A Love of My Own (5 page)

“Lena, why would I want to move my cover back? It doesn't make sense. I thought you turned those other magazines down before you chose
Bling
. We have a deal,” I said.

“I know, Zola, but this is big and I have to look out for what's best for my client, and being on the cover of
Vanity Fair
is something Yancey B. has dreamed of all her life. I'm sorry, Zola. We can still do the shoot, but publication will have to wait until at least thirty days after the
Vanity Fair
cover is off the stands.”

“Woman, have you lost your mind? Do you know how much work we've put in to pull off this shoot? How dare you call me at this late date and ask me to do this. The answer is no. Hell no. We will move ahead according to plan,” I said firmly. I was willing to bet that Lena wasn't telling the entire story. I was certain there were a few little trinkets lined up for both Yancey B.
and
Lena. Probably a few Donatella Versace originals, and other perks, had made them change their minds about doing the
Bling
shoot.

“So you're going to play hardball, Zola?”

“Call it what you want, but I'll see you in the morning.”

“I don't think you should expect us.”

“What?!”

“If you don't agree to my terms, Yancey won't be there. You'll have to find someone else for your cover,” she said.

“I tell you what . . . don't show up. I'm sure we can find a nice stock photo of your client. I bet there are lots of not-so-flattering pictures out there of her, and I'll run one on the cover. So, Lena, don't play with me. I'm the wrong one,” I said.

“You wouldn't do that.”

“Wouldn't I? Try me. Matter of fact, rather than the glowing story we were going to run, I'm going to take another angle.”

“Another angle?”

“Oh, yeah. I know a little more than you think about your client. We've done our homework, and there's lots of interesting information floating around about Yancey B. Maybe I'll have LaVonya the gossip columnist write the story instead of Kirsten Dawson. You can't stop us from running the cover, nor do you have a say on what writer we assign if you break the original agreement.”

“Can't we work something out?”

“We've already worked something out. Deal with it,” I said, and slammed down the phone.

2
__________________

On a lovely June morning, I stepped into a dream office on the forty-sixth floor of a Times Square high-rise, and it belonged to me. The office building housed several record companies and a large publishing company. Davis leased two floors for the staff of
Bling Bling
and maintained corporate offices on the top three floors of the building
.

I got off the elevator and was greeted by a large, fragrant floral arrangement and my new assistant, Bristol Barnes, who once was the executive assistant to Davis's executive assistant. Bristol was a tall, lanky white man with sandy-blond hair and a sparse goatee.

“Welcome to
Bling Bling,
Mr. Tyler. I'm Bristol,” he said.

“Nice meeting you, Bristol. Davis, I mean Mr. McClinton, told me all about you. Impressive résumé,” I said. I wanted to ask Bristol, with his credentials, why he wasn't looking for a management position, but I knew a lot of graduates took lower-paying jobs to gain entry into corporations that didn't always post job opportunities, choosing to hire from within the organization.

“Thank you, sir,” Bristol said. Bristol's résumé had been in a package I'd opened upon my arrival in New York. I'd learned that he was from Houston, had graduated from Rice University with a degree in English and had gotten an MFA from New York University.

“So, is this my office?” I asked as I looked over Bristol's shoulder and saw a large office through the glass in front of his work space.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Bristol said as he opened the door and waited for me to walk in.

The office was large; I would guess maybe more than 950 square feet, the size of an apartment. It had blond parquet floors that were polished to perfection and an Oriental rug strategically placed under the desk. There were built-in bookshelves on each side of a closed cabinet, which looked to be an entertainment center. I opened the door and out popped a thirty-six-inch flat-screen television. I also found a six-disc CD player, a video recorder, and a DVD player. Through a huge window I took in the view of Times Square, which included several large billboards advertising everything from current Broadway shows to cologne and underwear. I paused for a moment and thought about calling Trent and telling him about this office, but wondered if he would appreciate my success. I wondered if he'd ever been proud of me.

My new desk was large with oval leather in the center and wood surrounding it. My chair was blue leather and steel. I looked around the office and saw a comfortable navy blue leather sofa with two matching chairs and a glass-and-steel coffee table covered with issues of
Bling Bling
and several other magazines. I couldn't believe my eyes when I noticed a black-and-steel wet bar in another corner.

“Is everything okay?” Bristol asked as he walked into the office.

“Everything looks fine,” I said as I looked at not one but two computer screens on my desk. I guess I really had made it big.

“Did you see the spectacular view?”

“How could I not see it,” I said, laughing.

“I'll give you a chance to get comfortable, but if you need anything, just push this button,” Bristol said as he pointed toward a phone that had more buttons than I'd ever seen.

“Thanks, Bristol. Give me a little time to get used to everything,” I said.

“Sure. Do you have a Palm, Mr. Tyler?”

“I sure do.”

“Why don't you let me have it so I can transfer your old data to the new one I purchased for you. It's updated with all the most recent entertainment and service information for New York City,” Bristol said.

“Sure,” I said as I reached into my briefcase, pulled out my Palm, and handed it to him.

“Thank you, sir. Oh, and I took the liberty of picking out some CDs for you to start off your office collection. If you'd like some other selections, please let me know. There's a record store in the building, and I'd be more than happy to run downstairs and pick up whatever you like.”

“Great, Bristol. I'm sure your selections will be just fine,” I said.

When Bristol left my office I walked back over to the window to watch the throng of people moving through the streets below and tried to muster the sense of triumph I thought I'd feel when I dreamed of reaching this type of success, but the only thing I felt was an overwhelming sadness inside. I never thought being so successful would feel so lonely.

Standing there, looking down at Times Square, I realized that everything in my world had changed. My life was like a puzzle in a box, and I had to figure out a way to put the pieces together. Again.

From
Bling Bling
Confidential

Davis McClinton didn't like all the press African Americans like Richard Parsons, Sylvia Rhone, Kenneth Chenault and Stan O'Neal were receiving by heading Fortune 500 companies and spent a great deal of time thinking about how he could return to the front pages and covers of some of the top business magazines. He'd spent a great deal of time in the late nineties competing with Earl Graves, Cathy Hughes, and Robert L. Johnson. There had to be an area of business where once again he could reign supreme.

3
__________________

I could tell I'd already missed the first round of drinks when I entered the dimly lit restaurant, Rosita's, and heard Justine laughing. I spotted her and Kai and another woman I didn't know munching chips and salsa and sipping from half-filled margarita glasses.

“Hey, ladies. What'd I miss?” I asked as I took the empty seat at the corner table illuminated by the plum-red glow of a covered candle.

“Bitch, where have you been? I told you six-thirty,” Justine said.

“I have a magazine to run,” I said as I turned to the stranger and extended my hand and said, “Hello, I'm Zola Norwood.”

“Hi, Zola. I'm Roberta Garrison Elmore, president of the Greater New York Panhellenic Council.”

“Nice meeting you,” I said. “And how are you, Kai?”

“Honey, I am doing just fine. What's going on at
Bling Bling
?”

“Same ole same ole. The second week of September is Fashion Week, and my assistant spent most of the day begging a bunch of white designers assistants for tickets and decent seats to their shows. I guess they think my readers don't buy designer clothes,” I said as I looked around one of my favorite Mexican restaurants for our regular waiter, Hector. I loved the atmosphere but didn't like eating a meal there unless I was depressed or had lost a few pounds. Mexican food was just too fattening.

Justine Rice was my best friend from way back. We'd grown up in Nashville and attended school together from fourth grade until we parted ways after high school. Justine attended Memphis University because she got a full scholarship and after graduation moved to New York. She was a professional events planner and moonlighted at one of the posh hotels, catering to the needs of their special clients.

Justine was a heavyset beauty with a strong sexual presence and confidence when it came to men. She had wonderful deep-set brown eyes and a soft round face. One moment she could be as calm as a Sunday-school teacher, but after a few drinks her personality and voice would suddenly change, and she would become more sure of herself and sound like an emcee at a raunchy strip show. The girl could cuss like a comedian.

Justine and I met Kai Davidson at one of the events Justine had planned. Recently divorced from her doctor husband, Kai was the only child of an upstate New York federal judge and a clinical social worker. Kai graduated from Sarah Lawrence with a degree in Art History but hadn't worked a day in her life, unless you counted all the volunteer work she did. She was now living off a hefty divorce settlement and occasionally took classes in interior design. Her ex, whom we called “the good doctor,” was more than happy to part with some of his money when Kai discovered he had gotten not one but two nurses pregnant within months of each other. Kai was so hurt that since her divorce she had sworn off men and sex and now called herself a second-chance virgin. She was as tall and slender as a fashion model, which both Justine and I couldn't understand because Kai ate nonstop like she smoked blunts all day and had perpetual munchie mania.

Kai had helped me navigate the New York social scene and had been invaluable in helping me decorate my renovated Harlem brownstone, including a music room which held my treasured baby grand piano.

Hector brought more chips and salsa to the table and a glass of white wine for me. We clinked our glasses in unison and took a sip of our drinks. Roberta looked at her watch, took another sip and said, “Been nice meeting you guys. I've got to run. Have to catch the next train to Mount Vernon.”

“What, no car and driver, hon?” Justine said, laughing.

“I wish,” Roberta said as she pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the table. She looked at Justine and said, “I'll look over your proposal and get back to you in a few days.”

“Do you have a card? I'd like to send you a copy of my magazine.”

“Sure, that'd be nice. Maybe it'll earn me some points with my teenage stepdaughter from hell.” Roberta laughed as she pulled her card from her wallet and passed it to me.

“Smooches to you, Roberta. I hope I'm invited to your big shindig,” Kai said.

“Your invitation will be in the mail. See you ladies later,” Roberta said as she walked out.

When Justine was certain Roberta was out of the restaurant, she took another sip of her drink and said, “The shit I have to go through to make a dollar.”

“What are you talking about? She seemed perfectly nice,” I said.

“She's a snobby bitch from a middle-class ghetto trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. That type of woman just drives me crazy. If I don't get this event, I'm going up to Mount Vernon to kick her ass like she stole my paycheck,” Justine said.

“Right . . . right. I got your back, girl. Just let me know so I can get my Vaseline. Can't risk getting this face damaged,” Kai said, laughing as she pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and glanced around to see if anyone was looking. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Yes, I mind,” Justine said.

“I thought you stopped smoking?” I said.

“I did.”

“So?”

“I started back,” she snapped.

“Well, you know you can't smoke in here,” Justine said. “I don't know why your crazy ass is trippin'.”

“I'll take care of the tip and Hector will let me do whatever I want,” Kai said.

“So I guess it doesn't matter what we think, or if we get cancer from your secondhand smoke,” I said.

“If you get cancer, I'll get you gift certificates for free visits with my ex,” Kai said, laughing.

“That shit ain't funny,” Justine said.

“So what's wrong with Roberta?” I asked.

“You know the type—she thinks because she's got a little clout she can make a sister jump through hoops and then turn around and give the business to some dizzy white girl,” Justine said as she broke a tortilla chip in half and dipped it in salsa.

“Sisters got to jump through hoops every day for everybody,” I said. I was thinking about all the calls I had made, the crying and pleading I had to do to get my entertainment editor into premieres, not to mention sleeping with Davis to make sure he kept pumping money into
Bling
.

“Do you ever wonder what you'll be wearing when you're lying in a casket, getting ready to be put into the ground for eternity?” Kai asked.

Justine and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. It was one of the things Kai did that drove us crazy. We could be having a completely normal sister-girl conversation and Kai would look away and release these stupid-ass questions about life. Sick questions. After about six months of actually trying to answer some of the questions, Justine and I figured that if we didn't respond, Kai would return to earth and stop acting so wacky.

A moment of silence followed, and sure enough Kai came back around. “So what are we doing for dinner before I stuff myself with these chips?”

“I feel like some jerk chicken,” I said.

“That sounds good to me,” Kai said.

“Then let's finish our drinks and get to stepping toward Island Spice,” Justine said.

From
Bling Bling
Confidential

Davis greets his tea-colored reflection with a smile each day after finishing his shave. He's not happy because of his wealth and power but because every day he wakes up he moves farther from his past.