This Life: A Novel (12 page)

Chapter Sixteen

April 12

New York
,
New York

Their taxi from the
airport dropped off Blake, Brett, and Suki at Blake’s apartment just a few
minutes before
10
P
.
M
.
In silence they lugged their bags inside, though Blake nodded
to the doorman when he welcomed them home. As soon as Matt opened the apartment
door in response to Blake’s knocking, Blake turned to Brett and said, “I want
you to go now.”

He still wouldn’t look
at her, and that didn’t bother her. “Where the hell am I supposed to go at this
time of night?”

“You said you’ve got
family and friends in
Harlem
, right?” put in Matt.

“They’ll all be in bed
by now.”

“Oh, someone must love
you enough to wake up and let you in their house,” Suki said, practically
purring. “Now, just put those bags down, and go get the rest of your luggage
from my boss’s room, and I’ll walk you back out to the taxi.”

“I can do that,” Matt
offered to Suki, though they both kept watch on Brett. “You must be tired.”

“Not too tired for
this,” Suki promised him. “But our friend here hasn’t moved, so maybe he needs
a little help.”

“With pleasure.” Matt
clapped a firm hand on Brett’s shoulder and hauled him inside the apartment.

Blake wanted to take a
hot tub bath and go to bed, but she thought it might be best if she stayed out
of her bedroom until Matt and Brett finished collecting Brett’s luggage. She
dropped her suitcase by the sofa, went into the kitchen, and heated water for
some herbal tea.

As she stirred some
honey into a steaming mug of chamomile tea, she heard Suki say, sounding
positively gleeful, “There, we’re all ready. Come on, I’ll give you some advice
about women while we’re in the elevator.”

I wonder if Suki’s
advice about women leaves bruises.
Blake sipped her tea and wondered if she
cared. She was about to fetch her suitcase from the living room, but Matt was
already carrying it into her bedroom for her.

Matt hesitated before
leaving Blake’s bedroom. “I know you’re probably hurting, Ms. Bertrand, but
that guy was no good for you. Now he’s gone, maybe you’ll meet a real man.”

She managed a smile. “If
I meet a real man while I’ve got you, Suki, and Antonio guarding me, I’ll know
that’s what he is, because you three will tell me.”

“You better believe it.”
Matt grinned. “Good night, Ms. Bertrand. Pleasant dreams.” He shut her bedroom
door for her on his way out.

As the bathtub filled
with hot water, Blake stripped naked, and decided she wanted some jazz while
she soaked. She went to the turntable and put the late, great Amy Winehouse’s
album
Back to Black
on to play.

A little while later,
as Blake drank her tea in a luxuriously hot bubble bath, the ghost of Amy Winehouse
sang mournfully that “Love Is a Losing Game.”

“Girl, you were so
right about that,” Blake agreed, with the restless spirit crooning from the
turntable. “But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m done with all that.”

#

April 13

New York
,
New York

At
9
A
.
M
.
,
Blake found herself, Antonio, and Vickie at Caffe Reggio.
Sitting across the table from them were Vanessa Reeves and Jerome Harper, a
team of television producers still new to the business but widely regarded as
one of the most promising players in the TV producer game since Rob Reiner.

Vanessa was an imposing
long-haired redhead, tall and slender but obviously athletic. She reminded
Blake of the legends of the Amazons. By coincidence, she arrived wearing a
Chanel suit identical to the one Blake wore. “Great minds thinking alike. That’s
a good omen,” Vanessa joked, holding out a hand to shake Blake’s.

“I’m really sorry, but
I don’t shake hands, because I get sick easily.”
My life would be so much
easier if we got rid of that custom
, Blake considered, not for the first
time.

“Oh yes, and you just
got over the flu. It’s better if Jerome and I don’t risk catching that, anyway.”
Vanessa smiled, which immediately put Blake at ease.

Jerome was African American
and almost the same height as Vanessa, but he reminded Blake of the nerdy kid
Steve Urkel from the ’90s sitcom
Family Matters
. He was spindly, wore
granny glasses, and dressed like he must be colorblind, and Blake reckoned he
must ping gaydars for hundreds of miles around. This guy must be the brains of
the team. He certainly didn’t win contracts for the team based on his sense of
style. She liked him immediately.

They ordered breakfast,
commented on the signs that spring was coming to
New York
, and made casual inquiries about each
other’s work: Blake’s plans for the Wishman Spears and her new charity, and
Reeves and Harper’s two current hit shows on NBC. Work discussions transitioned
smoothly into the reason for their meeting after their food and beverages were
delivered.

“Now, speaking of your
shows on NBC, Vickie tells me you’re planning a reality show you’d like me to
host?” Blake paused between bites of pancake to pose the question.

“Blake, you’d be
perfect!” gushed Vanessa, her face glowing with enthusiasm. “You’re glamorous,
and you’re a true rags-to-riches American success story, and you’re one of the
smartest businesswomen on the planet. People love you. If you’ll host this
show, it will guarantee top ratings!”

“That’s all very
flattering.” Blake turned a quizzical gaze to Jerome. “But what is the show
about?”

“We’re calling it
The
Takeover
,” Jerome explained, gesturing his fork with fluid wrist movements.
“Contestants will be aspiring entrepreneurs. As the season progresses, they’ll
have to complete projects such as formulating a mission statement for a
business, researching the competition’s products and marketing strategies,
developing a new goods or service and planning for its promotion, recruiting
investment partners, various problems that real entrepreneurs must solve to be
successful. You, as host, will evaluate how well each contestant completed the
latest project, and whoever performed worst is eliminated.”

I could really make
a useful contribution by doing this
, Blake considered.
So many people
dream of owning their own business but don’t have the courage, and people who
are already successful don’t help them because they don’t have the time. This
show could give them the courage and platform they need.

“I’m definitely
interested,” Blake told them.

“Excellent!” Vanessa
sat back, relaxing in her triumph. “We’ll fax you and Vickie a copy of our
standard contract, and—”

“Hold on. I have some
terms and conditions for you.” Blake finished off her coffee while the
inevitable protests erupted.

“For God’s sake, Blake,
their standard contract is one of the most generous in the industry,” Vickie
scolded, under her breath. “Don’t be a diva.”

Meanwhile, as Vickie
criticized Blake, Vanessa turned on the charm. “Of course we’ll be glad to
consider any requests you’ve got for us, Ms.—”

“These aren’t requests.
They’re requirements.” Although Blake didn’t raise her voice in the slightest,
a hush fell over the whole restaurant.

Vanessa took to ripping
her napkin in tiny shreds while looking out the window at the distant park as
though nothing really important were happening inside the restaurant. Jerome
squirmed like a small boy who needs to go to the bathroom but for some reason
is unwilling. Vickie slanted miffed glances at Blake.

As for Blake herself,
she calmly beckoned Alyssa, their waitress, to come and refill the coffee cups
at their table. Alyssa, pale and shy, poured coffee, squeaked an inquiry as to
whether they needed anything else, and scurried away to the kitchen.

“This isn’t a showdown
in a Western saloon,” Blake said into the silence, just before sipping her
coffee.

Embarrassed, the other
diners found something—anything—to talk about among themselves. Blake waited,
watching a street dancer perform on the corner. She had what these people
wanted. All she had to do was wait for them to realize they wanted her enough
to make a few concessions that weren’t standard procedure for them.

“Well.” Vanessa brushed
the napkin shreds aside and leveled her gaze at Blake. “Let’s hear these
requirements of yours.”

“It’s simple, really. I’m
starting an organization called Mentors & Protégés that gives the average
person a chance to hang out with and learn from a millionaire for a day. I’m
talking to a few celebrity spokespersons like Jennifer Gutiérrez, Victoria Leck,
Manley Yates, and Mark Summers.” Blake paused, letting Vanessa and Jerome
absorb Blake’s impressive public relations coup. “My first requirement is that
your show air, free of charge, advertising for the charity.”

“That’s going to take
some negotiating with the network.” Jerome’s squirming got worse.

“You do that all the
time already. This is just one more item of business for you to discuss with
them.” Blake kept her eyes on Vanessa’s, recognizing the woman as the fierce
guardian of the gate that Blake needed to get through. Jerome clearly supplied
brilliant ideas and left the tough work of turning dreams into realities to
others, primarily Vanessa.

“All right, I’ll see to
it. What else?”

“This part will be
painless, I promise. I have plenty of money, and I’m always earning more. Whatever
salary we agree to, it’s to be automatically donated to Mentors & Protégés.
Put it in my contract.”

Vanessa let out a sigh
of relief. “Consider it done.”

“One last requirement.”

“And what is that?”

“NBC will donate a
small part of its profits to my Mentors & Protégés organization.

“You’re out of your
mind, Blake Bertrand!” Vanessa was so agitated that spittle flew from her
mouth. Blake handed her a fresh napkin and mimed dabbing at her lips. After a
few seconds of outrage mingled with puzzlement, Vanessa took the hint and wiped
saliva off her face.

“I’m no such thing,”
Blake said, once again into a total silence. “I’ve done my research, you see,
and NBC can easily afford to expand its charitable contributions with no
noticeable decrease in overall profitability. Half a percent would make a real
difference, and it’s so small an amount to NBC that it won’t even deprive any
executives or stockholders of their yearly new car.”

Antonio, wearing his
Ray-Bans, was an enigma to the producers and publicist. Blake, however, noticed
the slight curl of his lips that meant he was amused at seeing Blake make the
rules, even in an industry completely new to her.

Vanessa looked at
Jerome. Jerome looked at his plate and squirmed. Vickie looked like she’d
bitten into something sour.

“Will there be anything
else?” Vanessa finally whispered.

Blake pretended to
consider the question before answering, “No. That’s all.”

“It’s a deal.”

Chapter Seventeen

April 13

New York
,
New York

After lunch, Blake sat
down at her desk to start putting together her presentation for the public
hearing about the Wishman Spears zoning changes she was requesting. She faced a
tight schedule in the next two weeks. The public hearing was scheduled for
Friday, and most of the following week she was scheduled to film the first
commercials for
The Takeover
.

Fierce knocking on her
apartment door made her literally jump in her chair. “Something, or someone,
better be on fire,” she muttered to herself as she deleted the gibberish she’d
accidentally typed into her Docs2Go file.

Suki leaned her head
inside Blake’s open door. “Not yet, Boss, but you might be in the mood to light
someone up in a few minutes. Your Wishman Spears project director is here to
see you, and says he’s got bad news for you. The man is nearly breathing fire
himself.”

“Oh, great.” Blake took
a deep breath to brace herself. “Show him in.”

Connor
Stafford
loomed behind Suki and
stalked into Blake’s bedroom the moment the bodyguard moved aside for him. “You
promised me this wouldn’t happen again, Blake! That little no-good assistant of
yours has fucked everything up for a year, and there’s not a damn thing we can
do about it!”

“Edith?” Blake asked,
astonished.

“No, that Brett person,”
Connor fired at her.

“He’s not my assistant,
and he’s completely out of my life now,” Blake updated her project director.

“Well, I suppose that’s
good, but it’s too little too late. I’m telling you, he’s screwed us all for
twelve solid fucking months.” Connor looked like he was searching for something
he could break, flexing his fingers as he paced Blake’s room.

“Exactly what did he
do?”

“Look, I know you
couldn’t help getting sick. But those applications for zoning amendments were
due by
4
P
.
M
.
on Wednesday, April 8. That little shit said he’s a licensed Realtor
and knew exactly how to fill in the forms and append supporting documentation.
He amended Charles’s changes, and said he would take care of it. Well…he didn’t.”

This can’t really be
happening. After finally wising up and leaving Lang, how could I have made such
a bad mistake with a man again?
Blake massaged the scar on her forehead,
realized what she was doing, and kept doing it anyway. “Are you telling me he
never filed the applications at all? Or that he filed them, but with mistakes?”

“He filed them with a
mistake, but not one we can correct by filing more paperwork. None of the
required supporting documents were appended, Blake. Those have got to be
submitted with the applications, or the applications are automatically denied.
By city ordinance, we can’t reapply for twelve months.”

I’m going to have to
tell Thomas Mills and the other investors. They’re expecting me to make the
Wishman Spears profitable within two years, and Brett just cost me a year. Oh,
God, how do I tell them something like that?

“You’re sure?” Blake
felt as if she might become nauseated.

“Certain.” Connor ran a
hand through his thinning hair. “I didn’t tell you this sooner because I’ve
already talked to the lawyers we’re working with. Not a damn thing we can do
now, except wait a year and reapply. And get it done right next time.”

She nodded slowly. “I
guess I’ve got bad news to deliver to some people now. When should I plan on
getting back to work on this project with you?”

He hesitated, then
said, “Check with me in ten months. It will be at least that long before there’s
anything useful I can be doing with this now.”

“Okay. I’m very sorry
about this, Connor.”

“Yeah.” He stalked out
of her bedroom and out of her apartment, and Blake understood that Brett Skeet
had damaged her professional reputation as even Lang never had.

#

April 24

Miami
,
Florida

Lang and Gabby were
exhausted from hours of drugs and sex, and now they lay intertwined on the sofa
in the den, watching the
eleven o’clock
news.
Gabby is no Blake
, Lang found himself thinking,
but she’s better than nothing.

What he craved, though,
was either possession of Blake or destruction of her. Restless, he kept
brooding on how to achieve one or the other.

He’d expected a
reaction from her when he kept outbidding her for
Miami
properties she’d long
wanted to buy and revitalize. But there hadn’t been a peep from the bitch when
he sabotaged her
Miami
real estate development
plans.

Blake’s secret trip to
that hokey school band concert had been a gift to Lang. He’d laughed and
cheered, watching news reports on television about the mysterious attack on the
great Blake Bertrand’s chauffeur. At long last, having a couple of Mafia
henchmen at his command had really been useful for him.

The chauffeur had
recently been released from the hospital, though, and Lang was hungry to make
Blake suffer again. But he had no idea how to make that happen. It was like his
early days, and late days too, as an actor with a cocaine habit and not enough
acting jobs to indulge as much as he’d like. He needed a fix, but how to pay
for it?

“Say, babe, isn’t that
your ex-wife?” Gabby fluttered a hand at the television.

Lang turned his head
and paid real attention. A commercial was showing, and sure enough, Blake was
in it. So was J-Lo. They were talking about some new charity Blake was going to
open in a few weeks. NBC had already agreed to be a contributor, and Blake’s
salary for the reality show she’d just been hired to host would also be
directly donated to the cause.

What? Blake is going
to host a reality show?

He sat up, almost
dumping Gabby onto the floor.
Entrepreneurs… Goddammit, it would make Blake
crazy if I got on her show as a contestant, but that fucking restraining order
kills that idea…

“You could warn a girl
before you knock them off the sofa.” Gabby wrinkled her nose, a look that was
not at all cute on her. She sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the sofa,
staring sulkily at the baggie that was full of coke earlier in the day but now
lay empty on the coffee table.

That restraining
order couldn’t keep Gabby from being on Blake’s show, though…

“Hey, Gabby?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever thought
about being an entrepreneur?”

She turned her glazed
eyes on him and asked, “I don’t know, what’s a under…usher…umber-bum-pure?”

I’ll
make this work somehow, damn it.