacy” business followed the rules. Their egos and arrogance usually got the best of them. Derek was a good student.
Unlike his brother and others he grew up with, Derek also recognized that doing business with a certain ilk will get you killed or in jail. His clientele was high-end—folks in the music industry, from executives to some of the elite stars. People with something to lose. He also serviced the film industry, from producers and set designers to even an Emmy-winni
ng actress. His brother, Jayrod, gave him his first connection in the music industry through platinum-selling rapper Big Fun, who got his weekly supply of haze delivered in the bottom of a case of Cristal. Big Fun smoked more weed than Snoop. It was even part of the rider in his contract—the list of demands that artists give to promoters when doing concerts. That list usually included FIJI Water, Skittles, or whatever the artist liked to enjoy in his dressing room before appearing on stage. Big Fun’s rider always included an ounce of purple haze and, if he was on the West Coast, an ounce of Cali Cush. Jayrod was his supplier. When he got sent upstate, little brother Derek took over.
Big Fun liked Derek’s style, his low-key demeanor, so much that he hooked him up with some of his other friends. And when Big Fun crossed over into movies, Derek crossed over with him, making his own connections. Derek’s business grew to five times the size of his brother’s. And no one ever knew—not even Jayrod. Derek didn’t talk much and he certainly never bragged.
He did his dirt, though. He had his grimy moments. And that was what attracted Jamie. She could see through the polos and the khakis. She could smell the dirt and the success commingling the way funk and cologne does on some people to make a powerful, intoxicating aroma.
Jamie and Derek exchanged phone numbers on the Number 4 train. Their meeting would not have ever happened under normal circumstances. Derek, who was having a stash box installed in his Navigator big enough to hold a pound and a 9mm, was going over the final details with the installer at an underground body shop in Spanish Harlem when he happened to look at his watch.
“Oh, shit!” he said to no one in particular. “Chico, if you have any questions, hit me on my cell. I have to run.”
Derek had about fifteen minutes to get to Midtown for an appointment. He prided himself on never being late. He wouldn’t be able to get a cab to get there on time, so he hopped on the Number 4 train. Derek hadn’t taken the train since high school. But he didn’t forget which line could get him to his destination the fastest. He had no idea that the fateful ride would give him a chance to meet another new contact: Jamie.
Jamie built up her nerve to talk to him the first stop after he got on. She didn’t want to risk his getting off at the next stop without getting his number so she boldly approached him.
“You seem like you have a lot on your mind,” she said coyly.
“Huh?” said Derek, a little startled, but he recovered quickly. “Right now, it’s just you.”
Jamie smiled. She liked him instantly because even with that line, he came off as genuine. Maybe that was another reason why Ritz Harper had grown to depend on Jamie so much. Jamie was their in-studio lie detector. When a guest was in the studio and Ritz asked a particularly sticky question, she would often turn to see if Jamie had a reaction.
While Ritz prided herself on her ability to interpret body language, which she had learned in college, Jamie had a real sixth sense about people that they could never teach in school.
She knew Derek was a hustler. She knew that he was probably even dangerous. But she knew something else. She knew she liked him.
They exchanged numbers. He called first because he knew that was the proper thing to do. They talked a few times after their meeting on the train and then set up their first date.
He invited her to go shopping—far from the typical first date.
“I just got this new apartment a couple of months ago, but I’ve been working so much that I haven’t had time to decorate. Maybe you can help me pick out some things. I think I need a lady’s touch.”
“You seem like you have very good taste. I’m honored,” Jamie said. “What do you do that keeps you so busy, anyway?”
“I do sales,” he said. “I work on commission.”
“Sales, huh?” Jamie said to herself. There was something about the way Derek said it made her not pursue it further.
Jamie took Derek to an eclectic store on Seventh Avenue near Sixteenth Street. They had a large, stylish selection—it was Chelsea, after all. Jamie picked out a couple of prints that were earth tones—not too masculine but definitely not feminine. The pillows she selected were large and Asian-styled. Derek smiled.
“You haven’t even seen my bed and you picked out something that’s perfect for it,” he said.
“So, now I have to see this bed myself to see if you’re lying.” But she knew he wasn’t lying.
“You will,” he said. “Tonight.”
Tonight? She felt her stomach flutter uncontrollably thinking about it as they moved to the rug section of the store. She picked out a sisal rug with green and brown trim. After they finished shopping, he asked her if she liked Chinese food.
“Of course!” she said. “Who doesn’t like Chinese?”
“Let’s get takeout,” he said. “I want to see how these pillows really look on my bed.”
They caught a cab back to his place. Carrying the area rug and two pillows, they finally arrived at Derek’s apartment near the Riverdale section of the Bronx. It was a beautiful space. Empty, but beautiful.
She held the bag of Chinese food while he laid the rug down in the empty living room. He lit three large candles and put the pillows down and grabbed two square plates that he had never used. He turned on his Bang and Olufsen BeoSound 9000 with the six-CD changer. Derek figured he could spend a little money inside his home without attracting too much attention. To Jamie’s surprise, vintage Luther started to play.
“I was expecting DMX,” Jamie said to herself. She was impressed.
That night was one of the most romantic Jamie had ever experienced. When they finished eating, Derek showed her around the place. It was a quick tour—two bedrooms, one bathroom, a European-style kitchen, and a large living room. He lived in a renovated prewar building on the third floor. The place had hardwood parquet floors and crown molding.
“Salesman, huh? What is he really selling?” Jamie wondered as she looked around. But she knew the answer to that, too.
He showed her the first bedroom, which was the first room along the hallway after the kitchen.
“I plan on making this my office,” Derek said.
He showed her the next room, the bathroom, which was white with white hexagonal tiles.
“He definitely needs my touch,” Jamie thought as she plotted taking him to Bed Bath & Beyond to get some colorful bathroom accessories. A few years ago she had also eyed a wonderful teak bathmat in a Hold Everything catalog that would fit in nicely.
Then he led her to his bedroom.
“This is where it all happens,” he said jokingly.
“What? Sleep?” said Jamie, laughing.
“Exactly!” he said with a sheepish grin.
“Yeah, right!” Jamie thought, but didn’t say anything. “He’s got the nerve to be modest about his shit, too? I like that.”
There was nothing in his bedroom but a dark cherry platform bed and matching nightstands and lamps. But his bedding was impeccable. He had powder blue sheets.
“Is that six-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton?” she wondered.
And he had a huge white down comforter that looked like fifty cumulus clouds sitting on his bed. He didn’t have a television or a radio or anything else in the room. Just the beautiful bed, nightstands, and lamps.
“I guess this is really where it all happens,” she thought.
Jamie wanted to stay the night but thought it wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Who gives a fuck about a good idea?” Jamie thought. She was having an internal battle between her good senses and her loins, which were beginning to ache slightly for no particular reason.
The scent of Derek’s Chrome cologne—which was so light she could barely smell it but what she could take in smelled so good that she wanted to bury her face in his neck to get more—was starting to work on her. That and his body. Derek was about five foot ten and built like a martial artist. Even in his khakis and polo she could make out the fine lines of definition. And when he pushed up the sleeve
of his shirt to disclose the most beautiful forearms she had ever seen, she thought she would lose her mind. His forearms looked like chiseled wood carvings.
He kept his reddish brown hair closely cropped, and his goatee was well groomed—but not too well groomed. Jamie thought some guys went too damn far clipping and shaping their facial hair (like that Ginuwine).
“Hey, girl,” Derek said. “Ready to go?”
“Wait a damn minute,” she thought. “He is too smooth— ushering me out, knowing full well that will only make me stay. He’s good.”
Instead of answering him, Jamie moved right up to within inches of his face, slowly grabbed the back of his head, and kissed him. It was as if he expected it because his mouth was ready. He took the tip of his tongue and slowly circled hers, pulling back to suck lightly on the tip of hers. He nestled her bottom lip between his and pulled until her mouth opened and he plunged in gently with his tongue.
Jamie thought her coochie was going to fall right out from between her legs. It was on fire. Jamie never imagined a kiss would make her feel like that. His kiss was light and his tongue was warm. He put his arms around her waist and leaned in on the kiss.
“I better go now” came out of Jamie’s mouth, but her coochie was screaming “You have got to be fucking kidding!”
“Okay,” he said, letting her slide out of his arms. “I’ll call you.”
She somehow found herself at the front door. Her damn feet, working in cahoots with her brain, had betrayed the rest of her body once again.
“Girl, make sure you call me so that I know you got home safely,” he said. “And here.” He pressed a crisp fifty-dollar bill into her hand. “This is for the car service.”
Jamie didn’t front, either. On her internship stipend of nothing she didn’t really have the money to be taking a car service. Her parents still gave her an allowance, but she didn’t have it like that. She smiled and stopped herself from kissing him good-bye.
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