Drama Is Her Middle Name (10 page)

13

ON THE AIR

“This just in . . .” Ritz pressed the cough button to let Aaron
know to play her news flash sound effect. “According this fax,
LaFrance, hot young R&B diva and lead singer of the group
Serendipity, has just had an abortion. This report comes directly from the Upper West Side clinic. Her wig and sunglasses didn't fool one observant clinic worker. We all know
LaFrance as a super Christian. She is even releasing her solo
gospel album next month. Stay tuned for more details.”

Ritz pressed the cough button to let Aaron know to kill
the news flash sound effect.

“Whoa!” Ritz said. “Can you believe this? I just saw her on
the Grammys talking about ‘the Lord' this and ‘the Lord'
that. Well! Isn't she a spokesperson for celibacy? Doesn't she
claim to be a virgin? Well, maybe she had an immaculate
conception. Maybe she just got rid of the second coming of
Jesus. Oops! Did I say that?!

“I see the phone lines are lighting up. But we're out of
time. We can pick this back up tomorrow. I love you for listening!”

Gradually, Jamie the intern began sticking around after Ritz's
shift was over. She learned even more after the show, just being diligent in her work and not saying much. She didn't talk
much, which made people feel really comfortable around her.
It was another lesson learned from her father. In fact, Chas
and Ritz sometimes forgot she was in the room.

“So, who are we going to ruin tomorrow?” Ritz asked sarcastically.

“You name the person and I'll make it happen, baby cakes,”
Chas said. “Who do you want to take out next?”

“Hmmm. Whitney? Been there, done that! Michael Jackson? Done. Diana Ross? Damn, there's hardly anybody left
worth taking out. Maybe we need a different approach. I
don't know.”

Jamie didn't react as she pretended to sort and file the
faxes from the day.

“Nah. We have to stick with the formula. Ride the horse
that brought us,” Chas said.

“I'm getting a little tired of the drama, Chas. I mean, in
the beginning it was fun turning over rocks and watching the
critters squirm to get out of the line of fire. It was cool because I felt like we were taking down people who deserved it.
Now it feels like we're just messing over people's lives.”

“Ritz, baby, I know you're not getting soft,” Chas said in a
warning tone. “This isn't about messing over people's lives.
Like you said, if they don't want folk in their business, they
shouldn't be out there doing the things they're doing. You
ain't making them cheat, lie, and steal. You're just telling on
them when they do.

“Do you want to stay on top or what?”

“I do,” Ritz said. “I know you're right. I've been talking to
Tracee and she keeps reminding me about karma and how
powerful words are. I'm just thinking.”

“You do not get paid to think, baby. You get paid because of
your ratings. You get paid to talk and talk about people. That's
what you do. Now don't get all caught up in that Bible-thumping shit that Tracee is into. Look where it got her—in
some damn retirement village. Focus. Don't get me wrong. I
love Tracee. No disrespect. But when Miss Thing breezes into
town, I have a few words for her. She's trying to mess this up.”

“I know. I know. But—”

“But nothing! I can't believe we're having this conversation. Ritz Harper! You better go home and get some sleep and
get your head together. In fact, I'll walk you out to your car.
We need some fresh air.”

Ritz looked over at Jamie, who was still pretending to sort
faxes.

“Don't work too hard, Jamie,” Ritz said. “You aren't getting
any overtime.”

Jamie finally looked up and smiled. “Overtime? I haven't
seen a paycheck!”

“Oh, yeah. You are still an intern.” Ritz winked. “You get
home safely. We'll see you tomorrow.”

“I'll just finish up. See you guys tomorrow.”

“Bye, baby girl,” Chas said, then turning to Ritz. “You
wearing that old rag again? We're going to have to go shopping this weekend for a new fur. You've got to be runway
ready, baby. Runway ready!”

As Ritz and Chas headed out of the studio and toward the
elevators, Jamie pulled out her Nextel BlackBerry mobile
phone. There were four voice-mail messages and a half dozen
e-mails. Jamie kept her phone turned off while she was working. She wanted to give the appearance that she was giving
Ritz and the show her undivided attention. And she was.

But Jamie had a recent distraction. His name was Derek.
She'd met him on the train a few weeks before. She was attracted to his tough, thuggish exterior. He was attracted to
her ass, which he got to look at a lot as they stood for nearly
forty minutes on the crowded Number 4 train to the Bronx.

Jamie had been raised in a nice, upper-middle-class (on
the edge of wealthy) home in suburban Westchester. She came
from a nice, moral home and lived on a tree-lined street. But
she always had a secret attraction to boys from the other side
of the tracks. Jamie never brought them home and rarely introduced them to any of her neighborhood friends. But bad
boys were Jamie's secret weakness.

Derek was twenty-seven, had his own place, drove a
concrete-white Navigator with twenty-four-inch chromes.
And it was always clean. His closet was filled with new but
understated gear. He didn't wear jewelry but could certainly
afford to. He recognized that his success was attributed to his
ability to fly under the radar. Derek was a student of the
game. He watched a lot of films like
Hoodlum, Lansky, Once
Upon a Time in America
, and of course the
Godfather
trilogy.
Derek was smart enough to learn from others' mistakes, and
the one lesson he learned as a black man in his game was to
not look typical.

He didn't wear white Ts or hoodies or fitted hats. He was
fly-guy casual—Cavalli jeans, Gucci tie-ups. His only jewelry
was a Panerai watch with a plain black Toscana strap, no ice.
He was clean cut, low key, and spoke in low tones. He was going to learn from his brother's mistakes and keep his business
and his personal life very, very separate. He would roll with
very few “soldiers” and had no real close friends.

His new home was miles away from where he did his business, and he made sure few in his business knew where he
lived.

“You don't eat where you shit—even animals understand
that,” said Derek's brother, Jayrod, who had good advice that
he himself never followed. Not too many in the “street pharmacy” business followed the rules. Their egos and arrogance
usually got the best of them. Derek was a good student.

Unlike his brother and others he grew up with, Derek also
recognized that doing business with a certain ilk will get you
killed or in jail. His clientele was high-end—folks in the music industry, from executives to some of the elite stars. People
with something to lose. He also serviced the film industry,
from producers and set designers to even an Emmy-winning
actress. His brother, Jayrod, gave him his first connection in
the music industry through platinum-selling rapper Big Fun,
who got his weekly supply of haze delivered in the bottom of
a case of Cristal. Big Fun smoked more weed than Snoop. It
was even part of the rider in his contract—the list of demands that artists give to promoters when doing concerts.
That list usually included FIJI Water, Skittles, or whatever
the artist liked to enjoy in his dressing room before appearing
on stage. Big Fun's rider always included an ounce of purple
haze and, if he was on the West Coast, an ounce of Cali
Cush. Jayrod was his supplier. When he got sent upstate, little brother Derek took over.

Big Fun liked Derek's style, his low-key demeanor, so
much that he hooked him up with some of his other friends.
And when Big Fun crossed over into movies, Derek crossed
over with him, making his own connections. Derek's business
grew to five times the size of his brother's. And no one ever
knew—not even Jayrod. Derek didn't talk much and he certainly never bragged.

He did his dirt, though. He had his grimy moments. And
that was what attracted Jamie. She could see through the polos and the khakis. She could smell the dirt and the success
commingling the way funk and cologne does on some people
to make a powerful, intoxicating aroma.

Jamie and Derek exchanged phone numbers on the Number 4 train. Their meeting would not have ever happened under normal circumstances. Derek, who was having a stash
box installed in his Navigator big enough to hold a pound
and a 9mm, was going over the final details with the installer
at an underground body shop in Spanish Harlem when he
happened to look at his watch.

“Oh, shit!” he said to no one in particular. “Chico, if you
have any questions, hit me on my cell. I have to run.”

Derek had about fifteen minutes to get to Midtown for an
appointment. He prided himself on never being late. He
wouldn't be able to get a cab to get there on time, so he
hopped on the Number 4 train. Derek hadn't taken the train
since high school. But he didn't forget which line could get
him to his destination the fastest. He had no idea that the
fateful ride would give him a chance to meet another new
contact: Jamie.

Jamie built up her nerve to talk to him the first stop after
he got on. She didn't want to risk his getting off at the next
stop without getting his number so she boldly approached
him.

“You seem like you have a lot on your mind,” she said
coyly.

“Huh?” said Derek, a little startled, but he recovered
quickly. “Right now, it's just you.”

Jamie smiled. She liked him instantly because even with
that line, he came off as genuine. Maybe that was another
reason why Ritz Harper had grown to depend on Jamie so
much. Jamie was their in-studio lie detector. When a guest
was in the studio and Ritz asked a particularly sticky question, she would often turn to see if Jamie had a reaction.

While Ritz prided herself on her ability to interpret body
language, which she had learned in college, Jamie had a real
sixth sense about people that they could never teach in
school.

She knew Derek was a hustler. She knew that he was probably even dangerous. But she knew something else. She knew
she liked him.

They exchanged numbers. He called first because he knew
that was the proper thing to do. They talked a few times after their meeting on the train and then set up their first date.

He invited her to go shopping—far from the typical first
date.

“I just got this new apartment a couple of months ago, but
I've been working so much that I haven't had time to decorate. Maybe you can help me pick out some things. I think I
need a lady's touch.”

“You seem like you have very good taste. I'm honored,”
Jamie said. “What do you do that keeps you so busy, anyway?”

“I do sales,” he said. “I work on commission.”

“Sales, huh?” Jamie said to herself. There was something
about the way Derek said it made her not pursue it further.

Jamie took Derek to an eclectic store on Seventh Avenue
near Sixteenth Street. They had a large, stylish selection—it
was Chelsea, after all. Jamie picked out a couple of prints that
were earth tones—not too masculine but definitely not feminine. The pillows she selected were large and Asian-styled.
Derek smiled.

“You haven't even seen my bed and you picked out something that's perfect for it,” he said.

“So, now I
have
to see this bed myself to see if you're lying.” But she knew he wasn't lying.

“You will,” he said. “Tonight.”

Tonight?
She felt her stomach flutter uncontrollably thinking about it as they moved to the rug section of the store. She
picked out a sisal rug with green and brown trim. After they
finished shopping, he asked her if she liked Chinese food.

“Of course!” she said. “Who doesn't like Chinese?”

“Let's get takeout,” he said. “I want to see how these pillows really look on my bed.”

They caught a cab back to his place. Carrying the area rug
and two pillows, they finally arrived at Derek's apartment
near the Riverdale section of the Bronx. It was a beautiful
space. Empty, but beautiful.

She held the bag of Chinese food while he laid the rug
down in the empty living room. He lit three large candles
and put the pillows down and grabbed two square plates
that he had never used. He turned on his Bang and Olufsen
BeoSound 9000 with the six-CD changer. Derek figured he
could spend a little money inside his home without attracting too much attention. To Jamie's surprise, vintage Luther
started to play.

“I was expecting DMX,” Jamie said to herself. She was impressed.