Just Another Damn Love Story (6 page)

McCreedy handed Kim a cup of water.  “What’s the matter?  Are you diabetic or something?  You’re shaking like a leaf?”

“I’m sorry,”  Kim said, gathering her materials.  “Can we reschedule this?”

“Sure,”  he nodded.  “I don’t know when I’ll have another opening in my schedule.”

“I’m sorry.”  Kimberly rose.  “I'll give you a call.” 

McCreedy stood behind his desk, and watched as she rushed out of the dealership.

Chapter Seven

Sterling lifted his iron and swung with a force that would have made Tiger Woods envious.  The tiny golf ball was sent flying across the grass-tee driving range of the practice facility, landing very near the limit of the facility’s edge.  The driving range was a part of the Upper Montclair Country Club’s state-of-the-art practice facility.  It was a facility that included not only a 300 yard driving range, but a putting green, a chipping green, and sand bunkers.  Nothing was too good for the country club’s members, many of  whom were the crème de la crème of East Coast society.

The Upper Montclair Country Club was one of those blue blood facilities that had been established at the turn of the twentieth century.  It dated back to 1901, while its clubhouse dated back to the 1920’s.  It boasted several dining facilities, each tailored to its various member’s mood and requirements.  There was a banquet room that could seat one hundred and eighty people, a club room for casual dining, a member’s grille for less formal dining, a terrace for dining al fresco, a West lounge for more intimate dining, and a traveler’s room for business luncheons or private dining.  But what Sterling loved most about the facility, was its golf course.

The course was a 27 hole affair, designed by none other than Robert Trent Jones Sr.  It was immaculately maintained, while the service, amenities, and pro shop were something that could only be experienced.  It seemed as though the facility anticipated its patron’s needs, even before the patron’s could express them.  It was this service, and the facility’s convenient location to his Montville, New Jersey estate, that kept him coming back.

“Man, you should have seen her,” Sterling told Wilson.  “Yellow bone, with skin like buttermilk.  Green eyes, a sexy pixie haircut, nice up top, thick hips, and butt that you could sit a coffee cup on!”

Wilson and Sterling broke into laughter.

“I mean, baby girl was fine with a capital F,” Sterling continued.  “And she had it all together.  She was witty, charming, and she had this sexy confidence about her.”

Wilson snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, are you talking about the one you sent to the office the other day?”

Sterling shook his head.  “I didn’t send anyone to the office.  Especially anyone that looked like that!”

“I could have swore she said that you sent her,” Wilson said.  He paused for a moment, and then shrugged his shoulders.  “Oh well.  Anyway, it’s good to hear you talk about a women with so much passion again.  I never thought that I’d hear you so excited about another women, not after Carmela.”

This time Sterling shrugged.  “I never thought I’d be like this either, but baby girl had it going on.”

“And she wouldn’t give you the digits?”  Wilson smiled and shook his head.  “You need some help from the master?”

“The master?”  Sterling swung his club once again, and sent another golf ball flying down range.  “Please!  You couldn’t catch a cold if you walked across Alaska naked and dripping wet.”

“Sterling, do I have to take you to the club and prove it to you
again
?”  Wilson asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I don’t do the club thing anymore, and that’s good for you, or else I would have to take you up on that bet.”

“Bloomingdales, Neiman Marcus, Saks, Walmart, you name the place!”  Wilson said excitedly.  “The teacher will take you to school!”

Sterling and Wilson laughed heartily. 

“Will, you’re crazy,” Sterling said, concentrating on his swing once again.

“So how do you plan on finding this mystery lady?”  Wilson asked.

Sterling shrugged his shoulders.  “I don’t know.  She said that she worked for Mocha.  Maybe I could have someone do a little checking around.”

“Mocha, Mocha, Mocha, hmmm.”  Wilson lifted an eyebrow.  “I could have sworn that sister that came to my office said that she worked for Mocha.   But I could have sworn that you sent her.  How else could she have gotten past security?  This is weird.  In fact, I believe I gave her a purse.”

Sterling peered up from his practice.  “She definitely had one of our handbags, but I didn’t send her.  Are you sure she said that
I
sent her?”

“I believe so,” Wilson said, shaking his head.  “But then again, I don’t remember.  I’ve been seeing dozens of people the last few days, searching for models for the upcoming fashion event in The Hamptons, interviewing designers, and interviewing executives to run the line, as well as dozens of other people for various positions around the company.  I just don’t remember.”

Sterling waved him off.  “Ahhh, don’t worry about it.  If it was meant to be, I’ll run into her again.”

*****

“I don’t understand what the fuck this bitch is trying to say!”  Laquisha shouted, throwing the fax from the corporate office across the room.  “Them bitches in Atlanta gots me all fucked up!  AOL Time Warner can kiss the blackest part of my ass! 
Kimberly, Jerome, Pamela, Aisha,
and
Lani
, get y’all asses in here!”

The group filtered into the office one by one.

“Take y’all time,”  Laquisha told them.

The group seated themselves in various chairs arrayed around the office.

“First off, what the hell is this?”  Laquisha asked, tossing some papers to Lani.  “This is supposed to be a tug-at-your-heart piece about Haitian immigrants coming across the water in shoddy makeshift life rafts.  Instead, I get a technical piece about immigration and the courts, and the legal challenges facing the Haitian immigrants.  Try again.”

Laquisha wheeled, and turned toward Aisha.  “And you!  You’re supposed to be my fashion writer, but the only articles you’ve been sending me, have been dealing with the
business
of fashion, and not the clothing itself!  I know you want to move over to what you consider more serious writer pursuits, but for right now, you work for Mocha as a
fashion
writer.  So write about some damn fashion!”

“And you!”  Laquisha shouted, turning toward Kimberly.  “Why I get a call from the Benz dealership, asking if your ass was alright?  What the hell is wrong with you?  What did you go down there and pull?  You were too sick to close a deal that was basically in the bag?  I’ll bet your ass won’t be too sick to walk in here and pick up your damn paycheck on Friday, will you?  This is some straight up bullshit!”

“And you!”  she shouted, turning toward Jerome.  “Your little fairy ass fucked up my Army contract, flirting with the fucking ad specialist!  They requested that I send someone else!”

“Someone else!”  Jerome shouted.  “That bastard!  He didn’t want someone else when he was trying to get into my panties!”

“
Drawers
, Jerome!”  Laquisha shouted.  “You wear
fucking drawers
!  You’re a
man
!”

Jerome shrugged.  “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Laquisha through her pen up in the air and rolled her eyes.  “Why did I walk into that one?”

“What did I do?”  Pamela asked.

“Actually, nothing,”  Laquisha told her.  “But I just didn’t want you to feel left out.  Since I have nothing to yell at you about, I’ll just say this.  Keep on getting my paper!”

Laquisha ran her hand across her sweaty brow, clearing away the perspiration that she had worked up.  She drew in a deep breath, calming herself before continuing.  “Now, the reason I called you all in here, is because I have to send some of you to the fashion show in The Hamptons this weekend.  Naturally, I’m going to send my
least
fucked up people.  Pam, you and Kim go and work the crowd for accounts, and Lani and Aisha, you go and cover the show for the magazine.  I’m sending Pezo to take the photographs for us.   His shots, plus whatever we’re able to buy from the freelancers should cover us pretty good.”

“Are we staying in The Hamptons?”  Kimberly asked.

“What do you mean?”  Laquisha asked.

“Is Mocha paying for us to stay in The Hamptons?”  Kimberly clarified.

“Is the Pope Baptist?” Laquisha cackled.  “Hell no, Mocha ain’t paying for you to stay in the damn Hamptons.

“Why can’t I go?”  Jerome pleaded.

“Because you’re on my shit list right now!”  Laquisha shouted.  “Look, I want some good shit outta this weekend.  I want great photos, fantastic stories, and a lot of fucking ad sales.  Do y’all got that?”

Nods went around the room.

“Traditionally, this show has been a big producer for us, and it’s always given us a boost in magazine sales,” Laquisha told them.  “I want that tradition to continue.  So let’s get out there and get it done.”

“Laquisha, one question,”  Lani said, rising from her seat.

“Yeah?”

“What kinda human interest story am I going to get from The Hampton’s fashion show?”

“I don’t know, you’re the writer, you think of something!”  Laquisha shouted.  “Maybe some skinny model bitch breaks her nail and believes that her career is in ruins.”

“I got the perfect stories for you,” Aisha told Lani.  “You can do designer profiles, chronicling their struggles to make it in the industry.  I can hook you up with some of the designers.”

“That’s what I like to hear!”  Laquisha told them.  “You bitches work together and get my money!”

Chapter Eight

The Hamptons were known for its collection of high dollar mansions, star filled social season, and mind blowing celebrity parties.  It was also known for its yachting regalia, its charity events, and its star studded fashion shows.  This year's biggest show, was being held at Guild Hall, a restored five-acre estate in East Hampton Point.  All of the industry’s movers and shakers would be there.

This year’s theme was Feng Shui, the ancient Chinese art and science for protection and good fortune.  None other than Eric Clapton, Chris Brown, and Mary J. Blige, would be performing the first night, while Elton John, Keisha Cole, Lauren Hill, and Goapele would take center stage the second night.  Wyclef Jean, George Straight, Rhianna, and Usher, would close out the third night with a bang.  This year’s event was being sponsored by Imani Cosmetics, Bobbi Brown Cosmetics, Mercedes Benz, and Tanqueray. 

The sponsors had spent huge sums turning Guild Hall and its corresponding acreage into a beautiful Chinese botanical paradise.  Ponds had been constructed, and Chinese lanterns, vases, and screens had been placed throughout the estate.  And it was all done in white.

“Gianna, your designs are off the hook!”  Sterling said excitedly.

“Thank you, sir,” Gianna said, bowing slightly.  She was Vespasian’s in house designer from Milan.  And she had designed this year's premiere exhibits for the design house.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off,” Sterling told her.  “But you and Amerigo nailed this year’s theme to the tee.  When the other designers see what we have this year, they’ll be filled with envy.”

Amerigo bowed his head in modesty.  He too, was one of Vespasian’s hot young Sicilian designers, working out of the company’s Milan office.  He had nailed the white, cotton, double breasted men’s suits that Vespasian would be showcasing.  The suits were reminiscent of the fine Italian suits worn by the famous Chicago and New York gangsters during prohibition.  They were the same suits worn by the Japanese Yakuza, and Chinese mafiosos, and thus gave Vespasian the theme for their men’s line.  They gave the white diamond suits, porcelain pin stripes, offsetting the base color just enough to be seen by the naked eye.  They put Tommy guns in the hands of their male models, put them in some porcelain colored gators, some white diamond fedoras, and placed some fat Cuban cigars in their mouths.  Vespasian also brought in some white diamond colored, nineteen twenty Lincoln Continentals for their models to ride in on.  And they made sure that all of their models were Chinese.  They were going to show out this season.

As wonderful as the men’s line was, the women’s line was going to be even better.  Gianna had paired a white pearl Kimono type dress with flowing butterfly sleeves, with a pair of white pearl espadrilles with six inch wedges.  The white pearl dresses had white porcelain colored dragons flowing over them, as well as the Chinese characters for Feng Shui.  Her Chinese models also carried white silk umbrellas, with white bamboo handles that matched the dresses.  Their faces were painted white, and made up in the style of the Geisha.  Sterling said that she had showed her ass off with this first design.

Gianna’s second showing, was a strapless white Georgette style dress with flowing butterfly sleeves and a flowing and layered butterfly hem.  The dress had gold V’s printed over it, and was paired with some T strap chain sandals, that had gold Vespasian V’s as the chains.  The look was East meets West; a pairing of Beijing and Milan, uniting the best of both worlds.

Gina’s third showing, was a white form fitting dress, with a sweetheart neckline, that she paired with a breathtaking pair of quarter-calf, leg-wrap sandals.  The sandals, whose tiny white straps wrapped themselves up to a quarter of the wearer’s calf, were show stealers.  The crowd couldn’t stop the gasping, and then clapping and cheering after seeing them.  

And Sterling went all out with his last showing.  He chose to have Rick Ross’s song ‘Boss’ blasted on the loudspeaker when the model strutted out onto the stage.  She wore a white, oversized, rabbit fur, hooded parka, with rabbit feet sewn the length of it, serving as the toggles.  It fit right in with this year’s motif of good fortune.  This year, even Donatella had to bow down and give him his props.