Power & Beauty (15 page)

Slim was obsessed with this idea of being a champion athlete in bed. I wasn’t. I had proven myself. More than likely, he hadn’t. I didn’t need to keep talking about it. He did. I was bored with the discussion. When he asked for details about the hottest women in South Beach, I told him that they blurred together in my mind. What I couldn’t tell him, though, was that I wanted a woman like Beauty—a woman with brains and class, charm and wit.

I steered the conversation to education. When I mentioned college, though, Slim wasn’t happy.

“What the hell you gonna learn there?” he asked.

“Business. Economics.”

“Street business is different than straight business. Street economics is different than Wall Street economics. You need to stay in the streets.”

“I’ve been in the streets now for years. I think it’s time I got some serious book learning. I’m ready for that.”

“Well,” he said, jangling his matching diamond wristbands, “it’s hard to fault a cat who says he wants college. I know you a deep thinker, Power, even if I do continue to whip your pathetic ass at chess. Yes, sir, only a fool would bad-mouth a college education, and I ain’t no fool. So I’ll give you a choice. You go on to college. You stay here and pick any college in Atlanta you want. You hit those books, boy. You study up and work that brain. And I’ll get someone else to fill that slot in New York.”

“New York?” I asked. “You were sending me to New York?”

“Yeah, I was. New York was going to be the last course in my educational plan for you. But it’s another street hustle, and now I know you prefer college.”

I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. I didn’t have to. He knew he had me. The last thing I had heard from Wanda about Beauty was that she was still living in New York. Slim leaned back in the big barber chair and smiled the smile of a winner.

The man was still full of surprises. He still knew how to get to me.

The Holly Windsor Agency

B
efore I left for New York, Andre Gee said he wanted to take me to dinner. He also said that it’d be better if Slim didn’t know. I loved Dre and assured him that it would be strictly between us. I was curious to hear what he had to say—and why in secret?

Because he did a lot of Slim’s dirty work, Dre stuck to himself. Because of his stutter, he didn’t say more than he had to. So he wasn’t all that social. But he was a sweet cat who always had my best interests at heart. And he was also a cat who took such abuse from Slim that you couldn’t help but feel for him.

We met at a Buckhead steakhouse called Bones. We went to a private room and sat at a table in the back.

“H-h-h-h-h-have whatever you l-l-l-l-l-like,” he said.

Like me, Dre wasn’t much of a drinker. We ordered a couple of Cokes and two big steaks.

“T-t-t-t-tell me about M-M-M-Miami, Power. How w-w-w-was it?”

To get the words out, Dre squinted his eyes or hit the table with a fist. I’d known other people with stutters. Most of them had managed to get around their blocks, but Dre was different. His stutter stopped him at practically every other word. But his stutter made me like him more; it made him more lovable. His eyes were filled with sincerity. The brotha had soul.

I thought of Irv’s advice—and even mentioned it to Dre. I said it was hard to trust anyone. Dre nodded in agreement.

“You d-d-d-d-don’t g-g-g-g-gotta say n-n-n-n-n-nothing,” he struggled to say.

But I spoke anyway. Dre could be trusted. So I told him the long story about my adventures in South Beach. When I was through, he gave out a long sigh. By then the steaks had arrived. We ate in silence.

After dinner Dre said, “And n-n-n-n-n-now it’s New York.”

“Leaving next week,” I said.

“B-b-b-b-b-b-beautiful, baby. That’s a g-g-g-g-g-good thing.”

“We’ll see. At this stage in my life, man, I’m not really sure of anything, Dre.”

“I kn-kn-kn-kn-kn-know what you mean, b-b-b-b-bro. But I am sure of one th-th-th-th-thing. R-r-r-r-r-real fuckin’ su-su-su-su-sure.”

“What’s that?”

“D-d-d-d-d-don’t c-c-c-c-come b-b-b-b-b-back.”

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“I’m d-d-d-d-d-dead s-s-s-s-s-s-serious. D-d-d-d-d-don’t c-c-c-c-c-c-come b-b-b-b-b-back.”

I could see how hard it was for Dre to say the words. But I could also see how deeply he meant them.

“Why are you saying all this?” I asked.

He wouldn’t say. He just looked at me with pleading eyes.

“Is that why you asked me to dinner?” I asked. “To tell me this one thing?”

He just nodded.

“And I don’t get to know why?” I asked. “I don’t get to hear any of your reasons?”

He shook his head no, paid the check, and left.

I left for New York with enthusiasm. That was because of Beauty. I saw fate bringing us closer together. I realized that the chances of bumping into her in a city of eight million wouldn’t be great, but I also knew that just walking the streets that she walked would give me hope and maybe even keep me happy. I was happy that I was able to get into a community college not far from the apartment I found on lower Broadway in Soho. The apartment and college were all within walking distance of the offices of the Holly Windsor Agency.

Holly was the one who had lost her modeling agency to Sugar, when rather than bail her out, Slim had let her sink. I presumed that was the end of the story—but it wasn’t. When Sugar started slipping in Miami, Holly started rising in New York. Somehow Slim got back in her good graces, taking credit for saving her from a disastrous situation in Miami real estate and encouraging her to start a new business in New York. According to Slim, that business also involved the fashion world. Again, I got excited because I knew that was a world that Beauty had already entered. When I asked for details, Slim couldn’t give me any—only that Holly Windsor was one of the smartest women he’d ever met, and he was absolutely sure she had lessons I needed to learn.

I arrived in the city in January. Moms had been gone four and a half years. It felt like twenty. Between Chicago and Miami, I’d walked through heaven and hell. Despite my ties to Slim, I felt adrift. I had proven to myself that I could adapt and survive. I’d negotiated my way through a number of situations. I had learned to kick back and observe. I had learned that most often things are not what they seem. I had learned to trust no one, and I had learned not to sample whatever merchandise I was selling. I had seen that business was cruel, people were cruel, and, more often than not, people were out for themselves. I had concluded that if I talked less and listened more, people presumed I liked them. Everyone wants to tell his story. Everyone thinks his story is the most important in the world. And everyone, because I try to be patient, assumes I think his story is the most interesting one I’ve ever heard.

This much I had learned for sure: Just sitting across from someone and listening gives you power. It gives you information about them. It’s like you’re in the audience watching a play. You can relax, watch the action, and enjoy the plot. You don’t have to do anything. You just show up, take your seat, and settle back. That’s the approach I took when I went to meet Holly Windsor for the first time.

It was a mild winter for New York City. The air was crisp and clean, and the rhythms of the city got under my skin—the stream of yellow cabs, the people on the street, the anxious hurry-up attitude that makes New York New York. I felt energized. After the sticky humidity of Florida and Georgia, the cold felt good against my skin. I liked wearing an overcoat. I liked seeing women fashionably dressed in long woolen skirts and sweaters. I’d seen enough South Beach bikinis to last me a lifetime. To me, New York had class.

The Holly Windsor Agency lobby had plenty of class. It was in a converted hat factory turned high-tech office building. The brick walls were exposed and the lighting subdued. The furniture was curvy and sleek, like pieces of modern sculpture. The receptionist looked like Lady Gaga. I wondered what Holly Windsor looked like.

I didn’t expect her to have purple hair and be as tall as me. Her hair wasn’t entirely purple—it was basically black—but it was accented with purple highlights. She wore a black pantsuit and silver jewelry except for purple earrings that matched the highlights in her hair. She wasn’t pretty, but I wouldn’t call her ugly. She knew how to work with what she had. She had height. She had a thin body. Her neck was long and her mouth small. I noticed that her fingernails were painted black. I also noticed her shoes—purple Adidas sneakers. She looked at me straight in the eye. Her own eyes were misty gray. She spoke in a low, excited voice, something like an actress.

“Oh, Power,” she said, extending her hand, “since the first I heard your name I have been dying—darling, I mean
dying
—to meet you. What kind of man carries the name of Power? I had to know. I had to see for myself. Now that I see, I understand. Follow me into my den. There’s much to discuss.”

Her den had no desk, only two matching black suede couches and a silver love seat. On the wall were paintings of exotic birds and sexy flowers. Purple drapes were drawn and fell all the way to the floor. Outside I could hear the traffic on Broadway. Her iPod was on low volume, but I could hear a love song by Prince.

As Holly leaned back in the love seat, I tried to guess her age. Forty? Fifty? Somewhere in there.

“You come highly recommended,” she said. “You must tell me all about yourself.”

“Not much to tell.”

“Oh, please, darling. Even at your ridiculously young age, I know you’ve lived a life of adventure. Tell me about the people you’ve been working with.”

“I’ve just been training here and there. Looking to learn.”

“And have you learned?”

“I think so.”

“Charles Simmons tells me your best quality is discretion,” she said. “And I can see that your reluctance to discuss your former employers is an indication of that discretion. But of course I know Mr. Irv Wasserman, and naturally I know Mr. Renato Ruiz, and I am certain you would not be here had you not served them both with absolute loyalty and discretion. As a matter of fact, my agency is all about discretion. So feel free to say whatever you like about your former employers. I assure you, love, that it will go no further than this room. I hope you don’t mind if I smoke.”

“It’s your office.”

“It’s a den, darling, not an office.” She placed a cigarette in a slim black holder and lit it with a silver lighter. “Tell me what you’ve been through, Power. Open your heart.”

“I’ve just been trying to mind my own business.”

“While helping others with theirs. But what was their business like? What was it like to be working with a man like Wasserman? And what is your take on our mutual friend Mr. Ruiz?”

“They’re interesting men.”

“Discretion! You are the quintessence of discretion! A quality to be admired, but now you are in New York, far away from your former bosses, and I must know what you think and how you feel about everything. If I am to trust you, darling Power, I must know you.”

Holly took a long drag of her cigarette and blew out a perfectly formed ring of smoke. I watched it float up to the ceiling.

“Once we start working together, you’ll get to know me soon enough,” I said.

“Why do you think that Ruiz’s attempt to take over my agency met with such catastrophic results? Can you tell me that?”

“Not really.”

She laughed out loud. I liked her laugh. It was almost musical. Her laugh made me smile.

“He failed because he’s a fucking idiot, isn’t he? He failed because, when it comes to women, he knows nothing—absolutely positively nothing. He failed because he’s a lowlife drug dealer. He failed because he’s a sleazeball looking to operate in a world of class. Wouldn’t you agree with me, dear Power? Wouldn’t you say that I’ve hit the nail on the head?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Please, dear, spare me your loyalty. Admit this man is trash.”

I stayed silent.

“You’re perfect, Power, you really are. Given the chance to bad-mouth people you must really want to bad-mouth, you still say nothing. Most impressive, darling. Most impressive indeed. That makes me feel like when our time together is over, you’ll also be discreet in discussing me. And, importantly, in discussing my clients.”

“Who are your clients?”

“Brilliant question. You don’t know?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t ask.”

“Women. My clients are women, beautiful women. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Aren’t you here because you love beautiful women and beautiful women love you?”

“Not really. I’m here because Slim sent me here.”

“Charles told me that, like him, you are a great connoisseur of beautiful women. He told me that you are an old-fashioned man who likes to protect beautiful women. Am I wrong?”

I just shrugged. I didn’t know where this was going.

“Do you understand what a modeling agency does?” she asked.

“Find work for models,” I answered.

“And what sort of work?”

I didn’t know why I was being questioned like this, but I guessed that was Holly’s style. “Magazine work,” I said. “Work on TV commercials. The usual.”

Holly smiled. “A reasonable answer from a reasonable man. You are a reasonable man, aren’t you?”

“I think so.”

She put out her cigarette in a silver ashtray and stood up. She had good posture. She walked over to the window, pulled back the drapes, and pointed to the street below.

“Most men aren’t reasonable. Most men think with their dicks. Wouldn’t you agree with me, dear?”

“I’ve never taken a survey,” I said.

“Are you a man who thinks with your dick?”

I laughed. “I like to think that I think with my brain, Miss Windsor.”

“Holly,” she said, correcting me. “I am Holly and you are Power. And your power in sitting in my den and having this dialogue with me, darling, this
extraordinary
dialogue, is quite evident. This is a screen test, Power. This is your moment. And I must say you’re doing wonderfully well. Are you proud of yourself? Are you feeling good?”

“I’m feeling fine,” I said, thinking that the lady was more than half nuts.

“Good, because what I’m feeling is that you’re right for this job. I say that because I’m a woman who lives life instinctually, not scientifically. Science is overrated, wouldn’t you say?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, I do, sweetheart. I know that most men think through their dicks. I have experience in that area. Tremendous experience. Experience is our greatest teacher. Books are fine. You’re studying certain books, aren’t you?”

“At the community college, yes.”

“And what books are those?”

“Business books. And a history one.”

“You’re ambitious, Power, which is another reason you’re sitting in my den subjecting yourself to my scrutiny. Only ambitious people interest me. Without ambition life is a boring train ride from the crib to the grave. That sounds philosophical, doesn’t it? Are you taking philosophy at that junior college?”

“No.”

“Good. Philosophy is a waste of time. I don’t like it. But I do like psychology. Are you taking a psychology course?”

“No.”

“You should, darling. See if it’s not too late to register for Psychology 101. I think of myself as a psychologist. And recently I’ve been tested. Intensely tested. And I must say that I’ve passed with flying colors. Would you like me to explain?”

“Yes, I would.”

“You have a generous spirit, Power, and a spirit that does not judge. That’s important in this work. Most people love to judge. They judge others so they don’t have to judge themselves. I have had to learn not to judge. Of course there are certain people—and I do confess that I have your former employer Mr. Renato Ruiz in mind—who don’t require judgment because their fatal flaws of character will conspire in ways to bring them down. They will fall, as Mr. Ruiz has fallen, and their humiliation will be absolute. Other people—take your Charles Simmons, for example—elude judgment because their brilliance keeps them three or four steps ahead of us mere mortals. Are you following me, darling?”