“No, no, no.” I yanked the bag back, and my father tumbled. “Dad, you’re not going to do that. You’re not going to touch me again. Ever.”
That was when she arrived. “Gentlemen,” boomed behind me, “can I help you?” My father’s face fell even more. Officer Rebecca Hanson tucked a Rite Aid pharmacy bag under her arm.
“Thank you, Officer Hanson. We’re fine, now,” I said, turning away from my father. It wasn’t a surprise to the see the officer. The DC Homeless Coalition part of Columbia Heights was on her beat.
Dad grumbled something about thinking the bag was his. How, in one moment, could he go from an old man on the edge, skinny, frail, and weak, to that sturdy guy who terrorized me when I was a kid? I knew that sneer. I knew that firm jaw. I knew his once-meaty fists, even if they were hidden in his tattered gloves.
For years I’d known how to suck in my memories and fear. I knew I could take my burned-out father. Even if Officer Hanson hadn’t been standing beside me.
“Mr. Washington Post, you think you’re so great.”
“Washington Post?”
“Yeah, I read the article. Your old man can read, you know. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know what you do. I follow you.”
“Henry, it’s time for you to be on your way,” said Officer Hanson.
“My son isn’t a helper. He’s a user. He used me, then he used that family he left me for. He is still using me. He took my life and is making a fucking career out of it.”
“Goodbye, Henry,” said Officer Hanson.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
He gathered himself up, silently stuttering, and limped down the street. I couldn’t stop watching the old man hobble away. Bent. Skinny. Had he always been that broken? How could a part of me still be intimidated by him?
“Pathetic” came out of my mouth.
“He’s doing okay,” said Officer Hanson.
“Pathetic that he still gets under my skin.”
“Jeffrey, you’re human.”
I took a breath and asked Rebecca if she had an update on my father. She said he’d been seen around recently, and we agreed that, since he’d made contact with me today, he’d probably disappear for another couple months. I didn’t leave the officer right then but asked her about the safety of a new group of seemingly homeless teenagers I’d been noticing. They worked hard on their skateboards, but rarely changed clothes and shared food on the sidewalk.
In truth, it wasn’t just because of my father that I was late to meet Derek. I spoke longer with Rebecca than I had with Dad. It was all about work, the important stuff. Derek might have been a financial powerhouse, but I’d met enough powerhouses who ignored people like my father. Wealth management? Investing? Enriching the rich? Derek had to be one of those people happy how DC was cleaning up. I didn’t care if I was late to dinner with him.
THE FIRST text from Eddie was simply three question marks: ??? I was twenty minutes late. His second text was in another twenty minutes. You’re never late. WTF
Dad showed up, I texted back. That would have explained everything, and it did to Eddie, but he didn’t share my information with anyone at the table waiting for me. That was what he told me later. He said that my Dad’s story wasn’t his to tell, which was true, and I respected Eddie for honoring that. But he offered no explanation about my lateness other than I got tied up at work. If he wanted Derek and me to hit it off, shouldn’t he have come up with something more convincing?
“Work throws shit at everyone, but we can always be on time.” Derek. Right. It had to be. He, Eddie, Cassandra, and Kristy were splitting nachos. Derek sat with his back to me. I was forty-five minutes late. “I’ve read the Homeless Coalition’s annual report,” I heard the guy continue as I got closer. The voice was deep, smooth, and annoyed. “Fifty thousand dollars is by no means their biggest donation, but still, it is not insignificant. It’s a surprise, a gift, and it’s from kids. How often does one get money from kids? You’d think he’d honor the situation and be here.”
Arrogant son of a bitch.
“Jeffrey!” Kristy bounded up and grabbed me in a hug.
“Sorry I’m late. A client showed up as I was leaving work. He got aggressive, and we met with police. You know, the regular.” I smiled at Derek. Homeless clients, police? Mr. Wealth Management, when has that been part of your regular day? And the client was my dad.
“Jeffrey, I assume?” The man between Kristy and Cassandra turned around and offered his hand.
“Derek?” I shook it.
Eddie was all smiling eyes and told-you-so grin.
I should have read the Washingtonian piece about Derek. I knew to do prep before a meeting. I knew better. I didn’t get to be an executive director by being clueless. But, holy crap, I was an ass. Why had I not bothered to research Derek? He’d probably read the article about homelessness in the Post that mentioned the Coalition and me. I thought Eddie was about to explode. Why had I assumed one of DC’s youngest, most successful philanthropists would be white, not black? “Uh, you’re racist,” Eddie would later say.
“Nice to meet you,” I said and released Derek’s hand.
Eddie could have corrected me when we first talked about Derek at the diner. He’d been saving it. He was excited to give me the shit I deserved for assuming Derek was white.
“Kristy and Cassandra, you both look great. I should know by now that if I’m hanging out with the two of you, I need to get out of my work clothes and do my best to look decent.” I kissed Cassandra. “Stunning, as always.”
“We love Jeffrey,” said Cassandra.
“Everyone does,” added Kristy.
Derek was leaning back, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed with their sales job on my behalf. The only seat was next to him. I moved in and tried not to notice the quality of Derek’s suit: dark with a subtle pattern only noticeable up close. He was a wealth consultant and dressed the part. With broad shoulders, flat stomach, he obviously had ample time to work out.
“Derek,” I said, hoping good manners would help me circle back to a decent introduction to the large donor. “It’s an honor to meet you. I can’t begin to tell you what a difference the surprise $50,000 will make to the Homeless Coalition. We’ve been in conversation with two more shelters considering joining. There are so many needs. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, scratchy and dry.
“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but you can’t believe how helpful it is to have that sort of money simply show up at a nonprofit.”
“I understand tight budgets.”
“Seriously, at the Coalition, we’ll be able to breathe better now. You’re giving us a year of not worrying how we’ll scrape by. We get to dream a little. Thank you.”
“Every business has to worry about making budget. That’s the responsible way to do things.” Derek tight-lip smiled. “Everyone knows that.”
Shit. Was he putting me in my place, assuming I didn’t know anything about business?
All I could do was smile. The money was coming. It didn’t matter what this guy thought of me. Dinner with Derek was no love-fest. He barely looked at me and asked no questions. It wasn’t until we started talking about the Burkewest Academy and our various high schools that he seemed to thaw.
“High school is key,” Derek said. “It’s where we figure out who we are and who we’re going to be.”
“Sort of. But I was DC Public, nothing like your Academy.”
“Of course,” Derek backtracked. “It can be tough, but I’ve heard about some innovative programs in the schools.”
“Of course.” I tore a piece of bread. “But my public-school experience had nothing to do with innovative programs.”
“But it all worked out. You got to college.” He scratched his neck and loosened his collar.
“Thanks to Eddie’s parents. They told me what to do.”
Kristy went into overdrive, describing the Burkewest kids and their philanthropy project. She asked each of us q
uestions. She was a master at communications. Except that Derek and I never thawed to each other. Was I overreacting, or were all of the silences between us frosty? Was he still pissed off I was late? Just as I would have been pissed off and judgmental if he’d been late? Note to self: was I really that judgmental? Oscar my ex thought so.
On the street after dinner and a round of kisses with the women and a shoulder grab with Eddie, Derek offered me a perfunctory handshake. The handshake of I’ll never see you again. Except that a month later we’d have a longer night together at the awards ceremony.
“St. Regis Hotel.” Derek nodded and walked away.
“St. Regis Hotel.”
“That was no love-fest,” said Cassandra after Derek left. We were still standing by the trickling fountain at the restaurant entrance. “I’ve never seen him cold like that. Jeffrey, you have power.”
“Power?”
“You made Mr. Savvy-and-Successful uncomfortable. He must be attracted to you.” Cassandra smiled grandly and adjusted the lightly orange shawl that she’d informed us earlier was new and known as apricot classic.
“Are you kidding? He thinks I’m an ass.”
“He doesn’t know that you thought he was white. I’m not stupid enough to have told him,” Eddie said. “Don’t forget. I’m looking out for you, man.”
“Cassandra’s right,” Kristy said. “If Derek thought you were an ass, he wouldn’t have engaged.”
“That was engaged? The whole night was awkward.”
“Sexual tension,” said Cassandra.
Kristy stood straighter, and Cassandra and Eddie smiled as Derek appeared and took something from his jacket.
“Here’s my card,” said Derek. “Let me know if I can ever help.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s amazing the difference you’re making. The city needs more people like you.” That was my professional self speaking, right? Did I actually mean it?
Derek gave a better, looser, friendly smile. Huh? He could do that? He did it at me?
“What is it, a thousand people who are receiving better services because of the network established by the Coalition? That was what the Post said, right?” He patted my shoulder and was gone.
Eddie gave me “told you so” eyes.
“Clue me in,” I said. “Why does everyone but me know him?”
“I met Derek in college.” Cassandra rewrapped her shawl. “He was at Georgetown, and came to a festival at Howard when I was working the front door. I thought he was cute. No. Hot, actually. I thought he was hot. Even in college, Derek was more hot than cute. The two of us were having a great conversation, and I thought we’d connected, so I gave him my number. I could tell we were destined for a beautiful future.”
“It didn’t work, did it?” Eddie smiled grandly at Cassandra.
“Derek asked if I could introduce him to one of the guys I’d brought to the movie. I did, and Derek and Jayden hooked up and had a beautiful winter together. When they broke up, I lost touch with Jayden, but Derek and I have been friends ever since.” Cassandra released one of her showstopping smiles. I thought it was perfect that she’d just started divinity school. Who wouldn’t want to go to a church where she’d be smiling at you from the pulpit? “Eddie’s right,” she said. “You and Derek would be perfect together.”
Chapter Three
I DIDN’T see Derek for a month. We exchanged surprisingly chatty emails about the logistics of the night. Shouldn’t Kristy have been our liaison? Was he seeking out communication with me? I didn’t think about him. Much. I did finally read the Washingtonian article, and found him in Burkewest Academy alumni bulletins. And the Georgetown alumni website. No, I’m not a stalker. An online search is only a few seconds.
If I wasn’t interested in Derek, then why did I have a preemptive wank the afternoon before the awards ceremony? Fine, maybe for five minutes I’d imagined Derek and me being a DC couple with influence. Derek had his money power, and I had my service-providing influence. But there was no need to unload before the ceremony in order to diminish awkward sexual tension, because we had no tension. So it wasn’t preemptive. It was just a wank, a typical Saturday afternoon of gym, shower, home, and grabbing it. A nice, long afternoon one was different from popping it at night, the tired ritual before sleep. So to be clear, I was not beating off in order to take the edge off before seeing Derek. It was merely a standard Saturday afternoon alone with my currently underemployed dick.
It was a good session. Had there ever been a bad one? I didn’t think about Derek. Not exactly. No, seriously, not at all. Not specifically, at least. He was a good-looking guy. Killer body. That couldn’t be ignored. Simply being near him was being in the atmosphere of heat, even if the sex wouldn’t be with him.
The St. Regis was as fancy as I’d thought it would be. Yes, I was a cliché. I’d grown up poor and worked for people on the edge. I wasn’t impressed or eager to be around money. Instead the excess made me uncomfortable. Part of my job was running the daily work of the DC Homeless Coalition, but part was fundraising to keep it going. I knew why I was doing the dance—to help the people served by the Coalition—but I’d never shaken the conviction that I was in imposter and didn’t belong. Fake it until you make it had been helpful when I’d been younger. But what about the doubt that still hung around me?
Aside from my self-righteous mood, the evening started well enough. I felt good in my outfit because Oscar, my embarrassing ex, had once said that he liked how my black blazer hung from my shoulders. He’d also liked my shirt so pale it was almost white, but actually was a shade of gold. Maybe Oscar had said I looked good because he’d been trying to coax my Banana Republic password from me. Whatever. That was months ago. I needed to stop thinking about Oscar. At least Cassandra and Eddie told me I looked smoking.
“Thank you,” I said and left them in the ballroom for the terrace.
“He’s from the agency working for the homeless.”
I immediately recognized Derek’s deep voice, but I couldn’t see him. He was on the opposite side of a huge collection of potted frond plants.
“Good-looking, yes,” said another guy I couldn’t see. “But I’m telling you, you’re done with that shit.”
“What shit?”
Nothing else came from the guy. I thought that would be the end of my eavesdropping.
“Just say it,” said Derek.
“He wants your money.”
“You don’t know that. He does good work.”
“Bottom line, Derek, you’ve got to stop choosing guys with martyr complexes. Yes, this Jeffrey does good work with the homeless. Like Dave did good work with his yoga studio. Like Eko did good work with his writing. Like Phillip did as a vet. But what did they all have in common?” The friend paused. “Arrogance. They thought they were God’s gifts to DC. That they were the only ones doing good work and you were something less and superficial for making money. Fucking shoot us for making money. Even the vet refused a decent paycheck. He worked at an animal shelter.”
“But they all did good work.”
“So do you. So do I. Nothing will ever convince me that a social worker, artist, or dog-saver is more moral or important than a CEO, an accountant, or a bus driver. Everyone is needed. If the bus doesn’t go on its route, then the social worker can’t get to work and save the world.”
“True, but what’s your point?”
“My point is that you don’t need another guy with a martyr complex. Too many of those in this city. Tell your other friends to stop trying to set you up.” The lights flickered on and off. “No more guys complaining you don’t do enough for the world but want you to pay for everything.”
“Michael, you’re a jerk.”
“I’m just looking out for you, man.”
“They say Jeffrey is an achiever. That he’s going places.”
“Nope. Nonprofit workers are the ones who can’t cut it in the corporate world.”
“You’re an arrogant son of a bitch,�
� said Derek.
“Turn around. Run away. You’re done. No more users.”
“Yeah, I get it,” said Derek. “You’ve made your point.”
“What’s wrong with corporate guys? Why can’t you just stick to your own kind?”
“You, white man, should not be saying that to your black friend.”
“You know I’m not talking race. I’m talking money.”
“You’re still an ass.”
Over the loudspeaker Kristy asked everyone to find a seat for the presentation. His back to me, Derek moved away from the plants with another guy, who must have been Michael. They left the terrace for the ballroom.
Yup. Finance guys were assholes. End of story. But… had Derek been defending me?
I left the fresh air of the terrace for the ballroom. Even the ceiling was fancy, all wooden beams, polished and shiny. A squadron of chandeliers and wall sconces. Too much. Couldn’t everyone see this was too much? I scanned the crowd for my friends. Huh? Where were they? Helping with something? Kristy was in charge. But Cassandra and Eddie?
“Why are you alone? Who’d you bring from the Coalition?” Eddie grabbed my shoulder. Where’d he come from?
“It’s just me. Each agency was only allowed one person.”
“You look like shit. Relax. It’s all good. This night is for you, man.”
“The check is for the Coalition.”
“Because of what you’ve done for it.”
“Thanks. I have to sit. I’ll see you after.” I made it to a long line of tables with white tablecloths and settled behind a place card reading, DC Homeless Coalition.
The headmaster said a few words, but the Academy students ran the whole presentation. They thanked the crowd for coming and explained the mission of the night. Everything was scripted, quick, and flawless. Kristy had done her job. The kids themselves were an impressive mix of races, a perfect ad for diversity, probably organized by the admissions office.
Power Players Page 2
