Riding the Corporate Ladder (Indigo) (10 page)

Deena took it and studied it curiously. “The president? He’s not one of the rappers, is he?”

Karen nodded. “He was their number one artist when Blood Money first got started back in ’93. He stopped performing in 2000, but he still does cameos on some of the other guys’ videos. I think he ghostwrites, too.”

Deena shook her head in exasperation. “This is great.”

“Do you remember that Destiny’s Child video for Boot Camp Boy?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s the guy who did the rap verse in it.”

Deena couldn’t remember what the man looked like, but she knew he was pretty ghetto. “Perfect.”

Karen backed out of the office with a goofy smile on her face. “You asked for it.”

Deena rolled her eyes at her and looked down at the card again. She had a few briefs to look over this morning, but she decided to contact the Blood Money executive before things got hectic. She dialed the contact number and wasn’t surprised at all when someone answered amid a barrage of loud music.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” Deena said. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

After a bit of rustling the music went away. Deena looked up to the ceiling and said a quick prayer. Lord, you know I don’t like dealing with idiots.

“Hello?” a male voice asked again.

Deena sighed. “Hello. My name is Deena Newman. I’m calling from Reagor, Crawford, and Epstein.”

“Oh, oh yeah. How are you doing? This is Russell Foster.”

Deena caught how he said, How are you doing, instead of What’s up, and that seemed a little promising.

“Mr. Foster, I’m calling—”

“I know why you’re calling,” he cut in. “You want me to give you a million dollars a year so you can keep my boys out of jail.”

That was pretty much true, but Deena was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“I got a business degree from Stanford,” he informed her, “but I do most of my dealings with street cats. We can speak plainly, if you don’t mind.”

Right away Deena didn’t feel in control of things, and she didn’t like that at all.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, would you like to meet with me so I can lay out our plans for your record company?”

“I don’t know about all that,” he replied. “How about first you tell me why your firm wants a million, when Bates and Barker said they’ll take care of us for half that.”

Deena grinned. “I can answer that: Bates and Barker is seriously subpar compared to our firm. They’re a limited liability partnership. They—”

“I hear what you’re saying,” the record executive interrupted, “but I thought we were going to keep it real; talk to me straight.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you black?”

This guy was good at throwing curve balls.

“Um, yes, I’m black.”

“Then talk real to me. I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for all that yip-yapping.”

“Okay,” Deena said. “Bates and Barker can’t hold a candle to us. If you go with them, half of your artists are going be in jail within a year. You want real talk? Bates and Barker couldn’t keep themselves out of jail. They aren’t about shit.”

He laughed. “That’s cool. If you want to talk straight to me, then we can talk.”

“Great,” Deena said. “So would you like to make an appointment so we can get together and discuss what my firm has to offer?”

“Let’s do dinner,” he suggested. “Are you free tonight?”

Deena said she was, and they made plans to meet at a nice Italian restaurant on the west side of town. When she hung up the phone, Deena stared at the CEO’s card for a while, wondering what she should wear to a dinner with Mr. Foster. She thought she might have won him over already, but it never hurt to be prepared.

She wondered if Mr. Foster was a leg man or a breast man. Either way, she was pretty sure she had something in her closet that accentuated both.

Deena left the office at five o’clock so she would have time to prepare for her dinner with the Blood Money president at seven-thirty. Karen thought her boss was checking out early so she could go over the case files one last time or dig up a little dirt on Bates and Barker, but Deena’s preparation required no folders, facts, printouts, or faxes. She would have all of those things handy if requested, but Deena figured all she really needed was the right outfit, the right hair, the right smell, the right smile, and the right personality.

She lounged in her oval-shaped tub at a quarter till six with Himalayan bath salts that made the water soft and aromatic. From the stereo in her bedroom, Deena could hear the soft melodies of a Lauryn Hill and D’Angelo collaboration. She listened to the lyrics and lay back until all but her head was submerged.

Her phone rang. Interruptions during mellow-out time were a big pet peeve for Deena, but she thought about the conversation she had with Mr. Foster earlier and knew she had to answer it. He didn’t seem to have a lot of confidence in her firm, and it wouldn’t surprise her if he called to reschedule or cancel altogether.

She leaned over the side of the tub and retrieved her cellular. She didn’t immediately recognize the incoming number. That should have been reason enough to not answer, but she already had it in her hand then.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby. What you doing?”

It was Keshaun. The mere sound of his voice was enticing. Deena’s free hand slipped under the water and settled between her legs unconsciously.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Nothing, chillin’. What you got going on over there?”

“I’m just chillin’ too,” she said. “I’m in the tub.”

“Ooh, you naked.”

Deena closed her eyes. “And wet.”

“And slippery…” Keshaun mused. “Can I come over? I’ll lick you dry when you get out.”

“You wanna lick me dry?”

“All over,” he confirmed. “Everywhere.”

“Damn, that sounds good. I don’t think I’d get dried off like that, but I sure wanna let you try.”

“Well, you can,” he said. “Come open the front door. I’m out here right now.”

Deena’s eyes flashed open. “You’re what?”

“I’m outside,” he said again. “Right outside your door.”

Deena sat up and shook her head slowly. She looked over at Boogie, who was loafing on her plush bath mat with his favorite chew toy. She wondered why he didn’t alert her to this tragedy.

“A lot of help you are,” she grumbled at him.

The dog looked up at her and wagged his tail anxiously.

“Huh?” Keshaun said.

Deena looked up to the ceiling and sighed heavily. “Keshaun, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you, baby. What’s wrong? You was happy to hear from me a second ago.”

“I was happy to hear from you on the phone,” she explained. “I’m always happy to hear from you, Keshaun, but you know I don’t want you coming over here unannounced.”

“I didn’t ring your doorbell,” he argued. “I called to see if it was cool.”

“You’re calling from my front porch.”

“Okay. That was my bad. But what’s the problem? You got some other nigga in there or something?”

“Oh, no you didn’t.”

“What?”

“You don’t call my house questioning me like that. It’s not your business whether anyone is over here or not.”

“This is some bullshit.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.”

“You want me to leave?” he asked.

Deena didn’t have to put too much thought into that. “Yeah, Keshaun, I do. If you want to call before you come next time like a regular person, we can try that. But don’t show up at my house like this again.”

“Or what?”

Or what? Who does this fool think he is?

“Or we’re through,” Deena said without a show of emotion. Men like Keshaun were a dime a dozen, and she was pretty sure she could find another one who wasn’t a stalker.

“Just like that?” he asked.

“Yep. Just like that.”

He hung up in her face. Deena wasn’t at all surprised by that. Keshaun was in his early thirties, but immaturity had no age restrictions. She dropped the phone next to the tub thinking she would never hear from him again, but the damned thing started to ring again almost immediately. She snatched it up ready to curse him out royally, but this time it was Yesenia.

“Hello?”

“What up?” her friend shrieked.

“Girl, what are you doing? Why are you so excited?”

“I just checked my email. I got some replies from my personal ad,” Yesenia announced. “I put it in Thursday, and already three people are interested.”

“I thought I told you to hold off on that,” Deena said.

“Yeah, you said that.”

“But you did it anyway?”

“Well, you’re not going to marry me and give me babies,” Yesenia pointed out. “I don’t know what you want me to wait for, but I’m getting older every day. I’ll be forty in seven years!”

Yesenia was overweight, but she was also very attractive. It hurt Deena’s heart to hear her with such low self esteem.

“We can go out and meet some guys,” Deena offered. “We can go this weekend if you want. With those dating services, you never know what you’re going to get.”

“It’s not like that anymore,” Yesenia said. “It’s all on the computer now. They match us up based on our personalities, our likes and dislikes. I’ve got pictures of these guys and everything. Plus I already know way more about them than some guy at the club.”

“All right,” Deena said, “if you’re sure you know what you’re doing. But whenever you meet one of them, promise you’ll tell me when and where so I can shadow you.”

“You’re not going to shadow me.”

“Girl, yes I will. I’ll be sitting three tables across from y’all with my collar pulled up and my hat pulled down.”

Yesenia laughed. “Okay, sure.”

“Hey, are you still at the computer?” Deena asked.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can you go on YouTube for me and look up a video? I meant to do it before I left work, but I forgot.”

“Um, yeah, I guess. What video?”

“Boot Camp Boy by Destiny’s Child. It came out in the early nineties. I don’t remember it that much, do you?”

“Yeah. Why do you want me to look it up?”

“I have a meeting with the president of Blood Money Records tonight. My secretary says he’s in that video.”

“He’s a rapper?”

“He used to be. He started out as a drug dealer, but he had a few friends who were trying to go legit with their music. He got with them and started making CD’s. They couldn’t get a major label to pick them up, so they created their own little company. After they made it big, the guy I’m meeting with went to college, and now he’s the CEO.”

“That’s cool,” Yesenia said. “I love it when people make it out of the hood.”

“Yeah, but I wish he would get his head out of the hood,” Deena said. “I listened to the last five albums they put out, and none of them have positive songs. They’re all shoot-em-up, bang-bang, look at my car, look at my jewels, look at my bitches…”

“If you quit buying it, they’ll stop selling it,” Yesenia teased.

“Shut up.”

“Is he still rapping?”

“No, but he has control over the albums they make. Even R Kelly has a few inspirational songs.”

“I believe I can fly…” Yesenia sang, but Deena heard a different song in the background.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah, I’m watching it now. Does he rap at the beginning or the—oh, here he is now. Are you talking about Fade?”

“Who?”

“That’s the name of the guy rapping,” Yesenia said. “It’s says Destiny’s Child featuring Fade. I guess this is him.”

“If there’s only one rapper, it’s got to be him,” Deena said. “What does he look like?”

“He’s fine,” Yesenia replied. “But this video was back in 1995. He’s tall, dark-skinned. He has a big afro. He got his chest all out. You said this dude’s the president now?”

“He’s a self-made millionaire,” Deena confirmed. “You said his chest was out?”

“Yeah, he looks good. But this was fifteen years ago. If he got all rich and stuff, he’s probably fat now…and balding; look what happened to that Run DMC guy.”

“You’re talking about a reverend.”

“Whatever. Oh, he reminds me of Keshaun, a little.”

Deena rolled her eyes at the thought of that boy. “You won’t believe what foolishness Mr. Keshaun had the nerve to pull just now.”

“What?”

“He showed up at my house, girl.”

“When?”

“Just now; right before you called.”

“Did you curse him out?”

“I should’ve.”

“What’d you say?”

“I just told him—hold on, I got another call coming.”

Deena switched to the other line, and it was Keshaun, of all people.