The Pride

by Wallace Ford

  “I do agree that we should announce that Morningstar will be handling the initial public offering for Herzog Technologies.” Gordon was already moving on. No surprise there.

  Herzog now held the patent rights for what was touted to be the successor drug to AZT in the battle against AIDS. The offering was expected to be at least $10 billion and would be handled by Jerome on behalf of Morningstar. It would be the firm’s first foray into the deep waters of corporate finance and would clearly identify the firm as a real player.

  “Well, I am prepared to announce that Morningstar will be managing significant parts of the pension funds of the municipal employees unions in Chicago, Detroit, Oakland, Philadelphia, New Orleans, and New York City. On day one, Morningstar will have over $30 billion in assets under management. This will, without a doubt, attract even more business to the firm.” Diedre was clearly committed. This was starting to be truly wonderful.

  I briefed them on my conversation with Edwina. Everyone immediately understood the significance of having the announcement at Hue & Me. The Rainbow Room was simply no longer an issue.

  Morningstar would be formally introduced to the world at Hue & Me. Then it was back to the business of the day.

  “Listen, I am more than sure that New Orleans is under control. Are you fucking kidding me? With all the money that we have spent supporting Prince Lodrig, you’re goddamned right that the son of a bitch is leading Percy Broussard by at least twenty points in the latest polls right this very minute.” Gordon had a way of putting things that was always hard to ignore.

  “New Orleans is going to be a fucking stronghold for Morningstar!”

  “Well Gordon, considering that so far we have raised and contributed about $250,000 for the esteemed Mayor Lodrig, I would certainly hope that he remembers our name.” Diedre subtly let Gordon know that his ass was on the line with this one.

  “And so far, it seems like money well spent.” She took the edge off her last comment.

  “Of course, the election is a few months away.” And then put the edge back on again.

  “Well, we should all remember that Morningstar will now be hosting a fund-raiser for Mayor Lodrig in D.C. in early October. That should raise another hundred grand. And that should do the job.” Gordon smiled a smile that I just couldn’t read. So I didn’t even try.

  I had already briefed the three of them on campaign finance laws and they were definitely within the law with all that they had done and planned to do. And, as far as New Orleans was concerned, Gordon was certainly saying all the right things. There just seemed no need for concern.

  Except that there was. I was concerned. Worried would be a better word. I like to think of myself as a rational man. I believe in facts, real information, and real knowledge. Feelings, intuition, hunches—they are way in the backseat as far as I am concerned.

  As we sat on Gordon’s boat, something was telling me that I needed to think about Sammy Groce again. Sammy had mentioned something about a “surprise” in this campaign. There had been absolutely no signs of anything like a “surprise” to date. Everything was going just like Gordon said it would.

  But that did not allay my fears. After all, that’s why surprises were called surprises. You simply did not expect them. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Gordon had something to do with the “surprise” to which Sammy had referred to months ago.

  As I thought about it though, it was hard to deny that Gordon had been exceedingly generous and forthcoming with his contacts and his business network was clearly at the disposal of the new firm. No question about it.

  But I still had my doubts. I had nothing that I could rationally articulate, even to myself. So I kept quiet. And I paid close attention.

  As the business of the day concluded, it was agreed that we would get together at Gordon’s party on Saturday night and make a private announcement around ten o’clock. Between now and then, it was time to just relax for a moment or two. “That’s fine with me. I have barely seen Charmaine and the kids between the Herzog deal and Morningstar.” Jerome was smiling as he spoke with a satisfied look on his face.

  “I know that you all won’t miss me too much between now and tomorrow night while I reintroduce myself to my family. Hell, I may need photo ID.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Brother Jerome. Kenitra and I have already made plans for a private dinner. Seems that she thinks I have been neglecting her. Can you imagine?” The new Gordon was fascinating in his solicitousness.

  “Diedre and Paul? I hope that you don’t mind that I am cutting you loose for the evening. You do have a key to the house, after all.”

  We all laughed. Diedre and I had already decided on dining at a lovely, secluded seafood restaurant east of Sag Harbor in Montauk. And we had already talked about having an unmentionable dessert back at Gordon’s guest quarters. At least for the moment, Morning-star and The Pride could wait.

  As we disembarked from the Ike, I already found myself thinking about dessert.

  CHAPTER 80

  Gordon

  Smiling faces … sometimes … they don’t tell the truth

  As Jerome drove off and I watched Diedre and Paul head toward the guest quarters, I just had to smile to myself. I was pretty sure that they had started fucking again. In fact I was positive. And, frankly, I didn’t give a shit. Whatever the two of them were doing was just fine with me. It all fit in perfectly into my plan. From the bottom of my heart I wished those two unsuspecting lovebirds well.

  I know the old saying about not being able to fool all of the people all of the time. But I have never really thought that too many of those old-ass sayings applied to me. And, this time, I didn’t care who was fooled as long as they didn’t get in the way of my plan. And it was a plan that had very little to do with fucking Morningstar—or Paul or Diedre or Jerome.

  The fact is that I knew that I had been slipping up earlier in the year and had to clean up my act. But I never gave up my partnership with the Dark Lord. I still continued to beat the shit out of that bitch Kenitra. I made sure to keep her in her place. And that place was somewhere beneath my heel.

  The truth is that the more that I worked with Jerome and Diedre, the more I really came to despise those motherfuckers. And that’s why my plan was so great. It would exact the greatest possible pain and damage from all of them. And, as far as I was concerned, they absolutely deserved it.

  It was all about timing. I found that I could endure anything for a given period of time. Even working with those motherfuckers. From the time we sat in the Water Club for lunch after Winner’s memorial, I knew that there would be an end, and I knew what that end would be.

  As a result, I could easily endure the cordiality, the friendly meals and all of the appurtenances of friendship that I had to fake to keep the whole thing going. I could even provide real, substantive business resources to advance the cause, because I knew my cause was different from and superior to theirs.

  Someday, these assholes would know that Gordon Perkins was beyond partnership, beyond affiliation and beyond their mortal asses. I knew that the day would come when I would stand astride Wall Street like some kind of goddamned colossus, invincible, implacable and unconquerable. And then it would be just me and the Dark Lord. It was just a matter of time.

  In the meantime I just had to be patient. Just like the lion can sit in the brush by a watering hole for uncounted hours, waiting for the fat, lazy, unsuspecting wildebeest to wander a little too close. In the case of Diedre, Jerome, and Paul, it would take time. So the Dark Lord and I just waited in the brush. After all, we had a plan.

  As I ascended the stairs that led to the private quarters and the master bedroom suite I stopped in one of the bathrooms along the way. I rarely traveled with less than a quarter of an ounce of cocaine, and I always kept a plentiful supply in Sag Harbor. I wouldn’t want the Dark Lord to feel unwelcome.

  As I helped myself to several heaping teaspoons of Colombian powder, I felt that all my problems were being
solved and that my very life was being saved. And the Dark Lord and I reflected on the fact that I was close, very close, to becoming the most powerful black person on Wall Street. And then, the next step would be to be one of the most powerful people on Wall Street, period.

  The fact that Diedre, Jerome, and Paul played minor roles in my personal master plan really was not my problem. It was their problem as far as I was concerned, and they would have to deal with it as best they could. I understand concepts like loyalty, trust and friendship. They just have no place in the World of Gordon Perkins and the Dark Lord. And if I had to collapse their dreams while making mine come true that’s just the way it was going to be.

  So I filled my nose with some more of that wonderful white powder. It was the best Colombian product that money could buy. The presence of the Dark Lord confirmed that fact. I looked into the mirror and confirmed that I was indeed God’s gift to the world and headed out of the bathroom and toward the master bedroom suite.

  It was a suite that was palatial in its design and expanse, complete with a gorgeous fucking bitch who was going to do anything that I wanted her to do, whether she wanted to or not. In fact, I was hoping that she wouldn’t want to do a few of the things that I had in mind. Making her do it would be just that much more fun for me.

  The thing is that I had come to truly despise that bitch. Not because I figured that she was fucking my driver and God knows who else. Shit, I could give less than a fuck what she did when I wasn’t around.

  It was just that, at the end of the day, she was a trophy, after all, she had been a world famous supermodel. But after a while, any trophy gets boring. And I guess I hated Kenitra because she bored me.

  I had to hand it to the bitch. Her survival skills were remarkable. Early on she figured out that she was going to have to find a way to survive in my world. She learned not to argue. She learned not to take visible offense to my insults and curses. She learned because I taught her. And she learned all of her lessons the hard way.

  She learned to comply with any sexual demand that I might make, or that the Dark Lord might suggest. No matter how bizarre, no matter how kinky, no matter how degrading—she learned to do what I wanted. And she learned to do it over and over and over again.

  I know that after a while she began drinking with me and when I was not around. And she took the pills that her doctor prescribed. Lots of them. And the cocaine … well, she would take as much as I would give her. And I gave her a lot.

  With her survival skills working overtime, she endured the beatings and the cursing and there was no perversion that was beneath her. She intended to live even though that bitch knew that many times I was this close to killing her ass.

  “Good afternoon, Kenitra. Are you ready for me?”

  CHAPTER 81

  Gordon

  If there’s a hell below …

  There was only silence. And for good reason. Before I had gone to lunch on the Ike earlier in the day, I had Kenitra put on a leather studded bikini and watched her consume four barbiturate pills, half a bottle of tequila and two grams of coke.

  She simply had to do it since I promised her I would beat the living shit out of her if she didn’t. Then I blindfolded and gagged her and handcuffed her to the bed, spread-eagled. Just the way I liked to see her.

  I saw her awake as I came into the room. I could see her try to scream through her eyes as I started on her with the cigarette lighter. And then she passed out.

  I didn’t really care. When I finally got tired of doing anything and everything to her, I unfastened her and went to sleep. I had a busy day ahead of me and my plan was better than anything she could offer me anyway.

  I guess if I paid attention, I would have heard Kenitra crying. She was weeping, actually. But, like I said, I really didn’t care. I slept well that night.

  CHAPTER 82

  Diedre

  Have I told you that I love you?

  Paul and I spent the rest of the evening like lovesick teenagers away from their parents for the evening. We rode Paul’s Porsche all over the eastern tip of Long Island. We drove out to the very end, at Montauk, and we actually held hands while watching the ocean flow by on its dark path to Europe, Africa, South America, and everywhere.

  I know that most everyone I know would figure that we just had to talk about the resolution of the prior fifteen years, or at least the past twenty-four hours. But the truth is, logic just didn’t apply. There was just something about the flood of emotions that had been set free. It simply made the world different for both of us. And it set us free in the process.

  We had both gotten to a point in life where we knew that we needed to appreciate the good things in life when they came along. We were both all too familiar with the sordid alternatives that time and circumstance could offer.

  Frankly, there wasn’t a lot of conversation about “where this relationship was going” or what kind of “commitment” who was going to make to whom. Instead, it was like we were savoring a fine wine that we had heard about and were finally getting a chance to drink. And it was absolutely wonderful.

  The restaurant that we went to was just outside of Montauk. Trastevere was its name. Trastevere was named after the oldest residential section of Rome, an area famed for fine family dining. On Fridays Trastevere featured cioppino, an Italian version of bouillabaisse, a fine, hearty, fish stew that had to be tasted to be believed. We entered the restaurant and I know that dessert at Gordon’s was already on my mind. And Trastevere did not have what I wanted on its menu.

  Paul ordered a Pinot Grigio that turned out to be somewhat spectacular and we made small talk as we ordered dinner and dined in unaccustomed peace and quiet. I remember thinking about all kinds of things as dinner continued.

  We watched the moon and stars tango on the waters of the Atlantic as we dined. For those few moments the tranquility of the moment was as pleasurable as the passion of the night before and that morning. We both ordered espressos and decided against dessert in the restaurant.

  Paul had purchased a bottle of his favorite champagne, Don Cazenove, which we were going to sample when we returned to the guest quarters. As we waited to be served our personal jolts of caffeine other thoughts came to mind.

  “Paul, do you really think that Gordon has changed? I know he seems different, but what do you think?” I had been trying to figure this out for myself for months. It wasn’t romantic to bring up the subject, but it was on my mind and I truly wanted to hear what Paul had to say.

  “It’s a little late to be wondering about your new partner, don’t you think?”

  It was exactly the kind of answer that I was hoping I would not hear. I knew Paul well enough to know that he was simply volleying the question back to me. He didn’t know either.

  “It’s never too late, but a straight answer might not be such a bad idea right now.” I looked Paul straight in the eyes as I said this. There was something about his answer that made me think that there was something he wanted to say.

  “The way I look at it, Diedre, Gordon is never going to change. Not ever. He is what he is, and probably always will be that, and only that. He can change around the edges, maybe be a little less of an asshole. He might even be able to act like something of a human being around Kenitra.

  “He seems to have his cocaine situation under control, although I wouldn’t suggest making drug tests a standard policy for the principals of Morningstar just yet.” Paul was good for giving a straight answer when needed. And this was a time that he clearly knew a straight answer was needed.

  “The advantage that you and Jerome have is that you know Gordon for what he is. He should never be able to surprise either of you, or me, for that matter. And the partnership agreement that you signed protects you from him doing anything too bizarre or outrageous.”

  We both thought about what Paul had just said while sipping our espressos. The piano player was going through the motions of “As Time Goes By.” As I recall, he wasn’t half bad, as t
hey say in Texas.

  “Are you saying that I am going to have to watch Gordon for as long as we are in business together?” I couldn’t just let this subject pass. It was too important.

  “Give that girl a kewpie doll! Diedre, you better believe that as long as Morningstar has Gordon Perkins as a featured player, you are going to have to watch him. Not every now and then. You will have to watch him every day and all the time. That’s who he is. You know it and Jerome knows it too.”

  “Sweetheart, Gordon is like a snake or a scorpion or a shark. You can’t really get angry at a shark if it bites you. That’s what sharks do. You survive by never giving a shark an opportunity to bite you in the first place.”

  Paul was calm and collected as he gave me his analysis. I knew that he was absolutely serious and I meant to pay absolute attention to what he was saying.

  “With Gordon, you know that he doesn’t give a shit about any of us at the end of the day. If he could find a deal that would result in him screwing the two of you, he would do it in a mosquito’s heartbeat. And he would get rid of me in less than that heartbeat if it suited his purposes.”

  “If he has a heart.” I just felt like adding something like gallows humor to the conversation.

  “But, as you know, Diedre, all of Gordon’s assets are tied up in Morningstar and he would have to be a fool to walk away from all that he has built up to date. I just don’t see him doing that. Not because he is a good guy, but because he is nobody’s fool.”

  “Your greatest protection from Gordon is that he is your partner. You know the old expression about holding your friends close and your enemies closer? That’s the way it will always be for you and Gordon. And please, don’t ever forget it!”