The Next Best Thing (25 page)

“Didn't you just say that you were practically running the show at SWE for the last couple of years, anyway?”

“Yeah…” I said feebly.

“Well, it seems obvious to me that if you want an opportunity you have to create one for yourself. Why don't you take a risk and start your own event-planning business?” He said it so simply, that I felt like a moron for not considering the possibility sooner.

I sucked it up, dried my tears, and gave Nelson a big kiss.

“What's that for?” he asked, surprised by my sudden change in attitude.

“For being you,” I said. “And for helping me to see the bigger picture.”

 

In order to succeed, at times you have to make something from nothing.—Ruth Mickleby-Land

THURSDAY

Of course! When you are the best at what you do, why not gamble on yourself and start your own business?

There is no one in this town, or in this world for that matter, who can do what I do as well as I do it. Since the start of my career, I have brought in millions of dollars in revenue for SWE, and now it is time for me to do the same for Tori Carter Creations. I chose the name for obvious reasons, and so that clients I have worked with in the past will know that I am now in business for myself.

I may not have the staff, resources, or beautiful office space that SWE has, but I do have a Rolodex full of client and vendor contact information, which besides a business plan, and a business license, is pretty much all I need to get started. My business will have to start off being a one-woman show operating out of my home office, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. It might be kind of faint right now, but where there is light…

 

TO-DO LIST

1) Write up a Business Plan.

2) Go to City Hall and file documents for Business License and Sole Proprietorship.

3) Business cards.

4) Stock up on basic office supplies.

5) Update my portfolio.

6) Get color brochures printed up, listing the services I have to offer.

7) Have website built.

8) Go to bank and apply for a line of credit, and open a business checking account.

9) Hire an assistant.

Within two weeks of leaving SWE, I am proud to say that Tori Carter Creations is now officially open for business!

The first thing I did after leaving the courthouse with my new business license was to pull out my Rolodex and start smiling and dialing. I informed all the vendors and clients who I've worked with in the past, that I am no longer working with SWE and am now in business for myself.

My goal is to make two hundred fifty calls every day until I get to the end of my list of eleven thousand contacts. In addition to the phone calls, I also plan to mail out letters to these people, which will include a brochure and my new business card.

So far, everyone I have contacted has wished me well, and promised they would call me when it comes time to put on their next event.

However, my luck turned around this afternoon when I contacted Sasha Daniels, an old friend of mine from college. Sasha happens to be the chairperson on the board of directors of the KC Jazz Coalition, and when I got in touch with her, she sounded both happy and relieved to hear from me.

“God is good!” Sasha said when I told her who was calling. “It's time to start planning this year's fundraiser, and I was just about to go into panic mode when you called.”

Sasha told me she called SWE looking for me a few days ago, and was told I had resigned with no advance notice or even an explanation.

I'm not at all surprised that Sophie would try to harm my reputation. She is an extremely shrewd businesswoman and I'm sure she already knows that I'm coming to give her a run for her money. Why not try to stomp out the competition before it has a chance to get started?

I assured Sasha that what she had been told about me was far from the truth.

“Oh, I figured that,” she said. “After all, you were the best thing they had going over there at SWE, so of course they have to make it look as if it's you, and not them.”

“Well, I definitely appreciate the vote of confidence,” I said, with a sigh of relief.

“And just so you know, Tori, I'm on your side. You've been in charge of the fundraiser for the last several years, and I don't see any reason why that should change now. No one knows or understands our goals more than you do, and your concepts and ideas have helped to bring in millions of dollars for the coalition over the years, so, I'm afraid you're stuck with us for as long as you'll have us.”

Yes!

The KC Jazz Coalition is all about the preservation of jazz music. The organization puts on an annual fundraiser, which benefits indigent musicians and provides scholarships for young up-and-coming jazz musicians.

I absolutely love working with them. They are all good people over there, and it is always rewarding to be a part of such a worthy cause.

Sasha and I set a time and date to sign contracts and further discuss details. I was so thrilled after hanging up the phone, that I did a couple of cartwheels across the living room floor.

I have my first client, now all I need is an assistant.

Someone who won't come in with the intention of learning the ropes on my time and my dime, and then run off to do their own thing as soon as they think they have a working knowledge of the business. I want an assistant who is trustworthy and loyal, yet capable of being creative and focused at the same time.

That's what I
want
. But realistically, I'm gonna have to settle for what I can get.

With the knowledge that most dynasties are built by keeping it in the family, I stopped by Junior's midtown apartment to offer him the opportunity of a lifetime.

Yeah, it's a risky decision and his middle name should be “fuck up,” but I think that with the proper guidance, and assurance that he has a stake in something real, Junior will rise to the occasion.

Besides, he may be family, but I will fire his ass in a heartbeat if he doesn't perform up to my standards.

 

Junior's place always gives me the creeps. It's so filthy that I always have to shake myself off right outside his apartment door when I leave, in order to avoid taking some type of critter home with me.

“What's up, sis?” Junior said, letting me into his pigsty without an ounce of shame.

As usual, there were stacks of smelly, unwashed dishes in the sink, and it looked like the last time the kitchen floor was mopped or swept, was when I felt sorry enough for him to do it.

“What's up?” I asked, running a finger along the coffee table where there was a thick layer of dust. “Obviously not a cleaning routine.”

“Ah, that's nothing,” Junior said, grabbing a pile of clothes from off the couch and stuffing them into the hall closet. “Cop a squat.”

“No thanks,” I said. “I'll stand.”

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Are you still working down at Federal Express?”

“Nah, that gig didn't work out,” he said. “But I'm in the middle of writing a book, though.”

“And who's paying you to do that?” I asked.

“Nobody…” he stammered. “But it's a hip-hop crime novel, and it's gonna pay off one day. Trust me.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

Junior latches onto something new every six weeks. He goes from one pipe dream to another in an effort to avoid a real job in the real world.

First, he wanted to be a music producer.

Then there was Amway, eBay, distributing noni juice, and the clothing line that never got off the ground.

Now he wants to write hip-hop crime novels? Stop the madness.

“What do you even know about thugging it out on the streets?” I asked. “You've been sheltered and pampered your whole life.”

“Shiiit…I've been through some thangs.”

“Like what? Boy, you pissed the bed until you were nine, and you're way too lazy to hustle. So what is your source of inspiration?”

“Man,” Junior said, sucking his teeth. “There you go, always shitting on my dreams. Why can't you be supportive for once?”

“Supportive, hmmm, let me see…” I said. “Like letting you live with me rent-free for months? Cosigning on a car you let get repossessed, bailing your ass out of jail, and kicking you out money like I'm your own personal ATM?”

“Anyway,” Junior said, “what's really good? I know you didn't take time out of your day just to come over here and jump on my case again.”

“No, actually I came over here to offer you a chance to pull your own weight in this world instead of living off the fat of the land, and preying on loved ones because you are too immature to grow up and finally stand on your own two feet,” I said without taking a breath.

Junior sat looking at me as if I had just performed an amazing magic trick. “Damn!” he said. “You have been wanting to get that off your chest for a while, huh?”

“Look, Junior. I'm just a little bit stressed right now, okay? I'm starting up my own event-planning business, and I need your help.”

“Say no more. What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“I want you to work as my assistant, which includes no slacking, or goofing around,” I said. “This is serious business, with some serious money to be made, but you have to be on your toes at all times.”

“Got you, sis,” Junior acknowledged, looking serious. “When do I start?”

“Right now,” I said, giving him a long list of errands to run.

“Now? I was just about to start a tournament on Madden!” he protested.

I was just about to rip into Junior, when he said, “Psych! I was just messing with you, Tori. Come on, let's get busy.”

These past couple of months with Nelson have been so perfect, it almost makes me wonder if and when the other shoe is going to drop. The two of us have so much in common, it's crazy. For instance, Nelson and I are both art lovers, so we decided to spend this afternoon at the Museum of Art.

We had a great time browsing the exhibits, and just enjoying each other's company. Halfway through lunch at the Rozzelle Court Restaurant inside the museum, Nelson suddenly became quiet and disconnected.

“Nelson, what's wrong?” I asked, concerned that he may have been coming down with food poisoning, or something.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, picking at his plate of pan-seared lime-garlic tuna fillet.

I dropped the subject and continued to enjoy my Cobb salad, but I noticed that Nelson kept glancing at something over my shoulder. I turned around, and seated right behind us was this woman with a wild bushel of curly brown hair, reminiscent of Kara's. The woman's back was turned, so I couldn't see her face, but she had the same complexion, mannerisms, and style of dress as Kara. Hell, if I didn't know better I would have thought it
was
Kara.

Then I understood why Nelson had become so sad and withdrawn. I didn't like it. But I understood.

I care for Nelson a great deal, but it was getting to the point where I was at my wits' end with this situation.

One day he is loving and sweet, the next day he's keeping me at arm's length. He wants to move forward, I can feel that. But for some reason he just will not give himself permission.

And that is why I decided it was time to pay Fatima a visit.

I needed to get information on how to effectively deal with Nelson being a still-grieving widower and all.

The relationship was progressing.

Nelson and I now had the keys to each other's condo, but I was troubled that Kara's voice was still on his answering machine, her toothbrush was still in the bathroom, and her BMW was still down in the parking garage in the same exact spot where she left it two years ago.

In fact, all of Kara's things were just as she left them. Her clothes and shoes were still in the closet, and even her underwear drawer was still intact.

The second I got home from the museum, I called Simone and asked her to set up an emergency meeting with Fatima for me. “Okay, I'll call her then call you right back,” Simone said, sounding excited that I was finally going to get some “help.”

A few minutes later, Simone called back and said, “Fatima normally doesn't work on Sundays, but since it's you, she's willing to make the exception.”

Simone gave me Fatima's address and phone number too, just in case I got lost. There was no chance of that though, because I have a trusty GPS system I nicknamed Becky Sue, and she hasn't steered me wrong yet.

“Make ya mama and daddy proud and POP dat boo-tee! POP dat boo-tee! POP dat boo-tee!” was the first thing I heard when I turned on the ignition in my truck.

It seems like E-Money's career took off the second I refused to take him on as a client. Not only does he have a hit song tearing up the radio airwaves, but the video is also in heavy rotation on both BET and MTV. The album is expected to debut at number one on the
Billboard
charts.

Personally, I'm baffled by the success of “Pop Dat Boo-tee.” Now, the beat is crazy. I love the beat. But the lyrics are so juvenile, any fourth grader could have written them.

Oh well.

I turned the radio off in order to concentrate on my driving. It took almost half an hour for Becky Sue's voice to lead me to Gardner, a new subdivision in a Kansas suburb. Nice area, but all the houses are identical, and just too damn close together for my liking.

I parked in the driveway, and by the time I made it to the front door, Fatima was there welcoming me with a smile, and outstretched arms.

“Fatima, nice to see you again,” I said.

“My sister!” she said, hugging me as if I were truly a long lost relative.

A pretty and petite brown-skinned woman in her late thirties, Fatima has long, sandy-brown dreadlocks that were pulled back into a ponytail. She had on a turquoise and white muumuu, and bejeweled Indian sandals. Thankfully, she had bothered to get a pedicure this time.

Fatima led the way inside, and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Humble my ass! Apparently, life coaching pays very well these days. I walked inside to marble floors and extremely high ceilings. For some reason, I was expecting Fatima's home to resemble an African art museum, with kente cloth, masks, hand-woven baskets, and statues everywhere, but there were only a few such items on display in her modern, tastefully decorated home.

I could smell the calming scent of lavender incense floating in the air.

Fatima took my hand and guided me out to a large sun porch, filled with what had to be every plant known to man, including several bonsai trees that were almost as tall as I am. Wind chimes tinkled somewhere in the distance, and there was a caged parrot in a far corner of the room whose favorite word was apparently “nirvana.”

“Have a seat,” Fatima said, offering a small floral sofa that was so comfortable when I sank down into it, that it automatically induced a state of serenity.

Fatima sat across from me in a chair that matched the sofa, and said, “So, I hear you're having man trouble.”

Over jasmine-flavored green tea and banana-nut muffins, I told Fatima all about my dealings with Nelson, from day one up until right now.

“How do I compete with the memory of a dead woman still very much beloved by her grieving husband?” I asked. “Every time I turn around its ‘Kara, Kara, Kara.' And I can't even tell you how sick I am of hearing that woman's name.”

“Well that is your first mistake, right there,” Fatima advised. “Stop looking at Kara as an enemy when in fact you owe her a debt of gratitude for helping to shape Nelson into the good man he is today. Now, she probably wasn't quite the saint he depicts her to be, but that's not your place to point that out. Be mature and secure within yourself, because at the end of the day, you are there in Nelson's bed—not Kara.”

“And that's another thing,” I said. “How can I tell how much of his passion during sex is him desiring me, versus him just using me as a stand-in for his deceased wife?”

“That's easy. You can tell by the way he treats you outside of the bedroom. Is he kind and thoughtful towards you? Does he still want you around even after you've made love?”

“Yes, to all of those questions. Nelson is respectful, thoughtful, attentive to my needs, incredibly sweet and eager to please.”

“So there's your answer.” Fatima nodded. “Now, it was definitely way too soon to have sex when you first did, but seeing as how he later approached you for a friendship means a lot. So apparently he does care for you, and the guilt he must be feeling because of his feelings for you could be complicating his grieving process even more.”

“Yeah, I definitely think Nelson feels some guilt about being with someone other than Kara. I mean, they were college sweethearts, after all.”

“Why is it that you feel threatened by the love he still has for Kara?” Fatima asked.

“I don't know if threatened is the right word, but I don't see how he can really move forward to the future while he's still clinging to the past.”

I told Fatima about Kara's parents and how they seem to not want Nelson to move on. How they still throw birthday parties in their daughter's honor, and insist on getting together for a vigil on the anniversary of her death. In my opinion, the Murphys make Nelson feel guilty about the prospect of being happy with a woman other than Kara. They act as if he's cheating on their daughter, and disrespecting her memory in some way.

“It is natural,” Fatima said. “The Murphys view Nelson's moving on as disrespectful because Kara will always be their daughter, and their loyalty is to her, first. Deep down they may be jealous that Nelson even has the option of moving on because he can get another wife. Unfortunately, the Murphys cannot get another daughter. Essentially what Kara's parents are doing is bullying Nelson into staying locked in a cycle of grief.”

Oh! The light bulb went off in my head and not only did I finally understand the entire situation, but I also felt more sympathetic and compassionate towards the Murphys.

“Also,” Fatima continued, “Kara is what linked them all together, and the parents may feel that if Nelson moves on to another happy relationship, he will forget about them and then they will lose him, too. Nelson needs to set boundaries. He also needs to stand up to them with the knowledge that he will probably never have their blessing when it comes to moving on.”

“Should I tell him all of this?” I asked.

“I wouldn't. At this point, all you can do is wait patiently for him to discover these things on his own. Dating a widower is not hopeless, but you do need a certain level of patience and understanding,” Fatima said with a smile. “In the meantime, though, if the situation is really uncomfortable and stagnant, then you have to put a time limit on how long you are willing to be there while he mourns his loss. Months? Weeks? Years? It's all up to you.”

I left Fatima's house feeling enlightened, and glad to have finally given her a chance.

I like her. It turns out that she is not the scam artist I viewed her as, after all this time. She's comforting, and has a nurturing spirit about her. If I should have to go through a crisis that requires therapy, God forbid, I wouldn't hesitate to pay Fatima another visit.

As for Nelson, I'm willing to give him six more months.

If he doesn't have this whole Kara thing in check by then, I will seriously start considering moving on.