The Pride

by Wallace Ford

  CHAPTER 95

  Sture

  If these walls could talk …

  I knew that those who desired the less conventional refreshments always found out that there was a place for them too. One of the many sitting rooms in Gordon’s house led to a lounge with a balcony that was on the other side of the main party. A visitor to that room could not simply wander in, and anyone who was unknown would simply never find it.

  When I went into the room I first noticed the sweet fragrance of frankincense combining with marijuana and hashish. I could also barely make out the nearly imperceptible sound of cocaine being sniffed from a silver plate with a silver straw that was being passed around.

  Appropriately enough, Stan Getz was playing in the background and the room was as subdued as possible. No one really recognized or acknowledged anyone and no one would ever talk about the room when they left. It wasn’t even clear how the refreshments got there. They just did and that was good enough for everyone.

  As would be expected in any community, the gay contingent of The Pride, both male and female, was also in attendance in full force. Being members of The Pride meant having to compete and succeed in a professional environment that did not always think highly of gay black men and women. As a result, in order to succeed, they were required to keep that aspect of their lives even deeper in the closet than their white counterparts.

  A party like Gordon’s permitted a certain level of welcome relaxation and freedom. Not knowing and trusting everyone, most of the gay members of The Pride made a point of making an appearance at Gordon’s party and then going to Fire Island where the atmosphere was a lot more conducive to their lifestyle. That was where they could let themselves go. And they usually did.

  All in all, just about everybody who came to Gordon’s party went home happy.

  CHAPTER 96

  Paul

  Stolen moments

  It was a little past midnight and we were still in my car heading back to Manhattan. We were still about an hour outside of the city and this was a lot later than we had planned.

  But there were people to see, things to talk about and timing suffered. Now I was just trying to stay within the speed limit, wishing that Diedre and I were already in the Jacuzzi back at my house, exploring all the territories that we already knew but needed to explore again. We passed the time chatting up the postmortem of Gordon’s party.

  “You know, Jerome had to know that Ray Beard was going to show up, so I am not surprised that he was able to greet Ray and Monique in a civil fashion. He actually came across as somewhat friendly, don’t you think?”

  “That might be true, Paul. But did you see how Charmaine cut Ray dead in his tracks. I don’t think I have ever seen that side of her. And I tell you what, I don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of whatever she was thinking about Ray tonight.”

  We both had to laugh, even though we both knew that what Diedre said was absolutely true. If looks could kill, Ray Beard’s family would have been shopping for a suitable casket by now.

  “Did you check out the buzz that went around the party when Ray showed up with Monique? And then, when word started to get around that he had left Jerome and was starting his own firm? You would have thought that the brother had discovered electricity, sliced bread, and peanut butter.”

  “I will bet you another carte blanche that by the time the Morningstar announcement is made on Wednesday, any number of wagging tongues will put two and two together and come to the conclusion that Ray and Jerome had a falling out and the two new companies are the result. There will be a virtual hurricane of gossip.”

  “‘Hurricane of gossip’? That’s an interesting choice of words. I think that you would win that bet, sweetheart. But I am still interested in that carte blanche.”

  The ease with which we had converted our relationship from business to friendly accommodation to passionate romance continued to amaze me as I negotiated the Porsche through the notorious traffic of the Long Island Expressway.

  “But you know something, Paul? Ray Beard has been considered to be quite the eligible bachelor for quite awhile. But I can’t think of a single woman to whom he has ever been linked, romantically, or even for a fling. So his announcement that he is marrying Monique Jefferson, quite a catch in her own right, has a lot of people talking. Combined with his new firm, this is like something out of a Hollywood script.”

  “What are you saying? His marriage to Monique is out of character?”

  “Let’s look at it this way. He is a healthy, wealthy, handsome single black man in Manhattan and is never seen in the social company of another woman. I know more than one sister who has speculated as to whether Ray has been gender bending or, that he just might be gay.

  “Then, all of a sudden, not only is he dating one of the most gorgeous single black women in town, he is marrying her! I just don’t think that this is the end of the story.”

  We rode in silence for a while, listening to Antonio Carlos Jobim and taking in the necklace of lights that was the Triborough Bridge as it approached in the distance. I was thinking about all that Diedre was saying when I noticed that there was a rustle of clothing.

  I chanced a quick look over at her and realized that she was starting to undress, in a very private striptease that threatened to send us careening into the East River. I am so glad that I had exact change that night so that the tollbooth attendant did not get his thrill of a lifetime. Mercifully, Diedre relented in her disrobing and we started to talk again. We could not get to my place soon enough as far as I was concerned.

  “But you know something, Diedre? There was something very interesting that I noticed when Ray and Monique bumped into Gordon and Kenitra. It was real clear to me that they were not meeting for the first time.”

  “That’s not surprising, Paul. It’s a big city, there are lots of places that people might meet.”

  “That’s not what I mean. There was an interaction between the couples that got my attention. Not the interaction between Gordon and Ray. It was the way that Kenitra and Monique chatted and laughed and embraced.”

  “Like they were close friends, certainly more than acquaintances …”

  “Exactly. They were close and we both know that Gordon rarely socializes with Kenitra in tow unless it advances his immediate business interests. She is beautiful, charming and all of that, but we both know that Gordon has no love or respect for that woman, and he would only introduce her to other people for business purposes.”

  “You have a point there, Paul. So what is his business with Ray?”

  “I have no goddamned idea. Gordon is inextricably bound to Morningstar and you and Jerome, there could not possibly be any benefit for him having some kind of side arrangement with Ray. But …”

  “But, this is Gordon Perkins we are talking about.” The conversation suddenly got very serious and we both put our passion on hold as we tried to figure out what the hell we were talking about.

  “Paul, the four of them really didn’t spend that much time together. Maybe you are reading more into it than is really there.”

  I wanted to believe that Diedre was right. Any other possibility was the beginning of a nightmare from which we all might never awake. I really wanted to believe that night.

  “You are probably right, Diedre. I am just a little on edge. I am sure that on Tuesday afternoon when we meet, this will all be just a memory.”

  “You want to change the subject?”

  I glanced over to Diedre while trying to negotiate the last half mile to my town house. She had begun to undress again. And then, there was something else … I looked to see what she was doing. She was caressing and touching herself and making herself moan, and I was glad that I was only blocks away from home.

  Moments upon our entering the house we found a way to disrobe each other while going up the stairs. The Jacuzzi had to wait that evening as we went right to the bed, naked and ready to go to heaven. The Pride, Morningstar and next week would just h
ave to wait.

  Later, we would realize how fortunate we were to have this brief visit to paradise. We were about to enter the maelstrom.

  CHAPTER 97

  Diedre

  Storm clouds are gathering

  Political reality in New Orleans was not much different from that in many major U.S. cities in the 1990s. The Democratic Party primary usually determined the winner of the general election. Sometimes there would be a surprise Republican or Independent. But you could always bet your money on the Democrats.

  Three weeks after the Morningstar announcement at Hue & Me, Paul and I lay on his bed at his home, watching the New Orleans primary returns on a Wednesday night. We were absentmindedly sipping port wine, a thirty-year-old Fonseca. As it turned out, it was the only pleasant memory that I have of that evening.

  “I can’t believe the job that Edwina did in getting Morningstar off the ground. She might be hell on wheels, but she sure as hell got the job done!” Paul was reflecting on the Morningstar launch, and I had to agree with him.

  “Bitch and Edwina might be on the same page of the dictionary. But she is good at what she does. Goooood! Do you remember, Diedre? The guest list at Hue & Me read like the first ten rows of Winner’s memorial service.”

  “Hell, Paul. Edwina had the chairmen of the New York Stock Exchange, the American Stock Exchange, and NASDAQ in attendance. You can’t ask for more than that. It’s almost an unheard of alignment of the planets and stars.

  “And don’t forget CNN, CBS, NBC, FOX, ABC, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal and countless other media representatives were there. We were all on The Today Show, Good Morning America, Larry King, it was just awesome.”

  And it was awesome. For the next several days after the announcement it seemed as if we all had the Midas touch. Jerome put together the final pieces of the public offering for his biotech client and was able to raise one billion dollars. Not bad for Morningstar’s first effort.

  I was able to get the pension fund asset management assignment from the unions that I had been working on all year. The billions of dollars that came from that assignment meant that Morningstar had over thirty billion dollars under management within its first ten days of operation. That was another major Morningstar coup.

  The only problem was a “problem” to those who knew the Morningstar strategy. Paul told me about his last conversation with Sammy Groce, and the “September Surprise” was not a surprise to me. And what a surprise it turned out to be.

  The day after the Morningstar announcement, the Broussard campaign produced several “witnesses” and “authentic” documents which “proved” that Mayor Lo-drig’s father had been involved in a conspiracy to import Cuban refugees and to hold them in virtual bondage as laborers in his Baton Rouge candy factory. Since the factory had burned to the ground due to a “mysterious” fire one month earlier, there were no records that Pere Lodrig could produce to immediately refute the charges. The only records that survived showed that Prince Lodrig was a 25 percent shareholder in the corporation that owned the factory.

  Not surprisingly, the very next day federal prosecutors announced that they had no choice but to convene a grand jury to investigate the matter. To make matters worse, Mayor Lodrig at a tearful press conference proclaimed his innocence and offered to resign. He then decided that he would try and retain Johnnie Cochran to represent him in this matter. As of the primary election it was not clear that Mr. Cochran would be acting in Mayor Lodrig’s defense.

  It was no surprise to any of us at Morningstar that the Lodrig campaign went into pure and absolute freefall. His poll numbers went from a lead of almost 25 percent to him trailing by 5–10 percent on primary day. Campaign money virtually dried up and Broussard went from being a sure loser to an underdog with a puncher’s chance to be the winner.

  CHAPTER 98

  Diedre

  Picking up the pieces

  “You know, Diedre, what I find absolutely amazing is that all Gordon has had to say through all of this is, ‘everything will be fine.’That is, when we are able to get a straight answer out of him at all.

  “It’s really curious how he has had to be out of the Morningstar offices on this matter and that. I know that his business is absolutely national, but I can’t help but feel as if there is something strange about all of this.”

  “What are you trying to say, Paul?”

  “Well, I have not been able to speak with Gordon since last Thursday. I am assuming that neither you nor Jerome has had any contact either?”

  “True, Paul. Now what are you talking about?”

  “I have just come across some real bullshit. I didn’t want to say anything to you or Jerome until I had confirmation. I just got confirmation on my fax machine downstairs about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Confirmation of what? What are you talking about, Paul?”

  “You remember the story about the scorpion and the frog …”

  “Goddamit, Paul! I absolutely do not want to hear about any fucking frogs or any motherfucking scorpions!” I was beyond crazed at this point. And the CNN announcers continued to drone in the background.

  “Okay, okay. Do you remember how I mentioned how close Ray and Monique seemed to be with Gordon and Kenitra?”

  “I do remember, Paul. Please, please get to the point.” CNN continued unabated and undeterred by my distress.

  “Well, I sometimes use the services of a private security firm that specializes in forensic audits. Really deep background research about the financial dealings of individuals. You probably would not be surprised at how much information is available with just a little effort.”

  “This has to do with Gordon, doesn’t it?” I actually started to see the room take on a red tinge as rage struggled to take over total control of my total self.

  “Yes it does, Diedre. It turns out that exactly one week before the Sag Harbor party, Gordon transferred $10 million to an account in his name in London. That Monday, the $10 million was transferred to an account in the Bahamas in the name of Kenitra Perkins. The next day that account transferred the funds to a Citibank account in New York, also in the name of Kenitra Perkins.”

  “I don’t see the problem, Paul. The partnership agreement is quite clear in allowing all of us to do whatever we want with our personal assets. Gordon can move money all around the world every day of the week. What’s your point?”

  “The point, Diedre, is that on the Thursday after the announcement at Hue & Me, Kenitra Perkins deposited exactly $10 million into the account of Raymond Russell Beard and Company.”

  “What?” I simply could not believe what I had heard. I was in another dimension. Another planet. A brand new universe.

  “The deposit went into the RRB venture capital fund and the fax that I just received downstairs confirms what I just told you.”

  My eyes were glued to the television set. My ears were trying to process what they heard and convey that to my brain. I wanted to curse and cry and scream. But I couldn’t say a word.

  “Diedre, I can tell you right now that Gordon will say that this is an independent venture by Kenitra and that he wanted her to have her own business interests. He will say it is her money and that he has nothing to do with this RRB investment.

  “She is probably on the board of directors or something like that. And you can be sure that Gordon’s name is not on a single piece of paper.”

  “I am sure that Gordon’s fucking name is not on any piece of paper, Paul. Just look at the television!” I could not believe my eyes and as I glanced at the shocked look on Paul’s face, I knew that he couldn’t believe it either.

  CHAPTER 99

  Diedre

  Imitation of madness

  The results of the New Orleans primary had just been announced. Under the circumstances, there was no surprise that Paul Broussard was the winner. The live remote broadcast showed the victorious candidate surrounded by his cheering supporters.

  And there on the stage, as bol
d as life, a little to the right of the candidate, was Gordon Perkins. Cheering! Applauding! He was actually beaming with pride and elation. And standing next to Gordon—Raymond Russell Beard III!

  “Diedre, I thought I knew how low Gordon could go, but …”

  “Paul, he is not human,” I heard myself saying. “He is not fucking human. I will personally kill this son of a bitch!”

  The rage and the shock made me cry, and shake uncontrollably. And that just made me angrier. I could not believe that all of my hard work could just be taken away like this. It was beyond conception. It was beyond belief.

  I was not crying as much as trying to somehow control the cauldron of raging emotions that whirlpooled my insides into Gordian knots. I did not want comfort just then. Not from Paul. Not from anyone. All I wanted was revenge. Deep, primal, basic, atavistic revenge. I could hear Paul speaking from somewhere in outer space.

  “Diedre, if there was ever a time to step back and think, this is the time. I am sure of one thing. Gordon is counting on an emotional reaction. He is expecting it even as he is strutting around on that stage in New Orleans with Ray. That is why we have to step back and think!”

  That is when the phone rang. It was Jerome. Paul put him on the speakerphone so that the three of us could speak freely. Jerome’s voice was eerily still and quiet. I remember thinking about the blade of a knife for some reason. There was not a lot of time for formalities.

  “I assume that you two are watching CNN.”

  “We are, Jerome. Paul and I are trying to figure out …”

  “Diedre, with all due respect, there is nothing to figure out. Gordon has played us. He has played us for pure and simple fools. We just have to work out an exit strategy. Right now! It’s that plain and that simple.”