Diamond Playgirls

by Daaimah S. Poole; Miasha; King Deja; T. Styles

  As the driver continued to talk, she ignored his ramblings and dialed Marjorie Graham, her new landlady.

  “Hello.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Graham, this is Tamara Murphy. I was just confirming that I will be arriving shortly.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” the woman said nonchalantly. “I’ll be here when you get here.”

  Tamara hung up her phone and the man continued to talk. He didn’t get the picture yet that she was not listening to him. She was too busy typing in her BlackBerry phone.

  “Over there is a nice place, MoBay,” he said, pointing to a small club in the middle of the block. “They have a really good jazz band and my wife loves the Harlem mojitos. You should check it out sometime.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  Moments later he said, “Well, we are here.” She looked up at the tall three-story brownstone. Four stories really, if you counted the garden apartment, which was just four steps down from street level. Margie’s Diamond Palace, the landlady had called it. Looking at it now, she could see why it was called a palace. It was huge, as were the fifty or so brownstones that lined the block. She handed the taxi driver his $22.50 fare and waited for him to get out and open her door for her. It took her a few minutes to realize that wasn’t happening. She jumped out of the car and walked around to the trunk and waited for the driver to slowly get out and pop it open. Now that he had his money he wasn’t as talkative or courteous as he had been in the beginning of the ride. He did reach in and took out her two bags and deposited them on the curb before hopping back in his cab and pulling off. It was up to her to haul the luggage up the steep stairs to the brownstone’s front door.

  She dialed the landlady again, who said she would be right there to meet her. While Tamara waited for her, she noticed a tall scruffy-looking man with penitentiary eyes staring at her bags. Taking no chances, she picked them up and climbed the stairs. He probably was about to rob her in broad daylight. He began walking toward her smiling very hard, like they were old friends. Something about his smile frightened her, but she didn’t turn away. She had to keep her eye on him to see what he was doing. As he approached the steps he looked up and said, “How you doin’?”

  Tamara just looked down at him without blinking. She tried her best to look as mean as possible. She knew that men were like dogs; if they detected fear they would attack. But if you showed them no fear they would walk past. So she mean-mugged him directly in the eye. And just like a dog he slinked away, but she knew unlike a dog the man would likely be back again. Her thoughts were interrupted by a short heavy woman who was climbing the stairs.

  “Are you Tamara? I’m Marjorie Graham. You can call me Margie. Everyone else does.” The woman was panting by the time she reached the top of the steps. She obviously didn’t care too much about her appearance. She had on a blue wool coat, and a brown felt hat was pulled down low over her graying dreadlocks, and she was wearing purple socks with white slippers. And she reeked of cigarette smoke.

  “Welcome to Margie’s Diamond Palace. Come on in,” Margie said as she unlocked the door. “That’s all you have?”

  “No, the movers will be delivering the rest of my things tomorrow.”

  “Well, when they come make sure they don’t scratch my walls up, okay?”

  “I’ll make sure they won’t,” Tamara said.

  “Where are you from again?” she asked.

  “Atlanta.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. How was your flight?”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, that’s good. Here’s your apartment right here. You’ve got the first-floor apartment. There’s one apartment below you. That’s the garden apartment. Just had another young girl move in last week. Probably same age as you.” Margie cocked her head. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “Twenty-eight, huh? You look younger, and you got that little girl voice going for you, too. Bet it drives men crazy, huh?” The woman shrugged. “None of my business if it does. None of my business. I’m guessing the girl downstairs might be a little younger than you, but maybe not by much. You’ll get to meet her, I guess, being you all living in the same building. Maybe not. None of my business if you don’t. None of my business. Come on, let me show you the apartment.”

  For someone who keeps claiming things are none of her business she sure seems to be all up in mine, Tamara thought, though she managed to keep a smile on her face as she followed the woman around.

  The bathroom had one of those old-fashioned tubs, the kind with the curved legs, and the kitchen was totally renovated with new cabinets and woodwork. The living room, dining room, and bedroom all had their original hardwood floors and gigantic bay windows. The ceilings were high, and all sported white ceiling fans.

  “This is really impressive,” Tamara said as she looked around.

  Margie shrugged. “Should be. I spent a fortune in renovations,” she said as she handed Tamara the keys. “Listen, if you need anything, I live in the brownstone two doors down. Just ring my bell. Or call me out the window. Hope you like it here.” And with that she was gone.

  Tamara closed her door, then went to the window to see if that strange man was there, but he was gone. She felt a little reassured and began imagining where and how she was going to set up everything in her apartment. There was a big mirror attached to the closet door in the bedroom. She looked into it. She was still impressed with herself. She had really moved to New York City all on her own. She smiled and fluffed her hair and said, “New York, I’m here and I’m about to take over.”

  Tamara was awake for thirty minutes before finally getting out of her bed. She was still so tired from the day before. She had been directing the movers and moving and unpacking boxes all day long. Tamara told herself she would get up early and finish unpacking, but she didn’t feel like moving yet. She lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Then she closed her eyes for ten more minutes. She was on her way back to sleep when the phone rang.

  “Good morning, little girl,” her mother sang in her ear.

  “Hi, Mama.”

  “I’m on! I’m on here, too!” her grandmother said.

  “Hi, Nana.”

  “How are you? How is New York so far? Did you get mugged yet? Did you see a bunch of graffiti?” her mother and grandmother questioned simultaneously.

  “No, Grandma, everything is great,” she lied. Tamara dared not tell them about the strange man hanging around her building.

  “Well, I’m glad you like it. Because we were thinking about coming to help you get settled in.”

  “No, you can’t come up,” Tamara said quickly.

  “And why not?” her grandmother Joan asked.

  “Nana, well, because I’m going to be very busy and, well, I won’t have time.”

  “That’s okay, we can take in a show and do some sightseeing,” her mother, Beverly, added.

  “No! Y’all can’t come and I have to go. I’m going to be busy. Let me do a few things and then I’ll call you back.”

  “We can buy things for your new place. And help you set everything up. I bet you didn’t even set up your bed yet,” Tamara’s mother said.

  Tamara looked at all the brown boxes still stacked all around her. And sure enough, her bed was still on the floor. Her mother knew her very well and that angered her. Tamara decided to end the double team and said, “Another call is coming in, Mom. It’s my boss. Love you both, good-bye.”

  Tamara was going to let them visit eventually, but just not right now. She sat up and thought about what she was going to do for the day. She didn’t have to start her new job until Monday. She had a few days to learn her neighborhood, unpack, and decorate her place. She decided to write a list out and get started on it, right after she showered.

  After a long hot shower, Tamara dressed in pink and gray sweats and Nike running shoes. She began to pace in her new home. She couldn’t decide which task to complete first. Tamara was going to first go to the gr
ocery store and then start setting up everything in her apartment when she got back.

  She couldn’t believe it. As soon as she closed the front door behind her and climbed down the steps the weird-looking guy from the day before was in her face.

  “Hey. You just moved in, huh? I saw them bringing your stuff in yesterday.” He flashed a smile that showed yellow teeth pasted with an inch of plaque. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Where you from?”

  Tamara threw her head up high and moved past him without saying anything, hoping he’d take the hint. Like the dog she already knew he was, he didn’t.

  “Girl, you ain’t gotta be so mean,” he said, trying to stay in step with her. “I’m just trying to be friendly. You want me to show you around or something? I got some time on my hands.”

  “Jerome!”

  Tamara swung around to see who was shouting and saw her landlady leaning out the window of the brownstone two houses down from her own.

  “Jerome,” the woman shouted again. “Leave that girl alone. Didn’t I tell you to stop bothering my tenants? The girl ain’t even move in good and you harassing her.”

  “Oh, shut up, you old bag. You just mad I’m not talking to you,” Jerome grumbled.

  “I heard that. Ain’t nothing wrong with my ears, you know.” A cigarette dangled from the woman’s lips as she spoke. “Why don’t you go get a job with your trifling self ’stead of trying to talk to every girl you see?”

  Tamara couldn’t help but smile as she walked away while they bickered. Living in Harlem was going to be a far cry from Atlanta. But hell, she could handle it.

  When Tamara returned from the market she began preparing breakfast. Though Tamara didn’t do it often, she loved to cook. All the women in her family did. She could remember at four blending yellow batter and helping her mother bake cakes. She cracked an egg in the pan and put on a cup of coffee. She then looked at her watch and decided she would check in with her new boss. It was eleven in the morning on a Thursday. He should be available. She dialed his number and his phone rang five times. She was prepared to leave a message when he picked up.

  “Good morning. Mr. Harold? This is Tamara Murphy.”

  “Hey. Um, good morning, hold on,” he said. Tamara heard him ordering breakfast. He then came back to the line and said, “Are you in town yet?”

  “Yes, I arrived yesterday.”

  “Are you settled in?”

  “Just about.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. If you’re available I would like for you to meet with me tomorrow. Scratch that. Actually, I’m about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join me at Touver Café now?”

  “Okay,” Tamara said reluctantly. Her breakfast was halfway cooked, but she couldn’t tell him no. It wouldn’t make a good impression. She felt like kicking herself for even calling him.

  “How soon can you get here?” he asked, all pushy.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said as she jotted down the address. Tamara sighed as she began taking her gray sweats off. She rummaged through her boxes and tried to find something presentable to wear. She changed her clothes several times, but nothing looked right. She settled on pointy-toe brown riding boots, black slacks, an olive-green button-down blouse with a black puffy-waist jacket, and a black hat that she tilted to the side. She grabbed her briefcase and planner and took a cab to the restaurant.

  Café Touver was busy and congested. Tamara stood in the front and scanned each table to see where he was sitting. She located him and began to walk his way. He stood up and she admired how tall and beautiful he was. Maurice Harold was a warm walnut brown, with a closely shaven head. He had near perfect white teeth and salmon-pink gums. His legs appeared strong even through his dark blue slacks.

  “Thanks for meeting up with me on such short notice. I just wanted to go over everything with you,” he said as she sat down. He pulled out a notepad with a list of things written down. “Oh. And go ahead and order something.”

  “No, I’m okay,” Tamara said as she took a quick glance at the menu and placed it back on the table. She was hungry but a loudspeaker with her grandmother’s voice rang in her head saying “No eating in front of men. And if you have to eat in front of them, just have something light. Nothing messy.”

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Um, I’ll just have toast and coffee,” Tamara said.

  “No, you have to try their blueberry waffles. They are delicious,” he said as he wiped his mouth with a white napkin. He offered again and she declined. As the waitress came over to the table Maurice smiled and said, “Please bring the lady toast and coffee.”

  “Sure, sir. Would you like me to refill your coffee?” the waitress offered. Maurice said he was good and then the waitress left the table. Tamara noticed the extra attention the waitress gave him. Somehow women can detect success on a man. She had to admit she was impressed herself. Maybe it was the way he was dressed. Or maybe it was the way he was not coming on to her. Either way there was something special about him. It might have been the way his words came out of his mouth or the way he stood. He was a man of wealth, but he didn’t flaunt it. You could just feel his confidence. Most men she encountered wanted her to know that they were wealthy the moment she met them. It was something simple like giving her their business card with doctor such and such on it or rolling up their sleeve to reveal their expensive watch. Maurice was at least a five-hundred-thousand-dollarnaire and moved through life like the average Joe. There was something sexy and intriguing about that. But he was married, and her boss and she could never mix business with pleasure.

  The waitress came back within minutes with the toast and coffee. “If you need anything please don’t hesitate to ask,” she said as she bent down and smiled. She was directly in front of him and ignoring Tamara. Maurice smiled and said thank you.

  “So, how do you like everything so far?” Maurice asked.

  “It’s good.”

  “New York is a hard place to get used to. I’m not from here. I’m originally from Newark. But the city has grown on me.”

  “That’s in the northern part of New Jersey, right?”

  “Yeah, the brick city. I still live in Jersey. I’m right across the bridge. I wanted to stay close to my son.”

  Tamara’s heart skipped a beat. “I thought you were married.”

  “No, I’m divorced. I’ve been divorced about two months now. But I still have to be close to him to teach him how to be a man. My father made me and Kendall work since we were ten. I want my son to have the same work ethic. I bagged bags at the market and had a paper route by twelve.”

  “You were a little entrepreneur, huh?”

  “Yeah, but enough about me,” Maurice said as he pulled some documents out of his briefcase. “Here are some pictures of the club. You should probably get down there in the next day or so to get the feel of the place. The club holds seven hundred. I have a contact list from previous events we held in Miami and Detroit. But I want you to make some new contacts as well. If necessary we will pay for hotel and flight to get them here. Offer everyone a bottle of champagne and a table. Also, here is a list of things that still haven’t been done yet.”

  Tamara looked over the contacts, noticing big names in film, music, and television.

  “Call and confirm the address and then send the invitation. Yeah, do that immediately. We have less than six weeks. So you need to get started ASAP.” He talked fast, but she already noticed that most of the people in New York did so.

  Tamara nodded and said, “I will.” She then exhaled as she scrolled through the things that still needed to be done on the list. She thought about all the work she had ahead of her.

  “My brother wanted to hire this young white kid who thought he knew everything. I didn’t like him. He was well connected, but I didn’t like his vision. He seemed like he didn’t really care about our business.”

  Hmph. He’s putting me on notice that I can be replaced. Not likely. Then she asked with a slight
attitude, “So, what have you done so far? Have you contacted any media? Do you have any sponsors in mind?”

  “No, we don’t have any sponsors and to be honest we haven’t had an opportunity to take care of anything yet. But that’s where you come in. I’m confident that you will handle everything. You were handpicked.”

  Tamara looked down at Maurice’s list and tried to keep her composure. As together as the brothers were supposed to be, they weren’t together at all. Sure, they were smart enough to hire her, but they should have at least started some of the groundwork before now. Six weeks was a long time, but it wasn’t that long.

  “Are you aware of the success rates of nightclubs?” Maurice asked Tamara.

  “Yes, most clubs close in their first year,” Tamara said, looking Maurice in the eye.

  “Exactly. But we are not closing. We are here to stay. I want everyone in this city to know that Onyx Lounge is the only place to go. I don’t want it to be the hot club for the moment. We’re trying to be a staple in New York nightlife. We have to be different. This town is a different animal than Atlanta, Tamara. These people are used to the biggest, the flashiest, and the brightest. They are not impressed easily. People see celebrities walking down the street every day like so what. So once we get this club up and going, we want to open more clubs in Vegas and then Los Angeles. Do you see where I’m going with this?”