Power & Beauty (31 page)

“I have a spare bedroom.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Well, because it’s ridiculous for a female employee to be sleeping in the spare bedroom of her male employer’s apartment while the male employer is sleeping in the next room.”

“I agree. Far better to sleep in the same room. A far more sensible option.”

“Then Marge Schraft will be right. I’ll be your live-in protégée. The girlfriend with a leg up on everyone else.”

“By the time we get back from Tokyo, Marge Schraft will be gone.”

“Now you’re firing her?”

“After what you’ve told me, I think I have no choice. I think you’re right. I can’t subject you to that kind of emotional abuse. It’s irresponsible and unprofessional of her. She was especially unwise to do it days before her employment contract was signed. It will be difficult finding a replacement, but our headhunters are superb.”

“And you’d do this for me?”

“I have to protect you. I have to protect you not only because of my strong belief in your professional abilities—you are one of the keys to our company’s future—but because I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

He took her hand, leaned toward her, and kissed her on the cheek.

That same night, in Kato’s apartment on the twenty-fifth floor overlooking the Hudson River, an apartment done in a motif of bold, flowing black Japanese silk drapes and black-and-white prints of ancient Japanese places, Beauty and Kato slept together. In the art of lovemaking, he required instruction. He was inexperienced but eager to learn, awkward but motivated. He allowed her to lead. She had to explain timing to him. He kept apologizing, but he also kept obliging. Finally, they fell into a position that suited them both. She found satisfaction but only by reverting to her usual device of envisioning the man she had sworn to forget.

Tokyo

I
t was a blaze of neon, a crazy electrical maze of giant screens and high-def billboards that lit the sky with images of magenta, green, yellow, and high-pitched red. The signs screamed from one side of the sprawling city to the other. The wattage was wild. Tokyo was on overload.

Tokyo excited Beauty like no other city she had ever seen. It was also strange. Though she spoke not a word of Japanese, she was greeted in that language. Her Japanese facial characteristics had everyone assuming that she was a native. Because Kato was with her virtually all the time, he was happy to translate. In fact, he was happy and proud to have Beauty by his side.

They stayed in the presidential suite of the Imperial Hotel. The living room overlooked the Imperial Palace gardens and from the master bedroom she could see the lights of the Ginza. From the day they arrived, it was a whirlwind of tourism and business activities. “After this,” said Kato, “New York will seem like a small city.”

From the rocking nightclubs of Roppongi to the high-fashion boutiques of Aoyama, from the glittering skyscrapers of Shinjuku to the ginkgo-tree-lined temple of the ancient Yasukuni shrine, Beauty was thrilled by all she saw. Kato took her to the Kabuki-za Theater and Tsukiji Fish Market. Together they walked through the wonders of the electronic district called Akihabara.

In the giant department stores like Mitsukoshi and Wako, she studied their preteen departments and immediately saw that Kato was right to bring her here. The Japanese understood merchandising and point-of-purchase display on an advanced level. They were bold and innovative retailers. Beauty was inspired.

The evenings were fun—the sushi bars, the jazz clubs, the distinctly Asian discos. Kato introduced her to his many friends and business associates. He showed her off. He called her his girlfriend and his colleague. There was no doubt that he was putting her on display, and for much of the time Beauty did not mind.

As a lover he made modest progress, but still she required the mental vision of Power to bring her to climax. He tried his best but found it difficult to relax. Insecure and too eager to please, his techniques were lacking. Beauty simply put up with it.

At the beginning of their second and final week in Tokyo, Kato had gone to a meeting and Beauty was seated in the dining room of their suite. She had been served an American-style breakfast by a private butler who had also brought a copy of Tokyo’s English-language newspaper. A front-page article caught her eye. The headline read,
YAKUZA REPORTEDLY DEEP INTO FOREIGN FINANCING
.

The story concerned attempts by the Yakuza, the Japanese crime syndicate, to widen their influence by investing in non-Japanese capital ventures. Apparently they had become silent partners in the acquisitions of European banks and Latin-American security firms. In the final paragraph, it was this sentence that stunned Beauty: “According to one source, the Yakuza has helped finance the acquisition of an established retail store chain headquartered in New York City with stores in Chicago, Dallas, and San Francisco.”

Beauty’s heart started to race. They had to be referring to Bloom’s. But was there any way in the world that Kato could be involved with a Mafia-style outfit like the Yakuza? She noted the reporter’s name and toyed with the idea of calling him but decided against it. When Kato returned later that day, though, she presented him with the article. She watched his eyes as he read. They seemed to widen. She saw a bit of panic in his expression.

“They’re talking about Bloom’s, aren’t they?” she asked.

“They might be, but they might also be confusing my investors with Yakuza members.”

Beauty was alarmed by the word “might.” She was expecting a full denial.

“I didn’t know you had investors.”

“I do.”

“And they’re financially strong?”

“They are.”

“But not criminals.”

“Look, Beauty, I can’t tell you that I ran super-comprehensive background checks on every person who helped finance this endeavor. I can tell you, though, they are powerful business partners—which is exactly what I needed.”

Beauty was shocked. In essence, he was telling her that the article was true. He was involved with the Yakuza. She was troubled and wanted to question him further when a question of his own stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Would you like to meet your father?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your biological father. I spoke with him today.”

“Why?”

“To tell him that you were here—and that we were together. He’d love to see you.”

Beauty was speechless. She didn’t know how to feel or what to say.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” she said.

“I know. But I thought you might like me to. It was easy. My parents had his name and number.”

“You had no right to—”

“Look, Beauty,” said Kato, “it’s merely an option. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. Give me the word and the whole thing will go away, just like that. No pressure.”

“How can you say ‘no pressure’? Now of course there’s pressure. You’ve created pressure.”

“I haven’t. I merely talked to the man.”

“Why couldn’t you have first asked me whether I wanted you to talk to him?”

“I didn’t think I needed your permission. Besides, I was curious myself. If I had found him not worthy of meeting you, I’d never have mentioned it. But he seems okay. He’s still in the fashion business. He owns this clothing store for teens in Harajuku. How’s that for a coincidence?”

“I’m not interested in coincidences, and I’m not interested in him. And I really don’t appreciate the way you took this matter into your own hands, Kato. I find it overbearing. No one put you in charge of my personal history—least of all me.”

“Wow. I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Okay, Beauty, I get it. I understand. Just forget the whole thing. Forget about your father.”

Beauty couldn’t. How could she? How could anyone forget about a long-lost absentee father who suddenly pops up out of nowhere? Of course she was curious to see him and meet him and tell the no-good son of a bitch that he had deceived and deserted her mother. When Beauty got old enough, the scenario became clear: Her dad had been carrying on with her mother during his trips to Atlanta with the idea that one day he would divorce his wife in Japan, move to America, and marry Isabel Long. At least that was Beauty’s understanding. What she didn’t understand, though, was why Kato had gone to the trouble to find a man whose name she didn’t even know.

“If you’re interested,” said Kato, “his name is Akira Matsui.”

“I already said I’m not interested.”

“I understand, Beauty, and I’ll leave you alone about this, but eventually I believe you’ll want to meet your father.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s your father. You’re his blood.”

“Maybe, but not now. Not this trip.”

“There will be other trips. Tokyo will definitely be a big part of our lifestyle.”

Our
lifestyle?
Beauty thought. He was talking like they were a permanent couple. Too confused about the Yakuza article in the paper and the news that Kato had located her father, she said nothing else. Suddenly what had been a sunny trip turned dark.

On the night before their departure, almost in defiance of Kato, she invoked the image of Power while Kato made love to her. She allowed herself the pleasure of pretending that another man—a more passionate man, a more sensual man—was deep inside her.

“That was amazing,” Kato said afterward, noting the power of Beauty’s orgasm. “I think I’m getting good at this, don’t you agree?”

Beauty forced a smile but said nothing.

Young Beauty

T
he idea came to Beauty while she and Kato were staying at the Kahala Hotel in Honolulu, a stopover on their way back from Japan.

“After all the electricity of Tokyo, the beaches of Hawaii are just what we need,” Kato had suggested. “Have you ever been on those beaches?”

“Never,” said Beauty.

“Well then, let me introduce you to them. They’ll relax you.”

Kato was right. Japan was far more intense than Beauty had anticipated, and she welcomed a respite. Hawaii sounded great.

Hawaii looked great as she walked the secluded beach just beyond the hotel. Kato was back in the room, lost in a long business call. Beauty had the beach to herself. As the sun set, the sky turned orangey pink. The sand felt good under her toes. The trade wind felt good against her skin. She walked to the water’s edge, where soft waves washed her feet. The world was at peace. During the flight from Tokyo, she was haunted by thoughts of her father and Kato’s ties to organized crime. Here in the middle of the Pacific, staring out into the endless ocean, the thoughts vanished. The slate was clean. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she exhaled, the idea was there:

Young Beauty.

That’s what she would call the boutique within Bloom’s, the preteen boutique that would carry her stamp. It was the perfect handle, the perfect catch-all phrase that expressed what girls aspired to be. It was sophisticated without being pretentious, pretty without being corny. It was perfect. It was her. And because she was not entirely satisfied with the various lines of clothing available to preteens, she wanted develop a Young Beauty line of her own. Young Beauty, exclusively at Bloom’s.

That evening she and Kato dined on their private patio. They ate fresh pineapple and succulent pork. While sipping on a glass of island wine, she explained the Young Beauty concept to Kato.

“I love it,” he said. “It’s brilliant.”

“And I have the freedom to design a custom line for the boutique?”

“Of course. I want you to be happy.”

“That’s not the point, Kato. The point is, does the idea make business sense?”

“I think it does,” he said. “I know it does. And with Marge Schraft gone, you’ll have no more bad vibes.”

“Who’s taking her place?”

“A man I believe you know.”

“Who?”

“His name is Solomon Getz.”

“Solomon Getz! You’re kidding.”

“I thought you’d be happy. I’ve been tracking his career.”

“How do you know about his career?”

“You had mentioned him to me when we first met. You said he was a super-sharp merchandise guy who got mangled in the Bloom’s corporate culture and wound up in Chicago. I’ve looked up his record and seen that you were right. He was running the entire men’s division at Macy’s. They were about to promote him, but we grabbed him in time. I had a colleague go out there and recruit him. We’re bringing him back to New York and putting him in charge of merchandising.”

“Does he know about our connection?” asked Beauty.

“Not unless you told him.”

“I haven’t spoken with Solomon in a while. Kato, this is wonderful. This is so perfect.”

“I thought it’d make you happy.”

“It does. I know he’ll support me in this effort. He really believes in me.”

“And so do I, Beauty. I’m supporting anyone who’s supporting you. I want you to realize that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure your success and happiness. To be honest, I can’t picture living the rest of my life without you.”

Beauty didn’t respond. She was afraid he was going to propose, and that would require a rejection. It was one thing to become this man’s lover. That was all well and good. But to be his wife was something else entirely. She wasn’t ready for that. And she didn’t think she ever would be. The feelings she had for him—friendship and gratitude—did not extend to love.

He sensed the meaning of her silence and said, “Look, it’s still early in our relationship. I don’t want to push you, Beauty, I really don’t. But I also want you to see my goal. You know me well enough to understand that when I create a goal, I always achieve it. You’re my goal. You’re the best goal I’ve ever had. And, well . . . I love you.”

Beauty’s heart sank. She looked out over the water, a mirror reflecting a crescent moon. The sky was lit by a million stars. She looked back at Kato, took his hand, kissed it gently, and said nothing.

“I’ve been calling you every night, and all I get is your voice mail.” Wanda’s voice sounded frightened. She was on the phone from Atlanta. Beauty was back in Kato’s penthouse apartment in Chelsea.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve been overseas.”

“I’ve been scared to death. Thank God you’re okay.”

“Scared of what, Wanda?”

“Slim. He’s off the deep end, baby. I’m glad you’re safe up in New York. Wish you had stayed overseas, though. You’d be better off overseas.”

“You really think I’m in danger?”

“I think he’s forgotten all about you, baby. I pray to Lord Jesus every night that he’s forgotten about you. I don’t want you crossing his mind, because when anyone crosses his mind he’s convinced they’re going to do him in. He’s gone psycho paranoid.”

“How bad is he?”

“Three weeks ago he kicked out the woman he’s been living with. Beautiful gal no older than thirty. He thought she was working for the FBI. Threw her clothes out the house and told her to scram. Well, next thing you know she’s at the beauty shop talkin’ ’bout how Slim Simmons can’t last in bed with no woman more than ten seconds. She says he’s done cum before you got your drawers off. Everyone’s talking and laughing about it.

“Now I’ve known Slim’s got problems, but you know Wanda. Wanda can keep a secret. Wanda ain’t spreading trash about no one, especially no one with the wherewithal of Slim Simmons. But this sista is steamin’ mad and she’s bad-mouthing Slim to anyone and everyone who’ll listen. She’s telling the world, and a week after she does all this telling she up and disappears. No one can find her. Not her brothers. Not her mama. No one. The girl is gone. Her people go to see Slim to ask about her, but of course Slim says he has no idea and he’ll help them find her. Slim’s acting real concerned, but when I see Slim, he’s laughing about it. He’s letting me know that I better not be spreading no rumors about him or I’ll be disappearing too. I’ve been knowing this man for fifty years and he’s never talked to me this way.
Never
.”

“Maybe you should get out of Atlanta.”

“And go where?”

“You could come up and stay with us.”

“Who’s us?”

“Me and Kato.”

“You mean you’ve moved in with the man?”

“I have.”

“Oh, sugar, that is wonderful. Has he proposed?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“And you said yes?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you will say yes,” said Wanda.

“I don’t think so. I don’t really love him.”

“Then learn to love him, baby, because this is a match made in heaven. It’s got nothing but good written all over it.”

“Look, Wanda, I’m worried about you and I want you up here with me.”

“And leave Wanda’s Wigs?”

“Yes.”

“Wanda hardly ever leaves Wanda’s Wigs.”

“Make an exception.”

“That would only make Slim furious. After all, he owns this place. If I up and leave, he’ll get even more nuts. He’ll figure that, like everyone else, I’ve turned on him. No, baby, it’s better for me to stay here and calm his crazy ass down. You just lay low in New York.”

“And what about Power?”

“I already told you. Power’s his boy. He looks at him like a son. Power’s been going along with his program from day one. Slim’s still guilty by how he messed up Charlotte.”

“What you mean ‘messed up Charlotte’?”

Wanda hesitated. “I mean . . . well, you know . . .”

“I really don’t know,” Beauty said sternly. “But in my heart, I felt he had her murdered.”

Silence. Long silence. Dead silence on the other end of the line. Wanda said nothing. Beauty felt that Wanda wanted to confess something she’d known all along but had been unwilling to confess. In that silence, both women felt a world of worry, fear, regret, and guilt. Beauty wanted to press Wanda further, but the silence said it all.

“I wish I could say something,” said Wanda.

“You don’t have to,” said Beauty. “I know. I’ve always known.”

The Young Beauty concept took off, and its creator was thrilled. The enterprise exceeded Beauty’s wildest dreams. It took time to get the in-store look to where she was pleased. It also took time to develop her own line of preteen shirts, skirts, and dresses. At the same time, she ordered merchandise from preexisting lines and hired a staff of salespeople. Solomon helped her every step of the way. He could not have been more supportive. He realized that it was only through Beauty’s connection with Kato that he had secured the kind of position he’d been dreaming of. His salary was large enough to support both himself and Amir, who was delighted to be back in New York and reunite All, his original band. That tight triangle of friendship—between Beauty, Solomon, and Amir—was reinforced. There were times when Kato joined them on social occasions. Beauty was pleased to see that he harbored no prejudices against gay men and was comfortable in their presence.

By concentrating on the spring opening of the Young Beauty boutique inside Bloom’s, Beauty was able to forget about Power. She called Wanda from time to time to make sure she was okay.

“I’m laying low,” Wanda said. “I’m keeping my distance. I’m doing my business and making the man money. So far he’s cool with me. So far.”

Meanwhile, Young Beauty opened with a splash. Kato, Beauty, Solomon, and the head of publicity put their heads together, developed a major advertising and PR campaign, and threw a preview press party that was splashed all over Page Six in the
New York Post
. The clothes got rave reviews and initial sales were brisk. To celebrate, Kato, Beauty, Solomon, and Amir went to dinner at Jean Georges, the elegant restaurant inside the Trump International Hotel at Columbus Circle.

Because Kato knew how much Beauty adored Solomon and Amir, he was especially warm and cordial with both men. Tonight was no exception. And because Solomon, like Beauty, had proven to be so productive at his job at Bloom’s, Kato could praise him with a genuineness that he knew made Beauty happy. Making Beauty happy had become one of Kato’s great skills.

“I want to toast Solomon,” said Beauty, raising her glass. “If he wasn’t with me all the way, I’d never have had the confidence to do what I did.”

“And I want to toast Kato,” said Solomon, nodding toward Beauty’s Japanese boyfriend. “Without his risk-taking courage, none of us would be here.”

“I must toast Beauty,” said Kato. “She is the reason we are all here. She is the amazing creative spirit that brings us together and points us to a bright future.”

“And I have to toast the four of us,” added Amir. “May we all prosper in our creative endeavors. May our friendship last and grow.”

They drank, they ate, and then, sometime around ten
P.M
, Beauty suddenly felt dizzy, excused herself from the table, and as she headed for the ladies’ room, fell to the floor in a dead faint.

When she awoke, she was in a room at Lenox Hill Hospital, where doctors were running tests. Kato, Solomon, and Amir were by her side. As they told her what had happened—that they had rushed over here to the emergency room—their words sounded fuzzy to Beauty and their faces appeared out of focus. She closed her eyes and once again fell into a state of semiconsciousness.

What followed was a long period of feverish and painful regurgitation. She suffered extreme chills. Her body shook uncontrollably. The doctors ruled out food poisoning. She had contracted some sort of virulent bug that could not be identified. She was ordered to remain at the hospital overnight. That proved to be one of the worst nights of her life.

She descended into a kind of mental hell. Images attacked her without relief. And every image concerned Power. He was being chased over rooftops. He was pushed off the side of a building. He was thrown in front of a speeding car. He was blindfolded, placed in front of a firing squad, and riddled with bullets. He was hanged by the neck, knifed in the heart, suffocated, drowned, poisoned. The images never stopped, and with each one Beauty jumped out of bed, convinced that what she had seen was not fantasy but cold reality. Her screams alarmed the nurses, who came to reassure her that all was well. But the second Beauty closed her eyes and drifted off again, fresh images of Power appeared, one more horrible than the next. Still trembling, still unable to control the chills that had her arms and legs shaking, she was convulsed with a kind of fear that she had never experienced before. A powerful sedative quieted her screams but did not stop the images of Power, a bloody ax separating Power’s head from his torso, a crazed wolf ripping Power’s heart from his chest.

When she finally came to in the morning, Kato was by her side. He took her hand and said, “The doctors say that your fever has passed. They don’t see anything wrong now. I can take you home.”

“I need to make a call first.”

“Of course. Use my phone.”

She called Wanda, who was sobbing.

“What is it?” asked Beauty. “Is it Power?”

“No, baby, it’s Dre.”

“What happened to Dre?”

“They say he killed himself.”

“How?”

“Hanged himself in his garage.”

“Do you believe that?” asked Beauty.

“No, baby,” Wanda said through her tears. “I talked to Dre just the other day. He was saying what we all knew. He was saying how Slim was believing everyone had turned against him. Slim was believing that Power was conspiring to take over all his businesses.”

“Dre said that?”

“Child, those were his very words.”

“But why would Slim hurt Dre? Dre was his most trusted man.”

“I told you, Beauty, the closer you get to Slim, the more dangerous he thinks you are.”

“You gotta get out of there,” said Beauty. “I want you to book the first flight out.”