Nikkie nodded.
“Oh, that’s just wonderful!” Rachel clasped her hands together. “Isn’t that great, Cindy?”
Cindy shrugged. “I guess.”
“So now”—Rachel took a sip of her cosmopolitan—“what kind of job is it again?”
“Public relations. I’m at Paxon and Green,” Nikkie said proudly.
“Wonderful, just wonderful.” Rachel turned to Cindy. “I think this calls for champagne, don’t you?”
Without answering, Cindy put her hand in the air to signal one of the drink waitresses assigned to the VIP section. “Bring me a magnum of Dom Pérignon. And three glasses.”
“Hey, Cindy.”
Nikkie looked up to see a younger, but just as tanned, version of George Hamilton. It took her a moment to remember where she’d seen him before, but she then realized she’d seen him in her latest copy of New York magazine, in an advertisement for Calvin Klein. He looked as good in jeans as he did in his underwear.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said as he took a seat.
Cindy waved the waitress back to the table. “Make that four glasses.”
A girl resembling the woman who played Heath Ledger’s jilted girlfriend in his latest film pulled a chair from another table and sat down with them. “Okay, bitches, I’m here,” she said haughtily. “But I want you to know I’m only staying for like an hour.”
Nikkie’s eyes widened. It was the woman who played Heath’s jilted girlfriend.
“Oh, shut up, bitch. You know you owed me.” Cindy waved to the drink waitress. “Make that five glasses.”
“Brad, Lucia, this is Nikkie . . .” Rachel turned to Nikkie. “What’s your last name again?”
“Jensen,” Nikkie said breathlessly.
“Right. This is Nikkie Jensen. Nikkie, this is Brad Cooper and Lucia Silver.”
“How do you do?” Nikkie quickly extended her arm for a handshake. Boy, oh boy, did she want to reach out and touch them—just to make sure they were real.
Brad flashed her a dazzling smile. “I’m doing fine. Sitting next to three beautiful women.”
“Three?” Cindy raised her eyebrow.
“Lucia doesn’t count,” he said, giving the actress a nudge that almost pushed her out of her chair.
“Pig,” she spat as she straightened herself up. “And I was going to tell Steven Spielberg to put you in the new film I’m doing with him.”
“Yeah, right. Like you have a part in a Spielberg film.” Brad threw back his head and laughed.
Lucia shot him a dirty look. “Well, I have an audition with him, anyway.”
“Well, once you get the part, I’ll kiss your ass, but until then, you’re just another wannabe.”
“Oh, shut up, Brad. If you didn’t eat pussy so well, I’d throw this drink in your face.”
Brad grinned. “Why don’t you just throw it on my dick. Then you can slurp it up later when I take you home tonight.”
To Nikkie’s astonishment, instead of being insulted, Lucia started laughing.
Rachel sighed. “Must you two always be so vulgar?”
Just then the drink waitress returned with the champagne settled in an ice bucket and started putting the glasses on the table in front of the group. She uncorked the bottle and poured the bubbly liquid.
“Okay, everybody, we have to have a toast,” Rachel said grandly.
“What are we celebrating?” Brad asked.
“Nikkie’s new job.”
“Yeah?” Brad turned to Nikkie. “What kind of job?”
“I’m a public relations specialist. For Paxon and Green.”
“Really?” Brad flashed that dazzling smile again. “I would have thought you were a model or actress.”
Oh, this guy is good, Nikkie thought.
“Paxon and Green?” Lucia frowned. “That’s one of the big firms, isn’t it? I’m looking to change firms. That bitch doing my PR is lame. You got a card?”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “I know you guys aren’t really going to talk shop while we’re out at a club having a good time.”
“Stop acting so snobbish, Cindy,” Rachel said sternly. “Nikkie’s a working girl. She’s supposed to be looking out for clients.” She turned to Nikkie. “Am I right?”
“Most definitely.” Nikkie pulled one of her brand-new business cards out of her purse and handed it to Lucia. Thank goodness she had thought to put a few in before she left the house. What a coup it would be for her to land an account after only being at the company a month.
She was still smiling to herself when she suddenly saw a dumbfounded Sarah approaching the table.
“Hey, Nikkie,” she said when she reached them. “You look like you’re having a good time.”
Nikkie grinned in response. “I am, Sarah. What about you?” That’ll teach her to just abandon her. What did she think? That she’d be sitting nursing a drink at the bar while waiting for her to return? How pathetic did she think she was? Well, look who was pathetic now, she thought as Sarah stood in front of her, shifting from one foot to another, with a stupid smile on her face.
“Oh, let me introduce you to everyone,” Nikkie said grandly. “Sarah Rosenblatt, this is Brad Cooper, Lucia Silver, Cindy Statler, and Rachel . . .” She paused. “Rachel, what’s your last name?”
“Riverton.”
“. . . and Rachel Riverton.”
Cindy leaned in close to Nikkie. “Do we hate her?”
Nikkie shook her head. “No. She’s my roommate.”
“Oh well.” Cindy sat back up and took a sip of her champagne, having totally lost interest in the newcomer.
“Miss Silver, I just want to tell you that my friends and I loved you in your latest film. You were just fantastic.”
Lucia’s face turned into a scowl. She turned to Cindy. “She’s got to be kidding.”
“Lucia!” Rachel said sharply.
Nikkie inwardly grimaced. Sarah would have to come over and act like a fawning idiot.
Lucia turned back to Sarah and extended her hand. “I’m only playing. I just wasn’t expecting to run into any one of my fans here.” She shot Brad a dirty look when he started to chuckle. “But it’s good to meet you,” she continued. “And I hope you and your friends will continue to support my films.”
“Heads up. Heads up,” Cindy said quickly as a photographer approached them. “Make like I just told a funny joke.”
Obediently, everyone started smiling and chuckling, while at the same time posing for the camera shot they knew was coming. The flash blinded Nikkie, but she felt it was the high point of her life. Cindy had actually draped her arm around her shoulder just before the shot was taken!
“Do you mind if I get your name?” the photographer asked her as he pulled out a small notepad.
“Nicole Jensen,” Nikkie said breathlessly. “That’s J-E-N-S-E-N.”
“And who are you?” he asked brusquely.
“I beg your pardon?” Now, how was she supposed to answer that? she wondered. Suddenly, she felt a kick under the table and saw Rachel give a discreet nod toward the business card that Lucia had left on the table. “Oh! I’m with Paxon and Green.”
“The PR firm?”
“Yes,” Lucia cut in, pushing her shoulders back and her cleavage out. “She’s my PR person.”
“And also a close friend,” Rachel quickly added.
“A very dear friend,” Cindy said, not wanting to be left out.
“I happen to be madly in love with her,” Brad added.
Nikkie sneaked a peek at Sarah, who was still standing at the edge of the table. She looked appropriately impressed.
The photographer nodded, put the pad in his pocket, and turned to go.
“Um, do you need my name?” Sarah asked timidly.
“Nah. You’re not in the shot. I just got Cindy, Brad, Lucia, Rachel, and the new girl.”
“Oh” was all Sarah could say in response. “Sorry.”
That’s me. The new girl. Pin
ch me, I must have died and gone to heaven. Oh God, please let that photo make its way to Page Six—
“Um, Nikkie,” Sarah interrupted her thoughts, “it’s getting kind of late. Let me know when you’re ready to leave, okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry about Nikkie. One of us will give her a ride home,” Cindy said, waving the woman off. “It was nice meeting you, Rebecca.”
“Her name was Sarah,” Rachel said when Nikkie’s roommate slinked off.
Cindy shrugged. “Whatever.”
Chapter Twelve
JULY 2007
Look, Beverly Rich is one of my clients, and I adore her, but come on, we’ve got to address the problems she’s been creating since she started dating this rap guy, Boss Daw-gee. I mean, she’s black, and though she’s always dated white guys, I don’t think anyone would be surprised about her all of a sudden going out with a black guy. But does she have to start dating a”—Hal Richardson put his fingers up in quote mode—“ ‘ghetto nigger.’ ”
Nikkie audibly gasped and looked around the table to gauge other people’s reactions.
Yanna sucked her teeth. “He’s an asshole, but you don’t have to call him that, Hal.”
Hal snorted. “Yeah? Well, just in case you didn’t know, that’s the name of his latest CD.”
“Well, I bet you wouldn’t say it to his face.”
Hal shrugged. “Yeah, well, I don’t get it. Why is it okay for them to call each other nigger, but then they want to fight a
white person for calling them a nigger? Isn’t that reverse discrimination?”
“Exactly,” Susan chimed in. “And like, black comedians can get up on stage and talk about white people in the audience, and even talk about ‘crackers’ and all that, and all people do is laugh. But look what happened when Michael Richards called an audience member a nigger! I mean”—she looked around at the other people sitting at the conference table—“I’m not saying what Michael Richards did was right, but I just don’t understand why he’s being blasted by everyone when people like Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle are called ‘comic geniuses.’ And they both call black people ‘niggers,’ as well as white people ‘crackers.’ Come on, doesn’t anyone else see it as a double standard?”
Nikkie rubbed her pulsating temples. She wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure exactly what to say. To be honest, what Hal and Susan said actually seemed to make sense; yet it just didn’t seem right. And for her to just sit there and say nothing about it was just wrong, she was sure about that. She just wasn’t sure about anything else. The right thing to do was probably jump up, announce she was black, and stomp out the door. But really, what would that accomplish? There would be a lot of stunned faces, a lot of people coming over to her cubicle later apologizing and saying that she was right to be offended, but what would that really change? And what effect would it all have on her career? Who would benefit from her throwing the holy fit that she kind of thought she should have? No one—and certainly not her.
And, she further reasoned, didn’t Hal and Susan actually have a point? Wasn’t there a double standard? She fished an emery board from her pocketbook and started furiously filing her nails. Hell no, they didn’t have a point, she decided. “Cracker” did not have the same connotation as “nigger,” and they knew it. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had come to know both of them in the past few weeks, she’d assume they were racist. But, no, they were just more than likely “clueless white folks,” as Joseph used to call white people who acted like that. White folks who just didn’t, or wouldn’t, get it.
“Okay, while we’re on the subject, what about the black-only clubs and organizations?” Hal said, tapping a pencil on a yellow legal pad while he talked. “Like, what’s the name of that convention that Libby Randolph goes to every year? The National Association of Black PR People or something?”
Hmm, maybe he isn’t clueless. Maybe he is a racist.
“National Black Public Relations Society Conference,” Yanna corrected him.
“Right. That. She’d be the first one wanting to raise holy hell if any one of us was to announce that he was going to the National White Public Relations Society Conference, wouldn’t she?” Hal glanced around with a satisfied expression on his face. “I rest my case.”
“That’s because you’re a bigot.”
Nikkie looked gratefully at Yanna for saying the words she’d wished she had the courage to say.
“Spoken like a true-blue liberal,” Hal said with a laugh.
“There is a definite need for black organizations, and you know it,” Yanna said without missing a beat.
“I don’t know any such thing,” Hal said in a reasonable voice. “Why is it okay to have black organizations but not white organizations?”
“Just look at the public relations industry. You have to agree that most of the people in the higher echelons are white, right?
Why is that? Because from the beginning the higher echelons have been white, and the people in power tend to put other people in power whom they consider most like them. It’s the infamous ‘ole boy network’ in play. So blacks have developed their own networking organizations to try and help each other move up. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“If the ‘ole boy network’ is the problem, why don’t they have a women’s organization in public relations?”
“They do, you idiot. The Women Executives in Public Relations.”
“Okay, so then if that’s the case, Libby Randolph is a woman, so she doesn’t need to join the black organization, since she can join the women’s organization. You’ve made my point.” He chuckled, crossed his arms behind his head, and leaned back in his chair.
“You really are an idiot.” Nikkie didn’t realize that she had said it out loud until she heard the laughter from the other people around the table and saw Hal’s face redden. “I’m just kidding,” she said quickly as she dropped the emery board back into her purse.
“No problem,” he said sullenly. “I was just kidding, too. But let’s get back to the problem at hand. How do we spin Beverly getting arrested again?”
Like hell you were kidding, Nikkie thought later as the group began to drift out of the conference room and back to their cubicles. Like her, Hal Richardson was only twenty-something, but he had been at Paxon & Green for almost eight years, having graduated from the University of Pennsylvania at the tender age of nineteen and immediately joining the firm. He was a mover and shaker and was the star rainmaker—meaning he brought more new accounts to Paxon & Green than anyone else. Hal was tall, blond, and handsome, with an athletic build that he kept in shape by coming in two hours early every morning to work out at the company gym. All the higher-ups liked him, and so did most of his colleagues—he was a hard person not to like. He was always pleasant, but never cloying; witty, but never sarcastic. And he was always willing to help others out with advice and tips. In fact, Nikkie really liked him, even if he did have what Joseph used to call the “Master of the Universe” mentality—the expectation that everyone should listen to what he said, simply because he was the one who was saying it; and people should take him seriously, simply because he took himself seriously. You didn’t even have to agree with him, but you were supposed to realize his opinion was always at least worth hearing.
“When a young black man walks in the street when there’s traffic coming and he doesn’t look both ways, he has the attitude that if some car dares to hit him, he’s going to get up, drag the driver out the car, and kick his ass. When a young white man walks in the street when there’s traffic, he doesn’t bother looking both ways because he has the expectation that no one would even consider hitting him, and will just stop because he is who he is,” Joseph would say. “Almost as soon as a black man comes into this world, he learns he has to fight his way through. A white man, on the other hand, has expectations that everything is just supposed to go his way, and can’t quite understand when it doesn’t, because—after all—he’s Master of the Universe.
”
Joe. Just the thought of him made Nikkie feel a bit depressed as she took a seat at her desk. He hadn’t called her since she moved to New York, though he was always cordial when she called to see how he and Ayoka were doing. He asked how she was doing, but never specifically asked her about her job, and never brought up his disapproval of her not letting her colleagues know she was black. The disapproval, however, was apparent, and it hurt her terribly. He hadn’t even come over to see her when she went home to visit Mama a few weeks back. The ringing telephone interrupted her thoughts.
“Nicole Jensen,” she said in the businesslike manner she’d picked up since starting at Paxon & Green.
“Hi, this is Lucia Silver. Remember me?”
Nicole almost gasped. So the actress was serious, after all! After three days without hearing from her, she’d just put it down to one of those things that people say when they’re high. But here it was, and she was on the phone.
“Of course I remember you, Lucia. How’ve you been?” Nicole pulled an emery board from her desk drawer and started swiping at her fingers in an attempt to keep the excitement from her voice.
“I’m fine, thanks. I just wanted to follow up on the conversation we had over at Cachet the other night,” the woman said in a bored voice. “I was serious, you know. I would like to talk to you about doing my PR. Rachel says you really know how to handle yourself.”
Rachel did? Wow!
“Well, I certainly do what I can.” Nikkie picked up some papers and started shuffling them near the receiver so that Lucia would hear and think she’d been busy when she called. “As a matter of fact, I’ve already come up with what I think are some pretty innovative ideas I’d love to talk to you about. How about we do lunch? Are you free tomorrow?”
“No, I have to fly out to the Coast. I’ve got a callback on the Spielberg audition.”
“Lucia, that’s wonderful!”
“So how about next Monday? You can come over here to my spot, if you’d like. I have a wonderful cook, and it wouldn’t be any problem for her to whip up something real quick.”
Nikkie glanced at her calendar. “That’s very doable. What’s your address?” She scribbled down the woman’s information.
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