Read The Family Business Online
Authors: Eric Pete,Carl Weber
The Family Business (2 page)
LC
2
Eight hours earlier ...
I walked into the large conference room of Duncan Motors for our annual year-end board of directors meeting, followed by my wife, Charlotte, who I called Chippy. Already seated at the table was Orlando, our tall, slim, brown-skinned third son. He had a phone to his ear as he worked an iPad like it was a piece of him. He didn’t say much, other than to acknowledge his mother with a wave as we took our seats. Orlando wasn’t being rude or anything; he was engaged in a phone conversation with one of our distributors about a shipment of pre-owned Bentleys for one of our six high-end pre-owned car dealerships.
Like myself, Orlando was a workaholic. He ran a tight ship, for which the devil was in the details. He was the company’s chief operating officer, in charge of running the day-to-day operations of our dealerships. Only thirty-three years old, he was turning into one hell of a man, if I did say so myself. Of course, like everyone, he had his flaws of a sort. He had no idea I knew anything about it, but we were going to have to address it in the very near future.
“We’re good, Pop. They turned the cars over to our guys in Maryland, and the shipment will be delivered sometime tomorrow,” Orlando called out to me with a thumbs-up before continuing his conversation. In addition to our pre-owned car dealerships, we also owned three Toyota dealerships, which made us one of the largest African American dealers of cars in America, as per
Black Enterprise
magazine.
Black Enterprise
magazine.
Chippy shook her head. “Will that boy ever learn to slow down?”
“Somebody has to pull the load around here,” I replied, wishing the rest of my children had what Orlando possessed. They all contributed to the family business, but none of them had his work ethic. He was the first one in the office every morning and the last one out every night.
“I heard that,” my youngest and more defiant son, Rio, chimed in as he walked into the conference room and took his seat. Rio was wearing a bright yellow paisley shirt that could be seen halfway across Queens.
He glanced over at Orlando, who had just finished up his conversation. “No offense, bro, but I bust my ass around here just as much as you. You’re not the only one who makes a lot of money for this family. I don’t hear anybody complaining when the money from the clubs gets deposited on Monday morning, or about the two BMW 650 convertibles DJ Two-Tone bought on my recommendation last week.”
Rio spearheaded the marketing and promotions aspects of Duncan Motors, a creative endeavor he came up with himself. He paired the two things celebrities loved most: exotic cars and parties. Where there were celebrities, there were fans willing to buy everything their idols purchased. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but his brainchild was a brilliant, unquestionable success that had only served to expand the family’s reach in ways I didn’t think possible.
Orlando nodded, acknowledging his brother’s work, but I took a different path, rolling my eyes in my youngest son’s direction. “Do you call going out to a club all night and sleeping until three and four in the afternoon busting your ass?”
“Nope,” Rio huffed, meeting my gaze with one of his own. “I call it the night shift. When you’re sleeping, I’m working. Why can’t you understand that? Is this because I’m gay?” Rio pulled his sunglasses down, peering over them as he struck a very feminine pose.
“Don’t mess with your father, Rio. Not tonight, all right?” Chippy warned, with a look that said she meant business.
Rio shrugged his shoulders and gave her an angelic smile. Of all our children, he was the closest to Chippy. She loved and accepted him as is—no exceptions. I, on the other hand, loved my son but just couldn’t accept his lifestyle. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my son was a homosexual. I didn’t think I ever would. His sexual preference disgusted me.
“I’m not messing with him, Momma. I’m just trying to make a point. I bring business into this company too.” Rio sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I just think a little recognition would be nice.”
“Are you finished?” I asked. The look on my face said everything that didn’t come across my lips.
With a final glance from his mother, Rio softened his demeanor and nodded. “Yeah, Pop, I’m finished.”
I turned my attention away from Rio just as a cute little bundle of energy came into the room, scurrying around the conference table and chairs as if they were her own personal playground. That little bundle of joy was my granddaughter, Mariah, and with her mother on her heels, she bolted just out of reach behind me and her grandmother.
“Mariah! What did I tell you about running in here?” her mother shouted.
Mariah’s mother, my eldest daughter and fourth child, London Duncan Grant, was a tall, classy, butter almond–colored woman, the spitting image of her mother when she was the same age.
“It’s okay, London,” I said, handing my only granddaughter one of the lollipops I carried in my suit pocket just for such occasions. She was the apple of my eye. I loved my children, but my granddaughter stole my heart from the moment I set eyes on her. As far as I was concerned, I would lay the world at her feet. “Let her be. She has just as much right to be here as the rest of us. One day this will all belong to her, anyway.”
Mariah took the lollipop out of my hand and gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek before taking off again. When she passed my eldest son, Junior, he caught her with one arm and deposited her in his lap as he took his seat. She giggled at her uncle’s sudden display of strength. If she were older, she wouldn’t have questioned it at all, because Junior was six feet five inches tall and a solid 270 pounds of pure muscle.
As big as he was, Junior could be as gentle as a lamb—unless provoked. He was in charge of our car carrier and transportation fleet of trucks, along with overseeing our service mechanics. He wasn’t involved much with the financial end of our company, but he could drive and fix anything with an engine, which in our business made him very valuable indeed.
“Humph. Daddy, you’d let that girl get away with murder if you could. I don’t recall you ever saying anything like that to us when we were growing up,” London said with a slight attitude as she took a seat beside her husband, Harris Grant. He and my daughter had met while she attended George Washington University in Washington, D.C., and Harris was attending Georgetown University Law School.
Harris was always thinking, and that keen mind of his had allowed him to graduate magna cum laude from Georgetown. In the years since he and London got married, Harris had become an integral part of all our business affairs and was now the company’s in-house legal counsel. This allowed London to happily relinquish her duties as sales manager and focus on being a loving mother and devoted wife, something she took very seriously and sometimes to extremes.
“Y’all were my kids. It was my job to raise you right. Mariah’s my granddaughter, and it’s our job to spoil her.” I smiled at my daughter, then lifted my hand to my wife, who gave me a high five.
“Well, that ain’t making my job any easier. That girl is just as spoiled as can be.”
“Ha! That’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, Mariah,” Paris, Rio’s twin and perhaps the most attractive of our children, blurted out inappropriately as she walked in with some man I didn’t know behind her. “Let them spoil you, girl. You gonna be just like your aunt Paris, aren’t you? Kiss the boys and make them motherfuckers cry!” Paris laughed, but no one in the room—other than Rio—joined in.
London glanced at her younger sister and rolled her eyes. “Could you please stop cursing in front of my daughter? What is wrong with you?”
“Stop tripping, London. She hears much worse than that just sitting out in the service area with Junior and them.”
“Well, I haven’t heard that, but I heard you—”
Harris gently took his wife’s arm and mumbled, “London, it’s not worth it.”
London glanced at me and my wife and then at her husband before she sat back in her chair obediently. “This is some bull. They’d never let me get away with this.”
“Daddy,” Paris said in this gushing voice that customarily rose in pitch when she was seeking my approval. It usually worked, too, except when it had to do with men. Yes, she was a daddy’s girl; there was no question about that. I didn’t know why, but I had a weakness for my youngest daughter, despite the fact that she always seemed to be getting herself in some kind of trouble I had to bail her out of. “Daddy, I’d like you to meet Trevor. Trevor, this is my father, Lavernius Duncan Sr.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir. Ma’am,” he said, greeting Chippy as well. “You have a wonderful daughter.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. Still holding the young man’s hand in mine, I turned to Paris, who was smiling like she’d won the lottery. “So, in what hole did you find this one, Paris? Please tell me you didn’t buy the suit he’s wearing, like you did the last one.” I spoke loudly to be sure the young man understood I didn’t care if he heard my insult.
“Daddy!” Paris shrieked. Her pretty, high yellow face turned beet red from embarrassment. I loved Paris dearly, but I never was one to mask my disappointment in her, especially in her choice of men.
“We met at Antun’s catering hall in Queens Village, sir, and it’s not like that at all. The suit’s mine,” Paris’s date asserted, to my surprise. The rest of the family was taken aback, too, from the looks on their faces. Most of Paris’s little male friends were, unfortunately, bad boys, thugs, or sheep, and were intimidated by me. Surprisingly, this one wasn’t.
“Oh, really? Tell me how it is, son,” I urged, my curiosity piqued by the nature of the stranger in our midst.
“We were having a fund-raiser for my father’s election campaign when I met Paris, sir. Nothing improper. I believe your wife was there also.”
I glanced over at Chippy, who nodded.
“His dad is Councilman Sims,” Paris added, trying to take back control of the conversation.
“Ronald Sims? He’s running for Congress, isn’t he?” I was keenly aware of New York’s political landscape and the players in all five boroughs, especially Queens. Ronald Sims was definitely a player who was on the rise.
“Yes, he is.” Trevor smiled.
I was sure he was hoping for a quick thaw between us, but he’d forgotten one thing: Paris was my daughter, and I knew his only objective was to get her into bed. He was going to have to show his face around here a hell of a lot more, and preferably on days I wasn’t conducting a board of directors meeting, if he expected me to thaw.
“So, no, I don’t need anyone to buy me a suit—but my father could really use your support in his reelection campaign,” he added.
I let out a hearty chuckle that filled the room, and then glanced over at Orlando and Harris, who both nodded their heads and discreetly began to type into their iPads. “You know what, young man? I admire your moxie—or rather your swagger, as it’s called these days. I’ve always been one to preach involvement in family endeavors to my children. Good to see your father is of a like mind. We’ll have to see what we can do for our future congressman.”
I nodded at Paris, who seemed pleased as she placed her arm in Trevor’s and led him toward the door. While not quite up to the level of her sister, perhaps there was some hope, after all, when it came to Paris’s choice in men.
Chippy leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Dear Lord, LC, has Paris lost her mind and invited that man to sit in on one of our board meetings?” I glanced back over toward the door and, to my dismay, watched Paris and her new friend take two empty seats by the entrance. Why the hell she would have that man sit in at one of our board meetings was beyond my comprehension. Perhaps Chippy was right; she’d lost her damn mind.
“Uh-huh, that’s exactly what she’s doing.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, because I was known to have a very explosive temper. Why couldn’t that girl be more like her brothers and sister and just use common sense? Ain’t no way London or any of the others would be stupid enough to invite a stranger to one of our private business meetings. I was about to storm over there when Chippy took hold of my wrist.
“She’s only doing this to impress you. You know she usually doesn’t date guys like him. She wants you to see she can pick a smart man like London,” Chippy mouthed softly. “We might not be able to speak as candidly as we’d like with him in the room, but let’s see how it goes. The kids all know better than to discuss anything beyond the basics in front of a stranger, so it won’t matter. We can always ask him to step out of the room if we get on a topic that’s not for his ears. The rest we can discuss tomorrow in private.”
I glanced over at Paris, who was leaning up against the boy, with her head on his shoulder. She really didn’t have a clue, and that scared me.
“Besides, Trevor ... and his father could be useful to us one day.”
I looked over at my wife, a little shocked by her response. “You sure about this?”
“Yes, I’m sure you can handle it. You always do. Now, let’s go get us a plate so we can get started.” Chippy smiled that prideful smile she sometimes gave me, admiring my ability to always think on my feet and adapt. It was one of the many qualities she said attracted her to me those many years past. Back then, she knew I was a man with drive and a certain “moxie” myself—moxie that rescued her from the cursed path upon which she once strode.
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