Blind Ambitions

by Lolita Files

Desi smiled, shaking her head.

  “It’s just business!” she called out.

  Sharon ignored her, singing as she opened the door.

  “Uptown, baby, we gets down, baby …”

  Desi was pleased that Sharon was leaving on a positive, if artificial, note.

  She silently said a prayer, for Sharon’s sake, that things would be alright.

  Sharon was in Sav-on, trying to find the aisle where they kept all the feminine stuff, talking on her cell phone.

  “Jet Jonas, please.”

  “May I ask who’s calling?” a woman’s deep voice asked.

  “Sharon Lane. He’s expecting my call.”

  She grabbed some deodorant, remembering that she was running low. Realizing she might need a handbasket, she turned and headed back towards the front of the store.

  “Sharon Lane!” bellowed the voice on the phone. “Well, well now! That means I can finally believe Jackson Bennett’s not as full of shit as everybody says he is!”

  “Jackson’s a good guy,” Sharon said, chuckling. “And, every now and then, his mouth and his mind do manage to meet up.”

  “Heyyyy, I like that! Don’t be mad if you hear me use it!”

  “Have at it.”

  She grabbed a blue handbasket and headed towards the pharmacy section of the drugstore.

  “So, Miss Lane, sounds like you and I need to talk dollars and cents.”

  Sharon had almost forgotten how bombastic Jet Jonas was. He was about six feet two inches, one hundred and eighty-five pounds of pure sinewy pecan-tan muscle. He had a mind that was quick with numbers and fierce with contracts, and fleet feet that had made him the leading rusher in NFL history.

  His voice was larger-than-life. It seemed much too big to come out of his body.

  During his time with the Los Angeles Lords, Jet had played it smart, not relying solely on his body for his success. His empire was formidable then. Now, three years into his retirement, it was even stronger. He was a well-respected, business-savvy, multi-multi-multi-multimillionaire. He was thirty-nine, just one year older than Sharon.

  What a difference a year makes, she thought.

  “Shouldn’t we talk business first before anything else?”

  She grabbed a Reese’s peanut butter cup as she passed through the candy aisle.

  “Oh, I already know we’re gonna bring you on board here,” he said. “I’ve gotten it from good authority, and I don’t mean just Randall James and Jackson, that you’re the one we need over here at our helm.”

  “Oh, really?” she replied. “And just who would these good authorities be?”

  Jet laughed. “You’re testing me, right? Well, let me tell you something, Sharon Lane. I didn’t get where I am today by not doing my homework. I’m big on it. It always gives me that extra edge. And what I learned most when I was doing my research on you is that a lot of people have some really good things to say about you.”

  Sharon was tearing into the candy. Her mouth was full when she spoke.

  “Oh yeah? Like what? I could use a little ego stroking right about now.”

  Jet paused.

  “Well, for one,” he said, “I can see you’re just like folks say you are. Straight and to the point. That’s how I work, and I like surrounding myself with people who operate the same way.”

  “It’s the only way to be. Now how about that ego stroke?”

  She grabbed a bag of cotton balls and tossed them into the basket.

  Jet made a gurgling sound that Sharon realized was laughter.

  “I think the best one went something like, ‘She’s the shit.’”

  “Hmmm. Alright. I can deal with that.”

  Sharon found herself in front of what she came into the store for: home pregnancy tests. She picked out two, First Response and E.P.T., and dropped them into her basket. She wanted to be extra sure.

  “So, armed with all that information, I know we can’t go wrong having you here. Therefore, the next step is determining what it’s going to cost us to do it.”

  Sharon stood in line for the register.

  “First of all,” she said, “I don’t even know what the position is you’re hiring for. And secondly, I’m just starting another project, Jackson’s film, and that’s going to take up a lot of my time until it’s finished.”

  “I see. I thought Jackson had briefed you on everything he and I talked about.”

  “He didn’t. He just told me to give you a call.”

  “Well, the position is vice president of Entertainment. You’d be the number-four person in command over here, behind me and my two partners.”

  Sharon advanced in the line.

  “And I already know about you working on the film. We’re willing to be flexible with you, as long as we know you’re ours once the project is done.”

  “Well …” was all she could say.

  “Is that well good, or well bad?”

  “Look, Jet, I don’t like to discuss business on a cell phone,” she said, placing her items on the conveyor belt. “Give me an idea of what the general starting range is you’re looking at, and from there I think we can determine if we should even meet at all.”

  “How about two-fifty a year, plus full benefits, perks, and an attractive bonus package,” he immediately responded.

  Sharon held her tongue.

  “Now that’s just a floor,” he added. “We can talk about things further and see how we can meet at a common ground.”

  Sharon smiled as she fished in her purse for money.

  “Are you free on Monday?” she asked.

  She heard him flipping pages.

  “Actually, I’m going to be in pitch meetings with my partners for most of the morning and afternoon. I sure wish you were on board with us now. We could probably do with some of your expertise that day. We’ve got a meeting with NBC at nine, Fox at eleven-thirty, ABC at one-forty-five, and CBS is at four.”

  “What kind of projects are you pitching?” she asked.

  “Just one, for starters. It’s a drama called Ambitions. There’s nothing out there like it on television, Sharon. I expect it’s going to be snapped up right away.”

  “I see,” she replied. “Is there any advance interest? Any buzz?”

  “Oh no,” he bellowed. “We’re going in there cold. This will be their first chance to check it out. I’m sure there’ll be a big buzz about it after today.”

  “I understand.”

  She handed the cashier two twenty-dollar bills and her Lucky/Sav-on Rewards card. The cashier handed her the change and the card. Sharon gathered up her bags and headed for the exit. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t paid for the Reese’s peanut butter cup.

  Oh well, she thought.

  “How do you feel about us meeting tomorrow?” Jet asked. “I’ll be on the golf course at eight o’clock. It’s cool if you play. If you don’t, we can just talk while you watch me do it. I really want to see you as a part of Vast Horizons, Sharon. I’m going to do everything I can to persuade you to join us.”

  “Specifically so I can be on board by Monday, right?”

  “That’s what I like about you, Sharon Lane,” he said with a chuckle. “You don’t cut any corners. You get right to the point.”

  Sharon was sitting on the toilet, peeing on the second pregnancy strip, when the doorbell rang.

  The first one was positive. This one was rapidly reaching the same conclusion as she flushed the toilet and fixed her clothes. She washed her hands and dried them.

  She had no idea who could be ringing her bell. It wasn’t even six P.M. And it was Friday. Most people were stuck in traffic, just trying to make it home.

  Shaun had called at exactly five, and Sharon had already given her the scoop on all the things that were going on, from the situation at Massey-Weldon to Jackson’s new film.

  Other than her conversation with Shaun, everything had been peace. (Except for a hangup call when she first walked in, but that didn’t count.)


  The house smelled like weed. Despite her better thinking, she had taken a toke to prepare for the results of the pregnancy tests.

  She couldn’t let anyone in with her house smelling the way it did.

  She checked the peephole. It was Glen.

  Sharon opened the door.

  “Hey. What are you doing here so early?”

  Glen bent down and kissed her.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” he said.

  He handed her a large bouquet of delicate pink roses.

  “What’s this for?” she asked, still standing in the doorway.

  “They were so soft and pretty when I saw them, they immediately reminded me of you. I had no choice in the matter. They were calling out your name.”

  Sharon looked into his eyes. They were bold and sincere.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, stepping aside.

  She closed the door. When she turned around, he pulled her into his arms.

  “God, baby,” he moaned, “I thought about you all day at work. I mean all day. I didn’t get a damn thing done.”

  Sharon was trembling from her crown to her feet.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked, pulling her tighter, trying to still her body. “Why are you shaking like that? Is something wrong? Did something happen to you today?”

  He squeezed her closer.

  “Could it be that you were missing me?” he asked in a playful voice.

  Sharon freed herself from his grip and took him by the hand. He willingly followed. She led him to the couch and pushed him down onto it.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Stay right there,” she commanded, flinging the roses onto the coffee table.

  She walked across the living room, through the short hall, into the downstairs bathroom. She came out with both pregnancy tests.

  Her eyes wet, she marched over to Glen and thrust them at him. At first, he was unsure of what she was holding in her outstretched hands. His eyes focused. Within seconds, he knew.

  “Now get out,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I said get out!” She flung the pregnancy tests at him.

  “Sharon, what’s the matter with you? How are you going to shove these things at me, and then just throw me out of your house? What kind of ghetto shit is that?!”

  “Get out of my home, Glen.”

  “Fine!” he shouted, standing up from the couch. “Let me get the fuck out!”

  Furious, he made for the front door. Sharon ran up behind him and shoved him, face forward, into it.

  “Get out of my house!” she screamed. “I fucking hate you!”

  Glen looked back at her, his eyes smoldering.

  “Get out!” she cried, pounding his back with her fists. “Get out, get out, get out!”

  “Step away from me, Sharon, and let me open the door.” Glen’s voice was icy steel, just like she’d heard him speak to his sister. “I will gladly leave you and your home, if you’ll just give me a chance.”

  She raced into the living room and grabbed the flowers from the coffee table. Glen was just opening the door. He looked back when he heard her approach, expecting the return of her fists. She smacked him hard across the face with the flowers, the beautiful petals stinging his skin as they scattered around and across his head. A welt rose up on his left cheek where one of the rose stems had landed. Sharon watched it take shape and stretch diagonally all the way across his face.

  Glen stood before her, his fists clenching and unclenching. His top lip quivered in an attempt to contain his mounting rage.

  “Now get out,” Sharon snarled, and pushed him through the door.

  She slammed it closed behind him.

  She stood with her back against it, feeling something violently lurch its way up her insides. The lurching continued until it reached her mouth and forced it open. First a gasp escaped, then the contents of her belly, followed next by an anguished howl.

  Sharon slid to the floor, hysterical. She collapsed in a crying heap amidst a grotesque blend of her own vomit and the tattered pink petals and broken stems of Glen’s roses.

  WADE IN DEEP WATER

  You still haven’t explained to me how this happened.”

  Wade was pacing around his penthouse office in a pair of off-white boxer shorts. His clothes were mingled with Meredith’s in assorted heaps around the room.

  It was nine P.M., the lights in his office had been dimmed, and his wife, Anna, had left that morning on a flight to London for a weekend visit with some friends.

  He thanked God for that. He needed some time to form an action plan. He had to find a way for Massey-Weldon to save face.

  Under Meredith’s care, the company was now suffering a serious professional flesh wound. Massey-Weldon had experienced them before—accusations of racism, bogus charges of sexual harassment—but they always healed. This wound was ugly. It threatened to gape open and bleed for everyone to see.

  Wade realized, too late, that he’d been too hands-off. He didn’t know the true state of affairs of his own company. His wife didn’t either. She had been spending far too much time coddling and placating the stars of their most popular shows.

  That left only Meredith to deliver any real answers. She had been with him, in his office, for the past six hours. Wade found himself no closer to the truth than if he’d asked a stranger in the hall.

  During those six hours, Meredith had supplicated herself to him, first with defensive statements, then hysterical cries. When those tactics didn’t work, she disrobed completely and dropped to her knees.

  Wade, physiologically unable to prioritize passion and profession, went for the first and released his anger inside her mouth.

  Between the hours of three and six, he’d been called by TV Guide, Variety, The Hollywood Reporter, and Access Hollywood. After someone called from E! Entertainment’s Gossip Show, he had his assistant JeJeune turn the phone calls away.

  When he first summoned Meredith to his office, she served him up a plate of red herrings that led nowhere. All he knew was that he kept winding up in her and on her in an assortment of sexual postures. Each time they finished, nothing was resolved and no explanations prevailed.

  The day had turned into night, and more critical changes had already taken place.

  Bettina, a receptionist he had been most fond of, had been fired. He had been biding his time when it came to her, planning to approach her soon for an old-times’-sake rendezvous. Now she was gone. He regretted never getting the chance to savor her black nectar again.

  He had fired her on Meredith’s word, after the fellatio, but before the first episode of sex. Meredith had proof, she claimed, that Bettina was a part of the whole Randall and Steve breach conspiracy.

  Bettina was remanded to his office. Visibly shaken at being summoned, she listened as Meredith rained a litany of charges upon her. Some were real, some were suspected, most were fabricated. Bettina did not deny any of it. She realized that she was in way over her head. She surrendered her access card and other company-owned items and was sent packing without a penny of severance.

  Executives from both ABC and NBC, wanting to know about the future of Stickies and Westwood, had tried, to no avail, to reach Wade before the day’s end. He hadn’t taken their calls, either. He needed the weekend to organize and assess.

  “Meredith, why didn’t you come to me sooner and let me know that Steve and Randall were getting restless?”

  She was stretched out on his black leather sofa, wearing only a pair of leopard-print Victoria’s Secret panties.

  “Wade, I never knew a thing,” she lied. “They never said a thing to me about being unhappy.”

  She was no longer as pressed and fearful as she had been when he first demanded she come to his office. Once she realized that she could find a way to maneuver him between her legs, the day’s fiasco could be saved. A seed of an idea had planted itself in her brain. It was doable, she just did
n’t know to introduce it.

  As long as Wade was willing to fuck, Meredith knew she could work the situation to her favor, and her opening would come.

  “Why didn’t anybody catch the lapse of the time frame in their contracts?”

  “Wade, honey, I’m telling you … I don’t know. I’m beginning to believe that perhaps they tampered with files. Legal has an excellent automated tickler system. There’s no way something like that could slip through their cracks.”

  Meredith also had no fear of legal repercussions, not from Randall and Steve. Now that she knew they had no intention of suing the company, that they merely wanted to exit to form their own, she was free to fictionalize their situation as creatively as she was able to conceive it.

  Wade continued to pace nervously in front of the window, his taut, tanned, athletic body a silhouette against the evening sky.

  “There’s no way they’re taking Carlos with them,” he said. “Anna won’t let that happen. He’s been with us from the very beginning.”

  Meredith watched him build himself into a tizzy.

  “How quickly do you think we can assemble writing teams for these shows?” he asked.

  “A couple of days. Five at the most.”

  “That long?”

  “That’s not a long time,” she said reassuringly. “We are going to have to get the best, though, since it’s such short notice.”

  “If we have to do it, we just have to do it,” he declared.

  He turned towards her.

  “There’s no way we can put together new writing teams before Monday, is there, before the networks start to call again?”

  “Wade, darling,” she cooed, “honey, you’re not thinking. That’s just not possible. People are gone for the weekend. The networks are just going to have to wait.”

  “Yes, Meredith,” he replied curtly, his voice aquiver. “Make the networks wait. Be sure to tell that to the judges when they drag us to court.”

  “Nobody’s going to court,” she said. “The networks are not going to let this thing spin out of control. Neither are we.”

  Wade kept moving around nervously, staring at the floor as he paced. He didn’t know what to do. This type of predicament was best handled by Anna, but she was away. Without her as his touchstone, he was at a loss for direction.