But what chance did that guy stand when he was faced with an arena full of women throwing panties his way? When there were enterprising and very, very beautiful women at just about every tour stop, who had bribed bellboys to give them his hotel room number so they could stop by late at night, or wait there for his return and offer themselves to him.
That’s when the other Kendrick surfaced. The one who sometimes accepted those offers, sometimes even more than two at a time.
“Of course I love my husband, Mr. Turner,” Jenna Cruise said shaking her head as though the question was one that didn’t need to be asked. “This isn’t just about the love. This is about whether Kendrick can be the husband God says he should be. Whether he can be the man I know he wants to be, and that I know I deserve.”
And what the hell was Jamal supposed to say to refute that? But he had to say something.
“Real talk, Jenna?”
Her eyebrows lifted a little at his use of her first name. Until then, they had both been very proper, very formal. She gave a slight nod.
“We rarely come ready-made,” Jamal said. “Men. We rarely come exactly the way you want us to be.”
She was already shaking her head. “I know that. But some things you just can’t accept. I can’t accept. And a husband who’s out messing around before we’re even a year in? No.”
“One of the strongest marriages I know had a situation just like this,” Jamal continued. “Like Kendrick, he was, is an impulsive, stubborn-ass knucklehead …”
Jenna Cruise laughed and nodded, acknowledging the aptness of the description of her husband.
“… and like Kendrick, he loves the hell out of his woman. But got caught up in old, bad, pre-marital habits. And like you, she left him. For a time. And then they rebuilt on a different foundation. A foundation that I would vouch for, even as someone who’s not even in that relationship. I would stake my life on them as being solid, faithful, loving, respectful … all the things God says a marriage should be.”
Jenna Cruise sat back, a little smile on her face. “You’d vouch for all that in someone else’s marriage?”
“I would,” Jamal said honestly. “In theirs, yes.”
“Well, maybe she’s who I need to be talking to,” Jenna joked.
For a nanosecond, Jamal considered it, then smiled. “I wish you could,” he said. “But I think at the end of the day, all you can rely on is your commitment to Kendrick and his to you.”
“He’s already proven himself shaky on that front,” she said. “I can’t just go traipsing across the country with him, babysitting him, banking on him doing the right thing. And when he messes up, what do I do? Come back and beg for my job?”
“Look, the woman is the heart of the home. You’re his heart, and you have to set the beat. Tell him what you need from him while y’all are on the road. Set the tone, and hold him to it. And if he can’t …” Jamal shrugged.
“Exactly,” she said. “That’s what I’m afraid of. What if he can’t?”
“But this is his life. This is his job. He’ll have to face these tests again. With, or without you there. So, dating him and all that … hanging out in Queens ... that’s all well and good, but until you help him change his behavior in his natural habitat, where he lives most of the time … then you’ll never know for sure.”
Jenna reached for the napkin on the table between them and worried the edges with her fingertips.
Neither of them had eaten, and all she wanted when she sat down was a cup of tea. It had long grown cold, but she reached for it now, and emptied the cup, punctuating, Jamal knew, the conclusion of their time together.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she said, nodding. “And thank you. For taking the time, and for caring about Kendrick enough to want to make this work out.”
Jamal nodded. “No, thank you for coming to talk to me.” He felt a tinge of guilt looking at her open, guileless face, because he wasn’t there entirely out of caring for Kendrick. He was there mostly out of caring for SE’s reputation, and its bottom line.
Jenna Cruise made as though to stand then paused.
“Are you married?” she asked, her head tilting to one side, curious.
Jamal shook his head. “No. Engaged though. Getting married in November.”
Kendrick’s wife smiled her pretty smile and nodded. “I have a feeling she’s a very lucky woman. You understand women. I can tell. And you have a kind, and discerning heart.”
Now the guilt was really in overdrive.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Well, I know Kendrick’s up against the clock with this so I’ll try to make my decision quickly, and …” She shrugged, and this time she stood.
“Did he ask you to come with him?” Jamal asked, on a hunch. “Or did he just tell you I wanted to speak to you?”
“He told me what you wanted to ask me. But no, he didn’t ask me to quit my job, and come on tour with him. He wouldn’t.” Jenna Cruise smiled. “Kendrick’s like that. I know it sounds funny, after … everything. But he wouldn’t ask me to give anything up. He’d be the one to give things up.”
And then with one last nod and smile, she was gone.
“Did Devin Parks come by?”
Jamal didn’t pause as he headed into his office, his assistant Gayle directly behind him, walking briskly to keep up.
“No, but he called to say he was on his way, and would be just a little bit late.” Gayle had her iPad at the ready Jamal knew without asking that on it, she had a long list of people he needed to call, things he needed to do, places he needed to be.
“Good. Let me know when he gets here, and send him right in.”
Collapsing into his chair he took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts enough to absorb all he’d heard at lunch with Jenna Cruise. Between her and Kendrick, he was hearing things that made him wonder ... about his own life, his own relationship. And it was uncomfortable.
Looking up, he saw that Gayle was still standing there.
“What?” he asked, a little impatiently.
“There was an urgent call for you, from Madison Palmer. And you have that meeting with the guys from Paris, the ones from Pouvoir Noir. That’s been pushed back because …”
“Call Madison Palmer back for me, and cancel the Pouvoir Noir thing. Send Bryant to that. What else do I have today?”
“There’s a few things …” Gayle looked down at her iPad.
“This evening?” Jamal asked.
“Yes. A dinner.”
“A one-on-one?”
“No. A group thing.”
“Cancel that. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow you’re light in the morning but at three p.m., you have …”
“Cancel,” Jamal said.
Gayle looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Cancel?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Everything else today, except for Devin Parks. Everything tomorrow.”
“Everything?”
“Yeah, Gayle. Everything.”
Still, she hesitated.
“What?” he asked. “Was I scheduled to have dinner with the Obamas? Decipher some nuclear codes …?”
Gayle flushed. “No, just …”
“Just what? Is there something urgent on there that’ll make the world tilt off its axis if I don’t do it?” he insisted.
Now he was just being an asshole. And it had nothing to do with Gayle’s persistence. He’d hired her for that persistence; to keep him on task and make sure he didn’t blow off things that needed to be attended to. He didn’t resent her, wasn’t mad at her.
He was mad that there were so many things to attend to; and so few things that he could blow off.
And because of that, as a habit, he gave none of it up. He gave up nothing, and asked Kayla to give up everything.
Gayle was still scanning her iPad. She swiped the screen twice and then looked up at him once again. This time, her expression was clearer, and had an undercurrent of somethi
ng like empathy.
“I can clear three days,” she said, her tone all businesslike. “After your meeting with Devin Parks, I can clear three complete days, and push a few things to Friday. But you would have to come in on Friday for sure.”
Jamal nodded, and she turned to leave.
“Gayle.” He stopped her and she looked over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Gayle gave a slight tip of her chin, her expression bland and professional. “I’ll get Madison Palmer on the phone, and let you know when Devin Parks gets here.”
“He’s getting restless, Jamal. Where’s the agreement?” Madison’s voice sounded tinny, and far away.
“It’s on its way. He’ll be here to sign it this afternoon.”
“I’m calling you from my honeymoon, Jamal. Does that give you a sense of how precarious this thing is? I don’t know any other way to say it. It’s not a stable situation with Tyree. My associate keeps calling me. And Jake is starting to get just a little pissed.”
Jamal couldn’t care less how pissed her new husband was, but he did care about the note of panic he heard in Madison’s voice. He knew she wasn’t exaggerating, and that Tyree was probably on edge, wondering whether the windfall he was counting on would come through.
Like a bank robber who was this-close to making it out scot-free, he was getting antsy. That was how it was with people who were about to come into ill-gotten gains. They got restless, and reckless, their desperation growing the closer they got to the prize. That was moment when, in bank robberies, someone wound up taking a bullet.
Jamal was determined that Devin not take a bullet.
“Tell your associate to tell his boy that everything will be sealed up tight by close of business today. As long as Devin signs off, we’ll wire the money into his account as discussed. No need for him to get his panties in a bunch.”
“What I’m trying to tell you, Jamal, is that it’s Devin Parks’ panties that’ll be in a bunch unless you speed this process up. I don’t have time to call you about this again, so please … just get it done.”
Jamal bit into his lower lip, trying to contain his irritation.
“We’ve gotten this far without beginning to truly dislike each other, Madison Avenue,” he said, his voice tight. “Let’s not fuck that all up now.”
Madison expelled an impatient sigh. “Just do what needs to be done, Jamal. I have to go.”
Only moments after they ended the call, Gayle buzzed him to let him know that Devin was there. And a minute after that, Devin came sauntering in, as usual, looking like he had all the time and not a single worry in the world.
“Damn!” he said, looking around the office. “This joint is nice!”
“S’down, Devin. Let’s get this done.”
Jamal grabbed the folder from his desk that contained the agreement with Tyree. He placed it on the coffee table in the sitting area and indicated where Devin should sit.
“Read that,” he said, then went back to his desk to call Robyn to come up to witness and oversee the signing.
Devin sighed and sat on the sofa, reaching for the folder and opening it. He was still poring over the paper inside when Robyn entered.
She, and Jamal sat in the chairs opposite Devin and waited until he was done reading and had looked up.
“Hey, Devin,” Robyn said, smiling at him. “Good to see you.”
Devin nodded. His expression was grim now, and no longer as relaxed as it had been when he first came in.
“Good to see you, too,” he muttered.
“So, I’m going to go over what the agreement in front of you means,” Robyn said. “But first, I need to advise you of a couple of things, okay?”
Devin nodded again.
“I’m here as a friend of Jamal’s, and of Makayla’s,” she said slowly and deliberately. “I’m here as your friend. At present, I am not here as your attorney, and what I tell you cannot constitute legal advice, not unless you formally engage me. If you were to engage me, I could provide that advice and would represent your interests in this matter. Not those of Jamal or Makayla, and not those of Scaife Enterprises, or any other party. Do you understand?”
Devin nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a croak.
“Do you wish to engage me as your attorney?”
When Devin glanced in his direction, Jamal nodded.
“Yeah,” Devin said, shrugging.
“Good. Do you have a dollar on you?” Robyn asked.
Looking confused, Devin nevertheless fished in his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. Finding a crumpled bill in it, he handed it to her. Robyn took it and set it aside.
“This dollar,” she explained, “represents an exchange of value, what we call in law, an exchange of ‘consideration’, in this case your fee. Because of that exchange, I’m officially your lawyer in this matter and now I can give you legal advice about the agreement, not simply explain it to you. You understand the distinction?”
Devin nodded, and Jamal saw on his face that because of Robyn’s words and tone, the gravity of the situation was only now beginning to come into focus for him.
“Do you consent to have Jamal present while we have this conversation, or would you like it to be private?” Robyn asked.
Devin looked at him again, waiting for him to supply the answer, but Jamal stood.
“Nah, it’s cool. I got a call to make anyway, so y’all use my office as long as you need it,” he said.
Robyn smiled at him as he left, and Jamal headed down the hall, fishing out his cellphone and ignoring the looks of his staff, trying to catch his eye. He knew if he got into a conversation with any of them, he would be sucked into something that might take up the rest of his day. And he couldn’t afford that. He had other plans.
Finding the conference room empty, Jamal ducked inside and dialed a number.
“Jackson,” he said when he got an answer on the other end. “I need you to go get my girl.”
~20~
“Four brothers? So where are you in the line-up?” Makayla was asking, just as Jackson’s phone rang.
“Smack-dab in the middle,” Jackson said, reaching for the phone. “Excuse me …” He stood and walked away from her a few paces, while Makayla took another bite of her gyro.
Lately, she found it was a lot easier to just succumb to her privilege and have Jackson come get her at school. Today, when he picked her up, she had him stop near Central Park where there was a cluster of food trucks, and they walked for a while, and talked about anything that came to their minds.
When they got hot, and Jackson had to remove his suit-jacket, she suggested they grab a couple sno-cones and something to eat. They were sitting on a bench, Jackson keeping a close eye on the parked car, when the call came. Makayla hoped it wasn’t something that would make them have to leave right away because she was finding that she enjoyed his company, and their talks. Beneath the well-tailored suits and the studious politesse, he was like her, a young native New-Yorker, trying to make it in a city that seemed to have outgrown them.
Since being with Jamal, Makayla had learned so much about the city she had lived in her entire life. Like the fact that there were more than two sides to it. It wasn’t just the haves and the have-nots, there were dozens of dimensions. There were the creatives and the pragmatists, the dreamers and the cynics, the old money and the new, the young and beautiful and the homely intellectuals … And there were people like her, who had been here forever, but still found herself surprised every single day.
Late last week, the day after she, Jamal, Harper and Devin had left Onyx in such a hurry, she got a call at the apartment from the club’s PR person. God only knew how they’d gotten the number in the first place.
They noticed that when Devin left, Jamal had left with him; and they were concerned that in kicking out Devin, Mr. Turner and the rest of his party might have been offended. In syrupy-sweet tones, the woman on the other end of the line assured Makayla that the ban did not by any means extended to Mr
. Turner, nor to her. And to make sure she understood how sincere they were, they were comping a private club night, for Mr. Turner and a party of up to one hundred guests. With open bar. Open bar, for one hundred guests.
Devin had gotten into a fight and been—justifiably—kicked out, and the club was falling over itself to make sure Jamal wasn’t angry at that. So, they were giving him a perk that Makayla was sure would amount to tens of thousands of dollars. She was beginning to learn, that that was how privilege worked. Her grandmother had always said: to whom much is given, much is expected.
But that didn’t seem to be the way the world really worked. In reality, it was: to whom much was given, people only gave more. Now that she was one of those to whom much had been given, the thought should have made her happy, the idea of getting more. But instead it made her sad.
A party for a hundred people was a nice, fun thing to have. But it wasn’t the kind of thing that would make her happy. Not really. She wanted just one person, and he wasn’t available to her lately.
“Hey, I just got a call …” Jackson was walking back toward her, crumpling the foil and tissue with the remains of his gyro into a ball. “The boss wants you. Instructed me to get you and bring you home right now.”
Makayla exhaled. Since she had just literally that minute been thinking how much she wanted him, the news that Jamal wanted her at home should have buoyed her mood. But it didn’t.
What did he have planned anyway? A little sex in the afternoon? Then maybe dinner, and back to the office with a conscience clear enough to enable him to work late into the night?
She didn’t want that. The scraps weren’t good enough anymore. If that was what he was offering, she would much rather sit here, on this sunny park bench and talk to Jackson about his family. He was cool, and funny and his world, was more like hers used to be—uncomplicated and straightforward. And he treated her like a normal person, now that they’d gotten past the Miss Hughes stuff.
The Takedown Page 19
