The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (39 page)

The Ol’ Man gave William the opportunity to succeed, to rise to the top of the corporate ladder despite that red necked Jack Thomas who made his feelings quite well-known when it came to skin darkies rising too fast in this White man’s world. And it was Morris who made the final decision to promote William, in spite of the board’s recommendations to promote Thomas to CEO based on seniority. It was also Morris who bore the brunt of Thomas’s wrath about ‘never working for a nigger,’ when he announced William’s promotion. The motives for most of Morris’ actions could usually be tied to money, but William knew the guidance and opportunity awarded him by the Ol’ Man were invaluable. Whether his actions were sincere or simply out of sense of inexplicable guilt, it hardly overshadowed the deep sense of remorse William now felt for Ol’ Man Morris.

At Mrs. Morris’ request, the funeral was to be held the following Tuesday in Boston, since she was not in the best of health and could not travel. During the weeks following the Ol’ Man’s death, Hill and Morris’s stock plummeted. When William was sure the stock could fall no lower, he called Edwin Davis.”Mr. Davis, this is William Stanton. Have you been following the market.” he asked.

“Not doing too good, is it? I guess you know your business, Mr. Stanton.”

“Yes, sir. The bottom fell out, so I guess you know what time it is?”

“I guess it’s time to dance, Mr. Stanton. What are we looking at?”

“Well, the stock has dropped from fifty-four down to six and a quarter. Let it fall to about six dollars a share. By my calculations, that should come to a little over three hundred thousand dollars with the brokerage fee and all. Are you going in on this one, Davis?”

“I suppose I’ll pick up about ten thousand share at six dollars you can hardly go wrong and if this thing blows up like you say, don’t even consider commission or brokerage fees. I’ve got a real good feeling about this one, William.”

“Oh, by the way, Edwin, if you can put in another ten thousand for Melinda I would appreciate it,” William added.

“OK, that’s fifty thousand for you and another ten for Melinda. You two are getting pretty serious, aren’t you? I should have grabbed her out of college. She’s a fine woman, William. Should I put her shares in a separate account?”

“Please! I think it’ll make a pretty good wedding gift.”

“Well, congratulations. I wish both of you the best of luck. And, William, I appreciate the tip.”

“Be careful, though. When white folks don’t like you, they call that insider trading.” Both men laughed.

“You are aware of the fact that this will give you controlling interest in Hill and Morris,” Edwin said.

“Aware? I’m counting on it,” William joked.

By the end of the following day, William Stanton was the majority owner of the third largest import-export firm in the country worth close to nothing. Edwin and Melinda concentrated their efforts on the marketing and, by the end of the second day, every major newspaper in the country carried news of the takeover. The stock, which only days before had bottomed out at six dollars a share, was soaring. By the close of the Dow Jones in the third day, the shares had risen to more than sixty dollars a share.

In the past three days, William had cleared close to four million dollars. Edwin Davis, who stood to make close to half a million from the venture was kicking himself for not investing more but was pleased just the same. Melinda had never been so excited. It was two days before she came up for air. She had taken out a thirty thousand dollar loan and invested every penny. The investment netted her close to a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Funny thing, though, about Melinda’s new found wealth was that she had yet to buy anything for herself. In fact, she really hadn’t bought anything for William either except for some socks and a couple of suits she’d been eyeing for who know how long. But that was it. The rest of the time she spent selecting furniture and other assorted knickknacks for the condo.

After the third day of sporadic shopping, William forced her to stop. “If any more money is spent on the house, let me be the one to spend it. Put your money in a good investment. You go find yourself the most gorgeous wedding dress you can find and meet me at City Hall at four o’clock. They close at five, so make sure you’re on time.”

“I guess I can do that,” Melinda smiled.
Oh, how she loved that man.

“Tell your uncle to reserve the best table in the house along with a case of his best champagne for tonight. How’s seven thirty sound?”

The money had done little to change William. Edwin no stranger to the transfer of funds, simply let his stock option roll over except for the thirty-five grand he withdrew to purchase Melinda’s wedding present with.

Sylvia, having grown more and more disenchanted with her current living situation and the latest turn of events in her life, stood in the middle of her living room alone, muttering to herself. Dressed in a pink terrycloth robe and pink slippers, she looked tired and worn—and wearier. She hadn’t combed her hair since Terrance left and that had been four or five days ago and she hadn’t bathed in the last two. She’d slept soundly for the first time in days until that good-for-nothing paperboy awakened her, as he did every morning, throwing the paper hard enough to make a thud and dent the screen door and wake up the dead.

Sill finally dozed off sitting up as she had the last three or four nights in a row, a glass of whiskey in one hand. For the first time since she could remember, the whiskey didn’t help. She drank anyway and she drank heavily. No longer did it matter what she drank. When she ran out of
Jack Daniels,
she turned to the
Chivas.
When she ran out of the
Chivas
and everything else in the bar, she made her daily run but no longer did she jog around the complex. Now she ran straight to the liquor store, and got her booze and returned to the apartment.

She couldn’t understand Terrance not calling her. What was he doing for clothes anyway? Most of what he owned was here. That was—she thought—her insurance.

She picked up the newspaper and after stumbling about, found her reading glasses. The newspapers had piled up next to the door and the house was a wreck. Oddly she hadn’t even considered looking at a paper until today. In fact, Sill hadn’t thought about much of anything right up until now. The liquor kept her numb. Still she knew it was time to pick herself up and move on. The hell with Terrance. He was probably shacking up with Laura—somewhere. She didn’t blame Laura, though. She blamed Terrance and all the dogs out there like him. She blamed herself for allowing him to enter her life, to play with her emotions.
Trust
was what he told her was the key.
Communication.
Yes, those were the keys. She had problems with both, she knew. However, she had bought into it and lowered her guard,—and for what? What had it gotten her? Nothing! Nothing but a divorce from the only man that had ever truly loved her.

She poured herself another drink and cursed when she noticed the bottle was empty.
Damn!
How she hated to go down to that liquor store. The old man in there had to be forty-five, if he was a day and he was always trying to flirt with her. Bad as she looked, he was still trying. Hell, he was the owner and he wasn’t all that bad lookin’. I might just have to give him some. She smiled as she sipped the last of the whiskey. Better not. Old fool might have a heart attack. Sylvia caught herself laughing aloud and, then, stopped abruptly. Her thoughts were scattered and she had been having those spells again. She hadn’t had one since she’d been married but ever since Terrance raped her in the shower, they were coming with increasing frequency. She’d had them after the incident at Bennett and she was forced to drop out for a time and seek counseling but she hadn’t had one in a good ten years until the Thursday before last. Maybe Terrance was right. Maybe she did need to get some help. No! Hell, no! The only thing she needed was some good love from that asshole right through here. Her mind was racing again.
Damn,
she hated when that happened. Maybe she could call him and have him arrange the appointment with a shrink. After all, he said he’d go with her. He did tell her that. Said the only way the relationship could continue is if she sought help. “Well, then, I’ll get some help!” Sill shouted. “Then you’ll have to take me back. Let me see. Yeah, I’ll call him at Jazzy’s. He told me I could reach him at Jazzy’s.”

Sill picked up the phone. Her mind was racing again. She thought of William. Was that who she had been meaning to call? God, she hated it when she couldn’t remember anything. It was those damn spells again. Then out of the clear blue, it dawned in her that William hadn’t returned her call. “I know that fat, jealous, little heifer didn’t give William my message. If she had he would have called me back.” she sighed. “Let me get my ass up and get on with my life.”

She stood up, put her glass down on the cocktail table, then leaned over to put her cigarette out in the ashtray when the headline from one of the rolled up newspapers caught her attention. Staggering, she bent over, grabbed the paper, pulled the rubber band off and let the paper unfurl.

Could it be true?
No, she was imaging things. Had someone actually...? No, they couldn’t have. Sylvia reread the headlines. No, there is was, as plain as day in black and white. Someone had actually murdered Mr. Morris. But why? Sill reached into the ashtray, grabbed her cigarette and relit it. After reading, she was still no closer to understanding why someone would murder a seventy-year-old man in cold blood. At least her head was clear now.

Sylvia grabbed a quick shower which helped to rejuvenate her a little, then put on a pair of tight black jeans, over her back sleeveless Danskin, straightened up the house, fixed herself a bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich, then reread the article on Morris’ untimely demise. No way.

Leafing through the stack of papers for a follow-up on the Morris murder, Sylvia was stunned to find that
a group of African-American businessmen, led by Senior Vice-President, and recently named Chairman of the board, William Stanton, had affected the buyout of Hill and Morris and renamed it “Stanton and

Associates.” Sylvia gasped but read on: Mrs. Morris had sanctioned the buyout, telling the press that her late husband had on several occasions asked William to become a partner and run the day-to-day operations of the firm. “William,” she explained, had demurred on both occasions but was and had been in reality, the only viable candidate. This, in itself had given credibility to the recent takeover and brought investors back in droves.

Sylvia was speechless. No wonder William hadn’t challenged her leaving, her cleaning out the house and the savings. That son of a bitch had probably been working on a buyout the entire time. Now she’d have to swallow her pride and come a crawlin’. Hell, he’d known this all the time. That’s why he laughed at her suggestion to start his own firm. He also probably had money stashed away the whole time. Imagine the gall of that bastard! Sill grabbed the phone and dialed William’s office as she had done so often over the years.

“Stanton and Associate,” the operator answered.

“Melinda, is that you?” Sylvia asked, excitedly.

“I presume you are looking for His. Bailey. She’s been promoted to senior account representative,” a voice piped.

“No, ma’am, I am actually trying to reach William Stanton,” Sylvia said.

“I’m sorry Mr. Stanton is not in his office.”

“Look, missy, I
know
that Mr. Stanton is in his office and if you’d like to continue working for Hill and Morris, I suggest you put me through to Mr. Stanton. This is his wife.”

“You’re a bit out of touch ma’am. First, Hill and Morris is no longer in existence. Secondly, Mr. Stanton is single. Thank you. Please call again.” The next sound Sylvia heard was a buzzing dial tone. Sylvia, not to be denied did exactly that “Melinda Bailey, please.”

“I can give you her office,” the operator reported. “Please hold.”

“His. Bailey’s office,” the girlish voice answered. “May I help you?”

“Yes, may I speak to Melinda, please?”

“May I ask who is calling?”

“Sylvia Stanton.”

“One minute, Mrs. Stanton.” Never in her life would Sylvia have imagined she’d have to go through such bullshit to speak to her own husband. She wished she would have got that first little heifer’s name she’d have William fire her right along with Melinda.

“Sylvia, how are you?”

“Fine, Melinda. I’d be better if you’d give my husband my messages when I call.”

“Let’s clear something up right now, Sylvia. First of all, I gave William your message. I cannot
make
him call you. From my understanding, your divorce was finalized several weeks ago. Therefore, William is no longer your husband. If further clarification is needed, you can see William at Dante’s at around eight o’clock tonight. Thank you and have a good day.”

At that moment, the receiver went dead. “Why, you fat little.” Sylvia slammed the receiver down. This could not possibly be happening. She’d show the little heifer. Once she had William’s little country-ass back in check, she’d clean house.

It was a simple ceremony. Melinda wore a simple two-piece off-white suit, which showed a little more leg than she was accustomed to, but nowadays, she could afford to. She not only looked downright stunning, she was positively elegant.

After a quick dinner at The Tavern, William, grinning from ear-to-ear, drove his new bride to Dante’s where they were met by Jazzy and a host of well-wishers at the door. Jazzy reserved almost the entire left side of the club for the newlyweds and their entourage. Edwin Davis and Terry Shannon were there as well as a rather large contingent form Stanton and Associates. Terrance and Laura, appeared as part of Dante’s regulars, but were quickly swept up in the celebration, though they kept their distance from the newlyweds. Champagne and caviar flowed as if there were no tomorrow. The band, Pieces of a Dream, never sounded better.

But about eight o’clock, a dark cloud descended in Dante’s in the form of Sylvia Stanton. Dressed in the red dress and red heels William liked so much, Sill met Jazzy at the entrance. “What’s all the commotion, Jazz?” Sylvia inquired, noticing the parking lot was so much more crowded than usual.