by Wallace Ford
I knew that Diedre had not come to chat about Ray’s condition, so I was puzzled as to why she felt a need to tell me about her communication with Ray’s wife. And I imagine that after the flood of emotions and memories raced through my brain, the expression on my face that Diedre saw was one of puzzlement. I am sure that all she saw was pure bewilderment.
“I hope Mrs. Beard is in good health.” That was about the only decent thing that I would trust myself to say with the memory of Ray Beard lurking in my consciousness. I wanted his half-blind, paralyzed ass to live forever so that he could suffer the consequences of betraying me. But, of course, I just would not allow myself to say such a thing to Diedre.
“Monique is fine, Jerome, but Ray wants to meet with you.” She spoke evenly and coolly, knowing that she was treading on ice so thin, she could see the fish swimming below. But she wasn’t finished. And it was just as well. My brain was reeling and I was in hand-to-hand combat with my emotions.
“Ray wants to meet with you, Jerome, because he wants a second chance. He regrets that you feel he betrayed you and, Lord knows, he has paid for it. He is a broken man, Jerome, and he feels that he has made a huge mistake, the consequences of which he will have to live with for the rest of his life.”
“What do you want to do about this, Diedre? I know we both took a big hit when Ray and Gordon tried to pull their little scam, but for me, Ray’s play was personal. It’s not for me to forgive. I am not God. I am not a priest. I have sinned far too many times to sit in judgment of anyone else. But what do you think we should do about giving Ray a second chance?”
“Well, Jerome, the truth is that Wall Street and corporate finance is all that Ray Beard knows. And the truth is that after his stunt with Gordon in New Orleans, he couldn’t get a job as a window washer with any firm except ours.”
“So, what should we do, Diedre? I’m asking you because I can’t possibly make a rational decision on my own.”
“Jerome, you know I know how you feel. After New Orleans, I was ready to kill Ray. You ask Paul. I seriously considered trying to put a contract out on that fool. But I figured that there was a lot of downside to that move, like a hit man with a big mouth.” With that, a smile started to insinuate itself on the corners of her mouth, and I could have sworn I saw a twinkle in her eye.
I had to stifle a laugh because I knew how she felt. Hell, I felt the same way. But because we were partners, and because I have always respected Diedre’s judgment, I continued to listen.
“I am not going to tell you that we should hire Ray. But I have been talking to Monique a lot over the past few months. Jerome, despite everything that has happened to him, she has stayed with Ray and has been by his side. And there is something to be said for loyalty and—dare I say it?—love in these days and times.
“Frankly, if it was just about Ray Beard, I might be fresh out of mercy myself. But I came to see you as a favor to Monique. She didn’t just fall off the truck last week; she’s no ingenue. She’s a big girl, and she believes in Ray because she loves him and she’s not prepared to put that love on the shelf just yet.
“It took a lot of heart for her to come to see me on Ray’s behalf. I have to imagine that she had to swallow a whole bucketful of pride to even try and help him this way. And I respect that, and maybe we should give her request some thought—just because of that, if nothing else.” Now she looked me dead in the eyes and had my attention riveted to her next words.
“So, Mr. Hardaway. It really is up to you. If you are asking me what you should do, I think that you should take Ray’s call and meet with him. I am with you either way. If you think we should pass on hiring Ray, I will tell Monique and she will just have to go to plan B. After all, they aren’t hurting for money—she is still a star news anchorwoman in New York City.” And then she slid the stiletto right between my ribs.
“Of course, if you can find it in your heart to rise above the past and give Ray a chance, I will be behind you one hundred percent as well. After all, isn’t life about second chances, Jerome?” And, with that, she sat back in her chair and tried to appraise my reaction and predict my response.
“I don’t want to meet with Ray.” I said my words slowly, and they took on an air of unarguable finality.
“Okay, Jerome. If that’s the way you want it, I understand and I am with you. Our partnership, our friendship and Morningstar are more important than one thousand Raymond Russell Beards.” She started to get out of her chair. Her face was impassive, and I could not tell what she was thinking, except that she had to be disappointed if that was all that I had to say. But it wasn’t.
“Diedre, please sit down. I haven’t finished. I don’t want to meet with Ray because there is no need for me to do so. If you think we should hire him and give him a second chance, I am with you one hundred and ten percent. You are right about second chances; Lord knows I have had mine. We will just have to see how Ray Beard handles his last second chance.”
I could see Diedre’s eyes light up, and in that moment, I knew that I was making the right decision. At least, it felt like the right decision at the time.
“Jerome, however things turn out, I know we are making the right decision. We are making history at Morningstar every day. Maybe we can make a little more history by being uncharacteristically compassionate.” She said this with a smile on her face, and when she got up to leave my office, I was glad that she had helped me to rise above my baser instincts. Of course, instincts are part of the survival mechanism, so it would remain to be seen whether or not we had made the right decision.
“Good-night, Diedre.”
“Good-night, Jerome. And, Jerome? Have a safe trip to Los Angeles, and try not to get my husband in too much trouble.” An interesting throwaway line that I had to believe was meant in jest. But, of course, the truth is many times spoken in jest.
In any event, after all of this, I was home packing and trying to unwind and trying not to think about what I was going to say to Ray Beard the next time I saw him. And that was when the phone rang.
It was Paul. He and Diedre were on their way to meet Kenitra at New York Hospital. Something had happened with Gordon. It sounded serious.
I hung up and decided that it was best for me to go to the hospital as well. I got dressed and got moving.
CHAPTER 17
Sture
Green Dolphin Street
There are, of course, many moments that change our lives. But it is rare when we recognize those moments at the precise point in time that they occur. The moment that Kenitra hung up her cell phone and told me that she had to go to the hospital to see about Gordon, I knew that our lives had changed.
I also knew that I was going to go with her. And in making that decision, I moved our relationship from a fling to something that mattered. There wasn’t time to think through all of the ramifications of what my coming with her meant. But Kenitra wanted me with her, even though she didn’t say so. And I wanted to be with her.
And so, we both showered quickly and dressed in silence. Our laughter and passion and frivolity and fun of just a few moments ago seemed to be centuries away, and we felt as forlorn as the twisted, sweaty sheets knotted at the foot of the bed.
I called a car service, and within thirty minutes of that fateful call, Kenitra and I were in the Waldorf elevator on our way down to the lobby. We both stared at the elevator doors as if we were expecting some kind of revelation. Kenitra spoke in a low, tense voice. I had to strain to hear her words.
“Thank you.” The near-silent motor of the elevator was louder than she was. It took me a moment to even realize that she was speaking.
“You are welcome, Kenitra. This is not the time for you to be alone.”
“I can handle it, Sture. I have been alone for a long time.” Her eyes never wavered from the elevator doors. It was like she was trying to stare a hole through them.
When it came to Kenitra, I always knew that there was steel under the velvet. I also knew that I needed
to make sure that I was offering more than my sympathy or my courteous assistance.
“I know you can handle it, Kenitra. And I know you have been alone. I guess I’m saying that I don’t want you to have to be alone anymore. I am here for you—for as long as you need me to be here.”
I was looking at her as I said this, searching her face for some sign of a response. She continued to stare straight ahead, but the tension around her eyes seemed to move away, if only for a moment.
And then the elevator doors opened to the lobby. We headed for the Park Avenue side of the ornate, old hotel. During the busy parts of the day, the limousines and black cars of the rich and powerful Masters of the Universe would be lined up and double-parked, waiting to take their liege lords to their next appointed destinations. But it was almost three o’clock in the morning and the boulevard in front of the hotel’s beflagged entrance was virtually deserted, except for the car service that I had requested, which was posting a lonely vigil. When we got in the car, I directed the driver to New York Hospital, and as we started up Park Avenue, Kenitra spoke again.
“Thank you, Snow Cone. I really mean it. Thank you for being you. And thank you for coming with me. I would never want to be alone in the same room with that son of a bitch. And, to tell the truth, I don’t want to be alone at all anymore.”
As I came to know Kenitra better, I realized that she would have preferred gargling razor blades to making that admission on the way from the Waldorf that night. That night, I was just glad to be with her and glad that she wanted me there with her in a place other than bed.
As the car headed from the Waldorf to the Upper East Side of Manhattan, I reflected upon our destination. New York Hospital was one of the most famous and prestigious health facilities in the world. Located on the ultimate aspects of the Upper East Side of Manhattan, it was cocooned in a sanctuary of wealth, luxury and indolent repose. It had, on its ground floor, the psychiatric institute where Marilyn Monroe had spent more than a few days. And this hospital had been the site of the recovery or demise of countless sheiks, dukes, princesses, queens and charlatans.
It was only fitting that this hospital would be the base of operations for Gordon Stallworth Perkins. Gordon had been the most successful black investment banker in the history of corporate finance on the planet. He had managed to be brilliant and scurrilous and masterful and craven—a genius and a demon—simultaneously. Prior to the Morningstar merger, he had already fulfilled the dreams of half a hundred Harvard MBAs. And he was just hitting his stride when he teamed up with Jerome and Diedre.
Even given the possibility of vengeful exaggeration on the part of Kenitra, Gordon was a beast in person. The way that he beat, raped, tortured, abused and degraded her was the fodder for a whole libraryful of psychiatric tomes. After she told me about some of her misadventures, ordeals and outright suffering as Gordon’s prisoner–trophy bride, I was amazed that he had managed not to kill her. And I was similarly amazed that she had never killed him. I was even more amazed that she had never even tried.
The circular driveway off of the main avenue, the manicured lawns, the cobblestone walkway, all gave New York Hospital the air of a privileged retreat.
When the air ambulance landed at Teterboro Airport in northern New Jersey, Gordon’s doctor never considered a choice other than New York Hospital for his most-favored patient. Upon his arrival, Gordon was installed in the (Very) Special Intensive Care Unit, and that is where he had resided for almost three years. Festooned with wires and tubes and monitors, he had been under constant medical supervision during this time and had never moved from the bed or shown even the slightest signs of consciousness.
Since Kenitra had not divorced Gordon during those three years, she was technically and legally his next of kin. Consequently, all medical personnel associated with his case reported to her. And she received weekly briefings about his condition and, of course, she was the first person to be contacted in the event of an emergency or any serious change in his condition.
The late-night call from the hospital had to mean that something important had occurred, but the nurse on duty would not discuss the details over the phone. Given Paul’s role as her counsel and advisor, she had directed that he be contacted as well in the event of an emergency.
And that is how I found myself in the backseat of a car service limousine with Kenitra Perkins at three in the morning on the way to New York Hospital. And I had this not-very-pleasant feeling that things were about to really get interesting—and not in a good way.
CHAPTER 18
Kenitra
You Keep Me Hanging On
I leaned back in the car as we headed through the nighttime streets of Manhattan. I put my hand in Sture’s and he squeezed it gently. And I was glad he was there.
“Sture ... thank you, baby. I had no idea how much I needed you to be with me right now. But I do. So thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Kenitra. I should be the one to thank you because I am so glad that you want me to be with you.”
“You do know how to make a girl feel special.”
And then my mind and my mood took a terrible turn into a hate-filled morass that was my life with Gordon.
“I hope that God will forgive me, but I don’t care if I go to hell. I hope that I am going to see the motherfucker die tonight. I was too scared to kill him while we were together, although I constantly dreamed about him dying and I fantasized about killing him every day—slowly, painfully and without a fragment of remorse. And I hate myself for being too afraid of him to run. I despise that I was too terrified to try to kill him. And I will never forgive myself for allowing him to imprison my very soul so that he could abuse me the way that he did. Sture, I swear to God ...”
And then I just collapsed into his arms and started to cry—very softly. When it came to the story of Gordon and me, I really didn’t have many tears left. Sture put his arms around me and, for the briefest of moments, I felt like I had found a sanctuary from the madness that was the planet Earth.
“How badly did he hurt you?”
“How badly did he hurt me?” I almost spat out the words. I sat up suddenly and faced Sture as the car continued its way uptown to our fateful destination. I took off my wraparound sunglasses. I could see from the look on his face that Sture immediately regretted his question, as did I. But there was no turning back now. In our three weeks together, we had never even mentioned Gordon. Now it was time for Sture to know what he had to know.
“Sture! How badly did he hurt me? I don’t even know how to begin to tell you what that creature did to me.
“Do you see my eyes? Do you like my eyes? Well, the right one is glass, Sture! That’s right, it’s a goddamn fake eye from the time that idiot clocked me with a table lamp and I forgot to duck. I don’t even remember the details, he kept me so fucked up on pills and liquor and coke, but I do remember being flown in a private plane to a very discrete clinic in Switzerland, just outside of Geneva, and that was where the procedure to replace my eye took place. You see, my real eye was damaged beyond repair.” I put the sunglasses back on and could see the appalled look on Sture’s face, but I couldn’t stop.
“But I wish that the beatings were the worst of it. He beat me what seemed like every day. Usually punches, sometimes kicks, sometimes with whatever was close at hand. He usually didn’t hit me in the face because he wanted me to be able to come out in public with him whenever he wanted to show me off.
“But the beatings were not the worst of it, Sture. Not by a long shot. He would make me take so much cocaine and so many painkillers that after a while, he didn’t have to make me anymore. I wanted the coke. I needed the painkillers. And I would do anything for them. He basically turned me into his personal drug whore, abusing me and degrading me in horrible, filthy, disgusting ways that make me sick to even think about.
“He would tie me up and rape me. He would burn me. He would make me lie in my own filth—and in his filth—for days at a ti
me. And then he would laugh at me and make me feel like I was less than shit. He made me feel like I deserved to be treated like that. He wanted to break me, Sture. He wanted to break my spirit. He thought that he owned me. He thought that he owned my soul. He was like the devil on earth and I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t get away because I was afraid, and I couldn’t get away because I hated who I had become.
“When Gordon almost killed himself down in New Orleans, at first I didn’t know what to think. He was hurt and I was glad. But he was alive, and I knew, just knew, that he would come back to visit even worse punishment on me just for hoping that he would die. I was that afraid of him.
“And when Paul called me up and helped me find a way to get out of New York and live in California, far, far away from Gordon, it was like a gift from God. The only catch has been that since that monster is still alive, I have to get the hospital reports on him. I visit his hospital room when I come to New York just to make sure that the son of a bitch is still in a coma. But I have to tell you; I wouldn’t set foot in that hospital room alone—ever.
“You would have to know Gordon like I do to know that it’s not beyond him to come out of this ‘irreversible coma’ just so he can inflict more damage and pain on me. But this is the first time that I have ever gotten a call like this. And please forgive me for what I am going to say next, Sture, but I hope that he is going to die tonight. I have prayed for him to die every day for years, long before his little adventure in New Orleans, and I hope that the doctors have called to tell me that he is going to die tonight.” And with that, I stopped.
I felt like a hundred pounds had been lifted off of me. I had flushed the hate and vitriol that I had for Gordon out into the open and now Sture knew the real me. For better or for worse.
