A Love of My Own (27 page)

Before I knew it, evening was approaching. I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost five o'clock. I had been waiting for a call from Kirsten so I could meet her and get copies of the tapes of her interview and other documentation. I checked my answering machine to make sure I hadn't missed the ringing phone over my music. No calls from Kirsten.

I looked up her number and dialed it. Kirsten picked up after a couple of rings.

“Hello.”

“Kirsten, this is Zola,” I said.

“Zola, did you get the information?”

“No, that's why I'm calling. Did you send it to me? I thought we were going to meet,” I said.

“I gave it to the messenger,” Kirsten said calmly.

“What messenger?”

“The one you sent,” she said.

“Kirsten, I have no clue as to what you're talking about. I didn't send a messenger to pick up anything,” I said. I could feel my neck become moist with panic.

“Well, a messenger showed up at my apartment a couple of hours after we talked and said he was picking up the information for
Bling Bling
and I gave it to him,” Kirsten said.

“How could you be so stupid?” I screamed. “Why didn't you call me?”

“Hold up, Zola. I thought it was for you, and I don't appreciate you calling me names. I was trying to help you out.”

“I'm sorry. But I didn't get the information. Please tell me you have another copy,” I begged. There was a long silence, and I knew I was in trouble.

“Kirsten, are you still there?”

“I have to go, Zola. I need to call my lawyer,” Kirsten said as she hung up the phone.

28
__________________

When I walked into my office two days after firing Zola, Bristol greeted me with a cup of coffee, extra light, and told me Davis wanted to see me immediately. He had been in Paris the previous day, probably worried Zola might show up at the office and call him out about dismissing her.

“When did he call?” I asked.

“About fifteen minutes ago,” Bristol said.

“Did he say what he wanted?” I asked. I knew he wanted to talk about Zola.

“Didn't mention anything to me, just told me to make sure you came right up,” Bristol said.

With coffee in hand, I took the elevator to the top floor and Davis's office. His executive assistant wasn't at her usual post guarding Davis's office like it was Fort Knox, so I walked to his door and tapped gently. I didn't hear a response, so I just walked into his office.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

Davis had that dazed look of someone who had just glanced up from reading something important.

“Yeah, Raymond, come on in,” Davis said.

I walked toward his huge desk and just stood until he told me to have a seat.

“How did the bitch take it?” Davis asked in a cold, impersonal tone.

“Are you talking about Zola?” I asked. I wondered how Davis knew, or if he knew that I had delivered the termination papers to Zola in person.

“I understand you took the papers to her,” Davis said.

I didn't ask him how he knew. From what I learned about Davis since I started working for him, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised if he was having me followed, so I figured I should just give him the information I had.

“Yes, I took them to her. She didn't really have a strong reaction. I think everything was clear,” I said.

“No tears?”

“No.”

“You pointed out that she can't work for any other magazine, right?”

“I didn't, but I was there as she read the agreement.”

“Did she ask you anything?”

“Like what?”

“Anything?”

“Zola did mention that she stood by her story and had documentation backing her up,” I said.

“Zola might think she has documentation. It's clear she's forgotten who she's dealing with,” Davis said with confidence.

“That information might be important when we go to trial,” I said.

“There won't be a trial,” Davis said.

“What do you mean?”

“We'll settle the case in the next couple of days.”

“What if we have proof that the story is true?” I asked.

“Raymond, I don't have time to waste on a trial. I will instruct my lawyer to get the case settled.”

“Why don't you let me handle this? I mean, that was one of the reasons you hired me, right?” I asked.

Davis looked at me sternly and said, “No offense, Raymond, but when you're dealing with black people, especially those idiots from the music industry, you need to show them right away that the record company would advise the singer to settle. The way to do that is with a white lawyer. You understand, don't you?”

“I have to be honest and say that I don't. It's reverse racism,” I said.

“Call it what you want. But that's how I'm handling this. Your job is to keep in touch with Zola and make sure she goes away quietly. She needs that severance check if she's not going to be able to work for a couple of years.”

“Who is going to run the magazine?” I asked.

“Bristol,” Davis said quickly.

“Bristol?”

“You heard me! Bristol is a very talented young man. He'll be fine,” Davis said.

“Do you think that's wise?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, a white guy running a magazine geared toward the hip hop crowd. How long do you think that'll work?”

“It worked at
Vibe
. It can work here.”

“What am I going to do for an assistant?”

“Call the executive search firm we used to find you. There are a lot of people out of a job,” Davis said.

“I can't talk you out of this?”

“What's the problem, Raymond? I thought you liked Bristol.”

“This doesn't have anything to do with Bristol. I just think if there is some way Zola can prove her story, then you're right back to firing her because of a failed relationship,” I said boldly.

Davis leaped from his chair and started pounding his desk. I had never seen him lose his cool like this. Then he looked at me as though fire were about to beam from his eyes and yelled, “Don't you talk to me like that. Do you know who I am? I'm Davis McClinton, and when I want somebody out of my company, they're out. Do I make myself clear, Raymond? Have you forgotten who signs those big checks of yours? Zola just better get used to sitting on her ass for a couple of years. Now, unless there is something else we need to discuss, I think you should go downstairs and wish your assistant well in his new post.”

I was stunned and felt like I had been stabbed with a verbal ice pick. I stood in silence then walked out of Davis's office.

“I don't know how long I can keep working for
Bling Bling
and Davis,” I said.

“Why, Raymond? I didn't know you were having problems at your job,” Dr. Few said.

“It's not that I'm having problems. I just don't feel good about the way Davis does business,” I said.

“How does he treat you?”

“He treats me okay, I guess.”

“Then I don't understand your concern.”

I spent about five minutes telling Dr. Few about how Davis had forced me to fire Zola because of the lawsuit. I also told her how I prevented him from firing her after she broke off their affair and how I was convinced that he had information that could help the company in the lawsuit filed by Yancey B. and her record company, but Davis was so full of revenge that he would rather lose in court and have a reason to fire Zola.

“That doesn't sound like a way to run a business,” Dr. Few said.

“It goes deeper than that,” I said.

“How so?”

“When I first started working for Davis, I felt a certain degree of pride. Here he was, a successful African American man making a difference in the world. Davis is one of the few black men who have both money and power, and whenever I mention to people I work for him, everyone, both black and white, is somewhat impressed. I guess it's another case of a man thinking with his jimmie rather than his brains,” I said.

“Have you ever done that?”

“What?”

“Thought with your penis?” Dr. Few asked. I looked at her for a second with a slight smile tugging the corner of my mouth, when I realized she knew Basil's word for dick. This white lady was listening to me after all.

“I have in my personal life. Even now thinking about Basil, even though I know he would be the worst thing in the world for me,” I said.

“Have you talked to him?”

“He calls every now and then, but I realize he's busy trying to get custody of his daughter, and even if he comes back to New York, I realize his daughter has his heart,” I said.

“Is that a problem for you?”

“Oh, no. That's the way it should be. A father putting his children first. My parents did,” I said.

“Did you have a personal relationship with the young lady you fired?”

“Yeah. I felt like her big brother. She was one of the few women who I felt like I didn't have to lie to. There is something very open about Zola. When I told her that I was gay, she was cool,” I said.

“So you don't think she should have been fired?”

“No. Zola told me she had taped transcripts of the information she published in the magazine and supporting evidence. When I told Davis that some information that could help our case was missing, he just smiled and said very low, ‘That will teach the bitch she can't just drop me because she suddenly develops morals.' When I asked him what he meant, he just stared at me like a gangster or a character out of a prime-time soap opera,” I said.

“Couldn't she sue this Davis guy for sexual harassment?”

“It might be hard because from what I can gather, she entered into an intimate relationship with him before he hired her to run his magazine,” I said.

“So, are you going to quit?”

“I don't know. I make a nice living. I mean, more money than I even dreamed of making.”

“Is that important to you?”

“I want to do well,” I said.

“You didn't answer the question,” Dr. Few said.

“What would I do?”

“You mean with your career?”

“Yes, I'm not getting any younger and I wouldn't want to have Davis as an enemy. I know he doesn't play fair,” I said.

“Have you thought about confronting him about your suspicions?”

“Davis would deny it. When I terminated Zola, I just wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything would be all right. I have this friend who is a great lawyer. I want Zola to speak with him, but he's a friend of Davis's as well. I don't know if he would take the case,” I said.

“So you haven't thought of what you might do if you stopped working for Davis?”

“The only thing I think about is maybe working for a foundation, taking mine to the next level. Then there is always the opportunity of working for Basil if he ever returns to New York,” I said. A picture of Basil leaving my apartment and coming back and kissing me on the lips caused a spontaneous smile to cross my face. Dr. Few noticed.

“You're smiling.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about Basil. You know the last time I saw him.”

“It looks like you had a good time.”

“I did.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I think I'll keep the memory to myself.”

Dr. Few looked at her watch and then said, “You have about ten minutes. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

“Could I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Does the fact that Davis is an African American man doing this to another African American bother you?”

I clapped and said, “Great question, Dr. Few. Great question!”

“Why is that?”

“It's just another way we separate ourselves,” I said.

“I don't think I quite understand,” Dr. Few said.

I thought maybe it was time Dr. Few got a brief message from the educating-white-folks foundation.

“Ever since I can remember, African Americans have had barriers that I think hold us back. Some call it the crabs-in-the-barrel theory. You know how when crabs are in a bucket and one tries to escape, there are always crabs pulling it back?”

“I get the picture. I think.”

“In the African American community there is always something. For a long time it was color. The slave mentality of light-skinned versus dark-skinned, or people who grew up in the big house against those who worked the field. When I came to grips with my sexuality, I realized that was another barrier in keeping me from totally being accepted by my community. When I met Davis and some of his friends, I realized there was another trend happening within our community.”

“What?”

“The haves and the have-nots. Those who have education and those who don't. Those who have money, and I'm talking big money, separating themselves from those who might not be as fortunate as they are. If you compared what I'm worth against Davis, I might as well be penniless,” I said.

“You know other groups have the same issues,” Dr. Few suggested.

“Maybe in terms of class. I'm sure wealthy white people don't have friends who live in trailer parks. I understand that people with blue eyes and blond hair may be treated better than brunettes with brown eyes. Still, this is the community I belong to, so I am more sensitive to what's going on with black people,” I said.

“Do you think we will ever be a part of one community?”

“You mean a perfect world? You know, after 9/11 I thought there was a chance. I mean, for a few months I didn't think as much about being an African American as I did being an American. I thought we, and I mean everybody, treated one another with more kindness and on an equal level. But I think we've gone back to our old ways of separation. Out of that tragedy our country was presented with a tremendous opportunity,” I said, looking at my watch.

“Do you think it's too late?”

“I hope not. It's one of the reasons I still thank God for waking me up each morning.”