by Wallace Ford
I felt like a character in one of those old Tex Avery cartoons, the ones that predated Warner Brothers’s best work in the forties and fifties, one of those cartoons where the surprised character loses body parts—first the eyes fall out, then the ears fall off, until finally, all that is left is a pile of collapsed limbs and appendages. While Diedre had always had an advanced sense of humor, I was pretty sure that she wasn’t kidding this time.
“You will have to pardon me if I ask you to repeat what you just said. Because I could have sworn that you said that Jerome was considering having Raymond Russell Beard the Third come back to work with him at Morningstar.” If the first eight hours were any indication, this day was going to be one for the record books.
“You heard correctly, mon cher. Things have been so crazy, I just haven’t had time to mention it. Besides, I can’t be sure what Jerome is going to do. All I do know is that, if it were up to me alone, I would give Ray another chance.” She spoke with a calmness and serenity that belied the gravity of the bombshell that she had just dropped.
“Let me see if I can get this straight. You and Jerome are seriously considering having Ray Beard join you at Morningstar. This would be the same Ray Beard who was Jerome’s protégé and who stabbed him in the back by leaving him to start his own firm.” I struggled to retain control over my voice and my emotions. After all, I had invested my time and hopes and dreams in Morningstar right along with Jerome and Diedre. “The same Ray Beard who joined up with the illustrious Gordon Perkins and tried to totally collapse Morningstar Financial Services. Is this the Ray Beard to whom you are referring?” I felt as if I had entered some bizarre Dada parallel universe where no sense made sense. Could Jerome and Diedre be serious?
“Well, Paul, it appears that I may have brewed that Kenyan coffee a little too strong this morning. After all this time, I didn’t know you could be so high-strung.” She smiled a smile that was just this side of condescending, which in my view, was not her most appealing trait.
“Well, my dear, obviously my horizons need broadening. So, please proceed.” I sat back on my stool at the kitchen counter, took another sip of my coffee and started in on my first croissant.
“First of all, Paul Hiawatha Taylor, Senior, I am not so sure that I would describe Ray’s departure from Jerome’s firm as a betrayal in the generally accepted meaning of the word. After all, Jerome was committed to merging his firm with Gordon’s firm and mine, and right or wrong, Ray didn’t see any room for him in the new configuration that was about to come about. Ray got an offer from Merrill Lynch to help him start his own firm, and, as I have reflected on it, Ray would have been crazy to turn it down.
“Ray didn’t betray Jerome any more than Jerome betrayed his mentors at Merrill Lynch, the firm that gave him his first job out of business school, to take a better offer at Goldman Sachs.” Diedre was just getting warmed up. I knew when it was best to be quiet around her, and this was turning out to be one of those times. Also, I was starting to see her point. I tried to make sense out of what she was saying as she continued.
“Ray didn’t betray Jerome any more than Jerome betrayed Goldman Sachs when he left that firm to start his own. You can’t crucify Ray for doing what Jerome and you and I would do—hell, have done—and would do again if the circumstances arose. So, why does Raymond Russell Beard become the poster boy for betrayal and bad behavior? Just because the precious, almighty Jerome Hardaway had his feelings hurt because his protégé grew up and flew the coop doesn’t make Ray a demented imp from hell.”
I was following Diedre’s train of thought and logic now, but there was still an unresolved point in my view.
“Well, mon cher, I understand your point about Ray. And I might even be inclined to agree with you. But I am waiting for your explanation regarding Ray hooking up with Gordon. This ought to be good.” I settled back to nibble on my second croissant and see what her riposte would be. I didn’t have long to wait.
“I gave a lot of thought to the whole Ray-Gordon thing. But I am more than sure that the entire New Orleans stratagem was Gordon’s idea, and that he presented it to Ray as a business opportunity. And, as a businessman, Ray almost had to pursue the opportunity that Gordon presented. Once he was in business and had his own firm, in competition with Morningstar, there really was no reason for him to say no to Gordon. From a strictly business perspective, it was the smart thing to do. And, from the strictly business perspective, it would have been silly and sentimental for him to let his past relationship with Jerome get in the way. I don’t know why we have to hold him to a different, higher standard.”
Diedre’s logic was unassailable. Ray Beard was neither a sinner nor a saint. He was just another one of us, out in the great big jungleworld, trying to avoid being prey by being a predator—or, at least, by being friends with a predator.
“Diedre, I am sure that if I thought about it long enough and hard enough, I could come up with an answer to your neat and concise presentation. But, in the final analysis, I think that you are right. It’s going to take a while to get used to seeing Ray Beard around again. But, as you have said so many times before, ‘business is business,’ and it just doesn’t make sense to abandon logic and clear thinking.”
And at that point, Diedre and I didn’t have to agree to disagree. We were on the same page, a phenomenon for which I was overwhelmingly thankful. Mrs. Bonnemere showed up a few minutes later, and Diedre and I headed downtown on the A train as another day of adventure in the life of The Pride continued apace. As we read our newspapers—she read the New York Times, I read the sports section of the New York Daily News since we both had read the Wall Street Journal before leaving the house, thanks to early morning home delivery—I had the sense that this day would be only the beginning of a turn of events that would change not only Morningstar but everyone associated with the firm.
It was then that I knew that not only was Ray going to join the firm, but Gordon was also going to return. What would happen next at Morningstar was anybody’s guess.
What would happen to Kenitra was a question for which I also needed an answer. I was not prepared to sacrifice her on the altar of logic and compulsory business decisions. As far as I was concerned, she simply did not deserve to suffer anymore.
I had done all that I could to make sure that she would never be under Gordon’s thumb again. But everything that I did was done while he was flat on his back in a hospital bed. Now that Gordon was on his way to rejoining the world of the living, I knew that Kenitra was going to need some more help in order to stay safe and sane and secure.
I was just about out of bright ideas at that point. But I was determined to make sure that the new and improved Gordon Perkins would not victimize Kenitra again. She was just starting to live her life and just starting to become her own person again. I knew that I would have to find a way to make sure that she could continue on her way to a better life—or, at least, to a life different from the one that she had had with Gordon.
CHAPTER 45
Jerome
Every Little Breeze Seems to Whisper Louise
When I got home, I did not have a lot of time for rest or reflection. I got the boys ready for school and out the door in time for the eight o’clock school bus. I shaved and showered, and drove myself over to the commuter rail station. As I leafed through the morning papers, I tried to form a mental image of my schedule for the day.
I planned to go through correspondence, documents and various financial reports, and then attend a morning meeting with the senior executives of an up-and-coming telecommunications company that wanted to explore the feasibility of an initial public offering. It promised to be a fascinating discussion, as the company had come up with an innovative combination of a cellular telephone, television and data-storage device.
That meeting was going to be followed by a speech at a luncheon organized by the New York City Partnership. The Partnership, New York City’s version of a chamber of commerce, was composed of the leader
s of the most elite companies in the city and, therefore, in the world. Morningstar had been a member for two years, and my appearing as part of a panel discussing international business strategies for the twenty-first century could only help the firm.
But my mind was not focused on international business or telecommunications. I had asked Berta to set up a meeting for me with Ray Beard at the end of the day, and I knew that Diedre, Paul and I would be meeting to discuss the matter of one Gordon Stallworth Perkins at four. I had already made up my mind on both accounts.
I had decided that Diedre was right when it came to Ray. After all was said and done, Ray was only being ambitious and aggressive, and I could not be the one to cast the first stone when it came to those traits. Gordon was another story, however.
I had also decided that having Gordon in the tent was probably better than having Gordon outside the tent, plotting and planning who-knows-what. But Gordon was the quintessential loose cannon. He couldn’t be controlled, even in his recovered and presumably penitent condition. But our advantage was that Gordon was the devil we knew.
The question was how to control Gordon. The other question was, Could Morningstar survive a second go-around with him?
These thoughts were swirling around my brain as I got off the Metro North train at Grand Central Station and continued what was turning out to be a pivotal day in my life and in the life of Morningstar Financial Services.
CHAPTER 46
Kenitra
Someone to Watch Over Me
After Sture left to go back to New York, I didn’t leave my apartment in Venice Beach for about a week. He had promised to come back in a week, and I decided to take that time to recover from the events at New York Hospital and all that they meant.
It took me a very long time to believe not only that Gordon was alive, but that he was back from his coma and would soon be living among real people again. And that look in his eyes when he called my name from the hospital bed told me that I would never be truly safe if I was ever alone with him.
I never truly understood the reason for Gordon’s great hatred toward me. I came to understand that I was neither the first nor, Lord knows, the only woman that he had ever beaten, degraded or abused. But when it came to me, there was something more that motivated Gordon and that brought out the worst and the most depraved aspects of his personality. It wasn’t enough for him to beat me with his fists and feet and anything he could get his hands on. Even beating me enough to make me lose an eye and a baby wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t enough for him to force me to consume incredibly excessive amounts of drugs and alcohol so that he could make me do every sick and disgusting and degrading act that he could conjure up. It wasn’t even enough for him to get me to a point where I would beg him for more drugs and alcohol, and degrade and defile myself, so that he would let me have them.
And the verbal and spiritual and mental abuse was constant. And not only was it never-ending, it never had any rhyme or reason.
But it was the hatred that flowed from some deep dark pool of vitriol that resided deep in his soul that I never understood. In the early days of our relationship and then our marriage, I had never given him any reason to resent or dislike me, much less to hate me. Gordon was never an easy person to be around for an extended period of time, but I tried to be loving and affectionate and caring. And those efforts just seemed to infuriate him all the more.
When the beatings and the rest of the hell began, it came from out of the blue and then just never stopped. But over time, the source of the hatred didn’t matter. I just knew that, to stay alive, I had to be aware of that hatred and on the defensive at all times.
When Gordon went into his coma, it was as if he had magically, miraculously and mercifully disappeared from my life. And after Paul helped me make my way to Venice Beach and made sure that I was financially independent, it was as if I was leading an enchanted life. I felt safe, and so I felt free, and because I felt free, I began to live my life again.
Laughing was no longer a daring act. Having fun and enjoying myself was no longer a rare pleasure. Dancing, dining, swimming, even cooking and smiling, all became new, delicious pleasures, which I savored and devoured hungrily and greedily. And then, along came Sture.
I had seen Sture around for several years, of course, but I still don’t know what prompted my bold, brazen hussy routine at Dorothy’s By the Sea that night. Maybe it was the champagne. Maybe I was horny. Maybe I was just lucky for the first time in a long time. But whatever the reason, that first night at the Waldorf with Sture renewed my membership in the world of pleasure and happiness.
I found myself smiling for no reason and enjoying the feeling. I had almost forgotten what it was like to look forward to tomorrow. I certainly had forgotten what it was like to remember yesterday with warmth and pleasure. And because of Sture, I started to believe that there actually might be something called love in this world.
And then came the phone call at the Waldorf in the middle of the night, and I sometimes wonder what might have changed if I hadn’t untangled myself from Sture and the bedsheets to answer the phone.
That call and the ensuing insane circus at New York Hospital changed my life, and once again, I found myself mistrusting tomorrow. Once again, I started cursing myself for believing that I had a right to happiness and pleasure and random enjoyment.
I fled the hospital that night and New York City that morning not because I thought that Gordon was going to get out of that bed and try to throttle me. I ran because I did not want to be on the same planet with that beast when he was awake and conscious and mobile again. Knowing Gordon, I was sure that he had any number of targets for revenge, vengeance and sheer cruelty, and I was sure that Jerome, Diedre, Paul, Sture and I would figure into whatever demonic scenarios he might devise. The fact that we were the first faces that he saw when he came out of his coma was probably just coincidental to our being the objects of his plotting and scheming, with the possible exception of Sture.
As soon as Gordon rolled his pitiless, soulless eyes in our direction and saw that we were together, I knew that Sture would be someone that he would hate. It wasn’t that he was jealous in some faux romantic kind of way. It was more a matter of territorial imperatives and possessions. In Gordon’s world, I belonged to him, just like his cars and homes and furniture. He had marked me, just like a wolf or a dog or a bear marks his territory. And the fact that Sture had presumed to enter his territory and try to steal his possessions was enough to ensure eternal hatred and the continuous stoking of the fires of revenge.
I felt a moment of remorse and fear for Sture at that point because it wasn’t fair that he was about to get caught up in the maelstrom that was Gordon’s wrath and vengeance. He should at least have had a chance to make a choice, and when we left the hospital and I was packing at the Waldorf, I told him point-blank that he could leave, and leave me, and I would understand, because Gordon was not somebody to be trifled with.
“Sture, you haven’t signed any contracts, and we haven’t exchanged any vows. You don’t need me to tell you that you are free to go. You are free to go. And if you have the sense that God gave you, you will go, because I promise you, you don’t want to be around me when Gordon gets out of that hospital bed. I don’t care if we are in Venice Beach or Fiji.” My hands were shaking as I tried to pack and collect my belongings. I couldn’t look at Sture as I was speaking.
“I know you think you are doing the right thing by telling me ...”
“Think? Think, Sture? It’s not what I think. It’s what I know. Look at me! I am scared to death, and I am running like a scared jackrabbit just because that bastard woke up. You have no idea what he might do if he decides to come after us. I know he’s coming after me. You don’t have to be a part of what’s going to happen next.”
I cursed myself for the tears that were now flowing down my face. Weakness wasn’t going to help matters, but I felt so weak. And then Sture walked over to me and held my
hands. It was the sweetest and most tender touch that I had felt from him during the past few wonderful, magical, sensual weeks that we had spent together.
“Kenitra, to borrow one of your expressions, the only thing I have to do is be white and die. I know I don’t have to stay with you. I want to be with you. And I don’t know what kind of man I would be if I ran away from the most wonderful woman I have ever known because I was afraid that another man might not like it.”
I couldn’t suppress the smile that started to dawn when I heard Sture’s “be white and die” line, but I also couldn’t suppress the feeling of warmth and emotion that his words elicited from the very depths of my soul.
“Look, Kenitra, we have talked about our mutual friend Alex Lapidoulos. I have told you that I don’t think that his death was the result of a random crime. You also know that I think Gordon arranged the whole thing when he found out that you and Alex were having an affair.” Sture reminding me of the stupid and sordid fling that I had had with Gordon’s driver reminded me once more of how low-grade and sleazy I had become because of Gordon.
“I know that you will never be safe alone, and I will never be happy without you. So, let’s cut the drama and get to the airport so that you can get back to Venice Beach and we can start to make a plan. Gordon’s not the only one capable of coming up with a few plots and plans, you know.”
And then, Sture smiled that very special smile of his and held me in his arms, and I truly wanted to believe that everything was going to be all right, even with Gordon alive and well.
All of these things were going through my mind, including the fact that, in the final analysis, Paul and Diedre had each other and Jerome was eminently capable of taking care of himself. I had to consider myself very lucky to have Sture in my life, and as I awaited his phone call to let me know that he was driving from LAX to my apartment, I felt the flicker of a glimmer of a sliver of a speck of hope that everything might work out for us after all.
