The Charade (25 page)

Chapter 19

After the mess of meeting my mom and me nearly having a panic attack, Victor wanted to take me out to get my mind off things.

We pulled up to the valet at Harper’s Keyboard Lounge at a quarter to eight. A heavy fog coated the streets. Victor wanted to get out and do something fun, something different. Music calms the savage beast, he said.

Harper’s was off the radar for the paparazzi. We didn’t need to wear sunglasses or have to go through the back. After we stepped out of the car, Victor still looked around for anyone hiding out with a camera. He didn’t see anyone, so we went inside.

It was dark as a cave. My eyes adjusted as I looked at the bar. Red and green Christmas lights decorated the bar which had faux marble piano keys rather than an oak finish on top. Every seat at the bar was packed with patrons. Some knocked back shots, others nursed red wine.

There was a sign above the kitchen entrance that read,
Smokin’ Grooves Since 1932
. I could still smell the cigarette smoke buried in the red, velvet walls.

“Your table is ready sir,” the host said as he walked us to the back of the club. The sweet, funky smell of collard greens and macaroni and cheese filtered through the air. I hadn’t eaten all day and my mouth watered.

No one would ever hear jazz playing on my playlist, but the sounds that bled off the stage made my hips sway back and forth as we made our way towards our corner booth. I instantly became a fan. The saxophone player belted out notes that made everyone in the dimly lit club look sexier than they really were. Lovers, young and old, held hands and gazed in each other’s eyes as they fed peach cobbler to one another. Men made their women blush by whispering into their ear. A single candle lit each table and booth and casted a seductive orange hue on the patron’s faces. In the booth next to us a group of twenty-something ladies enjoyed a birthday party. They had a cake with three candles which read Happy Birthday Carmen. They laughed and teased each other and deliberated about which one of them would be drunk enough to take the trumpet player home with them.

We sat down and I perused the menu. Red velvet cake was the special. It was enough to take my mind off of the disaster at mom’s. I was beginning to like this place already.

“You
have
to get the catfish and grits. It’s amazing,” Victor said.

“Catfish and grits? I thought you don’t eat that kind of stuff.”

“Every now and again I do. It keeps me sane.”

“I’m forgetting what that means after the week we just had. I’m glad we came here tonight. I like it here.” I smiled at him and he smiled back. “After everything that happened earlier, I needed a change of scenery. I’m sorry I had to put you through that.”

“It’s okay. Your mother’s worried about you. I expected it.”

“But with everything that’s happening, I know it added fuel to the fire.”

“It didn’t. It’s your mom. If she didn’t care that you were with a man who’s been in the news for something like I have, then you need to start worrying.”

“You’re right. How are you able to take all of this in stride?”

“This is my life.” He shot me look.

Our server came and took our drink order interrupting our silence. Scotch - neat for him. Pino grigio for me. It was still silent after she left.

The band finished up playing and the trumpeter came up to the microphone.

“I want to invite an old friend of mine up to the stage,” he said. “He’s recently taken up the piano. I think he happens to play pretty well. He’s a local businessman and he’s been studying jazz piano for years in California and he’s finally going to come out of hiding back to his hometown and show off his chops to the family. I happen to think he plays like shit.” The crowd laughed and a tall, slender man in a well-dressed suit came out and manned the piano. Victor scowled and shifted in his seat. “I’m just playing ya’ll. But, I’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. He’s going to sit in with us for a while. Do ya’ll mind?”

The intimate crowd said a collective no. “I didn’t think so.” He had a smile that was born for the stage. “He composes too. Please give this virgin to the stage a warm welcome. Michael Helton, ya’ll. He’s written a tune called “Truth Crushed…”

“…Shall rise again,” Victor said finishing the man’s words. Victor exhaled a long breath of unease. He raised the full glass to his his lips and proceeded to down its entire contents. He slammed the glass down on the table, rattling the forks and knives on the plates.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” It was the first time I saw him visibly shaken.

“Nothing.” The band commenced to playing, a slow, stirring ballad. Everyone in the club tapped their hands and nodded their feet – except for Victor. He remained still.

“I need some air.” He ejected from our booth and left.

He had to have been gone about thirty minutes. I went outside to find him, but I didn’t see him. He didn’t pick up his phone either.

The band played another song, an uptempo number to a roaring applause. Our food came out and he still hadn’t come back. I waited for about another five minutes and decided to eat.

I dug my fork into my fried catfish and before I could put the bite between my lips, the same gentlemen from the piano came and sat down in our booth.

“Hello my dear,” he said. My head swiveled towards him uncomfortably. “Oh don’t worry,” he wiped the sweat off his brow, “I’m an old friend of Victor’s.”

“Oh,” I said. I extended my hand to his and he kissed the top of it.

“I’m Michael and you’re more beautiful than the words which were described of you were.” For a man who had to be in his late sixties, he had a youthful, endearing quality about him.
Charming, yet mysterious. He had a full head of silver hair, hazel eyes. He had a dimple in his chin that was colored by his dense salt and peppered beard. His European cut double-breasted suit and cognac wingtips pointed sharper than daggers.
He spoke with a faint accent; like he studied art history in London during his early twenties.

Victor appeared back at the table. I didn’t know how long he had stood there.

Unphased, Michael, smirking slightly, said, “Victor.”

Victor shot back with the same stone face he had before he left. His voice was android-like – cold, devoid of any emotion. “
Michael
.” His eyes burned so hot, it could set the entire city block ablaze.

Victor finally sat down after a brief stare down between them. And then they stared some more. Their gazes were intense, as if they spoke telepathically, both of them knowing each other was going to say even before words spilled from beyond their teeth. The anxiety hovered over the table like a mist.

“I won’t
steal
much of your time Mr. St. James.” He had a dignified, but gravely voice.

“Scotch?” Michael said, nodding down to Victor’s drink. “You never were much of a scotch type of guy, let alone much of a drinker at all.”

Victor smirked. “Natasha, this is Michael Helton.”

“I taught him everything he knows. One could say he was my son.” Michael smiled.

Victor didn’t.

“What brings you in town?”

“I’m here to tie up a few loose ends.”

“Is that right?”

“Indeed.”

Silence.

I took a couple of sips of water to soothe my discomfort. It didn’t help. The two men’s eyes still remained locked.

“Can you excuse us for a moment,” Michael said to me.

Victor grabbed my thigh and gently held it down. “Anything you can say to me you can say in front of her.” Little did they know I didn’t plan on getting up.

“Very well then. It’s about your current situation in the media. I didn’t think it would be proper to discuss such matters in front of the lady here.”

“She’s an adult.”

“I’m sure of it.” Victor gave him a look as if to say get on with it.

“You used to be such a patient young man, Victor.” He folded his hands.

“Things change.”

“I just wanted to know your next move. How are you were dealing with this…madness?”

“I don’t have a
next
move.” Victor’s regard turned towards the stage. “And I’m doing okay.”

“You don’t look like it. You need to shave.”

“Are you my father now?”

Michael fixed his mouth to respond, probably with something harsh. His mouth widened to a smile instead. “Good ole Victor St. James.” He cleared his throat. “I apologize for interrupting your evening. Twas a pleasure meeting you madam,” he said to me. I returned a slight smile.

Michael got up from the booth and nodded, “Victor.”

“Michael.” Victor nodded back.

Michael turned around and said, “Victor, it mortifies me to see the press tear you apart like this. Best of luck to you. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“I sure do.” Victor wrung his fork his hands.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Power,” Victor said. “Power.”

***

I woke up the next morning, groggy and unsure about things. Victor whipped up a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and diced mangos for me before he left to discuss things his lawyers and to go to a meeting with the board of directors.

We sat eating breakfast in silence. I tried to make small talk about the weather and about how good the food was the night before, but he didn’t give much of a response. But he still held my hand the entire time we ate.

After I washed the dishes, I received a text message from Tyson. I didn’t bother to look at it. I deleted it so fast I didn’t see what was in the message. I had nothing to say to him. Even though I felt a little remorse about how quickly I casted him aside – what was done was done.

I turned on the television to the news - which I knew was a mistake. I just wanted to know the forecast. I should have checked my phone instead.

“Two more women have come forward in the scandal regarding local billionaire Victor St. James…”

Great. Just great. As if more fuel couldn’t be added to the fire. I was kidding myself. This wasn’t a fire; this was an uncontrollable blaze.

I click the power button on the remote. I should’ve known better.

After I slept most of the afternoon, I drove around midtown in a daze. I grabbed a coffee and bought a book about Marilyn Monroe. I sat down to read it, but didn’t make it past the table of contents. A million and one thoughts ran though my head; most of them involved the paparazzi and how to avoid them.

I checked my watch. It was a quarter to six - it was time to meet Victor for sushi.

***

I sat in private area at Sushi Bo. Victor used to be college roommates with the owner. Our private room would be ready – just how he requested. A bottle of sake – warm. The assortment of nigiri, rolls and would be ready for us at 6pm on the nose. The only problem was it was well after six and he was still nowhere in sight.

I called Victor over and over and his phone was turned off. That was never a good sign as far as I was concerned. Anybody whose phone was off meant they were doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing or there was an accident. Maybe all the social media conditioned me to think that way and I was blowing things out of proportion. But him not responding worried me. My musings were interrupted as he walked into the room. Stumbling. Clearly drunk.

“They took it away from me. Natasha, it’s gone. Everything. Gone.” He sounded like he just got word someone he knew was murdered. He spoke quickly, disjointed.

“What’s going on? Took what away?”

“They tried to destroy my name, my reputation. But they’re taking what’s mine.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The board of directors. They’ve pushed me out of the company. They forced me out. The motherfuckers pushed me out.”

“How could they do that? You own the company. You’re chairman, right?”

“Co-chairman.”

“What do you mean?”

He drank the bottle of water on the table, trying to sober up, slowing his speech down. “There’s a silent partner. Michael Helton. The man at our table last night. When I started the company I needed liquid capital. I had Michael front me. The agreement was I’d be the face of the operation, but he’d had the majority stake. I should’ve knew better, but I was young and full of ideas.”

“What can you do?”

“Nothing. With everything that’s happening in the news, they’ve forced me to resign. Clients know these type of things happen, but when it
kept
happening, they had to make a move.” He buried his face in his hands and poured a glass of sake. “Clients that I had for years and forged bonds with are dropping left and right. They said my personal actions didn’t align with them anymore. Calls were made. Weeks ago, I assured the board members, this would be cleaned up. They’ve all had issues like this. Every last one of them. They were understanding. But then Michael appeared and started throwing his influence around.” He poured more sake into the glass and slammed it into his mouth. “The agreement was for me to run it and for him to stay in the shadows. Just collect a check was all he wanted.”