He seemed befuddled. “Problems?”
Leigh placed her hands flat on the desk. “If Jackie has a good reason for that dash across your lobby on the morning of Annabelle’s death, then we need to hear it. Otherwise, it will be impossible for her to work here with a terrible cloud of suspicion hanging over her head.”
Keith interrupted. “Ms. Blue cannot be fired. She has not even been charged, let alone convicted of any crime.”
Leigh turned red.
“I don’t know why Jackie came to see Annabelle that morning but I assume it was to apologize to Annabelle,” Craig said.
What the hell was he talking about?
“Apologize?” I asked.
“Annabelle said you were so angry when she told you that the promotion was going to someone else that you left without saying good-bye to her. When I saw the newscast, I figured you apologized for your behavior and ran across the lobby because you were late for work.”
I said nothing.
“I guess I was wrong,” he continued. “So, why were you there?”
I told him about the lost Filofax.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I do remember you writing in that book when we met in the library.”
Leigh could take no more. “Met in the library? What was the meeting about?”
Craig stood up. “Call an emergency meeting, Leigh. I want all employees gathered together so I only have to tell the story once. Welburn Books needs Jackie and they need to understand that if there is any intrigue afoot here, it was the one my wife and I created.”
He was the new boss. Leigh did as she was told. I felt lighter than I had since my nerve-rattling meeting with Detective Gilchrist.
This time, all 300 employees were packed in the conference room; at Craig’s insistence, I was standing in the front between Craig and Leigh. To say I felt uncomfortable at being put on the spot would be a gigantic understatement.
“I’m Craig Murray and it is good to meet all of you. I had planned to meet with you soon and have a discussion about my vision and plans for Welburn Books over the next few years. However, I understand that last night’s newscast, with its emphasis on Jacqueline Blue, has left you all very concerned. I’m here now to clear up any rumors, dark thoughts, or misconceptions about her that you may have.”
He told the story of his fascination with Moms Mabley and how it was Annabelle’s idea that I help him on the project. “Jackie worked very hard on her days off with no extra compensation to shape this biography into the work of art that it is now.”
Work of art? It was a piece of shit!
“My wife felt that it would smack of nepotism if she published All About Moms here at Welburn, but now I think this is the best place for it. Why should another house and some other editor get the credit after Jackie worked so hard? So, when this terrible business is over, we’ll get to work, put it on the schedule, and place Miss Mabley’s story in the hands of readers everywhere. I’ll let Jackie tell you about her mad dash across my lobby which the media has managed to turn into something sinister.”
For what seemed like the hundredth time, I told the story of meeting Craig to work on All About Moms, accidentally leaving my portable organizing system in the Murray home, and racing to meet Jamal Hunt. “As you know,” I concluded, “Jamal is the newest and brightest star on the Welburn roster.”
I walked Keith out to the elevator. “What do you think?” I asked anxiously.
He whispered into my ear. “Up until this morning, Craig Murray was at the top of my list. But that man did not kill his wife and now I have no idea who did.”
17
BACK AT THE PACK
I got the clear sensation that I was the subject of mucho gossip when I reached the Black Pack table the next Friday night. Who could blame them?
They were all in attendance and the waiter had pushed three tables together to accommodate the group. My eyes locked with Victor’s as I stood beside an empty chair, and for a moment I didn’t hear or see anything else in the room. Not the cluster of thirsty people crowded around the bar, the framed photographs of the restaurant’s celebrity owner, not even Paul, who was saying something to me as he tugged at my sleeve. My heart was hammering—I forgot all about Victor’s humiliating e-mail. I just wanted to throw myself at his feet and worship him like an Egyptian god.
His skin was the color of deep, dark Godiva chocolate; he had close-cropped black hair with a razor part on the right side, thick, dark lips, and big, sexy eyes which rivaled those of the long-dead movie star, Bette Davis.
I might have stood there frozen forever if Paul had not sucked his teeth so loudly that the people at the next table turned around and stared. It broke me out of my trance and I hastily sat down.
My African-American sisters and brothers welcomed me like I was an escaped slave who had managed to get to their collective hiding place somewhere in Canada. It felt warm and sweet enough to make me burst into tears, but that would have made my well-applied makeup run down my cheeks, and I was not about to let that happen in front of Victor. So, I blinked hard a few times and stared at Rachel’s blond pouf of hair, which formed a halo around her blue-black skin, until I felt a giggle coming up in my throat.
“Okay, what were y’all saying about me before I came in,” I said, to lighten the moment.
“Paul was telling us how he hooked you up with Keith Williams. Girl, it would be worth doing twenty years in jail if you could end up with him afterward,” Rachel laughed.
“I’m not interested in Keith.”
All I want is Victor Bell is what I started to say, but that would have been way over the top.
“Did Keith buy you that hot pink suit?” Rachel continued. “It is to die for.”
I fingered the gold buttons on my new suit, which was actually a deep, flattering fuchsia. “Of course not.”
“You should have worn that suit when you did your end run across that lobby, girlfriend. Because that coat you had on was not working. It made you look like two tons of fun.” This was from Dallas, but there was relief in her eyes and I knew she was really glad to see me.
Everyone laughed.
“Well,” I replied while picking up the menu which I knew by heart, “I’ll make sure that I’m wearing Versace the next time murder comes a-callin’.”
Once I used the word “murder,” they felt free to pelt me with questions.
“Do the police have any suspects?”
“Is Keith Williams as fine in person as he looks on TV?”
“Paul said you were there to get your Filofax. What was it doing there?”
“Do you know who the killer is?”
Paul tapped a fork on the side of his water glass. “Hold up, everybody—Jackie can’t talk about the case until the police have solved it.”
“That’s cool.” Victor had a voice like warm chocolate syrup dripping over a hot peach cobbler. “I’m just glad that Jackie is all right.”
I practically swooned. Maybe he would quit his girlfriend, whoever she was, and rescue a damsel-in-distress like me.
During the hubbub of ordering meals and drinks, I managed to sneak a few sidelong glances at the object of my desire. Each time, he was either engaged in heated conversation with Joe Long, who was seated on his right, or staring in concentration at the wine list.
“Why don’t you just go and sit in his lap?” Paul whispered nastily.
“What is the matter with you?” I asked innocently.
I knew perfectly well what the matter was.
“Nothing,” he answered brusquely.
I decided not to look at Victor for the rest of the meal so that Paul could relax and enjoy himself.
“So, Victor, tell us what the bookstore owners are asking for these days,” Elaine “I went to Harvard” Garner said as she actually took out a pad and pen to record his answers.
Victor Bell was the only one in the group who didn’t have to deal with office politics. He was a sales rep and his job was to go from bookstore to bo
okstore in the territory assigned to him and convince them to order large quantities of whatever books his company was publishing.
Alyssa rushed in just then, and there was a lot of air-kissing and moving chairs around to make room for her before Victor could tell his story.
Looking extremely self-conscious at being the center of attention, Victor Bell declared that he had just returned from a three-day trip down the East Coast. Without telling us the names of the stores or their buyers, he related stories of coming across many people who made crucial decisions even though they had not heard of many Black celebrities who had books in the upcoming catalog.
“Do you believe that these white buyers had never heard of Steve Harvey?”
There were cries of “oh, come on” and “you gotta be kiddin’.”
“I’m serious as sickle cell, y’all. I had to explain who he was over and over again. In the end, one of the stores took five and the others would only order two.”
“This is so disheartening,” said Elaine. “We work our butts off and run into one wall after another. But you didn’t answer my question. What is it that they’re looking for?”
Victor sighed. “Another Waiting to Exhale. If I were you guys, I’d buy as much fiction as I could. They can’t get enough of it.”
“Some of the large bookstore chains are even worse,” Victor continued after downing half a glass of straight Scotch. “They have a different buyer for each category.”
“Each category?” asked Dallas.
“Yes. They have a mystery buyer, a health book buyer, a fiction buyer, and on and on. Every single one of them is white. To tell you the truth, I like the days when I hit the road with the mainstream catalog. I hate meeting with these people about the Black books. It is a constant process of education, education, and education. It is way too exhausting.”
“What I wanna know is who this asshole thought Steve Harvey was when you first mentioned his name,” said Paul.
We hung onto every word that Victor had to say. “I only had two minutes to make my pitch. I told him that I had Steve Harvey’s biography coming up. The guy looks at me and says, “Who is that?” I said, ‘Come on, man, you gotta know who Steve Harvey is.’ The man has his own TV show and he sold out Madison Square Garden for his standup comedy act without even advertising. The guy listens and then says, ‘oh that guy! I’m glad to hear he is workin’ again because he was real sick and in a wheelchair, last I heard.’ Well, at first I didn’t know what he was talking about. But after a while, I realized he was talkin’ ’bout Richard Pryor.”
We all laughed to keep from crying.
18
PURE BLISS
So, Paul and I joked over the awkwardness between us, and the office hummed along in its usual pattern. Pam Silberstein and I started having lunch together again.
Mama and Elvira went on a bus ride to Atlantic City around Valentine’s Day and Mama won $200. They also decided to join a church, even though Mama hadn’t set foot in one since her best friend betrayed her.
In short, for three weeks my life drifted back into some semblance of normalcy.
One evening, I had my coat on and a shopping bag of manuscripts in hand when Asha buzzed me on the intercom. I hesitated—the last thing I needed was to get stuck in a lengthy conversation. She buzzed again and I answered.
“Yes, Asha?”
“Victor Bell is on line one. Will you take it?”
Will rain stay wet?
“Sure.”
“Hello, Victor . . . how are you?”
“I’m fine, dear, and you?”
Dear? He had come to his senses and was ready to snuggle me securely close to his massive chest. Surely heaven couldn’t be any better than this. I’d have to go on a diet, get my hair rebraided, get some black silk sheets for my queen-sized bed. Actually, maybe I’d better invest in a king-sized bed since Victor was so tall. My apartment needed a fresh paint job and new window coverings. Maybe Levelor vertical blinds . . . gold for the living room and a nice blush for the bedroom . . .
“Jackie, are you there?”
Good Lord, the man had been talking while my mind wandered. “Yes, I’m here. What were you saying?”
“I asked if you were free to have dinner with me tonight.”
“What about your girlfriend?” It just popped out of my mouth. He probably had some business problem he wanted to talk with me about and now I had shown my desperation yet again. I immediately wished that a rope would magically appear on my desk so I could coil one end of it around my throat and the other over something heavy enough to help me end my stupid-ass life.
“We’re not together anymore. Forget about it.”
“That was a very nasty message, Victor. It really hurt my feelings.”
“I’m sorry. Something pretty bad happened to me that day and I took it out on you. Will you let me treat you to some food and drink?”
I was so happy, it was hard not to pump my fist in the air and cheer. I really wanted to go out with him but not in the outfit I was wearing—a starched white blouse with ruffles at the neck and wrists, which made me look like Prince, and a plain, ankle-length black skirt. “Can I take a raincheck?”
“Sure. What about tomorrow?” He sounded desperate.
What the hell was going on?
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your office around five-thirty. Is that all right?”
“It is.”
All the way home, I wished there was someone I could talk to about Victor’s strange and sudden change of heart. Mama would be so angry to know that I’d been chasing a man who didn’t want me for the past year that asking her advice was absolutely unthinkable.
Paul was out of the question. Victor was the one sore subject between us. He was also spending less time at my house since he started seeing Rosa with the crooked nose. On the one hand, I felt sorry for her because Paul was only using her to make me jealous, and on the other, knowing that with one crook of my little finger she would be manless gave me an odd feeling of power.
Pam Silberstein stopped by my office the next day at noon. “Wow! Are we eating at The Four Seasons today?”
I was wearing a black, knee-length dress with suede curlicues around the heart-shaped neckline, a diamond teardrop pendant with matching earrings, and my long braids were curled and pinned into a stylish French roll.
I pulled my purse out of a desk drawer and grinned. “This isn’t about you. I have a date tonight.”
“You look marvelous. He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”
As I put my coat on and followed Pam toward the elevators, I hoped that she was right.
Pam waited until we were seated at Café Un Deux Trois on 44th Street and had ordered our food—salmon with béarnaise sauce for me, French onion soup and a Caesar salad for her—before she hit me with the news.
“I’m leaving Welburn, Jackie. I gave Leigh my resignation this morning.”
“Do you have another job?”
She smiled triumphantly. “You’re looking at the new head of trade paperbacks for Hamilton Welsh & Hamilton.”
I was sad for me and happy for her. “Oh, Pam. It won’t be the same without you.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, kid. There is another opening at Hamilton for a senior editor and I wish you would consider taking it.”
Oh, what a tempting offer! To get away from Craig’s offensive book, Annabelle’s dark, empty office, the atmosphere of grim uncertainty. It would be so easy to pack up and walk away from it all but then I would look as though I had something to hide.
I shook my head. “The media is still harping on the morning I was rushing to meet with Jamal. As soon as Annabelle’s killer is behind bars, I’ll be glad to leave Welburn Books. If I make a move before that, it will look very bad for me.”
She toyed with her silverware. “Have you heard anything more about the investigation?”
“Only what I read in the papers.”
; And then I remembered Alyssa. “Pam, I know an extremely talented editor who is looking for a new senior editor spot. Would you take a look at her resumé?”
“Absolutely. Did she get laid off or something?”
I started telling her Alyssa’s story and her face got redder and redder as I went on.
“That’s horrible,” Pam said when I finished. “You tell Alyssa that I’d like to see her right away. I’m going to make sure she gets a job and if Marlene Rashker doesn’t like it, I don’t give a damn.”
“Thanks, Pam.” I felt pleased.
Our food arrived and we dug in with gusto.
“Tell me something, Jackie. Is Craig Murray’s book any good?”
“Just between you and me?”
“I swear.” She crossed her heart.
“It’s pure crap.”
She burst out laughing and coughing into her napkin. “I knew it. You poor dear. Can it be fixed?”
“Hell, no.”
“Did you tell Annabelle?”
“I let her know that it had a ridiculous premise, but of course I said I could fix it. She really didn’t want to hear anything else.”
Pam shook her head and took a sip of water. “That’s why I’m getting out. Craig Murray seems like a nice guy but he’s going to run the company into the ground and take a whole lot of reputations with him. Mine won’t be one of them.”
“Craig is a very nice man,” I agreed.
“I don’t think he killed her,” Pam said quietly.
Keith had said the same thing but I pretended the thought had never occurred to me. “Craig? A killer? Why would you say something like that?”
“Oh, come on, Jackie. He is probably suspect number one on the police blotter. The husband always is. He stands to inherit a great deal of money.”
I swallowed a piece of salmon. “True, but I’ve been watching Columbo for years and there must be motive, means, and opportunity. Craig didn’t have the opportunity. Keith has learned that he and Dora spent the night at his sister’s house. He took Dora to preschool on the morning of the murder and when I stopped by, he still had not come home.”
A Meeting In The Ladies' Room Page 8
